The Baying of Wolves

by J. Thorn

  Sorcha had found her.

  Chapter 18

  The great gates loomed ahead of Gaston as he all but staggered toward them. No longer were the struggling remnant of the expedition to the south pushed physically by their Cygoa captors. The warriors from the far north had given up being forceful and, he thought, had realized that the survivors wished to reach the end of the path far more than the scouts did. Gaston was among them on that thought.

  Let it end here, he thought. Let them take me before the damn council of idiots, declare me a traitor, and then finish it for good.

  I’m done.

  Above him, familiar masked faces stared down from the walls. This place had been the heart of the Five Clans, not many months before, and now, his own kin, the Cygoa, were masters.

  And they will fight for this place, he thought. They will fight and probably win. The Five Clans—at least those that he had met—were strong and resourceful people, but they couldn’t beat the Cygoa for sheer bloody stubbornness. It was a trait born of the harsh north and the Eerie lake. Upon those shores the remnants of the clans slaughtered and tormented for generations by the T’yun had gathered, taking refuge along the darkened waters of the poisonous lake, in that place where no one else would bother to attempt life.

  But we prevailed, Gaston thought. Survived the harsh weather and grew strong. And now the lands of the south, where the game will be plentiful come the summer, belong to the Cygoa once more. And damn the T’yun descendants to hell. You’ll die here today, but your people, even if ruled by a mob of stupid druids who know no better and are of closed minds, will live on.

  But when he looked up, Gaston saw the one he had hoped not to face staring from the opening between the gates.

  Morlan, chieftain of the warbands.

  And so, my end comes, Gaston thought, and he wondered if he was ready for this end. Have you done enough? No, but maybe. You have gone where they foretold, even though it was a fool's errand. Gone on ahead of all your kin in the hope you could prove they were wrong. Maybe you have done enough. They may, when they see the sickly state of the foolish Elk that followed you, have second thoughts.

  Morlan disappeared from the battlement for a few seconds and then he was on the ground, walking through the open gate toward Gaston.

  “A face I didn’t expect ever to see again stands before me,” he called. The man was easily half a foot taller than Gaston, a warrior true bred and placed well as leader of the warriors of the Cygoa. There were none more deadly, none more decisive, and none more capable of bringing a sharp blade to a problem.

  Gaston nodded.

  “Though, I notice, not looking better for the time that has passed,” said Morlan. The tall warrior glanced at the bedraggled Elk that waited behind the scout group before looking back to Gaston, his head tilted in question. “Who are these sickly folk? Strays you found in a bog somewhere?”

  Gaston shook his head, leaned forward on his knees and took a deep breath. The sickness that was killing the Elk was not completely unknown to his system. His hair would not fall out, and his teeth would not crack, but his stomach and his veins still warned him constantly of the danger, even as his blood battled the invasion of the taint.

  “They are the remnant of some of the Elk, a clan of this valley and the forest beyond, that I managed to divide. Some came with me, some followed their tradition and headed east. No doubt you will meet the others when they return home, looking for their walled town and their forest, which the Cygoa now seem to have borrowed.”

  Morlan smiled, cheerful but egotistical as always. The man had a constant air of confidence about him. “Oh, there is no borrowing here. This is our land, now.”

  Gaston didn’t need to look round to see the reaction of the few surviving Elk members behind him. He heard their weak protests and saw the satisfied expression on Morlan’s face. The bastard was enjoying tormenting them.

  “If you say so,” said Gaston. “But I assure you they will come back for it. They will not just lie down and die.”

  “They will when I’m done,” said Morlan. The man looked past Gaston, toward the sick survivors. “But not these. I’m not completely heartless. What illness befalls them, Gaston? Is it catching?”

  Gaston shook his head. “It’s the sickness of the blight in the south,” he said. Again, hearing curses behind him, and knowing that the Elk that followed him, at least these few remaining, now knew that they had been played. “As I always maintained, before I was so rudely cast out for speaking against the Coven, the land to the south is no green meadow, no refuge in a barren world. It is more sick and lethal than anywhere I have known. The White Citadel that the Coven prophecies speak of is just death for our people. Death. But you will know that, soon enough, when you all travel there. I’m sure I’ll be long gone.”

  Morlan’s smile vanished and was replaced by scrutiny. “What do you mean?”

  Gaston sighed. “I need repeat it all? I am weak.”

