by J. Thorn
Jaithe placed his hand on Aiden’s shoulder and shook it with a hearty smile. Lines of worry deepened Jaithe’s skin, creased with the grime of the Commonwealth. “It sounds admirable the way you phrase it. However, I have come here with my family to find the Ways. I’m doing His will and would sacrifice every member of this Commonwealth to that end.”
“It would be wise not to speak of that commitment beyond this cave, Master Jaithe.”
“Yes, Aiden, you are correct.”
Aiden shook his head, but Jaithe spoke his next thought before Aiden could.
“If we break the truce, the werowance and the Naturals will forever curse us as enemies. We can no longer join their hunting parties, send our women to their fields at planting time, or follow their guidance in reading the weather patterns of the heavens. Generations of Naturals have lived these parts and all of that knowledge, that accumulated wisdom, will be forever closed to us. We will walk amongst these lands as pioneers, subject to nature’s fury.”
“Is that such a loss? I mean no disrespect to the werowance and his folk, but they seem to be simplistic fools compared to the people of the Commonwealth. Could we not gain an understanding of the land, the fowl, and the fish in time, without their hand? I know of your fondness for the werowance and his princess.”
Jaithe bristled and slid towards Aiden. “Speak not of that child or my involvement with her should you wish to walk out of this cave with your vitals intact.”
Aiden held up both palms and leaned back, nodding his head. “What I meant to say, Master Jaithe, is that you know the ways of these strange folk. You understand their motivations, their desires, their beliefs. It might be interesting, and I’m sure many scholars would throw themselves at His mercy for that opportunity, but it may have run its course.”
Jaithe reached into his satchel sitting on the floor. He removed a yellowed journal, protected by a leather cover. He opened it and held the page up to Aiden’s face. The tight, black script flowed across the parchment, marching like obedient soldiers on the battlefield. It filled the page from margin to margin.
“The history of the Naturals?” asked Aiden.
“Of a kind. I have kept my journal and added all known to me through the pen and mouth of others. When the next vessel arrives, the strokes of my quill will save lives. If we break the truce there will be no more to record.”
Aiden shrugged. “Then at least you will forever have more than any of the rest of us do, in regards to the origin of the Commonwealth and the pursuit of the Ways.”
Jaithe sighed and put the journal back into his satchel. He rubbed the end of his beard and stretched his legs towards the fire. “Shella and the children will be back soon.”
“Of course they will, being the obedient wife and family that they are.”
“Do you think we can fend off the Naturals until the next vessel arrives?”
Aiden smiled, realizing his friend needed to ask the question as directly as possible before making his decision.
Shella arrived first, followed by Brinton and then Rayna. They set the pails on the ground and stared at Jaithe. Jaithe took the quill from his satchel and drew a piece of parchment from it as well. The children caught their breath, having never seen a full page of blank paper before. Jaithe dipped the quill into the ink, and his pen danced across the page with grace. The aroma of the ink filled the air with a bitter tang. His brow furrowed and he lowered his eyes to the page. When he finished his writings, he held the parchment up to the light and blew between pursed lips, attempting to dry the ink before rolling the paper and sealing it. He shook the page and folded it. Jaithe held a chunk of wax over the broiling embers and pressed it down into a seal.
“Take this to the council on the morrow, and have them wait for me to read it.”
Aiden tipped his hat at Jaithe and took the roll from his hand, sliding it inside his coat and pulling his collar up to his ears. He bowed to Shella and the children, and before walking past the twins, he stopped and placed his hat on his chest. Jaithe watched him stride from the cave and turned to face his wife.
“The goods?” she asked.
“You may want to begin now. Get them as deep into the mountain as possible, starting with the twins.”
Shella nodded and began her task.
Chapter 13
The Journal of Edward Jaithe, 2 January
The attack came with providence, well before we had sufficient time to prepare for it. The council had not reconvened, and I am uncertain whether my signed proclamation ever reached the eyes of the Commonwealth.
In the short days of the truce, the Naturals fed at our tables and lodged in our caves, which made the way plain to effect our intents and the conversion of the Naturals, as we supposed.
Having occasion to send to the werowance, he used the messenger well and told us he held the truce so firm the sky should fall before he dissolved it. Yet such was the treachery of those people, when they had contrived our destruction, that even but two days before the massacre they guided our men with much kindness through the woods. They borrowed our boats to transport themselves over the river to consult on the devilish murder that ensued and of our utter extirpation, which He prevented.
Most of that fateful day passed by my eyes as a blur of destruction and sadness. The Naturals spilled forth across the Commonwealth like a plague cast from the sacred book. In some places they sat down at breakfast with our people, whom they immediately slew most barbarously with their own tools, not sparing either age or sex, man, woman, or child. So sudden were their executions that few or none discerned the weapon or blow that brought them to destruction. In this manner also the Naturals slew many of our people in the village center, tending to the hogs, and so forth, well knowing in what places and quarters each of our men were in regard of their familiarity with us.
