Shadows in the Cave

by Meredith

  At the Junction Aku’s Galayi companions from Tusca and Equani would see the ocean for the first time, most of them, and they would stop at the good campsite there, and get their first look at Amaso, where they would fight for their lives.

  Aku wished he could stay up here, in his eagle form, riding the winds. But eagles didn’t have night vision, and he had a duty that was worse than painful. Once he spoke the words, he certainly would not sleep.

  He could see the rest of his life with perfect clarity.

  Tomorrow he would carry the body of his sister Salya into the village, rescued from the Underworld but still dead. Then he would fold his arms around his beloved, Iona, and around the child in her belly. He would breathe in Iona’s warmth.

  And the next day he would die. All the men of the village would die. The lucky might live an extra day, as they were hunted down one by one.

  Aku’s woman and child would be taken as slaves. Iona would share robes with some Brown Leaf man. That man would raise Aku’s child in a world he didn’t know, speaking a tongue not his own, or hers.

  He would fail his sister forever. She would never get her life energy back, never return to walk the good Earth. Worse than dead, far worse.

  He looked up into the sky for other eagles, as though he might search out an alternative life there. But almost everything he loved on Earth was below, within sight, and doomed.

  The wind from the sea was rough—it buffeted his big wings. The world buffeted his feelings, knocked them topsy-turvy.

  There was nothing left but to do his duty. It made him want to scream. Not an eagle scritch, a human scream.

  He glided down through the cooling air. As his little fighting outfit trudged up to the campsite, he cruised over their heads, out of reach, as he did every day. This time they didn’t lift a hand, didn’t even look up. They didn’t look at the ocean, either. They were in a sullen mood. Shonan had pushed everyone so hard that even the pack dogs were worn out.

  Aku lit on a low branch well away from the dogs, changed into human form, dropped to the ground, and walked into camp. He didn’t know how to tell his father and their friends that they were about to die.

  Four men lowered Salya to the ground on her litter. Then they walked away quickly, not even glancing at her, shaking the ache out of their fingers. They were weary of shifting off and on, off and on, bearing the never-ending burden of the dead woman. Their eyes said, though their lips would not, This is pointless.

  Oghi sat down with Salya, like he was keeping her company. He did that a lot. Everyone else was setting up.

  “What’s the news?” said his father. Every day the same words, every day the same expectation. Shonan didn’t really think avian eyes in the sky would bring back any intelligence the men could use to fight.

  Only pain ran through the words Aku had to say. “The Brown Leaves are marching toward our village.” He addressed his father, but all the men could hear. Oghi rose and came close.

  “How many?”

  “About two hundred,” Aku said.

  Every man of them figured out what Shonan now said. “Outnumbered three to one.”

  “Maloch is out in front. He might make it four to one.” Aku felt a need to be blunt.

  “Where?”

  “They were setting up camp on Squirrel Creek.” They both knew the place, had walked the trail. Shonan asked himself whether Aku in his inexperience could make a mistake. No, as high as he flies, he can see the whole country.

  Aku said, “They’ll stand right here tomorrow, in the middle of the afternoon, looking down at our village.”

  “Then they won’t want to make a move until the next day at dawn,” said Shonan, thinking out loud.

  Every man was considering what the move would be. No reason for a siege. No reason for a negotiation of any kind. Surely an all-out blitz. Kill the men and adolescent boys, take the women and children as your own. Why else come in such force?

  Eyes traded emotions.

  Finally Shonan said, “At least they won’t surprise us.”

  “In fact,” said Oghi, “we may be the ones springing a surprise.”

  “My idea,” said Shonan, “is for a surprise that comes sooner. In fact, I say, right now.”

  Oghi started to go on, but Shonan held up a hand. “Is this something you can show me tomorrow afternoon?”

  Oghi thought and said, “Yes.”

  “Good. Zinna, you’re in command until I get back.” Zinna was the most experienced hand, and sneak attacks weren’t his style.

  “Fuyl and Kumu, come with me.”

