Other Worldly Ways (Anthology 1)

by Connie Suttle

  The weather was changing; still dry, but now colder in the higher elevations, and on that second day a light frost came, with a bit of moisture. Fog surrounded me as I made my way out of the tent that morning, causing me to shiver.

  Watcher brushed past me on his way to relieve himself, so I took the opportunity to Pull in warmer clothing. I sent my sleeveless leathers back in exchange.

  Pheran and Gray told us during breakfast that one more day of riding was all we'd get before Rafton and Shield were sent back to Heatherfield with the horses. They'd wait there with the wagons and drivers until we came back. Pheran advised us to travel light—we'd have to carry our gear after the horses left. We'd be forced to carry rations, too, and that would add to the weight of our belongings.

  "We may be forced to hunt, depending on our stay and how quickly we locate the enemy," Pheran announced. "If we find any surviving farmsteads, we can purchase food, but don't count on that. They may all be burned or abandoned."

  That night, I watched closely as Watcher packed for traveling on foot and followed his example, keeping the warmer clothing and a gah. His soap and towel he packed to be sent with his horse, leaving only his long-sleeved leathers, boots, a heavy jacket, a few ties for his braid and a comb. Both of us packed our teeth-cleaning kits—I wasn't about to leave that behind.

  * * *

  We made good progress on foot for two days, but the weather was uncooperative past that. The higher we went, through trees and around boulders often taller than I, the air became steadily colder. Hands were wrapped in wool or shoved in pockets. On the third day, we arrived at the farm we'd seen burning from Heatherfield.

  In late spring and summer, the high meadow would be beautiful. Now, we crunched over blackened grass and past the occasional burned carcass of a fox or rabbit. Somehow, they'd been unable to escape the burning and died in the midst of it.

  The fate of the wild animals turned out to be a better one than that of the humans inhabiting the farmstead, I discovered. Seventeen bodies were strewn in the yard outside the house. The house, barns and outbuildings were all burned to the ground, leaving the people no choice but to go outside and face their attackers. The youngest victim died near his mother—he'd lived less than a year.

  At that moment, I was so angry I Looked for the raiders, finding them quickly. They were days ahead of us and gaining ground. A cloud of resistance lay about them, but I managed to pierce it and count the number of raiders.

  * * *

  Pheran watched Devin as she found the body of the smallest child. She'd stayed there for several minutes, kneeling next to it before rising, a grim look on her face. He didn't know what he would have done if she'd wept; some of the men were having a hard time with the bodies of the young ones.

  With a nod from Pheran, Gray gathered the troops for a brief meeting, so they could decide what to do about the dead.

  * * *

  "Do we burn them properly, or attempt to dig a grave?" Pheran asked. "And I'm sure I don't need to remind you that burning will alert the enemy to our presence."

  I'd been thinking the entire time after finding the child's body. Belen hadn't given any restrictions. His words were "Help Pheran Tiger with his assignment, and bring him back." Well, he was about to get help, and that help might look like a miracle.

  "Digging a grave would take much time and even more energy," I said. I knew the others were tired—we'd been traveling all day to reach the farmstead. We'd be exhausted if we dug graves. "I realize the enemy will be alerted if we burn the bodies, but I think I'd enjoy having them on the other end of my blades." I didn't add that my Night Hawk's claws would welcome them as well.

  Most of the company agreed with me. "Gather wood," Pheran commanded. "We'll send out a signal and send the dead on their way at the same time."

  * * *

  Young Lord Iver watched the bonfire from twenty miles away, a smile on his face. He'd left his father behind in his comfortable home in Falchan, telling him he was much too complacent to accept the sentence of the Warlord. Iver was itching to make as much trouble as he could, and he'd defected to the rebels, seeking out the worst commander of the lot. Together, they'd found Bordok. Let the Warlord's party come, Iver grinned maliciously. They'd get the surprise of their lives if they caught up with his raiders.

