Horizon

by Sophie Littlefield

  But what was worse—he’d thrown away more than his life. He’d discarded their love the day he left the Box, abandoned it as though it was worthless. It was no wonder, Cass realized, that she’d felt so hurt. Because even though his error had terrible consequences, even though it had changed him irrevocably, it still was not enough. Not enough to trade her for. Not enough to have made her feel so small, so hurt—to have driven her into the arms of another man.

  But no. That was wrong. She would not blame Smoke for that. When she went to Dor, she went willingly, and when she loved him, she loved him fiercely.

  Cass held Smoke’s hand for a while longer, considering and eventually abandoning her anger, forgiving a man who did not seek her forgiveness. Finally it was time to leave the darkening little room. By then Cass finally understood why Smoke had to leave her back in the Box, why he would always have to leave her for one justice quest after another. He could never fully give himself to her, because he’d already given himself over to the job of punishing himself, forever, one agonizing day at a time.

  Chapter 45

  TWO MORNINGS LATER, she was the last to linger at the foot of the trail, watching the small party ride up the incline through the binoculars she’d borrowed from Bart. Bart had stayed back to tend to one of the horses who had picked up something in his hoof and been favoring it all day; he was worried that a trip to the settlement and back would be too much for the horse. Besides, three men were more than enough to do the reconnaissance.

  There were only two possible outcomes. The first was that the settlement party had reached Salt Point, and were now in some state of construction. The first wave would probably not be thrilled to see them, but the new council had put a lot of effort into how to present their case, and even Cass had to admit that it was a compelling one, focusing more on the skills and resources they brought, and less on the challenges they presented. Though no one voiced the thought out loud, they’d lost their weakest members; they would not have to beg passage for their elderly or injured.

  The other possibility nagged at her no matter how she tried to force it from her mind—that no one waited for them at Salt Point, that there was nothing there besides beautiful scenery and spring snows, a plot of land perfect for a well-supplied, well-rested party with the luxury of a plan and the means to implement it. But the Edenites had come with only what they could carry, enough food for another week. They had children and old people; they were demoralized by loss and lacking clear leadership. Cass was certain that, if nothing waited for them but bare land, they would lose more people before the summer came.

  Still, the little advance team seemed to lift everyone’s spirits as they took off at a brisk pace up the mountain. Dor and Smoke had become competent riders. Bart had been training them for the past week, after they determined that Smoke and Dor and Nadir would ride ahead. Smoke had lingering stiffness in his hip and leg, and getting in the saddle presented a challenge, but by the third day he had mastered the move. Dor tended to impatience with the animals, but once he started riding Rocket, who had been Mayhew’s mount, it went more easily; Rocket was as stubborn and headstrong as Dor himself.

  Nadir was the key to the group’s cohesiveness. Smoke and Dor spoke mostly to—and through—him; Cass didn’t miss the way the men avoided each other. If one walked by, the other would step out of the way, or pretend to be engaged in some small task. The few words they exchanged were brief and barbed.

  It made Cass melancholy to remember their old friendship in the Box. True, Dor had been Smoke’s employer, but they’d worked as partners from the start. They talked for hours, trained together most mornings, fought and worked side by side. Now, after so much had passed, she finally knew the secret Smoke had confided in Dor, and forgiven him for choosing to share it with him instead of her. Dor had never told anyone about the thing Smoke had done, and she understood that the secret would stay with the three of them and someday die with them.

  At first she’d thought that the secret should be enough to bind them all, its terrible weight a burden they could only bear together. But now she understood that loving her had driven the two men apart. They were both proud men, both passionate, loath to compromise. Now that she’d separated herself from them both, she saw the way they drove themselves harder than ever. Smoke’s regimen of healing left him spent and exhausted each night, but he didn’t rest until he’d done a full share of work. Dor often seemed to be everywhere at once, consulting with the new council, helping anyone who asked, and throwing himself into the manual labor of breaking camp, splitting wood, hauling water, anything to burn off his endless supply of glowering humorless energy.

  Paradoxically he seemed more and more at home, the farther they traveled from civilization. This was an inhospitable part of the country, far from any mountain pass or even an improved road. Dor was undaunted by the lack of commerce, power lines, any evidence of community. They’d been following the map the Easterners had laid out and found this final camp exactly where it had been marked, eight miles down mountain from Salt Point on what had been an old stagecoach road many years ago and in recent decades had served only the most intrepid sportsmen: cross-country skiers, backpackers and fishermen.

  On the map the camp was not named, but a note scrawled in the margin read, “5 cabins, well water, no elec.” There was no sign of a well anywhere and only three cabins remained standing, one reinforced sometime in the last decade with repairs to the board siding and a new handrail, the other two in sorry shape. Elsewhere the remains of other cabins were stacked haphazardly. On the positive side, there was no evidence of Beaters anywhere in the camp. Cass, who had been on the lookout for the whole journey, had not seen a single blue leaf in at least a week. Perhaps it was true, that it could not tolerate the harsh winters of the north.

  Best of all, neatly parked in a row at one end of the camp were three empty flatbed trucks, and the trail leading up the mountain was deeply rutted. The logical conclusion was that the first wave had arrived and used a compact tractor to take load after load of supplies up the trail.

