Remnants

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

New-ancient books made their way to our home every week, spines long gone, as well as many of their pages. A few encyclopedias — the F, I, and N volumes, the only ones we had. Nonfiction books on politics and society, biographies of people — scientists and politicians and leaders and philosophers, good and bad. But my favorites were novels; the only downfall was that so many were ragged with age. It was more aggravating to turn the last page and yet find the story was incomplete, the ending long since torn away and lost. Still, I could not keep from reading about proper young ladies in a land called England, girls among the sun-dried, swaying grasses of a place named Africa, or men in uniform fighting on great sailing vessels across massive waterways called seas. Anything I could read, I read. And when the stories ended prematurely, I did as my parents did with me as a child — I finished the end how I saw fit, in my imagination.

  I smiled, remembering my treasured books as we moved out again and began walking behind Niero in pairs, then single file. On and on we walked. And by midafternoon we left the trees of our youth behind us and were surrounded by a vast land filled with short, clumpy grass and sand thick with the drizzle falling from the sky. The sand stuck to our boots and slowed our progress. But it didn’t matter to me, because I was amazed and in no rush. Never in all my life had I seen such wide, flat land, spreading out in so many directions. Over and over again, I turned in a full circle, trying to comprehend such sprawling openness when I had always been surrounded by the inclines of the Valley.

  Niero bent and brushed back some grass, took ten paces, and bent again. He’d picked up a trail, which led us to the deep ruts of a road moving south.

  We’d found our road to the trader camp.

  They saw us coming, even when we were tiny dots on the horizon.

  Niero looked through a long tube he called a “looking glass,” and when he saw my expression he handed it to me.

  “Close your other eye, so you can see better,” he said, standing close enough to wrap his arms around me from behind and twist two dials at the center, bringing it more into focus. “Let me know when you can see it.”

  “There,” I breathed, as two circles became one, clear view. I was aware that Ronan hovered at my other shoulder, and I felt a wave of strange emotion from him, but I was distracted by seeing what I could through Niero’s collapsible tube, dropping it from my eye to view what I could normally then comparing it to the looking glass’s perspective again. “That’s amazing,” I said, handing it back to him. The trader guards appeared a hundred times closer when peering at them through the odd tube.

  He quickly folded it back together and shoved it into his pocket. “Follow my lead,” he said over his shoulder. The mudhorses and guards gradually drew closer, guns casually slung across their arms as they came up beside us, passed by, and circled around, constantly moving even as we instinctively gathered in a group, backs together as we’d been taught. If attacked, we would face our enemy to our front and protect our brother or sister’s back. But Raniero had not drawn the crescent-shaped swords strapped across his back. So neither did we.

  “You got papers?” said one camp guard on horseback, edging past me, so close I felt the horse’s flank brush past my shoulder.

  “I have what I need to see your boss,” Niero said, staring dead ahead, not turning to watch the man. He carefully pulled out a map and opened it. “You are of the Nem Post, aren’t you?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “Raniero of the Valley.”

  “So, Raniero of the Valley,” the man said, his eyes flicking over to me, Ronan, Vidar, and Bellona. “What is your business?” His eyes stayed on Bellona, and he kicked his horse in the flanks, edging nearer to her, looking her up and down, then flicking over to me. “You trading women? My boss isn’t interested but I know — ”

  “They are not for sale today,” Niero said idly, as if we might be tomorrow. “They have not yet completed their second decade.”

  “Now age has never been an obstacle for us before.” He leered at me.

  “We have other goods. Take me to your boss. I will discuss it with him.”

  “You ought to rethink it,” said the man, now admiring Bellona. “Fine, sturdy stock as these …”

  I felt the gathering rage within Bellona. If she broke, attacked them, we’d be done before we started.

  The trader looked over his shoulder at Niero. The man was weak within. Playing a role, not exploiting true power. I felt his hesitation, barely concealed. “Don’t care what you got in those packs. Girls like these would be worth a year’s pay in — ”

  I broke our circle and faced him, edging in front of Bellona before she gave in to her fury. “We are not for sale, and you feign authority where you have little,” I said steadily. “Now do as my boss has asked and take us to yours. Now.” It pained me to use his weakness; I felt his inner wince and flush of humiliation. But I knew it was the only way to stave off the confrontation almost upon us.

