Season of Glory

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  I scoffed at the thought. I knew they were gathering followers, but none of power. “Whom have they drawn to date? Some Drifters? The northern rebels, the Aravanders?”

  “So far,” Sethos said, steepling his fingers and turning toward the window, thinking. “But the draw of the Way is powerful, as you know yourself. The Remnants, together … and now with your brother among them …”

  His mention of my brother among the Remnants shot a dark arrow of jealousy and hatred through me. I clenched my fists. “Let us go to the war room,” I said, striding toward the door. “And summon my Council,” I bit out. “I want to know everything. Now.”

  ANDRIANA

  We were almost across the Great Expanse when we saw the drone turn in a broad arc, as if it had caught sight of us. The Jeep pulled to an abrupt halt. “Get out!” the driver screeched. “Out, now! Hide over there, among the boulders!”

  Niero lifted his chin in agreement. “Everybody out. Fast.”

  As soon as the last of us were out, the Jeep surged into motion again, out across a shallow, sandy, desolate valley. We could already hear the whirr of the approaching bird’s propellers.

  We scrambled to find the nearest hiding places wherever we could. Vidar edged under a thorny bush. The others went for the big, round boulders and crevices. Bellona covered her exposed legs with sand.

  “Dri,” Ronan said from somewhere nearby. “You clear? Out of view?”

  “Yes,” I said, pulling my shoulder in a bit more.

  “Everyone be still,” Niero said.

  The bird buzzed over us, circled, and then returned. It seemed to be hovering above us, searching, moving a few paces, and then scanning the ground below further. My heart pounded, remembering how close the drone had come to me at the river near the Aravander camp … and what followed. Would they spot some detail that would bring Pacifican soldiers after us again? I couldn’t be captured again. Not after we’d come so far.

  Home, I thought. I just want to be home. In the Valley. To rest. Recover. Before taking on the next fight. Please, Maker, I prayed. Protect us. Shield us.

  After several long, agonizing moments, the bird flew off. Gradually, we all emerged. It was with some relief that we saw it followed the dusty plume of the Jeep, now in the distance, rather than returning to Pacifica. With any luck, we hadn’t been discovered.

  “They’ll think our driver is a Drifter,” Vidar said, half in admiration of the smugglers. “That’s why he changed into those clothes. And with such meager cargo, even if they detain him, they’ll have no reason to arrest him.”

  “Think he’ll return for us?” Bellona asked with little hope.

  “I think we’re more likely in for a long walk,” Niero said.

  “Hey, but we’re more than halfway,” Vidar said cheerfully.

  We all turned doleful eyes toward him.

  “It’s better than a quarter, right?” he said.

  “We’ll spend the afternoon in the shade,” Niero said, “preserving our energy and not getting too dehydrated. We’ll walk when night falls.”

  CHAPTER

  6

  ANDRIANA

  We circumvented Castle Vega by a wide margin to the north, and then Zanzibar a couple of days later. I practically started running when we crossed the river that led toward home. Recognizing it, we picked up our pace. We knew that by nightfall we’d surely reach the mouth of our valley. A fine mist had covered us since morning—and I welcomed it. After so long a time in the desert, the smell of water on my skin and leather made my heart sing. But it did make the dirt a bit heavier to plod through, which slowed our progress.

  As we passed the first pines, I reached up and ran my hand through the long needles, inhaling their scent as we walked. Even that seemed to strengthen me, giving me the will to continue to put one foot in front of the other though I was so very weary. I remembered the last time we’d returned here and how I’d slept for most of two days and awakened to learn of my parents’ disappearance. I glanced ahead to them, saw Dad’s arm around Mom, and shivered.

  Ronan edged nearer and interlaced his fingers with mine. We brought up the rear of our party, and in the gathering dark, no one was likely to see us. “Smells like home,” he whispered.