  Fuyl reached for his spears and spear thrower.

  Shonan said, “Bring them, but we won’t waste the spears.” He hadn’t told them about Maloch, and wouldn’t until the day of the fight. “This is a job for knives, throwing knives.” Kumu was the man for that. Shonan was glad to give the young man a job. Every day, all day, he had carried Salya or marched alongside her. The clown in him was squelched, and his pain was hard to witness.

  “I want to go,” said Aku.

  “Your job is to be the eyes of the men who defend our village tomorrow.”

  Shonan, Kumu, and Fuyl tucked away a little dried meat. “We’ll be there tomorrow about the same time you will, midafternoon.”

  Aku felt drop-jawed. He said to his father quietly, “I admire the way you lead.”

  “Decisive,” said the Red Chief without turning back to his son. He nodded to Fuyl and Kumu, and they were off.

  Shonan and his two young men ran through the twilight. Armies were slow. Whatever distance they could march in a day, determined runners could cover in less than half the time.

  The last lingering light faded, and Shonan walked along by starlight. When they came to the bottom of a little valley, he stepped into the small stream, scooped water up and drank. He said to his two companions, “When will the Sun that Dwells in the Night rise?”

  “Less than a quarter through the night,” said Fuyl. The young man was exact and intense.

  “And Kumu, which quarter will it be in?”

  “Gibbous,” said Kumu. The three-quarter moon.

  Shonan smiled. Kumu was bucking up.

  “Good fellows.” They were observant, as Shonan taught them to be when he was Red Chief of their village. A fighting man needed to know what part of the night would invite him to move and what would not.

  They sat in comfortable silence. Soon the sounds of the night came back. The insects, the birds, the four-footed animals accepted these men as part of the scene. An enemy venturing along this little creek would find nothing to make him suspicious.

  When the Sun that Dwells in the Night rose out of the sea, Shonan simply started running again, followed by the two novices. They ran, ran, ran. They stopped for nothing but quick mouthfuls of water. Shonan could feel the excitement of the two friends. He used it as a pulse to drive him. He ticked off the creeks they crossed. He didn’t want to walk into the middle of an enemy camp by accident, especially not these enemies. He’d flung mud in their faces once already.

  Well before the middle of the night they came to Any Chance River and made an awkward crossing in the moonlight. Rivers were always mysterious, and in the dark they were spooky. His companions followed Shonan without a word, and he felt proud of them. When they stood on the far bank, dripping, he whispered, “This is the last hill. From the top we see the drainage of Squirrel Creek.”

  They walked slowly to the crest and stopped before they could make silhouettes. They crept forward, raised their heads, and looked toward the bottomland along the stream. Shonan couldn’t see the camp, but he knew it stretched along the creek, more than a thousand paces away. He nodded to the left side, and they eased off the trail.

  He pulled Fuyl and Kumu close. “The sentries will be near the camp, not up here. We will move in absolute silence.” He put a flattened hand on the chest of each. “When we get there, we’ll watch. Then we’ll put fear into their hearts.”

  He could fe
el it all now. The cool night air. The danger. Blood, enemy blood.

  He also smelled the anxiety of Fuyl and Kumu. They had hunted, but they had never hunted men. They had reason to be afraid, far more reason than in an ordinary battle. If you died at night, your spirit might get lost, or bad spirits might confuse it and keep it from the road to the Darkening Land. By leading them into this skirmish, Shonan was making a rare guarantee: we will kill with no risk to ourselves, none.

  “Do exactly as I do,” he said.

  He padded along a grassy verge beside the well-worn trail. After several hundred slow paces he turned into the woods. Now he placed each step slowly and shifted his weight carefully. His companions imitated him well. Shonan didn’t care how long it took to get near the camp. Concentration and care—nothing else mattered.

  Finally he pointed. They saw the glow of embers of many campfires, and humped shadows near them. Two hundred men made a lot of humps.

