by Gene Stiles
It did not go unnoticed by anyone that when Haleah was accosted at the Windsong, nothing had been done to Bodin and his squad for their treatment of her. Nor had any order to bring her to Cronus ever been confirmed.
All of these things made the Aam and even a few of the People think again of the Izon plight. Mayhap if the ‘animals’ could be treated cruelly without consequence, it would be only a matter of time before the People would find themselves in the same state.
“The first question we have to ask ourselves,” Morpheus began, “is ‘what exactly is the purpose of the Aam in this new world?’”
“Protection of the People,” Ufradees, a unit commander, chimed in.
“True,” Morpheus nodded, “but protection from what? On Atlan, we had a definite enemy to fight. Here we do not. True, there are the beasts of the field that we must keep at bay, but most of those have learned to stay away and no longer pose any threat. It is only as we expand our city and build outposts that we find new creatures to guard against.”
He pushed himself from the tree and walked among the group. “The main question we need to ask ourselves is if the Clan is also under our protection. Most of you are here because you know in your heart that the Izon are also people. They may look different from us, but they are not among the creatures of the wood. They think; they have language; they reason; they love. They are more at home in this world that we are. In fact, not a single one of you would be sitting here on the moss, enjoying the warm air of this night, if it were not for the Izon.”
Milanagus harrumphed. “Come now, Morpheus, how can you make such a statement? We all know that it was Haleah who opened the first ship and she is of the People.”
Morpheus yearned to tell them the whole truth; to tell them the history of the Clan, but after being abashed at the attitudes of so many, he was honestly not sure how such news would be taken. Besides, he had given his vow. Instead, he gave the more accepted answer. “And do you truly think Haleah would have survived this world without the Clan? Do you think she would have found us or reached us under the rock without the Izon to aid her? We owe them our very existence. They have earned our protection.”
Milanagus rose from the ground and surveyed those gathered around him. His deep, rich, baritone voice easily carried over the torch-lit group. “Is this not what we have been doing? We have given them shelter, food, offered them clothing, kept the forest animals away. They are safe. Would you not call that protection?”
Morpheus stood in front of him, clasped his shoulder and smiled. “Mil, you are a good man. I have known you to be kind, honest and fair-minded…if a little thick at times.” A small ripple of laugher flowed from the crowd. Morpheus frowned though, his hand still on the man’s shoulder and turned to the others. “Knowing you are kind and fair, yet still think of the Izon as you do is what worries me. How do others without those favorable traits think? Do they even acknowledge the Clan at all? Do they see them as children or as a domesticated animal? I am not as assured as I once was as to that answer.”
He shook his head sadly. “Let me ask you all a simple question then. Would any of you – even a single one – be content to have your every desire granted without effort on your part?”
“Here, here!” many voices chimed out, followed by chuckles and raised hands.
“Alright,” Morpheus continued. “Now what if you could have all of this with one condition attached?”
“It would depend on the condition,” Milanagus countered.
“That you were to be kept in a cage,” Morpheus stated flatly.
“You should not go alone.” Morpheus paced across the thick fur carpet that blanketed the floor in the tiny, one room house Haleah called her own. There were only three pieces of furniture in the stone walled building. There was a four-poster bed made of rough-hewn, knotty wood, webbed with wide, thick strips of leather lightly covered with blankets and furs. This was her concession to the floor and to Morpheus. An overstuffed chair of matching wood squatted near a small, smooth wooden desk. Haleah distained the use of electric lighting, preferring the soft, warm, flickering of candlelight.
“We have been through this already, Morpheus.” Haleah pulled on thin, high-topped, brown boots, stood up and pushed her long blond hair beneath the hood of her ankle-length, black fur cloak. Tying the material together with a strip of hide, she walked in front of Morpheus, impeding his movement. Her fingers caressed the smooth skin and traced the line of his downturned lips. She gave him the slightest hint of a smile then rested her head on his expansive chest, drinking in his pleasantly musky scent. Hearing the slow, steady beating of his heart calmed her and filled her with warmth.
Haleah leaded back to look up into his black, brooding eyes. “I must speak with Guel and the Clan. I feel there is a better chance that they will listen to what I have to say if I am alone. They will not harm me. I am still the Keeper.”
“Still, do you not think it would aid your cause for them to know that there are those of the People who stand with you?”
“I do,” she nodded, “and I shall inform them of this. You must realize, Morpheus, that to date, the Izon have no reason to trust the People…and little reason to trust me. I fear that to walk in with one of their captors would but close their ears to me. Please, trust me in this. When the time is right, I shall introduce you personally to the Clan. I promise.”
“I shall do as you wish, Haleah,” Morpheus sighed, “but I do not have to like it.”
“I shall tell you all which transpires in the morn,” she said and slipped out of the door.
Dark, ominous clouds deepened the night to an inky black. No stars glistened in the sky above. Around the hidden peaks of the white-capped mountains, rumbles of thunder echoed across the valley floor. The occasional brightness of unseen lightning barely made a dent in the darkness.