  Last night they’d built a celebratory bonfire from discarded lumber and kept it going all night, and since there was no threat of precipitation, almost everyone slept on the ground near the fire. Volunteers took turns feeding boards into the flames, an extravagance they’d think twice about if anyone expected to be here more than a single night.

  In the morning there was an atmosphere of subdued cheer—of hope. People stirred from their fireside pallets, pushed themselves up on elbows, sat up in tangles of blankets. The wood was damp, the fire smoky, but people leaned in close nonetheless, warming their hands. They pushed back their hoods and combed disheveled hair with their fingers and looked at the sky, gasping at the beauty of the mountain face illuminated with the rising sun. There were murmured good-mornings, gentle inquiries as to how the night had passed.

  For breakfast there was fresh-caught fish, as much as anyone cared to eat, grilled over the fire. The teens took over the serving and cleanup duties, unasked; a couple of the boys tossed a tennis ball with the little kids.

  Not everyone was holding up well. A handful of Edenites sat apart, morose and uncommunicative. The circles under some of the older folks’ eyes had deepened, and they weren’t eating. Post-traumatic stress, Cass figured, but there was little she could do for it now. She brought food to Ingrid, took her turn holding Rosie. Across the clearing, Valerie glared at her while she helped with the horse; Cass turned away.

  Dor, Smoke and Nadir were surrounded by well-wishers when they took their leave, a spirit of cautious optimism pervading the group. Cass stood near the back and watched Dor hug Sammi, and then search her out in the group. For a tense moment she felt both Dor and Smoke watching her, and she looked away, turning toward the path they’d climbed the day before, and focused on a hawk that soared lazily above the valley below.

  She wa
ited until they were off, the ground reverberating with the horses’ hoofbeats, before she busied herself with cleaning up from the morning meal.

  Now, with Ruthie asleep on a cabin porch with Twyla after a long and unseasonably warm day of playing at the edges of the stream, and everyone else either fishing or napping or strolling, taking advantage of their first day of rest in weeks, Cass slipped away from the camp, following the trail where the men had ridden this morning. She wanted to be the first to see them return. She was still looking for clues and, having failed to find any in the mirror the night before, thought she might find them now. Two men had ridden away with Nadir this morning; both had loved her, but she wasn’t sure if her future lay with either of them. For several days she’d felt that the answer was tantalizingly close. Perhaps the feeling was nothing but the imminence of the journey’s end, but Cass thought it had to be something more.

  The horses had navigated the steep incline and thick forest growth well, but Cass had difficulty walking the rutted path. As she ascended the mountain, the air grew colder and thinner. Here and there, in the hollows of rotting stumps, in the loamy soil layered with leaves from seasons before, there were pockets of grimy snow, flecked with debris and slick from melting. Once or twice, Cass saw shoots poking through the snow, pale green fronds tipped with tight-rolled leaves, plants whose delicacy belied their hardiness. Cass wasn’t sure exactly what the plants were—checkerbloom, perhaps, that would soon grow tiny pink blossoms—but whatever they were, she counted their presence a hopeful omen.

  The notes said that after a couple of miles the path evened out, and crossed a broad plateau before arriving at the river gorge. Salt Point was on the other side, a heel-shaped promontory that had been carved by a bend in the river, when prehistoric waters rushing westward down the mountains met the volcanic rock face and turned south. Beyond, Mount Karuk rose sharply to the highest peak for many miles.

  There were two ways to the point, the longer of which took switchbacks up the eastern incline and featured steep drop-offs and a waterfall that made the path impassable later in the spring when the snowmelt was at its highest. The other was the bridge, built in the late eighties by the developer whose planned resort never materialized after cost overruns on the early development killed enthusiasm for the project among its backers.

  It took Cass an hour to ascend to the plateau, but it was worth the effort for the spectacular view alone. The path hugged a drop-off down to the roaring river, a few pines clinging valiantly to the earth at the edge above the sheer rock face. Hundreds of feet below, the water coursed over boulders rising from the bed of the river and formed deceptively placid pools here and there along the banks.

  But the falls that fed the river were even more astonishing. Droplets misted Cass’s face from all the way across the gorge; its roar was thunderous. Rainbows arced above, glittering against the blue of the sky, darkening the rocks with water. Birds dipped and soared, suspended far above the water, between the walls of the chasm, and it was dizzying to watch their aerial play.

  The bridge lay far ahead on the twisting trail. It looked out of place here, its man-made symmetry in sharp contrast to the natural beauty carved by the vicissitudes of wind and water and time. On the other side of the bridge, the road disappeared into the forest that grew, as on this side, practically to the edge of the cliff. The developers must have planned to cut down the trees to give access to the views that would have been the star attraction of the resort, but for now they would make a perfect windbreak for the settlement that was located on the cleared land beyond. In the grainy aerial photos, Cass had been able to see the stumps left from when they began work on the resort; it was like a giant had gouged a huge square into the forest, lifting away the trees and leaving the rich land exposed.

  It really was a perfect location: remote, and easy to protect. Would-be attackers could be repelled in so many ways, most of them ending with their bodies crushed and broken on the rocks far below.