  They crept cautiously, slow step by slow step into the forest and toward the camp. After what felt like a long time Shonan led them onto a low boulder. Shonan pointed to his eyes—Watch! They fanned out slightly, lay down, and looked for movement, or any clue at all.

  Shonan could watch in utter stillness forever. His two young warriors were fidgety—their version of stillness was restless. If they stood guard, an enemy with silent eyes would see them. Shonan ignored them and put all his energy into his eyes.

  He would have liked to spot all four sentries. Not that he knew there were four. Galayi outfits customarily posted outlooks to the east, south, west, and north. He himself had often thought he should break this routine to confound enemies. The Brown Leaves might have any number of sentries, placed anywhere. On the other hand, their experience with the Amaso people, who never fought back, might make them careless.

  Eventually, he saw two of them, across the trail from each other. The near one was alarmingly close. Had the man been good, he would have spotted them and raised the alarm. But he lounged against the trunk of a tree, unwary. Apparently, he was being annoyed by mosquitos. He made a lot of itching and scratching motions. Shonan felt the same insects but never slapped or scratched.

  The man across the trail was more subtle. He stood between boulders so close they formed a slot. His body was concealed by the deep shadow. But he turned his head every once in a while, up the trail, down the trail. Maybe he felt an obligation to look in several directions. Maybe his neck just got stiff. Either way, he moved his head, not his eyes. Too bad—that choice might get his throat cut.

  Shonan put his lips against the ear of the young man who loved his dead daughter and said, “Come with me.” He motioned Fuyl to stay put.

  As Shonan led Kumu the short distance, he was aware of the spirit of the young man behind him. Kumu was nothing but intensity and excitement. He had a true warrior spirit. He grinned, and his crooked tooth caught the moonlight.

  Shonan brought them to about ten paces behind the sentry, undetected. The enemy leaned on the trunk with his left shoulder, exposing his entire back. Shonan indulged in a smile inside. It really shouldn’t be this easy, but for Kumu’s sake he was glad.

  The sentry cursed and slapped a shoulder. What a fool, making noise while on guard.

  This was an easy throw. He nodded the go-ahead.

  Kumu cocked the knife well back. As he hurled it, the sentry said, “Damn it!” and jerked down.

  The knife sliced across his back and bounced into the night air.

  The sentry screamed and reeled.

  Shonan sprang forward and thunked a knife into the idiot’s back. As the fellow arched backward and fell, Shonan hefted his throwing knife out. Then they started running.

  The man across the trail hollered the Brown Leaf war cry. So did the other sentries.

  Sprinting by, Shonan waved to Fuyl to get going. They hit the trail and ran like hell.

  Shonan knew. We’re tired, and they’re fresh.

  Sprinting was not long-distance running, but they had a new elixir of energy. Fear charged up and down their bodies, driven by their blood. It raised their legs, pumped their arms. Three men against a dozen, three against a score—that would fan the flames of any man’s fear.

  Shonan chortled as he ran.

  Up the trail to the crest, down the hill to Any Chance River. Shonan sorted things out while he ran—hell, he thought best when he was running.

  Before long they crouched in the darkness next to the Any Chance, no more than a man’s height from the whoosh of the river. To avoid showing any tracks leading into these woods, they’d waded into the river, slipped downstream a score of steps, climbed out, and crept back to this good position.

  Shonan liked their spot fine. The pine trees were open enough for Fuyl to hurl one of his darts. They were also open enough for the enemies to see the three Galayis, if they looked. With luck they would inspect the riverbank first, their backs to the Galayis in the shadows, and …

  Shonan nudged each of the young men with an elbow. He could feel Fuyl’s intensity like a bed of coals.

  Then the Brown Leaves came in silence. The whisker-whisker of the river covered the noise of their running footsteps, but the moon showed their shapes. Speed as a weapon, silence as a defense against ambush. Shonan knew that the Brown Leaf leader would be thinking about ambush, but what could he do about it?

  The five enemies took a brief look at the riverbank. Fuyl was waiting, as Shonan had instructed, until two of them were lined up behind each other. Four of the enemies knelt or sat down on the bank for the short drop into the water. The most observant turned toward the three shadowed Galayis.

