by Rhett DeVane
“Sim is gone.” Elsbeth shouldered past Slate, stopping outside of Sim’s burrow long enough to whistle twee! twee!
Since Elsbeth and Slate were closest to the Common Hall, they arrived first. Slate took his usual seat at the tablerock. Taka-Herb and Mari rushed in, followed by Brick, Gabby, and Grant. Each slid into their customary positions and looked toward Elsbeth with concern. The “all-out” call had been used only three times in fifty years. The two youngers perched on Mari’s shoulders, watching with wide eyes.
The clan felt depleted without Jen and Jondu. Now, even more without The First Father staring her down from his side of the table. Thank the Light for Faith and Zeke.
Sim has left us. The depression of the past few weeks joined hands with this fresh blow. Elsbeth wanted to crumble into a heap and sob.
Dig within, Princess. The words sounded in her mind, as if the old mountain man stood by her ear.
“Who has seen Sim?” she asked.
“He came to my burrow . . .” Taka-Herb tapped her temple. “. . . two days ago. Wanted to replenish his supply of healing salves.”
Brick spoke up, “I saw him early yesterday morning. He took a crock of sourwood honey and some cakes.” He thought a moment, then added, “He had a bag he filled with nuts and dried fruit, too. Didn’t think much of it. Sim’s been taking his meals to his burrow since . . .”
Elsbeth sighed. Questioning glances flicked around the group. “Anyone else?”
Mari picked at a loose string hanging from her sleeve. “He’s probably gone to the landfill. You know Sim.”
“I thought that too, at first.” Elsbeth explained about Sim’s missing belongings.
Grant stood and walked over to the hearth. “I should’ve seen this coming.” He stared into the flickering flames.
Elsbeth joined him.
“The First Father came by my burrow before the Spring Festival. Said he accepted blame for Jen’s death, for my leg. I tried to assure him, to tell him . . .” Grant’s voice cracked. “I—”
Elsbeth rested a hand on Grant’s shoulder. “I said the same words.”
The others murmured behind them.
“Sim’s told us all about his crushing guilt,” Mari said. “He didn’t trust what we told him, that no one blamed him. Not at all.”
“Hard to believe someone else, when you no longer believe in yourself,” Gabby said.
Slate held his hand over his chest. “What can we do? We have to do something.”
Faith climbed down from Mari’s shoulder and stepped to the center of the tablerock. She spun in a slow circle, looking with earnest eyes at each of her elders. The chatter stopped.
“Find Sim,” the fair-haired younger said, her voice soft. “Ask him to come home.”
Silence ruled for a beat. Youngers rarely spoke before six months had passed. This one had been on this side of the Light for less than twenty-four hours.
Elsbeth shook off her disbelief and refocused on the problem. “Where do we start to look?”
Brick rapped his fist on the table. “I vote for the landfill.”
“Maybe the base?” Slate offered.
Grant held up one finger. “I think I might know where Sim is.”
“Then I’ll go find him, plead with him to come back.” Elsbeth turned to Grant. “Tell me.”
“Better, I show you.”
“But, your leg.”
Grant fixed her with a stern look. “My leg is not a hardship.”
Elsbeth gave a definitive nod. “Get your pack. Meet me topside.”
Chapter Twenty
Jondu and Taproot stood on the east bank of a wide waterway, the largest Jondu had ever seen. She consulted the tattered old map from Taproot’s collection. “The Oriah River.” She glanced up. “And I thought Mad Woman River was big.”
“Rather intimidating. Rather swift.” Taproot removed his pack and used it as a seat. He pulled out a packet of dried fruit, tore off a leathery section of plum, and handed the rest to Jondu. “Suppose there’s a way to cross without ending up with our brains smashed against the rocks?”
“Or losing a leg like Grant did.” Jondu unpacked the second map and rolled it out beside the first. She chewed on the plum, tracing her finger across the yellowed paper.
“Here.” She pointed to a tiny mark across the Oriah River’s broader blue line. “Bet it’s some kind of bridge.” Jondu tapped the map. “We’re about here, so . . .” Her gaze lifted toward the north, “. . . the bridge or whatever should be upstream.”
