Peregrin

by A. Sparrow

  “Prepare a volley,” said Ara. “We’ll hold our ground until the wounded make it farther along.”

  Feril passed the order. Chants to Cra, muffled by wind and summit, resounded from behind the Mercomar tower. Clusters of pike-wielding Crasacs in the vanguard began to probe ahead.

  “Count off in ones and two,” said Ara. “When I give the order to shoot, ones volley and retreat, twos follow on my second call.”

  The Crasacs swarmed one way and then the other, before pouring over the top, the tower parting their formation like a stick in a stream. They charged down the slope, leading with leveled pikes, sabers following.”

  “Now?” asked Feril, when the pikers reached halfway between summit and entrenchments.

  “Not quite,” said Ara, unsure how far their arrows and bolts would travel against the stiff wind.

  “Ones!” shouted Canu.

  “No!” said Ara.

  Bolts and arrows let loose up the slope, some slamming into the boulders and heath, most arcing over the entrenchments into the pike men, some clattering against shields, some finding flesh. Several Crasacs fell.

  Half of Feril’s militia peeled away down slope, while the others prepared the next volley.

  The pikers barreled on without pause over the unfinished entrenchments.

  “Two!” said Ara. The second volley sprang forth and dropped a few more.

  “Look over there,” said Feril.

  A separate contingent of Cuerti headed down to the ridge on their flank that overlooked the ravine.

  “Retreat! Now!” said Ara, as the pikers closed in.

  Feril amplified her order down the line, and the rest of his force melted into the firs.

  ***

  Injured fighters and their helpers cluttered a narrow path hugging the wall of the ravine. The long thin line of straggling militia was vulnerable and would be chewed up in any concerted attack. Ara feared the worst.

  High on the ridge, Cuerti paralleled their line of retreat, moving at a pace that would overtake them.

  “They’re trying to cut us off,” said Vul.

  “But how many can there be?” said Canu, raising the stub of his broken saber. “A few more than a dozen? No worries. We can take them on. As Ara knows, I’ve faced Cuerti before.”

  “This is a bit different than finishing off a man with half the blood drained out of him,” said Ara.

  “That’s exactly my point,” said Canu. “Cuerti are only men,” said Canu. “Large men. But same as us, they bleed.”

  “Get me some marksmen,” said Vul. “I’ll keep them at bay.”

  “Get me a bow and I’ll join you,” said Canu.

  “Never mind,” said Vul. “We all know how well you shoot.”

  Feril scanned the mob ahead of them on the path. “I’ll assemble a few of my best.”

  A thick, dark-fletched bolt skittered across the talus.

  “Where did that come from?” said Ara.

  “Cuerti. They’re filtering down to snipe at us,” said Vul.

  “I’ll get him,” said Canu, swinging up around a boulder. Another bolt whisked through the spot where he had stood.”

  “Get down!” said Ara. She sprang up and sent an arrow into the space between two boulders where she had spotted a flash of blue. It struck only sod.

  “Keep an eye on that prisoner. He’s trying to sneak off,” said Vul.

  Several of Feril’s sharpshooters came up, stalking. When the sniper popped up to shoot, a pair of arrows converged on his chest. His crossbow went clattering across the stones. The Cuerti tumbled, coming to rest against a cedar.

  Branches snapped, bushes rattled and stones clattered down behind them. The Crasacs from the garrison had continued their pursuit and were closing in on them. The Cuerti had gotten ahead of the retreat and were cutting down into the ravine to block them.

  “We have to climb the opposite ridge,” said Feril. “There’s no choice.”

  “Someone’s already there,” said Canu, craning up at the shapes moving along the ridge top, silhouetted by a bright sky. “I see fighters.”

  “Cuerti?” said Vul.

  “Can’t tell,” said Canu. “But they’re coming this way.”

  “We need to flee. Save ourselves!” said Feril.

  “No,” said Ara. “We fight, as far as we can. If we resist hard enough, maybe we’ll encourage them to give up the chase. If we run, it will guarantee a slaughter.”

  The Crasacs pursuing them pressed home their attack, plunging recklessly down the ravine.