  Before Shonan could urge him, Fuyl let the dart fly. It pierced the observant man’s belly, stuck out beyond, and hit another enemy in the ear.

  Shouts, moans, and wails.

  Shonan, Fuyl, and Kumu used the racket to run half a dozen steps and slip into the water. In a moment they were swimming downstream as quietly as possible. Shonan didn’t know whether the Brown Leaves had seen them. He didn’t care. They had struck a blow. The Brown Leaves might think the Galayis had followed the trail back toward their village and search in that direction. They might figure out the trick of going downriver and come that way. Regardless, they would come slowly and carefully—too slowly.

  Shonan arched his back as he swam, stretching. Everything was right. His young companions were good men. They would get to the ocean at about dawn, sleep briefly, and run back to the village. Shonan looked forward to the run—he always felt good doing something. Time enough to rest at the village. And the story of their two attacks on the enemies would boost the courage of the fighting men there.

  28

  Eagle Aku took a predawn cruise. He saw the Brown Leaf army getting itself ready to march. He looked for Maloch, who could turn himself into the Uktena. For some reason even eagle eyes couldn’t pick out the dragon this time. He couldn’t quite think of Maloch as human, doing as Aku’s marching companions were doing, taking a morning piss, lashing gear onto their dogs, stretching stiff muscles. The Uktena wasn’t human.

  Tonight the Brown Leaves will be at our last camp, tomorrow in our village.

  He winged back along the trail to his own camp but didn’t see his father, Fuyl, or Kumu. Probably they were catching some sleep, well hidden.

  His own outfit was just now ready to move out on their final leg to the village. For them this would be the last, long day of carrying Salya.

  Aku turned toward the sea and flapped into the wind toward home. Yes, Amaso felt like home, because Iona was there.

  He wanted to see her alone, and as he came to the village, he got an idea. He lit on top of an oak snag and watched her hut. One of her sisters came out and walked toward the river carrying gourds. So the whole family was inside. This was his chance.

  He flapped to the village circle and landed atop the family hut. He put his beak to the smoke hole and said in his own voice, “Iona.”

  “Aku?”

  He picture
d her looking around wildly.

  “Iona,” he said in his crude Amaso speech, “meet me below the pine tree.”

  It was the phrase they’d used dozens of times for the same place.

  “Aku?” she cried out. “Are you up there?”

  Before she could see his eagle face, he flew to the trees lining the river. He made the transformation to the Aku shape she knew. Soon he crept up the sand dune, jumped, grabbed her, and rolled over and over. She kept herself from shrieking. They spent a long time kissing.

  As the sun reached its height, Shonan, Fuyl, and Kumu trotted into Amaso. The Galayi members of the village came running to the common to greet them. Shonan had been gone so long that many thought the Red Chief must be dead, and his strange son with him. Amaso members of the village hung back, looking for the seer, Oghi, and not seeing him.

  Quickly, the stories spread. A Brown Leaf army was on the march toward Amaso. Shonan and the two young men had struck at the Brown Leaves last night and killed two or three. Some Amaso people thought that would only make the beast more angry, and they wanted to flee. By now everyone had learned to communicate, and the Galayi members told them that Shonan would do everything that could be done. But even they looked worried.

  Shonan looked around for his bird-man son and didn’t see him. Damn, just when I could use his eagle eyes. The Red Chief looked around the crowd. “You, Cyz, and you, Amar, pick two Amaso men you know. Go back along the trail until you meet our party coming in. If they have seen the enemy, two of you run back and tell me, the other two watch them and come back just ahead of them. If not, all four of you follow the trail until you see the Brown Leaves. They’ll probably camp at the Junction tonight. Run back and let me know for sure.”

  The scouts went. Shonan, Fuyl, and Kumu lay down for naps.

  Later a hand rocked the Red Chief’s shoulder. Shonan opened his eyes abruptly and looked into Oghi’s face.