Haleah padded along the soft carpet of low grass with nary a sound. She stopped short of compound, scanning the area for any sign of guards. She was sure none were present so arrogant was the faith of the People in their technology and she was not disappointed. Haleah drifted silently to the main gate, the lock box glowing like a beacon. The stolen key in her hand fit snugly into the box and turned without the faintest click. The dim blue light from the crystals topping the enclosure winked out of existence. Quickly, she stepped inside and turned the field back on.
The Izon compound was quiet. Unlike any other night when the Clan would camp while on their long journeys, no sentries encircled the sleeping people. No protection was necessary, but it saddened her to see the ingrained instincts of the Clan so easily brushed aside. Haleah skirted the outer, larger buildings until she came to one of the few smaller structures in the back. With no doors to slow her or mark her movement, she slipped inside. Snores and mumbles drifted up from the musky, fur-covered bodies strewn haphazardly around the room. Her eyes adjusting to the gloom, Haleah wound her way to the rear of the building where a small room held just two sleeping forms. She placed her hand over the mouth of the man and shook his shoulder to wake him.
In better days, Guel would have awoken the moment her fingers touched his lips. He would have bounded up with such speed as to throw her to the ground. Haleah felt the wetness of tears streak her face when the fiercest warrior of the Izon lazily opened his lids and gazed at her unmoving. She removed her hand from his mouth and whispered, “Guel. Come with me please.”
For a brief time, she thought he had not heard. He remained where he was, still and silent as if he did not recognize her. With an audible sign, he raised himself up on his elbows and stared at her. “Why?” he replied gruffly.
Her voice caught in her throat. Her lungs had no air with which to form words. She just stared at him stupidly for long seconds. “Please, Guel,” she finally managed to croak.
“No,” was his hard-edged reply.
A burning crimson infused Haleah’s face. Her body trembled with pent up rage. Without thinking, she backhanded Guel with such force as to whip
his head around. The loud crack of the blow reverberated throughout the building, waking the sleepers in the next room.
Guel jumped to his feet, his massive, gnarled hands crushing her windpipe as he lifted her off the ground and drove her into the rock wall. Snarling, he slammed her repeatedly into the hard surface. Haleah let her arms hang limply at her side, taking the impacts as if it were her due. Pain cascaded down her tortured back and blood poured from a gash in her head. Still she did naught to defend herself. Guel plummeted her body with blows until she felt consciousness begin to slip away. Finally, he let go of her and she crumpled to the ground, hearing only the sobbing, raspy breath escaping her bruised lips.
“It is good to see the old Guel, the warrior and the leader of the Izon,” she said, spitting blood upon the floor, “instead of the shadow of a man I’ve heard you became. She raised her aching head, her vision blurry. Guel stood over her, body shaking, muscles bulging, his hands clenched in white-knuckled fists. Sheel stood behind him, her hands locked on his elbows. For a moment, it looks as if he would shake her off to resume her punishment then he took a deep, shuttering breath and stepped away.
Haleah stayed where she had fallen, watching as others of the Clan crowed the open doorway. She felt the light warmth of Healing spread through her veins, the pain seeping away, the blood congealing in her hair. “I deserve nothing less,” she whispered. “I abandoned my people when they needed me most. I blame you not if you would curse the very mention of my name.”
With deliberate slowness, Haleah rose to her feet, keeping her back pressed against the wall and her wet, blue eyes locked on Guel. “I do beg of you, as the last Keeper of the Izon and as my past friend, to, at the very least, listen to what I have to say. If, at the end, you wish me to leave and never return, I shall honor your wishes.”
Guel seemed as if he would throw her bodily out of the building without another word but stopped when Sheel moved around in front of him. “For all of our lives,” Sheel said, “we have trusted the Keeper. Let us give her just one more word.”
He deliberated long, silent moments, staring only at his mate. Finally, with a deep sigh, he gripped Sheel’s arms and moved her aside. “Only for you, my love.” He returned his penetrating gaze to Haleah and growled, “What is it you wish to say, traitor?”
Stung, Haleah replied, “What I have to say would be better shared with the Clan. May we move to the main room?” Without looking back, Guel led the way out to where the others had rose in murmuring groups.
Haleah stood quietly while the Izon settled in a loose semi-circle around her. Unlike campfires of the past, the faces around her glared with mixtures of rage, hatred and even fear. It broke her heart in a million pieces, yet she steeled herself to confront them and return each and every stare.
“I beg your forgiveness,” she began. “I swear upon the Keepers past and the blood of the Izon that I was unaware of the fate of the Clan. I have not much time this night so I shall be very brief.”
All eyes bore into hers as Haleah spoke her next words with venomous passion. “It is time for us – Clan and Keeper – to leave this vile place and be free once more.”