  Surprise registered in his eyes. He was well past his fourth decade — or perhaps only appeared that way. And my words seemed to slice into him. His brown eyes widened and he lifted his hands. He forced out a thin laugh. “I take it back,” he said, staring at me, and I felt his hatred then, his fury and humiliation. “Womanflesh is only valuable to those who buy if said womanflesh knows her place.”

  I felt Bellona move behind me and glimpsed Vidar casually reaching out to grasp her arm.

  “Ha,” croaked the man, catching Vidar’s movement too. “There you go, man. Show yer woman her place.” He turned his back on them, resting in his companions’ ability to guard him. Displaying power to try and show me I was wrong. Trying to retrieve some of his pride. We let him complete his drama, even though every one of us would have paid a whole gold coin to see him in a ring with Bellona.

  “C’mon, then. You better be worth letting into camp, or the boss won’t feed us tonight.”

  We continued our trek forward, the three men on either side of us casually riding their mudhorses as our legs grew rubbery with weariness. We’d walked through the night and most of the day, the longest I’d ever walked in my life, even after years of training.

  “Let me have it now,” Ronan said, pulling the pack from my shoulders before I could complain. Bellona didn’t ask to carry Vidar’s, and I felt a little guilty about it for a time. But mostly I felt relief as the ache spread from my neck down to the center of my back.

  “So that one’s yours?” said the nearest trader, edging near Ronan while looking over at me.

  “Yes, she’s his,” Niero barked. “Now leave her be.”

  I bit my lip as my face flamed with embarrassment, not daring to look at him or my knight. So this was what we’d be forced to? Cowering behind our men? That won’t sit well with Bellona, I thought, catching her clenching her fists and sharing a look with Vidar.

  But then we were entering the post, a gathering of tents shielding the traders from the constant rain and wind. I knew from my education they could survive under tarps instead of behind stone because traders had what every warlord and villager wanted: goods. The guns upon every shoulder and in every holster — plus the backing of kingdoms who wanted them in place — kept the marauding Drifters away. To take on traders was to take on at least one kingdom that backed them. Which didn’t keep them entirely safe, but most of the time …

  A couple of the guards carried rusty old rocket launchers, hoisted on their shoulders. At least I thought they were rocket launchers. I’d only seen them in our trainer’s drawings. My gaze shifted to the horizon. What were they prepared to defend themselves against?

  People came out as we passed, following our every step with weary, steady eyes. Men, mostly. When we reached the largest tent at the center — twice as high and five times as long as the rest — we paused. “You can leave your weapons here,” he said, gesturing to a wooden barrel and a guard standing outside the tent entrance, apparently on duty. “My compatriot will make sure they don’t walk off while you’re with Tonna.�
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  We did as he asked, gradually filling the barrel with our assorted weapons: Niero’s crescent blades, Vidar’s halberd — along with two pistols I didn’t know he carried in his belt — Bellona’s bow and quiver of arrows, and an assortment of swords from the rest of us. I knew that each of us kept hidden daggers upon our person, unwilling to go in completely unarmed. We waited for several more minutes on our escort, whom we could hear murmuring inside.

  Finally, the guard reemerged, and behind him, his boss.

  I looked to the right, so she wouldn’t recognize my surprise and read it as disrespect. She was short as she was wide, with dark skin and slitted eyes, and she walked right to Niero, not looking at the rest of us. She recognized him as leader. “Name’s Tonna,” she said, offering her arm.

  “Raniero of the Valley. Niero, to my friends.”

  “They grow ’em tall in the Valley,” she grunted, looking up at him and then each of us. “But there’s not much up there other than people, right?”

  “Just the right number, as far as we’re concerned, Harvest to Harvest. We’ve been gleaning. Found a stash in a forgotten village we’d like to trade,” Niero returned. “Care to see?”

