by J. C. Staudt
“In the hold with the rest,” someone shouted. The voice was Curznack’s.
For a gut-wrenching long moment, Lizneth was falling. There was a sudden but cushioned landing. Then she was being jostled, kicked and bumped as she drifted on an ocean of writhing bodies. The drawstrings were still snug around her throat, every breath a narrow wheeze until she managed to scrunch up her shoulders and loosen the bag. She tipped off the edge of the pile of bodies and onto the deck, her face mashed against the wood and her legs and tail still splayed above something lumpy and unmoving. Their haick was vague through the sack, but she could still scent the rich warm lignum of the ship’s ironwood beams.
It smelled like home.
CHAPTER 13
Embarking
“Today is the day we ride to our deaths. Brave souls floundering in a sea of impossibility,” said Cord Faleir, coloring his voice with all the melancholy of a wilting flower. He fanned himself and dabbed his forehead with a sweat-sodden handkerchief.
“You use the word we as if you’ve had the slightest shred of involvement in this endeavor,” Raith said through the hood-scarf covering his face, as he tightened the last ratchet strap over one of the water tanks. “Didn’t you vote against this excursion in the first place? Why don’t you lend a hand and keep your wailing to yourself?”
The hangar doors were open, and waves of heat were barreling in on the dust-laden breeze. Shelter like this would be scarce in the days ahead. Even in the shade, bare-chested and wearing only a pair of sentyle cut-offs, Raith was dripping with sweat. The air was so thick and torrid that he found himself coming up short for breath every few minutes.
“Being the realist that I am is the most generous hand I can lend you, Raithur Entradi,” Cord said.
Raith grimaced when Cord used his full name. That made him think of his mother, and Cord Faleir was the last person he felt comfortable associating with her memory. She’d taught Raith how to be a good man; how to take responsibility for his actions. How to live with conviction and selflessness. All the virtues Cord Faleir always seemed to be slithering his way out of.
The slender man blinked twice with vigor. “The council has chosen a particular course. A course which those of us who possess sounder judgment, including myself, are powerless to alter. I’m not entirely sure how else you would expect me to behave.”
“Behave however you wish. Just do it somewhere else.” Raith caught another strap as Jiren Oliver tossed it to him across the flatbed. Hooking it to one of the recessed latches, he yanked on the webbing and began to tighten it. The ratchet made a rapid click-clicking, and the big plastic canister dimpled.
Cord was dressed in his usual finery, having made no apparent plans to do any actual work himself. He huffed, turned on his heel, and floated away inside his sinuous trencher, no doubt bound to instill his pessimism on someone more willing to listen.
The four councilors who had voted against the scavenging expedition to Belmond had all conveniently decided to stay behind. Whether they’re satisfied with the council’s decision or not, they and their clans are still part of Decylum, Raith thought. A little help readying the convoy would’ve been the smallest gesture of kindness they could’ve offered. But so far today, the people of those clans had been all but absent. Raith was satisfied to let them sit it out, if that was what they wanted. As disappointed as he was, he wouldn’t hold it against them. They had their reasons for feeling the way they did. Raith wasn’t here because he wanted to be loved; he was here because he had to lead, and that meant doing what he knew was best, even when others refused to see it.
Jiren Oliver came around beside him to fasten a strap over the next tank. The gleam of anticipation was in the young man’s eyes, and he seemed not to mind the heat. “Low turnout for the big send-off, eh?”
Raith smiled. “You know, I was just thinking about that. No, there aren’t as many people here today as I would’ve liked. This should be a unifying venture, not something that turns us against each other. But pleasing everyone is never possible. When the clan patriarchs express their views, they rally the favor of their families behind them. Naturally, the more pivotal the issue, the more it divides us.”
“I’ve never seen the clans divided like this before.”
“Neither have I,” said Raith. He crammed a shoulder against the tank to make sure it was snug, sending a week’s worth of water sloshing around inside. “That’s why I’m leaving enough good councilors behind to fend off the vultures until we return. I’ve warned Kraw not to let them sneak any votes through while we’re gone.”