  I smiled at him. Between the scent of his damp coat and the trees, if I closed my eyes, we might have been three years in the past, waiting for our trainer to arrive. And in that one action—taking my hand—I felt as if he’d chosen to believe me, forgive me, trust me again, regardless of what Chaza’el had foreseen. Regardless of what I had allowed to happen with Keallach.

  Ronan tightened his grip on my hand. “What is it?” he asked, pulling me closer to whisper, his dark brows knitting together.

  Belatedly, I understood that, through our touch, he’d felt what I had, in thinking of Keallach. I’d cast my emotions into him. This time, guilt. “What?” I said, hoping not to get into it.

  He waited me out, refusing to let me go.

  “I was just thinking how good your hand felt in mine,” I finally admitted, “and how I’m glad you are not Keallach.”

  He leaned close to whisper, “It feels good to touch you again.” Then he took the lead on the narrower trail as we entered deeper forest, still holding my hand. Seconds later, he whirled and grabbed my waist, pulling me into the brush. “We’re not alone,” he growled to Vidar, who had paused just ahead. “Sense anything?”

  “No,” Vidar whispered back.

  Everyone eased from the path and into the shelter of the forest, except for Niero. We could barely make out his dark form in the dim light, but I knew his tension. Worse, I felt it from others around us. Many, screamed my mind. So many.

  “You’re surrounded,” growled a low voice. “We have ten archers with arrows pointed at your chests, plus four with guns. Raise your hands.”

  We all lifted our hands together. How had we not heard them?

  “Who are you?” barked a low voice. “What are you doing here?”

  “We are people of the Way,” Niero said, striding back toward us. “Valley dwellers. Who are you?”

  After a pause, I felt the easing of tension, and joy replacing it. My armband was warm. Those holding guns switched their safeties on again; those holding bows released the tension on their strings. I turned as Vidar and Bellona whooped in joy and clasped arms with the dark forms behind us. It was then I knew. Aravanders. The Aravanders were here. They’d formed an advance guard to the Valley.

  A torch was lit, and we saw that two of them were the same women who had rescued us from the Isle of Catal—the dark-haired gunner and Aleris, the boat captain. Vidar sidled right up to the gunner, who held a fearsome weapon in her strong arms. “Have I mentioned how much I love a woman with a gun?” Vidar asked, flashing her one of his winning smiles. “I’ve dreamed of meeting up with you again. And now this …”

  The girl rolled her eyes in return as she passed by him, but I felt her pleasure.

  “Wait!” he cried, following after her. “What is your name? I’ve kicked myself a hundred times for not asking.”

  I grinned. How could she not be charmed? Bellona, on the other hand, just groaned and moved past them as the gunner turned to chat with Vidar. Camilla was her name.

  The guards led us to their post, where we were placed on mudhorses. Wearily, gratefully, I sank onto an old mare’s back. “As tired as you might be after a long day of work, girl,” I said, leaning forward to stroke her mane, “I think I might have you beat.”

  More torches were lit to surround us, and we continued up the Valley with the Aravanders pointing out new trails to various encampments. “There are thousands here now,” said Aleris. “Every day, hundreds more come. They’re all under strict orders to live as we direct them—dousing campfires before nightfall, hiding their dwellings under branches. Many have taken refuge in the caves to the west side of the Valley. We don’t want Pacifica to know how many are here when they come hunting.”

  “It’s effective,” Bello
na said. “We had no idea upon our approach that so many had arrived. But we don’t have drones.”

  “True. But I can tell you from experience that, even with the drones, the Pacificans are always surprised at who rises to fight them,” she said with a flash in her eyes.

  “Are all willing to fight for the Community if it comes to that?” Ronan asked the guard nearest him, a tall man walking beside his mudhorse in traditional Aravander skins.

  “They are. There are many capable men and women among them. Better yet, there are hunters and goatherds and farmers who improve by the day in making the most of our last weeks of Harvest. You might also be surprised that your old friend Jorre moved his trading post here. After your visit, he said he couldn’t ignore the desire to join you, any way he could. He found great joy in the stores that our people brought with us—salt, dried fish, and pelts—and has made good use of them in trade on behalf of the Community.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. While our trader friend Tonna seemed capable of holding her own in the desert near Zanzibar, Jorre had seemed vulnerable, with his many wives and adopted children.

