by J. Thorn
The two riders had come this way, though, apparently not stopping until after the foot soldiers giving chase had decided to turn around.
And then the traveler found a third set of tracks, another lone rider in pursuit of the first two.
The horse high-stepped through the powder which now reached to its knees, and the rider wrinkled her nose just to keep snot from freezing on the end of it. Her mare had been strong, dependable, and with an unmatched endurance for long-distance riding. But as they rose in elevation, the thin air and constant snow were forcing them to slow down. The traveler was close, but she would have to stop before the horse died from exposure.
First came a whiff of burning wood, and then the low spark of glowing embers fifty yards ahead. The traveler pulled right on the reins, angling her horse toward the single point of illumination coming from where the purple void of the early morning sky met the earth’s white blanket. The sun had already kissed the eastern horizon, and dawn was creeping up on her.
She gripped her weapon mounted on the side of her horse. Most of the journey had been spent cloaked and silent, a deliberate strategy chosen to avoid conflict rather than confront it. The traveler knew she needed to preserve as many precious calories as she could or risk becoming them for the wolves.
But as she approached the fading fire, she saw no threat—felt no danger on the back of her neck. However, the traveler noticed something odd, out of place in the mountain wilderness. As the horse carried her closer to the fire, she noticed a body hanging from a tree—the body of a woman.
The wretched goddess of winter and death’s cold embrace had already turned the woman’s skin black and her limbs as brittle as seasoned firewood. The traveler dismounted and approached, noticing a Venganza mask covering the face of the corpse.
“I expected to find your body, but not hanging from a noose.”
The woman reached up and cut the rope, easing the frozen body down to the ground. She lifted the Venganza mask, looking into Sunji’s icy, blank eyes.
The traveler looked up then, seeing the first real glow of morning turning the eastern sky from a bruised purple to navy blue. The flakes tapered off until random snow flittered to the ground like dust motes.
“An hour. I believe you are owed that much.”
She took a spade from her pack, normally used to extinguish her own campfires on the long and challenging journey. The woman began shoveling the snow to the side, going down two feet until she hit the frozen ground. The wild animals would almost certainly dig up the body, but there was nothing to be done about that. From whence we come, we return.
“There is no shame is self-sacrifice. Honor in loyalty.”
She paused as if searching for more ceremonial words to speak into the chilled, morning air. And finding none, the traveler concluded.
“And so, rest in the eternal sleep.”
The woman dug down as far as the small spade would allow, then covered Sunji’s body with a few inches of frozen soil which would quickly be scratched away as soon as the spring thaw came to the highlands. She then secured the shovel in her pack along with Sunji’s mask, and climbed back up on her horse. The beast seemed to have been rejuvenated by their stop, and the woman decided to ride again, not wanting to lose any more time than had already been lost.
She scanned the packed downs now, detecting the faintest impressions not entirely covered by the night’s snowfall. There, heading due west as expected. She took one last look at the shallow grave before riding on. Yet again.
Chapter 37
24 Days West of Erehwon
The winds picked up as they wound their way through switchbacks, zig-zagging across the face of the mountains. The horses struggled to walk through snow that drifted to their shoulders, putting the bottom half of each horse—and their riders’ legs—in a perpetual white blanket of biting cold.
They continued following the path of the sun, and Hado thought it had been two or three sunsets since they’d left Sunji, but the days and nights had begun to blur together. She had a compass to keep them headed west in case the sun burned out or fell from the sky. Both of those options, though, seemed less painful than the burn that had spread from the stump of her amputated limb into her chest and back—the tell-tale signs of an infection raging through her bloodstream.
Although it was difficult to tell, Hado estimated that this early autumn snowstorm was pummeling the territory known as Western Colorado, a violent and brutal landscape she hoped to never see again.
Dia was clearly still troubled by Decker’s death. Even more so than Sunji’s betrayal, which Hado had refused to accept. There would be time for feelings of disloyalty and disappointment later, once they survived the trek to California. If they survived.
Katy had given Dia the dog, and the two had bonded in the way that couldn’t be described with words. Hado thought of the many times she’d seen Decker in tow, following Dia as both friend and protector.
Hado glanced again at Dia, seeing her face as hard and as cold as the snowpack. Lanette had told Hado stories of Denver and the lands to the west. She had even mentioned northern California—a land of golden sunshine, dry air, and moderate temperatures. Hado had always ridiculed the old hag, dismissing her tales as coming from the decaying mind of a lunatic. And yet, what Lanette had said about Denver had turned out to be fairly accurate.
“We need to stop soon,” Hado said. “We’ve traveled about as far as we can today.”
Dia acknowledged Hado with a nod, but didn’t verbally respond.