“I don’t know, Raith. You think Kraw’s experienced enough to be interim Head Councilor?” Jiren said, laughing. He pushed the hair out of his eyes and swabbed his forehead in a single motion. “Let’s just hope he can hold his own. There’s no telling what the mice are capable of when the cat’s away.”
“I’d rather not think about what they’re capable of. But Kraw has sovereignty now, so it’s up to him.”
Jiren stared out into the open desert beyond the hangar doors. The sand’s reflection was shining in his eyes, where that youthful fire still burned.
Raith could tell how anxious Jiren was to be gone, and for a moment it made him jealous. So much of Raith’s life had passed him by, yet this would be the first time he’d ever ventured more than a few horizons away from Decylum. He wondered if the trip wouldn’t be more of a vacation for Jiren than a hardship. “Things must be very different for you now that you’re on the council. I know you enjoyed life as a hunter. How does your family feel about you going out there again?”
Jiren gave him a skeptical look. “Mom and dad? Are you kidding? Getting me out of their hab unit is the best thing that’s happened to them since I got back. I want these expansions worse than anyone. Do you know what it’s like to be thirty-three and stuck in your parents’ house because there are no empty places to move into? And what’s worse, Tesya is starting to think I like it there. You can’t imagine what I go through trying to find time alone with her.”
Raith smiled, remembering how he’d felt about his parents at that age. They hadn’t been forced into such close proximity as people were these days, but he’d still found himself at odds with his kin on many occasions. He couldn’t blame Jiren for wanting to get away for a while. Most of Decylum’s people still carried a subtle sense of fear about the outside world. He hoped Jiren’s bravery and enthusiasm would inspire the others in the convoy to put their fear aside as well.
“So you don’t think they’ll miss you very much.”
“Don’t know. I sure haven’t started missing them yet, but ask me again after we’ve been gone awhile.”
There was a long pause while the two men gazed out over the sands.
“You think this is the right thing—what we’re doing?” Jiren patted the flatbed in front of them.
Raith thought for a moment. “One thing you may learn is that whenever you’re in charge of anything, people are quicker to condemn your failures than they are to praise your successes. In fact, you’re lucky if they acknowledge your achievements at all. Failure and success are pretty subjective, in most cases. So I don’t often think in terms of whether something is right, anymore. I don’t even think it’s always possible to know what the right thing is. You just have to trust that you’re reasonably good at guessing.”
Jiren scrunched one side of his mouth, considering. After another pause, he said, “Well then, do you think we’re making a good guess?”
“Ask me again after we’ve been gone awhile.”
Jiren rolled his eyes and gave a wry laugh.
Men were yoking horses to the flatbeds, long ironwood trailers on sand tires with thick knobby treads. There were four flatbeds in all—two empty for now, the other two stocked with food, water, shelter, and supplies. On the return journey, every spare inch would be loaded down with salvage.
“Is four horses going to be enough to pull a loaded flatbed?” Jiren asked, looking more doubtful th
an worried.
“That’s another thing we’re taking a guess on,” Raith admitted. “That I’m taking a guess on. I have it on pretty good authority that it will.” He found Hastle at the far end of the hangar, oiling up the axles on the last flatbed. “The horses we’re bringing with us are about all that can be spared, so I hope it’s enough. We’ve never done anything like this before, so there are plenty of pieces to the puzzle that I’m uncertain about.”
Jiren gave him a rough pat on the shoulder. “That’s okay. I trust you. Everyone trusts you.”
I certainly hope they’re wiser than I feel.
One of the stairwell doors opened, and a woman came through with two teenage boys. The woman waved as they came toward him.
Raith rushed to meet them. “Petra… you’re the last person I expected to see today.” He wrapped his sister in a long embrace, unable to keep himself from grinning.
“We had to come,” said Petra, kissing his cheek. “Laagon was angry, but I wouldn’t let him keep us from seeing you off.”