Over the course of the next few months, a new vitality coursed within the Clan. Careful to hide their building excitement from the People, they gave the appearance of being cowed and beaten. However, at night, when prying eyes closed and the glow of the fence crystals promised no escape, they dug pits in scattered locations to hold a growing stockpile of supplies. At first, the Izon wanted to leave at once, but Haleah and cooler heads prevailed, pointing out that they would need food and weapons. In addition, if the Clan were to leave all at once, the People would surely follow. A plan hatched to slip a few people out at a time at first. These handpicked warriors would retrace the Izon’s path across the valley and secure a base in the mountain cavern they had found. Each small group that followed would bring supplies with them. When enough women and children were safe and the loss of more would be noticeable, the rest of the Clan would slip away into the night. Haleah came as often as she could, bringing with her tools and materials to make the weapons of the Izon. There were changes and improvements. Heads of burnished, deadly sharpened metal replaced the chipped rock once used on spear tips. Longer strips of metal were honed to an edge, one end wrapped in wood or animal hide to create knives that would not break when slammed into trees or flesh.
The Clan had grown over the years Haleah had been away. With no predators to harass them and food aplenty, hunters no longer died in the quest for sustenance. The old and infirm did not fall to disease or the harshness of travel. Children were born safe, free from the perils of the old life. For this, at least, the Izon were grateful. Where once the Clan numbers were small, now there were nearly a hundred of them.
It was the children that astounded yet worried Haleah the most. There were so many of them. Most were very young, still suckling at their mothers breasts. How were they to move so many without notice?
Upon her lap, the most wondrous of the younglings lay in peaceful slumber, thumb firmly planted between his lips. A tight cap of curly, black hair surrounded a plump round face with deep-set eyes, wide, pink nose and full, pouty lips. The little body was wide and compact, sturdy, with a promise of growing up to be as powerfully built as his father was. She could not help but smile as his little fist balled up and clenched tightly around her finger.
“Trull will grow up to be as great as his grandfather.” Sheel ran her fingers through his hair with a mother’s love radiating from her face.
“And as free,” Guel promised. He sat next to Haleah, his cheeks glistening from the heat of the fire before him. Beneath the heavy brow ridge, covered with thick, black hair, it was difficult to make out the expression in his dark brown eyes. Haleah could still tell from the way his wide nostrils flared and the tension in his powerful shoulders that Guel could barely contain his anger. “How much longer, Haleah? How much longer must we be treated as beasts of burden, to be beaten when we will not put our lives in peril just to clear a path for our masters? We lost two more good men today when rocks tumbled down on them. And for what? Just so the Cursed Ones could build another house?”
Murmurs of agreement rumbled from around the crackling fire. Almost half of the men of the Clan gathered around the blackened pit in the center of the main building. If they had held this council outside, all could have attended, yet it was not safe to do so. Though unlikely, it would not be wise for inquisitive eyes to see Haleah within the confines of the compound.
Haleah understood their concern. It seemed as if the People were getting more vicious toward the Clan. Rumors abounded of whippings, torture and even of experiments conducted upon the Izon. Though Haleah could not confirm most of these, it was definitely true that there had been unexplained disappearances. The way some of guards looked at the Izon – as if they were filthy and dangerous bugs to be squashed underfoot – made her skin crawl and the fine, blond hair at the nape of her neck to stand on end.
“I could not agree more, Guel,” she nodded. “I yearn to be free of this place. However, spring is still a few moons away. It would not be advisable to move the Clan until the pass beyond the cavern is clear to travel.”
“Our scouts tell us the snows block the peaks but the cave is dry and warm,” Grog interjected. “With the supplies we have been stocking in it, we should be able to feed the Clan for at least two moons.”
“And if winter holds on for longer?” Haleah locked her gaze on each man and woman around her. “You all know there will be no hunting within this valley once we leave. It would be of the gravest danger to do so. We must move to the other side of the river if we are to build a new home. We need boats to do that. Please be patient just a little longer.”
Guel pounded his fist into the hard-packed soil of the floor. “You are right of course, Keeper. Still, I do not have to like it.”
Haleah glowed inwardly at his use of her once-hated title and gripped his corded forearm. “As h
ard as it may be to believe, you do have friends among the People. They are working to help us all. I promise you, my friend, it will be soon. Very soon.”
“She met with them again,” Iapetus reported. He towered before Cronus with his massively thick arms crossed in front of his huge chest. His black, almost pupiless eyes, glistened in the light of the chamber. His straight black hair was tied behind his neckless head and cascaded down to the middle of his back. His low, rumbling voice echoed against the hard rock walls of the room. “Do you want me to bring her to you?”
Cronus leaned back in the thickly padded chair and brushed back an errant red curl of hair from his forehead. He was silent for long moments, his square jaw resting beneath steepled fingers. With a sign, he rose from his rest and walked to the window. His angry, green eyes stared out at the sleeping city, catching the first rays of dawn that painted the clouds with streaks of red and orange. Iapetus stood unmoving, like a block of granite, waiting silently until Cronus was ready to answer.
Cronus turned finally, a muscle twitching in his clenched jaw. “Not yet. Let us see what she has in mind.” He walked back over to his brother, nodding as he came to his decision. “Haleah and her animals pose no threat to the People; still, I wonder what she is up to. Give her time to show us her plan. Then we will deal with her and make an example of her to all.” He spun upon his heel and headed to his private bedchamber. “Keep an eye on her, Iapetus. I trust her not.”