  “His camp is just over there,” he said, nodding to the right. It made sense to put a trading post near the mouth of the Valley. “While this is a boon to us, aiding us in gathering provisions for so many,” the man continued, “it necessitates further guarding of the Valley’s mouth. You’ll see that your Valley gets far more visitors these days, and once they understand the power among the Community, many of them choose to stay.”

  We learned that Zulema and Ignacio, the grandmother and grandson that Tressa had healed, were up on the northern slope, among the cliffs that lined the river—which the goats loved. “They’ve grown fat and happy in these last weeks,” Aleris said. And to the left of the trail, Dagan had cleared forest and prepared ground for next season’s plantings. “We have hope that he will be successful,” she said. I could hear the shrug in her voice. Our Valley was far more damp a territory than that of the Hoodites. But the idea that we might grow our own food, even in part … My mouth watered at the memory of berries on my tongue.

  More guards met us on the path. People from Georgii Post, we realized, friends of Azarel and Asher, reached up to touch our hands, muttering their welcomes in awed tones. On and on it went as we climbed deeper into the Valley. More Aravanders, among the trees, shouted down to us in greeting. People from Chaza’el’s village thronged around and greeted us with tears streaming down their faces.

  “It’s more a city than a forest now,” Bellona muttered. “They’re everywhere.”

  “They are!” I said, grinning from the collective joy all about. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “Wonderful,” she said reluctantly. I knew she was worried about protecting them all. It was a Knight’s way. But if the Maker had led them all here, we would have to rely on him to see us through. And together, were we not stronger yet?

  Up and up we wound along the trail, past camps with the delicious smell of roasting meat and fish on spits. I was wondering where they had found such bounty—it couldn’t all be from Jorre’s trading post—when I heard a flock of geese flying above us, heading south, and then glimpsed two Aravanders raise their bows, close their eyes as if only relying upon their hearing, and manage to take down a pair with their arrows, even in the dark. We could hear the geese come crashing down through the trees and brush. I would have marveled at their prowess as archers if I hadn’t been so taken with the fact that there were birds. Birds here, in the Valley. Geese. I hadn’t seen any here since I was a little girl. The birds—so long hunted out—had returned to our Valley.

  Niero looked back at me from atop his horse. “The Maker has made a way for us to feed all these new Valley dwellers, has he not?”

  “It’s a miracle,” I said.

  “Indeed,” Ronan said. He grinned at me, and there was such joy and relief in his eyes it made me tear up. I realized then the weight he carried, watching over me, worrying over me. Here, at last, he could find some relief from that burden for a time.

  The people seemed to seep from the forest like sap from the trees, thronging around us with so many torches that the surrounding trees glowed with their golden light. I knew that the Aravander guards behind us would send word if a drone approached. For now, it was just us—Community, gathering—and it made my heart swell with joy. Some began to sing, and the sound of their combined voices, encapsulating us when we did not have the strength to join in, nourished me from within. Vidar and I shared a look—this was good, so necessary, so vital for us. To be with others of the Way. To feel their joy from the outside in. We had been away too long.

  We reached the Citadel and slipped between the edges of the deep crevasse that led into the fortress carved from rock. There were hundreds of people inside this time, and it transformed the structure from a cold cave to a comforting palisade against the dark. We were led into the hive-like meeting room, where every seat was filled and even more stood, as if they’d been awaiting us for weeks. And perhaps they had. Asher and Azarel, Chaza’el, Kapriel, Killian, and Tressa were among them, grinning and rushing to hug us.