  “We’ll be crushed,” said Feril.

  “Maybe not,” said Canu. “Those fighters on the opposite ridge? They’re not Cuerti.”

  “A small blessing,” said Ara.

  “And they’re not Crasacs,” said Vul.

  “What? Who—”

  “Nalkies!” said Feril, the fire in his eyes replenished.

  “Are we sure they’re not Polus?” said Ara.

  Chapter 23: Ravine

  Mounted fighters swarmed the down opposite slope of the ravine, their sturdy ponies as nimble as mountain goats over the loose stone.

  “Who are they? Can anyone tell?” said Ara. “Are they attacking us … or them?”

  “These are not Polus,” said Vul. “I see no flags. No fists of Cra.”

  Once the riders swept by the retreating militia and let loose with their longbows, their identity was no longer a question. They targeted the Crasac pikers leading the assault, aiming low to defeat their armor and dropping them with terrible efficiency. The riders drew their blades as they closed in on the stunned and disordered Crasacs.

  “Rally your fighters!” said Ara.

  Feril’s whistle pierced the air. The militia fanned out and swarmed back up the hill, converging with the Nalkies against a Crasac front gone ragged in pursuit over rough terrain.

  The determined and coordinated counterattack broke the Crasacs’ will. Those at the fore turned and scurried back up the headwall. The Nalkies chased them all the way up to the rim of the headwall before arresting their charge.

  The Cuerti on the ridge, on seeing their support crumble, halted their descent, aborting their attempt to block the retreat. The militia’s walking wounded trickled through a constriction in the ravine below them.

  As the Nalki riders formed a protective umbrella, a small entourage separated from the main body and came back down the slope. Ara raised her hand to them and they veered in her direction.

  The Nalki leader, wearing a dark veil over his beard, hopped off his pony and bumped shoulders with Feril and Ara with gusto, and nodded to Canu and Vul.

  “Who are you people?” he said.

  “We are … well, I am Cadre from Sesei,” said Ara. “Captain Feril here leads this militia force.”

  “I am Igwa,” said the Nalki leader, touching fingertips to forearm and taking Ara’s hand. “We had been told that the Sesep’o had come. Until now, I had refused to believe it.” He spoke an odd Giep’o dialect, employing a vocabulary more common to elders in these parts.

  “Was it our signal that summoned you?” said Canu.

  “What signal?” said Igwa.

  “They can’t have responded this quickly to your silly flash,” said Vul.

  “You’ve been following us, haven’t you?” said Ara.

  Igwa nodded. “We saw you come from the forest. In the twilight, we thought you were Crasacs.”

  “Fitting,” said Canu. “We worried that you might be Cuasars.”

  “Why is it you attack this Mercomar with so few?” said Igwa.

  Ara shrugged. “We underestimated its defenses.”

  “Captain Feril mistook the Crasacs for slaves,” said Canu, sniggering, drawing a glare from Ara.

  “Where do you come from?” said Vul.

  “From afar,” said Igwa. “East of Maora. The lands below beneath the sharp-toothed hills.”

  “I didn’t realize anyone lived there,” said Vul. “It looks … empt
y.”

  “We call our land Gabahr—the edge of the world,” said Igwa. “But the land is good enough for us. But even farther east, where there is only desert, there are rumors of peoples.

  “What brings you out west?” said Ara.

  “Our watchers saw smoke in the valley,” said Igwa. “We come to see what mischief the Venep’o make. We saw them take Maora. We want to be ready when they come to our land. We have just been to Raacevo to spy on their new garrisons, and we were just now returning home. When we saw your fighters, we followed.”

  “We’re very glad you intervened,” said Ara. “We were in a tight spot.”

  “There are more of you?” said Igwa.

  “Many more,” said Ara. “And we hope to see them soon. We intended this attack as a call to arms.”

  “Call to arms, heh.” said the prisoner. “A call to arms, alright. You kept the ‘all clear’ from flashing. The garrisons in Raacevo must be going crazy. Every Crasac and Cuasar in the colonies is probably mobilizing. Your days are numbered.”