  “Sure, sure,” she said. “Bring it in.” She turned and we followed her through the flaps of the tent. I took in what was inside. To one side was a curtain — her own private area, I decided — and I could just glimpse a cot and blankets. An oil lamp. Books. A bundle of incense beside a tray with a small portion slowly burning, sending a tendril of sweet smoke into the air. Beneath the table was a wide, shining, copper tub. My eyes lingered on the tub, suddenly aware of the layer of the grime on my skin, as well as my own stink.

  Before us on four tables were a stack of blankets that reached shoulder high, sacks of what I guessed were rice and oats, as well as baskets of dried pears, bags of dried apples, and lye soap. She made a dismissive gesture and her men set to work, placing the goods to the side, making room for our packs.

  “Not many venture from the Valley to trade,” she said, folding her fat arms across her ample chest.

  “Not much to trade,” Niero said evenly.

  “There was a family that came by last year,” she said, lifting her chin, appraising him. “They had some decent items. Perhaps there is more up there than you say.”

  “That family never made it back,” Niero said. And it was then that I knew they both spoke of the clan that left my village. “For most of our people, it’s safer to remain at home.”

  Tonna appraised the group of us, then shrugged and waved to the table. “Let’s see what you have.”

  Niero went first, unpacking in a steady, assured manner. Twelve cans of sardines, the labels torn and faded. Six boxes of thread. Twenty skeins of wool. And a contraption with all the letters of the alphabet on small black keys.

  She grunted, running her fingers over them. Pressing one. A small metal arm sprang upward and slammed against the roller. “Well, I’ll be. You have any ink in those packs, Niero? Or paper?”

  “Sadly, no,” Niero said.

  “Pity. But a typewriter’s a novelty, sure enough. The warlords would love it.”

  “I thought so.”

  She gestured for my pack, and I unloaded it. I felt her eyes on me, studying me. She was wary of me, for all her casual, in-charge manner, and I worked to do nothing to make her warier, moving methodically. Inside my pack were more skeins of wool, twelve cans of soup, and ten more of something called tuna fish. My mouth watered and I wished we’d sat down and had at least one feast before carrying on. Surely these traders wouldn’t have missed a few cans from each of our packs.

  “Tuna. Haven’t seen this in ages,” she said, picking up one. She glanced over to Niero. “Where were you gleaning? This is quite the haul.”

  He gave her a slow, knowing smile. “Well, if I told you that, I’d lose a bit of my trading power, wouldn’t I?”

  She smiled back, her small eyes practically disappearing. I thought her to be about five decades. And she liked Niero. That was good. That was really, really good.

  The rest did as I had before them. In the end, two whole tables were full of our goods. Soft cloth, perfect for diapers. A pack of bone needles, tiny and sharp. Two women’s dresses that looked a hundred years old yet finer than anything I’d ever worn in my life. Five sweaters, meticulously woven. Cans and more cans of food — so enticing I didn’t dare to read their labels, fearing I’d discover corn and try and steal one. A radio; another enticement for the warlords, even though any radio towers had long been dismantled or destroyed or abandoned. Three shiny silver discs that Niero called “CDs.” Neither he nor Tonna had the device to play them, but they were pretty, casting iridescent rainbows under the candlelight.

  Tonna’s eyes surveyed the bounty and flicked back to him. “What is it you seek for your goods, Niero?”

  “We seek safe-passage papers. From kingdom to kingdom. In turn, we shall return to you every time we draw near, bringing you more goods.”

  She stared at him, puzzled. “What business would you of the Valley have in the kingdoms? Your people have avoided the warlords since you retreated to your godforsaken mountains and trees and rain.” She looked up and around at us again. “That other clan came through here and never returned. You all appear in good health, a feat in itself these days. Is it best not to simply remain in your Valley and come and trade with me on occasion?”

  Raniero said nothing for a moment. Then, “We have our reasons for seeking entry.”

  Slowly, she crossed her fat arms and peered up at him with squinty eyes. “The warlords grant us passage through their gates for one reason only: to trade. Should you or yours” — she paused to glance over the rest of us — “decide to pursue other activities, they’ll come after me.” She pointed a thumb to her chest. “You’ll tell me where you’re going and what you’re after, or we’re done here.”