Not being content with taking lives, the Naturals fell again upon the dead bodies, making as well as they could a fresh murder, defacing, dragging, and mangling the dead carcasses into many pieces, and carrying some parts away in derision with base and brutish triumph. These tales I transcribe from the mouths of those unfortunate souls left as His witnesses on that fateful day. As for my own family, blood was also spilled in the name of Okine.
The Naturals entered my cave before Shella could move our children deeper into the mountain. The beasts fell on the twins, splitting their heads and bashing their brains on the rocks. One of the vile hands dragged Rayna off, while another put his claws on Shella. With my rapier I freed my wife, but was unable to stop the abduction of my eldest daughter. My hand trembles at the recollection, unable to document the slaughter of my offspring in the same manner as an objective witness to the unspeakable acts.
We fled through various caverns and into a wide chamber, the height of which could not be determined with our eyes. We waited, light in the tunnel eventually faded, leaving us cold and alone.
—Edward Jaithe
***
“They took our babies!” cried Shella. Jaithe could not see the pain on his wife’s face, but he did not need his eyes to feel it.
“They have Rayna,” said Brinton. Kelsun shifted and put his arm around the boy. Jaithe drew an ember from his satchel and placed a lighting straw on top of it, providing a quick flare and a glowing light. Tears streamed down Shella’s face in waves, her body racked by hitching sobs. Kelsun and Brinton looked at him, eyes red and fists clenched.
“As difficult as it may be, we must wait until the threat is gone. I will move through the tunnels shortly, reporting back to you. If I return, we will exit the mountain and grieve for the Commonwealth. If I do not return, stay hidden until Kelsun decides it’s time to reconnoiter.”
“Father, I am—”
Jaithe interrupted. “When I leave, it is Kelsun who takes the mantle.”
Brinton stopped moving and shook his head. Jaithe left his family and crept back towards the opening of the cave. He left the burning straw behind and moved through the passages by
running his hand along the wall. In the most severe blackness he imagined walking through the intestines of a great beast. An occasional drip of water stopped Jaithe long enough for him to determine the source as the earth.
He saw the first flickers of the fire along the wall, well in advance of the rear entrance to the cave. He drew his dagger and crept along the wall, placing each foot down as if walking on thin ice. He knew that the Naturals had deserted the cave before reaching the living quarters, but he needed to assess the damage and prepare the bodies before Shella returned.
The Naturals had taken nothing but life. Empty pails and crockets lay scattered amidst pieces of cloth and other cooking utensils. He saw the four feet of the twins, slain in their rolls and, as Jaithe had hoped, none the wiser to their violent ends. His lip pulsed as he approached them, stepping past the dark, spreading shapes on the cave floor. He pulled their blankets up, covering the bloody pulp left at the top of their necks. He collapsed against the wall with the sobs leaping from his chest in great waves. Jaithe looked at the rest of the cave through a wall of tears, certain the Naturals had given up the chase. Two tracks in the dirt headed towards the opening. Jaithe recognized those as the remnants of Rayna’s heels, and he placed his hands on them, trying to comfort her.
A noise startled Jaithe, and he spun with the edge of his sword.
“You did not return,” said Kelsun.
“Your skills with time need work. I was not gone long enough to return.”
Kelsun looked over Jaithe’s shoulder and towards the destruction.
“You will help me clean this, to spare the rest of my family the pain that has been seared into my heart.”
Kelsun nodded and walked towards the fire. He stopped to ask Jaithe a question.
“Will we leave the cave and summon the council?”
Jaithe shrugged and kicked a pot into the wall of the cave. “First we will return the family and retrieve them from the depths of the mountain. Once they are secure and tended to, we will decide what to do next.”
Kelsun began tossing the bloody blankets onto the fire.
“I am going for them. You remain here and hide if they return. I do not care to bury another,” Jaithe said.
The boy looked into his eyes, reminding him of the loss he had suffered. Jaithe walked to Kelsun and embraced him, feeling the boy crying into his chest, doing his best to hide the pain.
“Your eyes have seen more death than is natural. We will make it through this, Kelsun. He will show us the Ways, and we will follow.”
Kelsun looked up at his uncle, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Are these the ‘Ways’ we’re supposed to follow? Is watching the Naturals slaughter our people part of His plan?” He pushed away from Jaithe and returned to his gruesome chores in the chilly damp of the cave.
Chapter 14
The ships appeared as black spots on the murky horizon, like sea birds riding the crests in search of fish. The gray blanket of the Dark Time pressed down on the churning waters, allowing only the frigid gusts to pass through. As the vessels drew closer to land, the Naturals gathered along the shore to witness the arrival of the floating villages.
The werowance stepped through the barren trees and stood next to the princess. Clumps of light hair hung from his belt like hanging moss. He motioned to the warriors, who slid arrows into their bows, poised for conflict.
“They will search out the Commonwealth. We must let them off the beachhead and into the forest before we take them.”
The guard to his right nodded in agreement.
“Send word to pull back and allow the new pales passage to the caves,” the werowance said.
Hundreds of warriors floated through the underbrush, skimming the fine white powder with their footprints, the only evidence of their existence.
***
“Throw anchor,” yelled Captain John Russell over the crash of foamy waves molesting the dirty sands.