Raith gave her an understanding nod, then turned to his nephews. “And how are you two? Such strapping lads you’ve become. I always told you they’d take after their uncle.” He mimed flexing his muscle.
The boys smiled, inflated by their uncle’s compliment. Both had their father’s slim build and wavy reddish-brown hair, but Raith hadn’t lied about their growth since last he saw them.
“We’re good, Uncle Raith,” said Tavish, the older of the two.
“Good. And you, Leny?”
“Good,” said the younger boy, studying the ground as he spoke.
“Look at your uncle when you’re speaking to him,” Petra scolded.
Coleny Dent, whom everyone called ‘Leny,’ lifted his eyes, but not his head.
“It’s okay, Petra. I’m glad you came. How’s your oldest these days?”
“Getting along,” Petra said with disdain.
Raith noted the immediate change in his sister’s mood. “Still shacking up with that boy, is she? My offer still stands, you know. I can have him called up. Once he’s a hunter, he’ll be put in danger regularly—and not only that, but he’ll be gone for weeks at a time.”
Petra scowled. “That would just get him on Laagon’s good side.”
“I didn’t know your husband had a good side.”
Raith’s sister heaved him a boulder of a look.
His jokes never seemed to lighten the mood where Meluria was concerned. Petra’s oldest daughter was as strong-willed as they came. She was Laagon’s daughter too, of course; Raith could guess which side of the family that force of will came from. “Alright, alright… I’m only kidding. Let’s not end this day on a bad note. I am really happy you’re here. Hey, you boys want to give old Uncle Raith a hand with these feed bags? What do you say?”
When the last of the flatbeds had been loaded up and the animals were fed and watered, Raith thanked his nephews for all their hard work. “You’ve served Decylum well today, lads. We’re fortunate to have young men like you around. The years ahead look all the brighter for it. I hope you’ll be here to help us unload our haul when we get back. I don’t know how we’ll manage without you.”
“Good luck, Uncle Raith,” said Tavish. “Don’t let the savages eat anyone.”
Petra glared at her son. “Tavish, now really…”
Raith ruffled his nephew’s hair. “I won’t let anybody eat anybody else. How about that? Now look out for your mother while I’m gone. And see that your father behaves himself.”
Decylum’s herdsman was a strong blond man with a mellow affect named Sarl Sandonne. Sarl brought Raith his mount, an adult corsil named Beguli. When the herdsman kneeled the great lanky beast, it snorted and guffawed as though it had been asked to stand on one leg. Raith hugged his sister again before he mounted. The floor fell away fast as the animal stood on its tall slender legs, and Raith found himself lurching and swaying atop the creature’s humped back as it shifted its weight and slapped its hooves on the concrete. Raith clenched his thighs and white-knuckled the reigns so hard his blackened hands cracked and bled.
The animal twisted its head around on its slender neck to look at Raith from the corner of its eye, as if to assess its unseasoned rider. Its sand-colored fur was short and soft like a horse’s, except where darker tufts sprouted from its spine like brown geysers. Its snout was long and slender, with wide flaring nostrils and glassy black eyes that sat far up on its head.
Raith closed his eyes to let a wave of nausea pass. He felt utterly out of his element, though he doubted he would’ve been much more comfortable on a horse. He’d always thought corsils were silly-looking animals, but Beguli would fare better in the desert; corsils were fast and light on their feet, and they could survive even longer than camels without water.
A small crowd had gathered near the hangar doors to see the convoy off. It wasn’t the throng Raith would’ve liked to see, but he was grateful for each one of them nonetheless. He tried not to make a spectacle of goading his mount to the front of the column as members of the convoy bid their loved ones farewell to either side. Hastle Beige and Jiren Oliver flanked him at the mouth of the hangar, mounted on corsils of their own and looking more confident about it than he did.
Behind them, a group of hunters in mottled earth tones stirred atop their light horses. They chattered and swore, tested their drawstrings, counted their arrows. The animals beneath them were just as restless. Behind the hunters snaked the remainder of the convoy, a mixed band of engineers, medicine men, blackhands, and an assortment of other disciplines, numbering just over four score in strength. Less than a quarter were mounted. The rest either functioned as coachmen, or they tossed their packs onto the flatbeds and climbed up to hitch a ride. They won’t like having to walk on the way back, Raith predicted.