Shortly after, they saw a shack about twenty feet off the tracks. They had been following the rails west, knowing that the only way through the mountain passes would be using the steel guides laid down two centuries before. While the wilderness threatened to swallow the train tracks and erase them from existence, they hadn’t done so yet, leaving a tunnel for travel as the trees leaned over and branched their way across the rails. Because they had been following the train tracks instead of the old highways, they had seen few buildings or structures. No matter how dilapidated this one was, it would serve as their camp for the night.
Several feet of snow sat on the pitched roof, which appeared as if it might slide forward at any moment. But the single window to the right of the door had three of the original four panes intact. The wind had blown the door open, and drifting snow kept it that way.
“Looks like a utility shed. We’ll stop here.”
They tethered the horses to a nearby tree and dismounted.
“They’ll freeze out here,” Dia said.
“We don’t have a choice. We’ll see if we can get a fire started near them. We’ll also be able to melt some of the snow, so they have water. But I see no other options. We can’t all fit into that small building.”
Dia sighed. “I’ll see if I can gather some wood.” She walked off.
“Be careful,” Hado said, but the teen girl ignored her.
Hado entered the shed. At one time, it had been used by the railroads. Lengths of wire and a few rusty wrenches lay in one corner, and what looked to be an ancient, moldy rat’s nest was in another. Otherwise, the shed was empty. She used her boot to scatter the nest and then to kick the droppings out the door.
Hado went out to Ree and grabbed a spear that Sunji had left for them outside of the cave. She was appreciative enough, but also pleased that she hadn’t had to speak to the woman again. Her feelings were too complicated—and she hurt too much—for them to have any kind of meaningful discussions. Hado had promised herself that someday she’d sit down with Sunji, and talk through things. But now, on the edge of the Colorado territory and in a punishing snowstorm, that future felt highly unlikely.
She went back inside as Dia returned with a small stack of wood. The girl dropped it on the ground near the door with the hopes that the horses would benefit from the heat and that some of it would also warm the shed. Dia tried lighting pine needles to use as kindling, but after several failed attempts, she cursed.
&nbs
p; “The wood’s too wet. It won’t light. Is there anything in the cabin we could start a fire with?”
Hado shook her head.
“What are we going to do, then? We’ll freeze out here, and so will the horses.”
“They’ll be fine,” Hado said. “I’m more worried about us. All we can do is sleep next to each other and share body heat, and hope the inside of the cabin can protect us from the snow. What about food?”
“We have a handful of nuts. You can have them, because I’m not hungry and you need them more than me.”
Hado wasn’t sure if the girl was referring to her amputation, or if she had started to see the signs of infection on her face. “You need to eat. You need your strength.”
Dia didn’t respond. She turned away from Hado and looked toward the horizon.
“I’m serious, Dia. You need energy for—”
“I heard you the first time.” She bowed her head, then looked up at Hado. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I know that you’re hurting and that you’re upset.”
“Let’s just go inside and get out of this. We can split the nuts once we’re out of the snow.”
They grabbed their gear from the horses and walked into the utility shed. Hado promptly closed the door to keep it from getting even colder inside than it already was. She could smell the faint odor of motor oil and mold, the darkness softened by the fading light coming in through the window. But as the sun set, that wouldn’t last.
Hado took a strip of fabric from her pack and used it to cover the broken pane of the window, although she doubted the effort would keep the cold wind from creeping into the old, tired structure.
“We should conserve our body heat,” Hado said.
They lay down in the middle of the shed with their backs together. Hado heard Dia rummaging through her satchel, and then the teen reached over.
“Here’s your half.”
Hado accepted a few nuts, mostly dried acorns and rotting pine nuts that almost made her gag. She swallowed hard, and when the small morsels hit her empty stomach, the pain was almost worse than starving—a tease to her body, a promise of more nutrition that would not come.
“I have a little bit of water left,” Dia said. “Do you need some?”
“I still have my canteen. We need to conserve it. With no way to make a fire, we can’t simply melt the snow.”
After a brief silence, Dia asked, “Do you think it’s true?”
“What?”
“The things Lanette said about San Francisco. That they are working on a water filtration technology there.”
“I don’t know. But what I do know is that you’re going to find out. I won’t let this storm take you.”
Dia didn’t respond, and Hado thought she could almost hear the gears in the girl’s head turning. “Get some rest,” Hado said. “You won’t think about being cold while you’re sleeping.”
Chapter 38
25 Days West of Erehwon
She had known the risks. The traveler didn’t make decisions lightly, and therefore she appeared to be much more suited to the high altitude than Hado and the girl. They had fled Denver with practically nothing, but she had mapped the route west—estimating water rations and food, and marking places on her map where she could replenish both.
The ride had taken its toll on her horse, though, and that one was a non-renewable resource that she had to protect at all costs. Crossing the Rockies on foot, at this time of year, would mean certain death.