Unlike the brooks near their home valley, the Oriah River rolled between steep banks lined with boulders and towering pines. The spot where they rested contained pebble-sized stones, a good place to find a perfect treasure for Sim. Jondu made a small x on the map. She could stop on the way home. Wow, she scolded herself, here I am barely two days into the journey and already thinking of the return trip.
“Searching for a safe bridge sounds like a plan.” Taproot stood, stretched, and pulled on his pack.
For the next hour, they traveled a switchback course, running as parallel to the river as possible. Jondu hustled to keep up with the dwarf’s pace. At the crest of a hillock, the twisted riverbank came into view.
“I see the crossing,” Taproot said. “Not much farther.” He moved forward at a fast clip until he reached the cluster of boulders.
Jondu caught up with him and studied the natural bridge. Two massive rocks on opposite sides of the river leaned toward each other, positioned as if some giant hand had plopped them down.
“Space between them looks to be about seven feet. I can jump that. Crawl aboard.” Taproot tapped his backpack.
“No. I’ll be crossing this by myself on the way home. I have to figure this out.” Jondu crouched down, her chin in her cupped hands. “I have an idea.”
Taproot waved one arm. “Be my guest.”
Jondu tied one end of her dump-dive rope around a small rock and whipped it in a circle until it gained speed. She released the rope, holding fast to the free end. The first try, the rock bounced off the other side and splashed into the river. Jondu reeled it in. It took two more casts before the weighted rope looped up and over the branch of a pine on the opposite bank.
“What now?” Taproot’s eyebrow lifted.
“I swing like the ape man guy in one of Brick’s dump-dive books.”
“Tarzan?”
“That’s the one.”
“I don’t . . .”
Jondu grabbed the rope. She took several steps back, then ran toward the Oriah River, swinging into the air in a low arc until she landed with a thud on the opposite side.
“Whoop! I did it!” Jondu pumped one arm in the air. “Want me to throw the rope back across for you?” She called out.
Taproot shook his head. He backed up, got a running start, and leapt easily across the chasm. He leaned down and held up his palm. Jondu slapped it.
“And what does your map tell you now?” the mountain man asked.
Jondu studied the drawing. The crosshatches marking the deep mountain clangrounds lay to the left. The red star Taproot had added to denote Dell-Fee’s camp lay across the page in a different direction. She looked up. “I think . . .”
“This is where we part ways, Jondu The Traveler.” Taproot tipped his head. “May the Light watch over you, little one.”
“And you.” Jondu noticed the old dwarf’s eyes. Were those tears?
Taproot blinked, sniffled. “Consider limiting your journey to the night hours, when you have the protection of the Pensworthy owls.”
“Yes,” Jondu said. “Figured I’d find a good place to make day camp and start up again at dusk.”
“And don’t eat unfamiliar berries unless—”
“I notice the birds and squirrels eating them. I know. I know.”
The one-spirit and the mountain man regarded each other for a moment before Jondu spoke again. “I hope you find your friend Dell-Fee.”
“Give my regards to the cla
ns of Dena and Zachary.” Taproot nodded, gave his beard a tug.
Jondu kicked rocks with the tip of her boot. Were they going to stand in this spot the rest of the day?
The old dwarf spun around and stepped into the deep brush. Gone.
Jondu was alone. Truly alone. For the first time in her life.
A branch snapped above her head. She dove beneath a pine seedling, then peeked up. A Pensworthy owl stared at her from a dead hickory limb.
The corners of her lips curled up. Not totally alone.
Elsbeth watched Grant struggle with his left leg. The trail had provided an abundance of obstacles—downed limbs, rocks, pockets of mud. Now, they faced the sheer rock wall leading to Taproot’s watchtower. To her, the steep path stretched beyond the planets. No telling how it appeared to Sim’s first spirit-son.
Grant led with his sound right leg, pulling his weight up until the prosthesis rested next to his natural leg. Bits of loose gravel skittered to the ground far below.
“Maybe . . .” Elsbeth closed her mouth when she noted Grant’s slumped shoulders. Defeated: she had felt that emotion.