  “Who’s watching this one?” said Ara, looking about, flustered. “Keep the prisoner away from us when we speak.” One of Feril’s sergeants hauled the old man away.

  Ara glanced up the ridge, where enemy movement was still evident. The Cuerti were spying, probing—seeking a weak spot to strike.

  “We had better keep moving,” said Ara.

  ***

  Ara had Feril establish camp behind the same ridge on which the militia had rested on the eve of the attack, one night before. Feril took pains to establish a secure perimeter in case the enemy became adventurous, but so far there was no sign that they were interested in moving off their mountain.

  Of the hundred plus a score soldiers who had gone up the mountain, ninety-odd had returned. But stragglers continued to trickle in and Ara hoped they would get their strength back over a hundred.

  Pari teamed up with both of Feril’s healers to attend to the wounded. An armed rescue party bearing makeshift litters went back up the ravine to search for fighters who had been left behind in the hasty retreat.

  Feril’s militia had given worse than they had gotten, but she would need every fighter they could get if the Cuasars came screaming out of Raacevo as the prisoner predicted.

  She was pleased to learn that Igwa had decided to stick with them. Though, he dispatched a quarter of his riders to parts unknown, a total of thirty or so remained behind.

  They were a motley group in terms of age, gender and class. Many clans were represented in the colors and patterns of the scarves and veils many wore to honor mates and matriarchs back home.

  They pooled their modest provisions with the militia and supplemented dinner with small game and berries acquired from the adjacent copses and meadows. Now that the enemy had no doubt as to their presence, fires were allowed.

  Ara left Feril and Pari to their tasks and wandered through the encampment. She came upon Vul and Canu attempting to interrogate their prisoner.

  “You’re no slave,” said Canu. “Nor are you a mechanic, so stop pretending. We know you’re the station master. Every Mercomar must have one.”

  “Do they?” said the old man.

  “You know they do,” said Canu.

  “I do?”

  “What is your name, old man?” said Vul.

  “Call me Rabelmeni, if you must have a name,” said the prisoner. “That’s how many here know me.”

  “How many names do you have?” said Vul.

  “As many as I need,” said Rabelmani.

  Ara tugged Canu’s shirt. “Come. I need to talk with you.”

  “This man’s worthless to us,” said Canu.

  “Let me work on him alone,” whispered Vul. “You can’t seem to keep from squabbling.”

  “It’s not me, it’s his fault!” said Canu.

  Ara led him over to the red car, still partially hidden under a pile of cut shrubbery. They climbed into the front seats and slammed the doors. Curious militia eyes followed them. Ara tossed a bedroll into the back.

  “Are you sleeping in here?”

  “Why not? It’s better than the hard ground.”

  Ara studied his scraped and bloodied face; his lively, shifty eyes.

  “What you did was foolish,” she said. “You should never have gone off on your own like that.”

  “But if I hadn’t,” said Canu. “No message would have been sent.”

  “What message? No message went out. All you managed to do was damage the Mercomar.”

  “That one flash went far and wide. It’s going to make people think. Especially when that Mercomar stays dark at sign-off tonight.”

  “They’ll just think it’s broken,” said Ara. “The point is, Canu, you put all of us in jeopardy. The moment we realized these were soldiers, not slaves, I intended to retreat.”

  “And if you had, what would have happened to Vul and his detachment?”

  Ara looked at him blankly.

  “They would have been slaughtered, wouldn’t they?” said Canu.

  “But you can’t have known this in advance,” said Ara. “This is just how things turned out.”

  “Things happen for a reason,” said Canu.

  “You were … we were … lucky, that’s all,” said Ara.

  Wind whistled through the sliver of window Canu had left open. Clouds rose like towers over the mountains.

  “I’m going back to the marshes,” said Ara. “To see if the militias are mobilizing. Baren’s steward, Commander Ingar, is a very cautious man.”

  “I’ll go with you,” said Canu.

  “No,” said Ara. “I can’t be seen with the likes of you.”

  “Just to the edge of the marshes. I’ll escort you.”

  “Don’t need an escort. I’m better off alone.”

  “It’s risky,” said Canu. “What if they link you to Feril’s missing company?”