  Everyone in the room applauded, and I blushed at the attention. It was rare for praise and adulation to happen within the Community for anyone other than the Maker. But here, now, all I felt was the comfort and approval of our brothers and sisters. And it was glorious. Vidar reached out and wrapped one arm around my shoulders and the other around Bellona’s waist. One by one, we interlocked, we Remnants and Knights, and grinned up and around at the people in this room. Those of the Valley, Drifters, Aravanders, people from Georgii Post, and even Castle Vega. Everywhere we’d gone, it was clear that the Maker had used our presence to call his people home.

  Finally, they all grew quiet, and someone brought us chairs, as well as water and meat and even a bowl of rice. We gratefully ate and drank, taking turns sharing our story with them all. For hours, they sat, so silent and still, hanging on our every word.

  “And now? Where does the Maker send you next?” asked one elder.

  “To Zanzibar,” an old, sightless elder said, with a mixture of distaste and wonder on her wrinkled face.

  Chaza’el started in surprise. “That is right,” he said firmly, with a nod.

  Reluctantly, I knew it was true, deep within.

  “But there are inherent dangers in going there,” Niero said, “that we hope you can help us mitigate, fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers. We narrowly escaped with our lives last time.”

  “You’ll need papers,” Jorre said with his big, booming voice. He lifted a hand and twisted his lip, dismissing our worries. “I can speak to Tonna about it.”

  “Or simply a tattoo,” added a woman, pulling down her tunic to show the mark on her shoulder that every Zanzibian was required to have.

  “They will help, but we’ll need more than that,” Ronan said, rising to his feet. “The women among us, warriors though they may be, are in distinct danger there. Any woman who is not betrothed in the City of Men becomes ten times the target. The Lord of Zanzibar prides himself in collecting women for his harem. But I have a solution.”

  I held my breath as he glanced at me. I’d had no idea he planned to speak.

  “I am well aware that it has been forbidden for the Ailith to love beyond the ways of kinship. I understand we must remain true to our calling and mission, first and foremost, and there has been concern among the elders that anything else would distract us from that calling and mission. But the Maker has carved something much deeper in my heart for Andriana, and I publically declare now that I intend to have her as my wife. Whether you bless our union now or in the future, we shall one day be together.” He looked only at me as he said it.

  I stared at him in shock. And in joy. Could it be? Was he making a way for us? Or destroying any hope we ever had?

  People gasped and whispered, and there was a mixture of consternation, yet also compassion, among their faces. The elder raised his hand, and
the room remained silent. “This has clearly long been on your mind, son,” he said to Ronan, and Ronan turned to face him. “What has brought you to this, besides love?”

  “We narrowly avoided losing Andriana to Pacifica’s emperor,” Ronan said, sliding his eyes toward Kapriel and then back to the elders. “Keallach’s Council intended to see her wed to the emperor and were willing to put me and her parents to death in order to secure her agreement. It is my belief as Andriana’s protector that if we are to enter Zanzibar and beyond she would be safest as my bride. Or at the very least, my bound bride.” He waited for another moment as the room again erupted in whispers. Bindings had only occurred a couple of times in our community—usually when one was about to leave the Valley but intended to return seasons later. “But fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers, it would be my joy to have her as my wife now. I know it is our way to wait until our second decade, but that is only five seasons away. And in this time, given our extraordinary circumstances, I humbly ask that you grant us permission to share our vows on the eve of the upcoming Harvest moon.”

  “I, too,” Killian said, rising and pulling Tressa with him, “ask for the same blessing and honor in taking Tressa as my bride.”

  Ronan and I shared a knowing grin. We always knew they were in love.

  Vidar turned to Bellona.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she hissed, with an eye roll and a shake of her head.

  Ronan turned to me and offered his hand. Eyes on his, I took it and rose, realizing my knees were shaking. Out of weariness? Or because of what he had just suggested? Or both?

  I glanced over his shoulder at our captain. Niero remained stoic, his dark eyes canvassing the room as if taking it all in at once, considering. He appeared to be waiting for the elders to take the lead on this. Ronan’s proposal did make sense, as did Killian’s. A marriage—or binding—would help in keeping us safe. In Zanzibar. In Pacifica. Perhaps everywhere.