Peregrin

by A. Sparrow

  Tezhay looked at his crew, who stared back at him blankly, their faces inscrutable with or without veils.

  “Say something!” he said. “Show me you understand.”

  They mumbled back to him almost in unison something that approximated an affirmative.

  “Now Jebrehon,” said Tezhay, lowering his voice. “If something happens, and one of the others can’t wield their gun, you take it and use it. Okay?”

  “But I like this one just fine,” he said, patting his paintball rifle.

  “Use the real gun,” insisted Tezhay. “Just make sure you point it only at those you wish to see dead.”

  Tezhay felt in his pocket for the box of fire starters. “Alright, who is carrying the tovex?”

  The others nodded towards Jebrehon.

  “Not you!”

  “Yes, me,” said Jebrehon.

  “You know how to fix it? Like I showed you all?”

  “Of course,” said Jebrehon.

  Tezhay lifted his eyes to the sky as he handed over the fire starters. “Be careful, Jebrehon. Please.”

  ***

  Hantar rode bareback on his mule, his head swaying high and proud. Tezhay trailed behind on foot, through a stretch of open, tufted grassland, feeling pretty good about the trap Feril had set for the Crasacs. Between the automatic rifles, the Tovex and three platoons of militia boxing in the gullies, they had the makings of a massacre, particularly once one factored in the robust bulwarks and intersecting sight lines that would turn both gullies into efficient killing zones.

  A flashing commenced from the base of the pinnacle at the head of the cliffs. Tezhay knew all the military codes, but the person manipulating the mirror flashed more quickly than he could decipher. There was something about trees or wood, and then something about the vale being false, and then ladders and flanks. Right flanks.

  Tezhay stepped up onto a tussock and peered down the slope. He could see some men standing by the cliff edge and more men scaling the cliff to join them. Crasac scouts, perhaps? He continued on after Hantar, who was making the poor mule gallop through a patch of boggy ground with uneven footing.

  Igwa had stationed his fighters in small groups behind every ledge and clump of trees. Tezhay appreciated the logic behind his approach. His fighters were mobile and could converge quickly against a foe. He had effectively set a couple dozen mini-ambushes that could be sprung no matter where the enemy decided to pass.

  Hantar dismounted behind a mossy knob of bedrock the size of a large hut. Igwa’s fighters laughed at his mule, but there was warmth to their heckling. One of them hauled out a spare saddle and helped Hantar cinch it to his beast.

  Tezhay spotted Igwa standing atop a similar outcropping across a swale and crossed the sodden ground to see him, flushing a flock of birds come to drink and bathe among the seeps. Igwa didn’t seem particularly pleased to see him, but Tezhay quickly learned it was nothing personal.

  “They are coming,” said Igwa.

  Tezhay pulled himself up the lumpy, rotten rock.

  “Who is—?” And then he shut up. The men coming up the ladder at the cliffs were not mere scouts, they were Crasacs in full assault gear. More ladders had appeared. Crasacs poured up each one of them. “Here? They’re attacking here?” Tezhay panicked. “We have to tell Feril.”

  “Feril knows,” said Igwa. “The mirror told him.”

  Indeed, some of the militia units that Tezhay had just left behind had abandoned their bulwarks and were shifting rightward to cover their flank. The Nalkies of Teo and Idala were also relocating, practically abandoning the left flank as they pivoted wide around Feril’s former position.

  “That’s not all,” said Igwa. “Their horsemen have come.”

  “Where?”

  “Behind us. Look to the high hills.”

  A string of armored cavalry trotted almost lackadaisically along a verdant crease between meadow and mountain, led by a rider with a blue flag – Cuerti or higher leadership. Behind them, a squadron of dismounted Cuasars stood beside their horses as they drank from a rill.

  “How did they get past the cliffs?” said Tezhay.

  “They’re not unbroken,” said Igwa. “There are places a horse can pass.”

  Igwa looked completely unfazed. “Isn’t this … a problem?” said Tezhay.

  “They’re just prodding us,” said Igwa. “Trying to make us reveal our positions.”

  The Crasacs at the cliffs continued to accumulate and form up into the infamous assault blocks that had crushed many a defense during the invasion of Sesei.