  She found a spot to wait, a loamy patch of earth below a tall tree, and leaned back against it, enjoying the sun on her face. She’d worn an extra fleece tied around her waist, and she pulled it on and reveled in its cozy warmth, breathing in the good clean scents of sap and kaysev. A bug crawled over her hand and she lifted it closer to her face: an iridescent-winged beetle of some sort, searching for tender leaves, itself food for birds, evidence that the earth’s insistent journey back toward life continued apace here in the north.

  Cass let her eyes drift shut and daydreamed about the settlement, the home she might make there. She and Suzanne and Ingrid would be the first mothers, but there would be others before long. New babies to join Rosie, new friends for Sammi and the other young people. And the garden she’d have up here! So many things she hadn’t been able to grow farther south. She’d have beds of lettuces and kale and beans and squash, an entire patch of pumpkins, every kind of herb. In one summer she could lay up enough to can, produce a cutting garden, a cold frame to see them through the winter. In two summers she could have fruit on the trees, apples and pears.

  Real pies, she thought with a smile, not the bitter ones made from hawthorn berries. And she wanted to try growing grains, give everyone a break from the kaysev flour. Wheat should be possible in this climate, maybe barley. As soon as things were straightened out with the settlement, she and Dor—

  Dor. She was thinking of him again; he had become the place her mind went whenever she let it roam, the note to which her heart gave voice when she let her guard down. But that couldn’t be right…could it? Her life was barely back on track again, far from ready to share with anyone else besides Ruthie. She was eighteen days sober, and she needed to get to 180, and then 1,800. She needed to stay sober forever. She had to learn to live with the hurt and damage she’d suffered and the rocky path she walked before and still walked now. She would take one day at a time and be worthy of Ruthie, and this would be enough.

  But Dor. Dor, with his ebony eyes and his voice like sandstone, his breath on her neck and his hands tracing that place on her back—

  She could not shake him. She couldn’t even pretend to try anymore. Smoke’s return had not eradicated him. Danger and battle and bloodshed and loss had not eradicated him.

  And even more shocking: she had lost her shame. She was tired of feeling bad about Valerie. She was tired of second-guessing herself about Sammi. She was even tired of thinking of everyone else’s needs before her own, when what she needed was more of him, more of Dor, without a plan or a pledge.

  Cass drank in the sun and dug her fingers into the earth and breathed the good air and allowed herself to wonder if maybe she was more than the sum of her addiction and her sobriety, more than just Ruthie’s mother, if maybe she’d done her penance and suffered enough and deserved something only for herself. Even with the scars and the regrets, some of her spirit remained, and some of it was good, and some of it was worthy, and at least some tiny part of her bid to live came from these depths, from this place that had been there when she was born and hung in there during all the terrible years and survived the addictions and the bad decisions and the self-punishment.

  And this part of her, this part that was not mother and that was not pilgrim or penitent or servant, this part wanted Dor. Wanted him savagely.

  Smoke had been her lover, her salve, as she had been his.

  Dor was her fire. And as long as she lived, she would burn for him.

  “Dor…” She spoke his name softly, testing it, tasting it, as though for the first time, erasing for a moment all the history they’d shared, the chaos in which they’d first come together. Her heart raced with the thrill of recognition, and suddenly it was all so clear.

  It seemed as though the earth itself trembled in response to Cass’s new knowledge, but then she realized it was the approaching horses pounding the earth with their hooves.

  They crashed a
round the bend in a cloud of dust, Dor in the lead. When he saw Cass he reined in his horse, and Rocket reared and snorted to a stop. The others circled around, Nadir in the rear, and it took a second for Cass to realize that the bundle he had slung over the saddle in front of him was a body.

  “Cass, what are you doing?”

  “I just came to—”

  “There’s no time, get up here with me.” Smoke made room for her in front of him. “We’ve got to get back to the others now.”

  Cass stood frozen to the spot, searching their faces. “What? What happened?”

  Dor guided his horse forward, in between the others. He leaned down and seized her hand, pulling her up as if she was weightless, and she scrambled onto the horse’s heaving, warm back, sliding into the saddle, pressed close against Dor’s body. She caught Smoke’s expression, his hand slowly falling to his side. He saw. He knew.

  “They’re coming,” he said numbly. “Renegades, from the East. Like Nadir was telling us. They picked the same settlement Mayhew did.”

  “We have to get there first,” Nadir said grimly.

  “We’re going to help defend them?”

  Dor wrapped his arms around her and spurred his horse into motion.

  “There’s no one to help,” he said into her ear, his breath hot on her neck. “The renegades sent a team ahead. They burned the settlement and killed everyone inside.”

  Chapter 46

  THE RENEGADES’ ADVANCE team had actually killed all the settlers but one. As the Edenites scrambled to gather their belongings, Dor summoned Sun-hi to examine the woman Nadir carried on his horse. Sun-hi declared that she would probably live. The blow to the head that had knocked her unconscious had saved her; she’d been dragged to the center of the settlement and piled with the other bodies as the four men who attacked them soon after dawn lined up the people eight at a time and shot them, execution-style.