Grant stared down at his legs. “I may need more practice before I can conquer Taproot’s watchtower.” He tilted his head back to regard the slit in the rock face above them. “To think, Sim and I scaled this path a few weeks ago with little thought to the difficulty.” He pivoted to look at Elsbeth. “My current reality fails to meet my high expectations.”
Elsbeth offered a sad smile and a nod. So like Grant to take momentary failure in stride.
“I can describe the position of the blind cavern,” he said. “Sorry I can’t take the lead.”
“We don’t know if this is where Sim has moved.”
Grant held up a finger. “It stands to reason. Sim often told me how he came here to seek solitude. Plus, the cavern would provide adequate shelter from the elements.”
“True.” Unless Sim had been secretly excavating a new burrow, a natural enclosure made perfect sense. Grant outlined the landmarks leading to the cave. Elsbeth repeated his instructions twice to make certain she understood.
“I’m not so good with directions.” Elsbeth shrugged.
Grant’s eyebrows lifted.
“Like that’s a surprise,” she added. Her lack of an inner compass provided the stuff for endless ribbing by the clan. Elsbeth knew up and down. Side to side. But north, south, east, west? Each direction looked the same. She navigated by familiar tree stumps, fern beds, and the shapes of hills.
“I’ll descend and await you.” Grant held out his hand. “Let me have your pack. The reduced weight will make your ascent easier.”
She shucked her backpack and started the climb. Heights bothered Elsbeth more than directions. Better to be snug underground than clinging to some lofty cliff. Owl-gliding was different. Sitting securely atop a Pensworthy owl, Elsbeth experienced the joy of flight.
Focus on one step at a time, she coached herself. She reached a stunted pine clinging to a small patch of dirt between boulders and searched the rock behind it. There! She squeezed through a narrow triangular gap. A cave spread out before her, long and slender, with tumbled boulders forming the walls and ceiling.
She waited for her eyes to grow accustomed to the meager light, then looked around. Sitting stones, a rock hearth. Stacks of stone hoodoos. Like Sim’s burrow.
Elsbeth noted a clump of some sort. She slipped across the cave and leaned down. When she touched the crumpled mound of cloth, it shifted. She jerked her hand away. With the tips of two fingers, she lifted a corner of the blanket and peered beneath. Sim shivered and moaned. A smudge of blood stained one corner of his lips. One hand clutched his chunk of obsidian.
Sim’s eyes opened to slits. “Tick . . .tick,” he said. “Tick.” His eyes rolled back in his head until only the whites showed.
Tick? She didn’t understand. Her mouth went dry with worry. Elsbeth tucked the soiled covers around Sim. “I’ll go get help.”
Elsbeth searched for another blanket. When she found none, she removed her jacket and placed it over the top of Sim’s shivering body. “Hang on, Sim. Please, hang on.”
She descended twice as fast as she had climbed, oblivious to the dizzying height this time. She thumped to the ground. Grant opened his mouth to speak, but Elsbeth held up a hand.
“Got to go get help. I found Sim and something’s really wrong. All he says is tick, tick, over and over.”
“Tick fever.” Grant’s expression grew stern.
“Is that bad?”
“Very. Kills lowlanders. No cure.” Grant glanced down the path and let out a sigh. “I’ll wait here. I’ll only slow you down.”
Elsbeth cradled Sim’s chunk of obsidian in her hands. As soon as he was well—and he would get well—she would give it back. It could return to its proper place on his mantle.
Taka-Herb’s burrow smelled of rich earth, herbs, and warm honey, a blend of scents that never failed to calm Elsbeth. She needed calm, especially now. She huddled beside the hearth with her arms wrapped around her tucked knees. The fire sent waves of warmth through her.
The medicine woman handed Elsbeth a hot cup of chamomile tea. “Sim’s sleeping, finally. I know you, Gabby, and Slate did the best you could to make the trip home easy for him. Quite impressive, the idea for getting him down that rock cliff.”
Elsbeth nodded. “Grant came up with the plan while I ran for help.” The cloth and rope sling with Sim cushioned inside reminded her of a cocoon, and it had worked well to lower him to the ground.
Mari eased down next to Elsbeth and put one arm around her shoulders. “Please, go to your burrow and get some rest. Taka-Herb and I will stay with Sim.”