  A second squadron of Cuasars exploded out of a glen and raced along the shelf above the cliffs. They turned uphill just before the siege ladders, heading straight for the middle of Igwa’s deployment.

  “W-what’s this?” said Tezhay, heart sputtering.

  “A test,” said Igwa. “Gauging our strength. No worries. We can handle them.”

  The Cuerti up the hill had paused behind the center of Igwa’s position. The flag bearer chopped the solid blue flag down like an axe, raising another with an inverted black triangle. The oncoming Cuasars responded immediately, fanning out along their front.

  “Look what cocky bastards,” said Tezhay. “Those are officers. That is a mobile command post. Completely exposed. How brazen.”

  “Not worth chasing,” said Igwa. “They see us coming, they’ll slip away.” He barked an order that caused his riders to burst from the copses and outcrops like startled birds. They flocked obliquely across the Cuasars’ line of approach, bands crossing, congealing into two groups bracketing their flanks. A line of dismounted fighters dragging long pikes swarmed through the grass to the edge of a mire that creased the meadow. They wedged the butt ends of the pikes against stone and lay prone.

  The Cuerti threw up a square flag and the Cuasars condensed like harried sheep, heading straight for the waiting pikes. Tezhay set the rifle on single fire and chambered a round. He propped the barrel on a ledge and aimed carefully at the Cuerti flag bearer. The rifle cracked, the round disappearing somewhere far across the meadows. The flag did not waver.

  “I had him in my sight,” said Tezhay. “Maybe it’s too far for this weapon?”

  Another flag with a diagonal slash appeared and again the Cuasars reacted instantly, turning against one of Igwa’s bands, which exposed their rear to the other band, who pounced immediately, charging after the Cuasars while their comrades in the other group broke away circled back up towards the mire, luring the Cuasars into the teeth of their pikes. Several stragglers fell to Cuasar sabers, but the Nalkies in pursuit exacted a greater toll with their swords.

  The Cuerti raised a new flag: random speckles over a black bar. The Cuasars broke off their chase and dispersed, retreating back towards the cliffs. Igwa’s dismounted pikers and bows remained concealed, preserving their surprise for the next wave.

  “Good work,” said Tezhay.

  Igwa kept looking straight ahead. His cheek twitched. “This is just the start,” he said.

  Tezhay watched his Nalkies ride back to cover. “Forgive me,” he said. “But I don’t see how you expect to hold back the Crasacs when they come.”

  “Help is coming,” said Igwa, glancing to his left. Indeed, one of Feril’s platoons approached the first knob, with another right behind them. Teo and Idala’s troops had just reached the headwall where Feril’s third platoon remained to keep an eye on the vale. Tezhay hoped that at least some of his volunteers were among the reinforcements.

  High up in the meadows the Cuerti band had splintered. Half of the group, including the flag bearer, edged closer to the rear of Igwa’s position, as if daring Igwa to give chase. The rest followed along the roots of the tall mountains, heading for the bands of refugees and exiles making their way to the passes.

  Tezhay’s face flushed. Those who fled were elderly or infirm or, like the exiles, carried no significant weaponry. They would be all slaughtered. Now he regretted taking that rifle from Miles.

>   His stomach and his conscience could not let this situation stand.

  “I have to leave you,” said Tezhay, scrambling down the ledges. “But I will be back.” Igwa watched him go, betraying no emotion.

  Tezhay saw a horse tethered to a gnarled cedar, but thought better of taking it. It might be Igwa’s. He dashed across the swale to the first outcropping where Hantar crouched, chatting with his new Nalki friends.

  Tezhay found the mule grazing behind some boulders and undid its tether. As he hauled himself into the saddle, Hantar stood and looked on glum-faced, like a boy watching a thief abscond with his puppy.

  “Sorry. I need to borrow him.” He dug his heels into the mule’s side and galloped away.

  Chapter 55: Hip

  Clouds slipped away to reveal a beveled peak with a brow grizzled with rime. Seeing the mountain exposed, disturbed Frank. Its nakedness assaulted his senses, as if a flasher had confronted him in a public alley. He saw aggression in its sharp arêtes and blunt, blank facets. He had preferred the peak clothed in mist, mysteries preserved, benignity retained.