Burton Ford grabbed the icy rope and tossed the anchor overboard, the rough hemp burning his palms on the way down. He shrank bank from the fear and embraced the warmth of the burn as he leaned over the side, waiting for the iron cross to break the water. He stood up straight and brushed ice crystals from his chest with a manicured hand before straightening a worn and faded overcoat, and pulling his hat down over his forehead.
“That should be the last of my manual exploits,” he said to nobody through chattering teeth.
The women rushed to the aft, straining for a gaze at real land, the first they had seen in months. The sailors pushed them back, explaining that they would have to remain on the vessel until the landing was deemed safe. Moans and cries of frustration followed them back to the holes they had called home since setting out on the Great Sea for the Commonwealth.
Ford pushed through a few filthy children, holding a handkerchief in front of his face. He tapped the captain on the shoulder.
“Dear Captain, what is our status of landfall?” he asked.
Russell turned away from the conversation with his first mate and smiled at Ford through broken yellow teeth. He held an unlit cigar in the corner of his mouth between two blistered lips. “My lord,” he began, “our first order of business is your safety and comfort, of most importance to me and my crew. However, we first need to locate the Commonwealth and secure passage to it.”
Ford huffed and sneezed into his handkerchief. “We have been on this floating chamber pot for far too long. I demand an expedient docking.”
“I could not agree more, Master Ford.”
The captain turned to two men on deck who were loading a harquebus with powder and lead. Their black fingernails moved across the rifle, tearing the powder sack with ease. The man holding the stock lifted it and pointed the barrel at Ford. He lifted the slow wick to within a hair of the chamber.
“Tell that beast to lower his weapon, or I shall have his vessel license revoked by the company.”
The men shook their heads and returned to loading the other weapons. The captain put an arm around Ford, whose body went stiff, his lips trembling.
“How many times have you been to the Commonwealth, Master Ford?”
“None. This is my first visit,” stammered Ford.
“And your relationship with the Naturals?” the captain asked.
“I have not met one.”
“I’m sorry? What did you say?”
“I said I have not met one.” Ford struggled to maintain the appropriate social dignity.
The captain leaned close to him. His breath stank of herb and vinegar, and his bloodshot eyes narrowed. He grumbled so that only Ford would hear his words. “I watched one of those beasts slay my own brother. The Natural grabbed him by the neck and slit his throat from ear to ear. When he finished, the miscreant removed his scalp and left my brother’s body to the dogs.”
Ford struggled to step back, but the Captain held his arms with an iron grip.
“Now, if you’d like to be the first on this vessel to christen the beachhead and lead us to the Commonwealth, say the word,” the captain said.
A tear ran down Ford’s face, dripping from his chin. He could not stop the mucus flowing from his nose. “As you were, Captain. As you were.”
Captain Russell smiled and smacked Ford on the shoulder. He laughed and moved the cigar to the other side of his mouth with his tongue. “Why, thank you, Master Ford. I shall attend to your most pertinent request.” The captain saluted Ford before turning to bark more orders at his crew.
***
Before the skies turned from slate to black, Captain Russell organized a makeshift regiment of two hundred men. Half carried pieces and the other half sheathed swords. He left two dozen soldiers on each vessel to guard the women and children from advances by the Naturals.
The rowboats cut through the icy waters, depositing men on the barren beach. The wind pierced their armor and chilled their bones. The captain consulted the mapmaker’s apprentice, Michael Sicklemore, who gestured at the hills and
then south across the beachhead.
“As the crow flies?”
“Yes, Captain. I am sure that is correct,” replied Sicklemore.
“If it is not, you’ll wish you had gone for a swim with your master.”
Sicklemore did not flinch. He held the captain’s stare until Russell exploded with laughter.
“Oh, that is such a sight that I will never tire of. It’s a good thing the world does not want for thieves and vagabonds, right, Apprentice?”
“I will instruct the commander towards the Commonwealth unless, of course, you are leading the men?” Sicklemore replied.
The captain struck him with the back of his hand, knocking the man to the ground amidst a flutter of parchment and maps. “Show some respect.”
The regiment marched off the beachhead in the direction of the Commonwealth. The men walked through the dark forest, filled with spectral sounds during the Dark Time. The captain walked towards the front, but followed seven men behind the commander. He sipped at rum in his flask, shoving it back into his coat like a conjurer.
The dead trees hovered over the men, whispering to each other on the lips of the howling wind. They followed a rough trail, one that had been traveled recently. As the trail widened the trees gave way to an open space, which held several ramshackle buildings. Dying wisps of smoke rose from a dead fire near a stone well. Rolling hills rose away from the clearing, punctuated with caves, the black openings marring the face of the mountain like missing teeth.
The captain was the first to hear the separation of the wind. He felt one of the shafts lodge in his shoulder before another arrowhead perforated the ear of the man next to him. He dropped to the ground and pulled the dying man on top of himself before several more arrows sliced the silent night. Some struck the men’s armor with a metal clang, while others punctuated soft flesh with a quiet thump. The captain smelled fear on the men and the waste of those already dead. He placed his hands over his ears as the thunderous roar of the harquebus broke the platitude of the village.