  * * *

  Fidgeting while everyone else in camp fell asleep, I waited before folding away to the enemy camp. All of them, with the exception of three perimeter guards, were asleep. I wasn't interested in killing sleeping men—I wanted them awake when they died.

  Folding to a high peak, I changed to my Night Hawk. My feathers were a deep gray—almost black—and perfect for night flying. It made my mortal counterparts deadly—that they could fly as silently as an owl and hunt larger prey at night.

  Giving my loudest battle screech, I launched myself off the rocky outcropping, my wings beating the winds drafting upward as I plunged toward my prey. The camp had rousted at my bird's call and they were scrambling out of beds and gathering weapons.

  Weapons that would do them no good.

  At my first pass, I removed several heads with claws as sharp as Falchani blades. Many screamed as my giant bird swept over them. I shut out the noise—they'd shown no mercy to the farmers we'd found—they'd killed the children beside their parents. They would receive no mercy from me. Circling around, I made another pass, screeching a second time.

  Arrows fired from hastily strung bows had no effect against the shields I'd erected about me. More died beneath my claws. It took four passes, but all were dead when I flew toward Pheran's camp and my bed.

  Landing silently outside the perimeter of camp, I turned back and folded beneath my blanket near a gently snoring Watcher. With grim satisfaction, I rolled over and fell asleep quickly.

  * * *

  On our trek three days later, we found another burned homestead and more bodies, before coming across the headless raiders I'd killed. Again we burned bodies—twice. The raiders received curses instead of prayers to send the dead on their way. It angered me that more children had died at the second farm, but the dead raiders would take no other lives.

  * * *

  Pheran puzzled over the headless bodies of the raiders. He and Gray examined them at length. Their examination and subsequent conversation was held away from the others.

  "I've never seen this before," Pheran shook his head. "They were running down the mountainside—that's easy enough to see, but what could kill them like this while they were on the run?"

  "Something faster, maybe?" Gray asked.

  "It would have to be. I see no evidence of fighting at all," Pheran said. "This makes little sense."

  "I worry that this isn't the whole story—that there is more than one raiding party," Gray said.

  "We'll find out soon enough," Pheran replied.

  * * *

  The rest of us weren't privy to Pheran's conversation with Gray, but we learned soon enough what their concerns were.

  Right at nightfall, as we were camping for the night, we saw it—another fire far in the distance. "There are more of the ni'jomblas than we thought," Pheran cursed as we watched the blaze. I estimated it had to be at least forty miles away—the flames smeared a red and orange streak against the backdrop of a clear, mountain night. He'd called them pig fuckers, too—in Falchani. I concurred.

  There wasn't anything we could do to stop it, either; it was too far away and we were tired from walking in the higher elevation all day. Nevertheless, Pheran commanded that we eat a quick meal and march through the night to get as close as we could.

  We made good progress through the night, but it still took two days to reach the farmstead. We burned the dead again—fourteen this time, most of them adults. It didn't matter what the age, the raiders had murdered innocents.

  "They're still ahead of us, and I can't imagine that we'll catch them soon," Pheran sat beside me with his bowl of stew that evening.

  "We're gaining, but it may
take a while," I agreed, dipping into my rice and peas.

  "If they reach the Needle before we catch them, they're as good as gone," Pheran grumped.

  I had to Look to see what he meant by the Needle—it was a narrow, rocky pass in the mountains dividing the Falchani lands from those of the enemy, and impossible to pass in the winter, after the deep snows fell.

  "They're heading that way to get through the pass before the snow gets too deep, aren't they?" I asked.

  "Yes. If we don't get them before they reach it," Pheran shrugged.

  "We'll get them," I said.

  "You sound so sure," Pheran grinned for the first time in days.

  "One way or another, they'll go down," I nodded.