  “We’re heading to Zanzibar,” he said without hesitation.

  “Zanzibar. After …” Tonna’s eyes moved to Bellona and me again. “Best leave them here with us while you go. That city is no place for a woman, whether or not she’s reached her second decade.” She huffed a laugh. “Even I barely get in and out unmolested.”

  “We’re going after a girl in there. She’s probably in hiding. And we go together.”

  Tonna cocked her head and cast a shrewd eye upon him. “Only a few places to hide in Zanzibar, as a woman. Places a gentleman wouldn’t go. Or maybe I’ve misjudged you,” she said, a slow smile curling up her round cheeks. She was missing two teeth on the bottom; the rest were yellow.

  Niero paused. “We shall find who we seek and depart.”

  Tonna considered him, then cast calculating, greedy eyes over the goods. She sighed and threw her hands upward. “It is not for me to protect you from your own idiocy. I can grant you safe passage in. But you’ll likely not get out. Not once they see these girls — or the one you seek. You will burn my passage papers upon entry, and when you get back to me, if you get back to me, I shall give you new ones. Do you understand?”

  She waited until Niero nodded, then turned away and looked to her man at the door. “See them fed and give them bedding for the night. In the morning they leave.” She disappeared behind her privacy curtain without further word.

  Apparently, we’d been dismissed.

  CHAPTER

  4

  I awakened in the middle of the night, my flesh cold even with several blankets over me and the heat of the others in the tent.

  Rage. It radiated from my chest, over my shoulders, and down to my fingertips, making them tremble. I blinked, clutching the blankets to my chest, trying to understand where it was coming from. Why I was feeling it in another. I sat up and saw that Vidar was rising too. But it wasn’t coming from him …

  Raniero.

  I saw him by the door of our tent, peering outward. Swiftly, I slid from beneath the blankets and padded over to him, hugging my arms to me, feeling the chill in my arm
cuff and putting it together with Vidar’s troubled expression.

  “What is it, Niero?”

  “A Sheolite tracker is terribly close,” he whispered. “An old enemy of mine. One of their elite. Do you sense him?” He stepped aside and turned to awaken the others. But the rest were already rising, apparently awakened by the growing chill in their armbands as we had been.

  “Who is it?” Vidar whispered, rubbing the cuff on his arm as if it pained him as mine did me, trying to see.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered back. “I don’t see anything.” There was nothing but darkness, the camp still. Had Niero seen this tracker? And if not, how had he known him? He did not have an armband as we did.

  Agitated, Vidar left to pace, muttering to himself.

  Ronan slid up behind me, staring out the slit over my head. We both held our breath as a powerful-looking man in a long, hooded red cape rounded a corner twenty paces away. He was far taller than the scouts we’d encountered. I felt the burst of alarm in Ronan as he took hold of my shoulders with gentle hands. “Get to your sword, Dri,” he whispered, the hint of a tremble in his voice. “This is no ordinary scout.”

  I felt foolish, needing him to tell me. Again … after Niero’s warning. But even as I heard Vidar quietly sliding his pistol from his waistband to my right, I found the Sheolite too intriguing to look away from yet, even as he continued to approach. If he was our enemy, shouldn’t we know more of him? The man walked to the tent directly across from ours, reached for the flap, then paused, turned, and stood straight with shoulders squared, looking over at our tent and then around. Slowly, he pulled his hood back, as if straining to hear better.

  I stilled, knowing he was far more visible than I. He was about Ronan’s height, with brown hair pulled into a long braid, like the scouts we’d taken down the night before. I reached out, trying to sense him, but only felt a frigid sensation, like placing a hand on metal in Hoarfrost. I instinctively retreated, concentrating on the light, the warmth of Community, Ronan, standing again behind me. The stranger frowned in puzzlement and gradually turned away. When he faced the torchlight in full, I saw what I thought were amber eyes, and the effect was jarring for some reason. A shiver of fear ran down my spine, and at the same time his head jerked back to stare directly at the slit of our tent’s flap.