  Frank’s reaction to the mountain disturbed him. It was only a mountain, for Chrissakes! A pretty one, some might say. How long would it be before his mind conjured shurikens from daisies?

  They passed through the barrow lands and their hidden corpses and caches. Frank couldn’t help thinking how hellish it would be to be entombed in these hills, in this world. Baby goats played atop the mounds, butting heads, chasing in circles.

  When they reached the now vacant herders’ cottage, Liz stopped for a rest on the porch, and even gave it a quick sweeping with a broom worn to nubs. When it came time to go, she seemed reluctant to leave. Miles pestered everyone onward, manic in his haste.

  They left the meadows and barrows for a rockier, steeper landscape. Miles and Misty set a blistering pace. Bimji called ahead constantly to have them hold up so everyone could rest.

  Liz never complained, though every step brought a grimace. Teeth gritted, she would plant her good leg to swing the good one around, take a baby step and repeat. Soft bleats of pain from deep in her throat sent spikes jabbing into Frank’s heart.

  If anyone, Tom was having the hardest time getting up the slopes. He spent much of the climb draped over his sister’s shoulder. Frank spelled her from time to time. He acted stoic, but looked terribly pale. He complained of pain and pressure in his gut, signs perhaps of internal bleeding.

  Frank began to wonder how they could possibly make it where they needed to go. But he wasn’t going to be the one to call off the attempt.

  Water trickled through the blades of turf. Tom sank into a soggy bed of tussocks.

  “He look okay to you?” Liz whispered to Frank.

  “I’m fine, mom,” said Tom, annoyed.

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “I feel strong, I just … hurt a bit.”

  “How about you Liz?” said Frank. “How are you doing?”

  “Peachy,” she said, the skin on her face stretched taut, her jaw set tight.

  “They’re moving again,” said Ellie. Miles and Misty had risen, and were taking tentative steps, staring back at the rest of the clan.

  Liz groaned. “We just stopped.”

  “There is fighting down below,” said Bimji, gazing down to the shelf flanking the vale.

  “No shit?” said Liz.

  Horsemen swarmed and swirled through the grasslands as if performing some sort of equine choreography.

  “It begins,” said Bimji.

  “Begins?” said Liz. “It never fucking ends.” She winced and swung her bad hip back onto the trail.

  ***

  The meadows turned rocky and the trail diverged, funneling up towards two passes high on the mountains shoulder, each separated by a minor wedge of a peak. A small band of refugees had already taken the left fork. The portal, according to Tezhay, lay near the higher, narrower pass to the right.

  Miles and Misty waited at the juncture. The wind-winnowed strains of Coldplay’s Viva la Vida spilled down the slope from Miles’ radio.

  Tom began to slump and pull away from Frank. Ellie came up, took his arm around her neck, and gave him a boost him. Bimji put a hand on him and tried to help, but he was having enough trouble keeping his own body in motion. His legs were spindly, muscles atrophied from his captivity. His feet, bare because he could not tolerate shoes, were gnarled and lumpy, never healing properly after being broken.

  It seemed ironic to Frank that he was among the stronger members of this traveling party. His heart still did the skippy thing it was wont to do of late, but it pumped enough oxygen to his brain and legs, and in the end, that was all that mattered.

  Liz’s pace began to lag. She paused between strides, feet sinking into the sodden ground, water flowing over her feet.

  “Come on Lizzie, keep it going,” said Frank. “Think of the salt licorice waiting for you on the other side. I know a candy shop in Foggy Bottom that’s got a dozen different varieties. I used to think of you every time I walked past that place.”

  “Don’t even remember … what it tastes like,” said Liz. Her foot slid off the side of a stone, throwing her hip askew. She gasped.

  “But first I’ll take you out for dinner,” said Frank. “All of you. We’ll go to Filomena’s in Georgetown. The best antipasto. Gnocchi with pesto—to die for.”

  “That’s nice.” Liz panted. Her gaze collapsed inward.

  “And if we ever go back to Ithaca, remember those sundaes we used to get at Purity Ice Cream? The place is still there, believe it or not. It’s gotten yuppified, but the ice cream’s still the same. Chocolate bittersweet with the dark chocolate ground up into little bits like dust.”