The thought of leaving Sim, even for a moment, steeped Elsbeth in dread. “I can’t! No. I’m fine. Really.” If she was laying on that cot, freezing then burning, Sim would never desert her. As long as Sim got well, he could call her Lizard the Lousy every day until the Fall Festival.
Taka-Herb stood at the stone stove, pitching ingredients into a stewing mix of mulled herbs. “Sim said something odd. Made me think.”
How anyone could understand Sim’s garbled speech amazed Elsbeth. She and Mari leaned forward, intent on Taka-Herb’s words.
“He said, Deer not sick.” Taka-Herb tore off a clump of wild onion and added it to the pot. “Clear as day.”
“What does it mean?” Mari asked. “Makes no sense.”
“Perhaps it does.” Taka-Herb crushed red berries and stirred them into the bubbling liquid. “If this illness strikes the lowlander soldiers, and they’re calling it tick fever . . .” She wiped her hands on her apron. “The rest of us don’t visit that part of the valley, haven’t for years since the barracks went in.”
“But Sim does,” Mari stated.
“Right. And none of us have this disease.” Taka-Herb gave the pot a stir.
“Grant was with him,” Elsbeth said.
“And didn’t get bitten.” Taka-Herb warmed to the theory, stirring faster until the broth frothed. Elsbeth had not seen the healer this intense since two springs past when Jondu discovered a patch of wild ginseng. “If the deer, or other animals, don’t fall prey to this tick, they must be eating something that offers them protection.”
A flicker of hope rose inside Elsbeth.
“I’m mixing every herb, grass, and berry the deer eat. Some of these only grow next to where the old dump used to be, before the lowlanders filled it in and put up the army base. I’ll distill an elixir and give it to Sim.”
“And if . . .” Mari started.
“If it doesn’t help, I’ll keep tweaking the herbs until something does.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Elsbeth woke with a jerk and swiped the sleep drool from her cheek. For a moment, she watched the fire licking the hickory logs. Other than an occasional sizzle-pop, Taka-Herb’s burrow was quiet. Mari napped on the couch beside her, her lips curled in a peaceful smile. Good thing the two youngers were with Brick and
Slate in the Common Hall.
Across the room, Taka-Herb ministered to Sim. For two days and nights, the medicine woman had worked, brewing elixirs and dripping them into Sim’s slack mouth. Still, his fever raged.
Taproot’s seer’s stone bumped against Elsbeth’s leg. She slipped it from her robe pocket and rolled it in her palm. Wonder if I can work this? Taproot said it was “all about intent.” No problem there. She had a wish list overflowing with intent.
Elsbeth stared at the rounded rock’s slick, black surface, allowing her eyes to shift off-focus. Nothing happened at first. Then a fuzzy form shimmered in the middle.
“Wow,” she mouthed.
The dim outline faded. She tried again, this time willing her mind to tune into the image. Hold it. Hold it.
A view of rolling green hills spread out before her. Trees stretched wooden arms toward a sky dusted with feathery clouds. Elsbeth willed the seer’s gaze to look down. Jondu’s sandaled feet appeared, crusted with a scrim of trail dust.
It works! The sudden thought caused the vision to jiggle. Elsbeth calmed her mind and the scene cleared. Deeper sight, please, she asked the stone. Colors popped—verdant clumps of grass with light painting the blades, a dragonfly perching on a spike of wild peppermint, and the chocolate and gray of a Pensworthy owl, its warm weather plumage. Emotions filtered from the stone, filling Elsbeth with wonder, joy, and a sense of well-being.
Jondu The Traveler is happy! Elsbeth squelched the urge to clap and jump up and down. She wondered if she could reach Taproot and shifted her thoughts toward the old magician.
Nothing.
Elsbeth tried again, pushing the intent hard. Her temples pounded.
The stone remained dark. What did it mean?
A shuffling noise announced Grant’s arrival. He entered the burrow, cast a quick glance toward the couch to Elsbeth and the still-sleeping Mari, and crossed the room to Taka-Herb. Elsbeth eased from her position. Mari mumbled and turned over, but did not wake. Elsbeth padded to join Grant and Taka-Herb.