  * * *

  Pheran ordered his troops to hunt the following day, to bolster dwindling food supplies. Fortunately, we still had plenty of rice and I could always Pull something in if needed. Belen never said I had to starve myself. I had plans, too, and they included a raiding party that was still too far away from us. I just didn't want to give myself away—I had to be careful with my extracurricular activities.

  * * *

  They scattered and ran the moment they heard my Night Hawk's war cry. It took five passes to take down twenty-four, but it was worth it. I cleaned myself with power before folding back to bed, but I was satisfied with my work when I went to sleep.

  * * *

  "Two raiding parties killed, down to the last man?" Iver had to keep himself from shouting at Bordok. The man could kill him with a thought—at least that's what the warlock wanted everyone to believe. Yet here he was, explaining to Iver and the Commander as well, how two parties of raiders had died when the Falchani were still miles away.

  Commander Cephas watched both the upstart and the warlock with hooded eyes and a grim expression. If truth be known, he hated both of them. He tolerated them, however. Iver brought money and ideas, Bordok brought the means to defeat the enemy. He could spell any man to follow his or Cephas' lead, and they'd made their way through the bordering countries the past year and a half, gathering up as many as they could.

  Women and children were left behind to fend for themselves; Bordok's spells convinced the men and older boys to follow without question. Bordok altered their minds somehow, Cephas knew, and he surmised that the troops might have to be killed once the campaign to take Falchan succeeded.

  The minds couldn't be set back to rights, for some reason; either Bordok wasn't skilled enough, or once they'd been tampered with, there was no going back. Cephas didn't care. Falchan would be his and the Warlord and his petty General would be dead, their heads stuck on a pike outside the Falchani palace as a warning.

  Cephas intended to live the life of luxury, as soon as his goals were accomplished. He'd have women, wealth and the armies at his command. Oh, he'd kill Iver, somewhere along the way, and he smiled at the prospect. Iver wasn't yet twenty and a whining, spoiled brat on top of that. Cephas turned back to the conversation between Iver and Bordok.

  "What difference does that make," Cephas growled, as once again Iver whined about the loss of more than fifty men. "We knew there'd be losses."

  "But Bordok says that the Warlord's men weren't even close when they were killed."

  "So, some of the farmers have banded together. Did you expect them to just keep rolling over without doing something? We're taking those farms for supplies, and as you so correctly pointed out after the first few where we left survivors, we don't need those farmers carrying tales back to the Warlord, so we're killing them all, now. We can spare a few men."

  Iver grumbled and stalked away, his anger clear in his stiff posture and swift steps.

  "That one will create his own downfall," Bordok grunted. Cephas studied the warlock carefully before agreeing and walking away.

  * * *

  Pheran and Gray were once again holding a private conference when his company came across the bodies of the next raiding party, all neatly decapitated, just like the first. Pheran shook his head, kneeling to examine this body or that. The heads looked as if they'd been sheared off the bodies by giant claws.

  Pheran knew of the myths and legends that came down from of the mountains, but even those couldn't account for this. He hoped his troops wouldn't fall victim to whatever this was. Leaving the bodies where they lay, he left them for the scavengers before ordering the company to march another two miles after night fell.

  * * *

  I'd been on Falchan for more than two moon-turns. Much of that time we spent traipsing across the mountain range, stopping often to hunt and finding more burned out farmsteads, more bodies, more dead raiders. The raiders were responsible for the dead at the farmsteads; I was responsible for the raider's deaths.

  * * *

  Pheran kept a mental count of the dead raiders, and that number had risen to nearly two hundred. He wondered just what kind of force they'd started with, if they were still raiding instead of hightailing it over the border after such significant losses.

  He wondered, too, at the fact that he and his troops still hadn't met any of them to do battle. He was beginning to worry about Devin; they were running low on non-meat staples. They'd found a bit of rice, some beans and a few other things that the raiders had left behind at a farmstead, taking mostly the flour and the animals for meat before setting fire to it.