  “This is it,” said Liz. “I can’t go any further.” She stared up at the stony steep and stony trail rising before them, devoid of vegetation but for wedges of green filling the gullies.

  “But you’ve come this far,” said Frank. “We’re almost there! Just one more pitch. A steep one, admittedly, but … it’s gotta be less than a mile to go to the top of that pass.”

  “Nuh-uh,” said Liz. “My knees are buckling. There’s … no way.”

  “One step at a time,” said Bimji. “That is all you need to do. Just one step. Then we worry about next.”

  “Guys! I’m telling you, this is it. I know my own body and I’ve pushed it about as far as it can go.” She lowered herself slowly down onto a boulder. “I’m just going to sit here and my farm smolder a while, then work my way back down to the cottage.”

  She shivered. “Forgot how cold it gets up here,” said Liz. “It’s been years since I’ve been up this high.”

  “Well, take a break,” said Frank. “No rush. We’ve got hours still. Tezhay said that it’ll be close to sunset before the passage opens.”

  He sat down on the boulder beside her and slipped his arm around her. It began as a natural gesture, but became self-conscious once he realized what he was doing. Liz didn’t balk or even seem to notice. Tom squeezed onto the boulder from the other side. Bimji and Ellie came up behind them and rested their hands on Frank’s and Liz’s shoulders. Together, they blocked the wind.

  “Feels like goddamn rigor mortis setting into my hip,” said Liz.

  “Now … will you let us carry you?” said Frank.

  Liz guffawed. “Who? Half this crew can’t carry themselves.”

  “I’ll carry you Liz,” said Frank. “On my back. If Ellie can take my satchel—”

  “He’s serious!” said Liz. “To tell you the truth. I’m kind of relieved not to be going back. I realize I ain’t got a farm here anymore, but … this is still my world. What’s over there … on the other side … that’s lost to me. Don’t need it. Don’t want it.”

  Frank like he was shrinking or sinking into the stone. He felt stunned, but not surprised.

  “It’s just been so long, you don’t remember,” said Frank. “If you went back you’d realize all the things you mi
ss.”

  She wasn’t even paying attention. Miles’ frantically waving arms caught his attention. Frank sighed and looked away.

  “Is it true? You can fix her in Ur?” said Bimji in a quiet voice.

  “Her hip? Yeah, sure. Well, not me, personally. An orthopedic surgeon. But they do it all the time. These days it’s a routine operation. She’ll come out of it pain-free—well, eventually—with full mobility. And you know, she might even be covered under my insurance. I never filed a death certificate, so technically, she’s still my spouse. She’s still listed as a dependent on all my forms. Now you, my man, if you want to get those feet looked after, you’re gonna need your own insurance. Blue Cross/Blue Shield might have a problem with this polygamy thing.”

  “Blue flag,” said Bimji.

  “No,” said Frank. “Blue Cross/Blue Shield. They do insurance. Help pay for doctors’ expenses.”

  “No,” said Bimji, his voice edged with alarm. “I see a blue flag. The Cuerti are coming.”

  ***

  Six riders bounced along the trail they had just taken through the meadows. Frank was struck by how elegant they looked from afar on their graceful, finely muscled horses. But the sight of them had given Bimji a bad case of the shakes. He paced and wheezed, flustered, his face all sweaty.

  PTSD: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Frank surmised. He had once seen practically the same response in a Gulf War Vet walking down the street in DC when a Harley came rumbling around a corner.

  “Gotta get going Liz,” said Frank, popping up. “We’ve got trouble coming.” He tried helping her to her feet, but she shrugged him off.

  “Just ignore them,” she said. “They’ll pass us by. We’re civilians.”

  “Like they passed by Sinta? Xama?” said Tom.

  “That was different,” said Liz. “They did that to root out some Nalkies. They’re probably just checking us out. If we show them we’re harmless, they’ll pass us by.”

  “We need to go!” said Bimji. “Now! Up, up, up! I saw enough of their kind from my cage.”

  Liz looked up at the vertiginous pass and quailed. “I can’t climb that.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Frank. “We have to get off the trail … get out of their way … at least.” He took her arm, and forced her to her feet.