She reached into her satchel, pulling out an apple that had been almost frozen in the thin, cold air. She bit into it, not minding the loud crunch and savoring the sweet tang that reminded her of Erehwon and the orchards they had tended near the shore of the Great Lake. The yield had dropped every year, not surprisingly, at the same rate as the quality of the water running through the ruins’ rivers and streams had declined.
The Venganza fear of the water had always perplexed her, their tribe’s aversion to a massive reservoir at the foot of the ruins working against their need to find more fresh water sources. Katy had led them onto the ice last season, dispelling some of the Venganza’s irrational anxiety, and for that they had all been thankful. But it wasn’t as if the women of Erehwon had begun sailing the lake like she had, either.
The traveler finished the apple, biting in as close to the core as possible before tossing it to the side. She would be leaving this spot long before the wolves or bears would smell it—or her. Instead of moving on immediately, she turned her attention to the utility shed sitting a few yards off the train tracks. They had stopped here for the night, and the rider fully expected Hado to have them on the move again soon.
The door to the shed opened as she watched, and the rising sun glinted off the ice crystals that had formed upon it. The traveler had positioned herself atop a hill to the east, the morning rays helping to mask her location from the two below. She gazed around over the valley before bringing her glasses’ lenses back onto the shed.
Dia came out first, followed closely by Hado. The traveler had lost them for several hundred miles—until the two had reappeared at the Denver settlement. She had been shocked to see that Hado was missing an arm. The wilds could be brutal, so the unfortunate circumstance didn’t surprise her; it was the fact that the woman remained alive that did. Without a medicine woman or anti-inflammatory herbs, she wondered how Hado had stayed alive while fleeing in high altitude through unrelenting blizzards.
The water whisperer put her satchel on her horse, then jumped up into the saddle. Hado moved more slowly, almost stumbling to her horse. Maybe she was sick, or maybe she was simply dehydrated, which was much more likely in the frigid, dry air than it was in the warm humidity of summer. The traveler focused her lenses on Hado’s face, reading it with a quick glimpse—pain.
The two women would continue west until they reached the great Pacific. Of that, the traveler had no doubt. But Hado’s condition had worsened, and the traveler doubted Dia would survive without her protector. The dog had been killed or left behind, which would at least preserve some of the few supplies the two women had left, but that would leave Dia alone. Even with a full satchel and perfect health, the journey to California would be the most difficult trail any rider could take. Given the look on Hado’s face, too, the traveler decided to keep the two women closer. She would have to risk being seen to make sure that, if Hado went down, the girl wouldn’t die. The girl couldn’t die, but she also couldn’t know she was being followed. It was as difficult and as simple as that.
The women headed west. The traveler followed.
Chapter 39
27 Days West of Erehwon
Hado and Dia rode through the mountain pass under what they assumed to be a full moon. The snow fell upon them like a white curtain, the light diffused from above and illuminating the snowpack. Although they could see, the snowstorm had dropped visibility to being a matter of feet as the wind blew steadily through the valley, driving stinging flakes into their faces. Hado had stopped worrying about falling into a crevasse, or off the edge of the trail and into the void. They couldn’t stop or they would die, and she’d begun to believe that a sudden death would be better than the numbing, icy sleep promised by the mountain or the burning hell of death by infection. She looked at Dia through the white vortex. The girl’s shoulders slumped forward and her head hung low.
We must find shelter soon.
It had been four, maybe five days since they’d left the utility shed. Since that time, they’d found nothing. Not a cave or even a few trees that would support a lean-to. With the relentless storm, snow had likely hidden any structure they could have used as a shelter. And although they’d ridden alongside the rails, knowing the steel serpents would lead them west, the horses struggled to walk through the snow. Hado did the math in her head and checked it against a map she’d committed to memory. Six days or so from Denver, and given their glacial pace through the snowy mountains, that put them out of Colorado terr
itory and into Wyoming. She seemed to remember a place called Laramie being marked as an ancient settlement situated at a slightly lower elevation than Denver, and west of the mountain range.
They had run out of food and water the day before without any easy way to light a fire. Even if they could find kindling, most of the dead trees had been blanketed by snow and frozen so solid that a full-grown man with a sharpened ax would have had a difficult time splitting the wood. The last tingles in her fingers had brought a dull itch which she knew meant frostbite. Her vision blurred from the pummeling flakes and dehydration, which she knew was probably already starting to shut down her vital organs. The only warmth Hado felt came from her worsening infection.
“Dia.” The slurred word had all but fallen from her mouth.
“Still here.”
She turned and looked away from the girl, scanning their tracks as the snow worked to cover them. It felt as though they had started to descend into a valley, but the mountain had been cruel—pulling them down only to bring them to another summit in the middle of this godforsaken range.
What is that?
Hado had spent her life in the ruins, tracking or hunting—animals and humans. She had felt a presence following them since they’d left Denver, but she couldn’t be sure whether it was the storm, the infection, a tracker, or all three.