  Devin, however, seemed unconcerned about where her next meal might be coming from. She hardly spoke, especially after coming across another devastated farm, as they had the day before. She would be upset if children had been killed, but she held herself well, as a warrior should. She bore it better than many of the men.

  * * *

  Ice lay at the edges of the stream where we camped. Pheran informed us that we could stay an extra day to bathe and wash clothing. I could have hugged him for that—I cleaned myself with power, but those around me smelled more than ripe.

  "What are those?" Pheran pointed to the socks I washed in the freezing stream water.

  "My feet get cold," I complained.

  "So those are foot covers?"

  "Yes. Before I stick my feet in my boots."

  "I see."

  "If we ever get off this mountain, I'll get some for you."

  "Sounds like a fine idea."

  "The socks or getting off the mountain?"

  "Both. Socks?"

  "I have no idea where the name came from. Don't ask," I held up a hand. He laughed.

  "When we get back," he added with a smile, "You can stick your cold feet on the Warlord."

  "He'll love that," I muttered, wringing water out of the socks and laying them on a rock to dry. "I told him I wanted to kick your ass for sending the message," I pointed out.

  "What did he say?" Pheran was clearly enjoying our conversation.

  "He said that threatening a superior can result in punishment. I had to explain that I only wanted to kick your ass—I didn't intend to follow through."

  "And then what?" Pheran chuckled.

  "He handed out punishment anyway."

  "Definitely stick your cold feet on him," Pheran laughed and patted my shoulder. "The colder the better." He rose and walked away.

  * * *

  "They are spending another day in the same place," Bordok grinned maliciously at Iver, revealing sharpened front teeth. He often ate his meat raw, or killed small animals with them, before skinning and devouring them. The teeth were stained, whether with blood or something else, Iver couldn't say and wished the warlock would stop grinning and get to the point.

  "What does that mean?" Iver asked the obvious question.

  "I can send the snows their way," Bordok's grin became wider, revealing even more sharpened teeth.

  "Then do it. Can you arrange to have it isolated, trapping them there until we can get men in to kill them?" Iver began to see the possibilities.

  "I think I can do that, but it will require more sacrifices."

  "I don't care if you sacrifice half of what we have if we wipe all of the
m out at once," Iver replied. "Take whatever you need."

  Bordok took what he needed—twenty strong men whose minds had become his, and they only screamed at the last when he eviscerated them, one by one, and licked the blood from his fingers afterward.

  * * *

  The snow that fell wasn't natural. I felt it in the winds that screamed around us, forcing us to huddle into our coats as we attempted to march through it. Snow had already fallen on the higher peaks, but we were far enough down the mountain, traveling laterally, that it shouldn't reach us for another three eight-days.

  I should have Looked much earlier, but I hadn't—for an underlying cause. I found it, and what I found turned my stomach. I went immediately to Gray and asked to speak with Pheran privately. The snow fell harder about us and Pheran called a halt as soon as Gray led me to his side.

  "Set up camp," Pheran nodded at Gray. "Try to keep everybody warm."

  Gray nodded curtly and walked away.

  "What's this about?" Pheran steered me toward a thick evergreen so we could block some of the wind as we talked.

  "Pheran, they have a blood warlock," I sighed. I watched as his face lost most of its color. Blood warlocks were extremely rare, and the last one had died centuries earlier. A new one had made his presence known on Falchan. Pheran was chasing what he couldn't fight—a power wielder.

  "How do you know this?" Pheran demanded when his common sense returned.

  "Pheran, when was the last time the Warlord had a mage working with him?" I answered his question with one of my own.

  "This Warlord, never," Pheran shook his head, his dark eyes narrowing as he studied me. "There haven't been any. Dragon has offered money for information and several have come forward, but there was little or no talent present. Those with little talent he sent away. Those with no talent he gave strokes and then sent away. It was to discourage those who only sought fame and fortune through trickery and false claims."

  "Pheran, what would you say if I told you that our raiding parties aren't parties?"