“Convoy is inspected and ready,” said Rostand Beige, one of Hastle’s grandsons. He was the spitting image of his father and bore a strong resemblance to Hastle, but he had darker hair and pale skin, even on his hands. He was dressed in a hooded blue synthtex shirt and a striped nyleen hood-scarf over black sentyle cargos. His brown and white stallion was a haughty and spirited mount, descended from the sandbreds that roamed the Aionach’s scrublands in dwindling herds.
“Thanks Ros. Keep ‘em looking sharp back there, eh?” Hastle said.
Raith nodded to the young man in thanks, and Rostand clopped back down the line. Assured that all was in order, Raith bellowed the call to action and waved a huge muscled arm. Animals stutter-stepped into stride, vehicles creaked into motion, and the column began to move. Scattered cheers and applause rang listless through the hangar, sucked away into the howling desert winds and drowned out by the noise of the convoy.
From his high seat, Raith picked out the form of his sister and her sons. She was holding a billowing synthtex hood-scarf to her face, her deep blue eyes pooling with tears. Raith didn’t know whether she was crying because of the wind or because he was leaving. But when his eyes met hers, the sudden and inexorable burden of his task fell on him like a heavy weight. Salvaging raw materials was, after all, a distant second to the priority of getting his people home safe.
Raith watched the hangar’s shadow slip by underneath him with some reluctance. When the shadow fell away, Infernal’s blinding white heat washed over him. Sweat beaded around his hairline and the wind spat sand into his eyes until it became hard to see. The desert panorama spread wider and wider until they reached the top of the shallow rise where Decylum’s retaining walls ended and the wind abated. Raith looked back as the sand-colored hangar doors were rolling to a close behind them. Now Decylum was hidden again, nothing but another dust-swept fragment in the landscape.
Raith was swaying on Beguli’s back so much it was starting to make him nauseous again, but he took a gulp of water from his canteen and dismissed the feeling. He turned to his old friend. When Hastle noticed Raith staring at him, he looked back with a quizzical expression.
“Yo
u’re even redder than usual,” Raith said.
“Just wait a few hours,” said Hastle. “When you’re the color of a roasted tomato and your skin is peeling like old tape, you’ll be wishing you’d had my complexion to start with.”
Raith smiled. “You’re probably right. I wouldn’t know the first thing about what it’s like up here after a few days of hard living.”
“You will soon.”
“I know I’ve told you this before, but I always wonder what it would’ve been like if I’d left Decylum with you all those years ago. Sometimes I feel like I should have.”
Hastle wiped his bald head with his hood-scarf. “How could you? You were just a kid.”
“I was fourteen. That isn’t so young.”
“In the line of work I was in, you might as well have been an infant. Building skyscrapers is no work for a teenage kid.”
“Taking them apart is no work for old men, either.”
“Then what are we doing here?”
“Speak for yourself,” said Raith. “You’ve got clothing that’s older than me.”
Hastle laughed. “I do, at that. But you know I could never have let an old man like you come out here by yourself. Not a reason in all the Aionach could’ve kept me home.”
“And I thank you for it. You’re as loyal a councilor as a Head could ever ask for.”
“A councilor—not a friend?”
“A friend too,” Raith said. “Although… I don’t think we’ve spoken this much outside a council meeting in years.”
Hastle was wounded. “I won’t make excuses for that. I guess that happens when you start a family. By the time Imogen and I had Jeela, we had so little time for anything besides the kids—”
“It’s okay, Hastle,” Raith said. “You don’t need to make excuses. I’ve always known family was important to you.”
Hastle shrugged. “Ours got so big so fast, it was hard to keep up. Before we knew it, we’d had nine of them. Once the grandkids started coming, well… time just seems to tunnel away from you at that point. Did you know my twentieth grandchild was born last night?”