  “How?” said Ara. “They think I am in Ur with Baren.”

  “Someone might have deserted,” said Canu. “An informer. A spy.”

  Ara shook her head. “Doubtful. Feril keeps close tabs on his muster.”

  “If Feril suspects us, he could have sent a runner.”

  “Possible,” said Ara, gnawing her lip. “Though, he’s been awfully compliant.”

  Canu exhaled deeply. “I don’t like this idea at all.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” said Ara. “Sit here and wait for the Cuasars to crush us?”

  “We can return to the marsh camps … all of us … together,” said Canu. “Sort things out.”

  “Impossible,” said Ara. “I can’t be seen with you all. You are counterforce in their eyes. All of us would be executed for treason, sedition.”

  “But if you go alone … you face the same risk.”

  “Going alone, I give them no reason to suspect anything. None of Baren’s party crossed over to Sesei. I am the only one to return to Gi, and likely the only survivor.”

  “And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?”

  “Wait and watch,” said Ara. “Find some place away from the eyes on that mountain, but where you can see what’s coming down the road from Raacevo.”

  “How will you find us?”

  “If all goes well,” said Ara. “You will find me … marching at the head of two thousand militia, I hope.”

  Canu fidgeted, wrapping and unwrapping a strap around his finger.

  “You have to promise … not to follow me, no matter what happens,” said Ara.

  “I’ll give you one day head start, and then—”

  “Don’t you dare!” said Ara. “They catch you, they’ll kill you. Promise you won’t follow. No matter how long I’m gone.”

  “How can I promise such a thing?” said Canu.

  “You must!” Ara’s eyes homed in on Canu’s – fierce, pleading

  “What if something bad happens to you? How will I know?”

  “Worse things will happen if you follow,” said Ara. �
�Guaranteed. Questions will be raised. Connections will be drawn.”

  “Fine,” said Canu, pressing his lips tight. “I’ll stay put.”

  Ara studied Canu’s face. He looked serious, more so than she had ever seen him. She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes, reaching out blindly, finding his hand.

  Chapter 24: Tending to Tom

  Frank wandered alone through the lower terraces. He felt out of place and in the way up at the house, and the wails of mourners had rendered the loft unbearable. Once again, the barn had become a morgue. Another refugee had died of his injuries while Frank was away in the hills. There was nothing Frank could have done to help the poor soul. The man had a severely fractured skull with swelling in his brain and had been in a coma for days.

  Tezhay had led a group a group of volunteers up into the meadows for rifle training. Their dull reports echoed off the pinnacle and rebounded through the vale. Tezhay’s little private army included several adolescent girls, a toothless man and a pregnant mother of three, all recruited from among the huddled masses on Liz’s porch.

  As Frank strolled along the terrace walls, the quantity and variety of sweet peas that Liz had managed to grow here amazed him. Solid and variegated, every shade from crimson and blue plus some so dark they looked almost black. They shed a perfume almost as peppery as it was sweet.

  The ropy-stemmed, large-leafed vines seemed much more robust than the wimpy plants Liz tried to grow in Ithaca the summer after their marriage. The ones she had planted in Rio Frio ended up withering and dying soon after her disappearance, through no fault of Frank’s. He had watered them plenty in hopes of Liz’s rescue and return. They simply weren’t suited to grow in Belize.

  Misty came strolling across a field with a pair of baskets stacked with pale roots flaunting hairy appendages. They looked like a cross between ginseng and horse radish. Frank diverted his aimless meandering to intercept her path, to offer a hand.

  “Is this gonna be our dinner?” said Frank.

  “You got it, mister,” she said, handing him a basket to carry. “Goes great with goat.”

  “Ah, so there’s one less to the herd?”

  “’Fraid so,” she said. “Not the best season for slaughter, with the rut an all goin’ on, but we got no choice. Mouths to feed and all.”

  “Meat,” said Frank. “What a concept.”

  “Been a while for you, huh?”

  “Days.”

  “Well, don’t get your hopes up,” said Misty. “It’s just mince for the stew and bones for tomorrow’s broth.”