  Morlan moved closer, his voice now almost a whisper. “You’ve been there? Seen the Citadel?”

  Gaston nodded. “Yes.”

  “Speak, man,” Morlan demanded, though still keeping his voice low. “What do you mean it is blighted?”

  “Just as with the north-eastern ruins, The Burg, The Wash, and Chicago. Taint is rife,” said Gaston. “But to the south it is thicker, more deadly. There is no place more devoid of life that I have visited.”

  Morlan frowned. “You’re lying to me.”

  Gaston shook his head. “I wish I was. I wish I had been proven wrong, but look at them,” he said, pointing at the zombie-like Elk survivors. “That is what awaits our people. And this is but a small remnant of what followed me. We lost five times that number, buried or left at the side of the road because none of us were strong enough to bury them properly.”

  Morlan’s frown deepened, but then he looked to the scouts. “Take them in. Feed them. See if the Apoth can cure them. Keep them alive, if you can. I would like to at least speak with one of them, if possible.”

  The scouts obeyed immediately, forcefully guiding the few Elk survivors in through the gates. Gaston started to follow, but Morlan reached out and placed a large, insistent hand upon his shoulder.

  “Oh, no,” Morlan said. “You can come with me.”

  Gaston sighed again. “And there was me hoping I’d escaped execution. Let’s be done with it.”

  “Not, at all,” said Morlan. “Come to my quarters. I have food there and will call for my personal Apoth. I want you to tell me everything. I think that we can help each other, Gaston. But first you must give me what I need.”

  “And what might that be?”

  Morlan grinned. “Proof that the Coven is false.”

  Chapter 19

  Jonah sat on the ground and stared at the empty space where the bridge had been minutes before. Around him, warriors hurried to their brothers, aiding the wounded where they could. Most, like him, were still in shock from the sudden violent collapse of the bridge.

  There was movement next to him, and he turned to find Ghafir standing a few feet away, also looking down into the gap. “We lost good men today,” he said. “Brothers that will not be forgotten.”

  Jonah nodded. He had no words. He knew he should stand, should start organizing his men and try to figure out another way for the clans to cross, but his strength had left him for the moment, and all he could do was stare into the darkness below.

  “They will have left Eliz by now,” Ghafir said, as if reading his thoughts. “So, five days before they arrive, maybe.”

  Jonah nodded again. The clans would arrive in great numbers, and they would be halted here, at the edge of the breach, with no way to reach the forests and their homes. But then so would the migrating herds. The birds could fly across, but when the forest creatures headed back west, they too would be stuck this side of the great breach.

  He pondered it and thought that at least some of the game they would need to survive would stop at th
e ravine, and they could hunt them, but what of the future?

  “The herds that lived in the forests won’t ever make it back to them,” he said.

  At this, Ghafir frowned. Then, after a few moments of thought, his eyes went wide, realizing just what Jonah was suggesting.

  Jonah stood, the new problem giving his curious mind the strength to face a task. He had a problem to solve.

  “The herds travel east, to these plains, every year, and then, when the heat becomes too much and the water dries up, they head back west into the forest. The snows have melted by then, and the lakes are full. Then the cycle begins once more. The freeze comes, and they migrate east to follow the warmer weather.”

  “But, from now on, if this breach is as big as we think it is,” said Ghafir, “then only the birds will be able to cross it.”

  Jonah looked down into the breach, and the river that ran alongside the road, and that now, instead of flowing along the riverbed into the plains, plunged into the breach. He pointed at the waterfall. “And the lands this side of the breach will dry up.”

  “What of the people living on the plains, like Ghafir’s people?” asked Declan. Jonah turned. He had been so occupied with his thoughts on the dilemma that he hadn’t noticed the boy join them.

  “We also will have to leave,” Ghafir said, staring out across the green grass flatlands.

  “Everything this side will dry up,” said Jonah. “Give it two years and you could be looking at a desert. We can last another year in this area, I think. Make camp not far from the breach and live off the game that can’t cross, but we will have to build a new bridge and scout north and south along the breach, try to find out where, and if, it ends.”

  Jonah thought silently for a moment. “We will also have to build many bridges if we are to hope that the migration will begin again. Bridges that animals can cross.”

  “But won’t the breach eventually fill up anyway?” asked Declan. The boy pointed at the waterfall where the river’s flow had been sliced in two. “There must be other rivers flowing down from the mountains, and they must all now be flowing into the breach.”

  Jonah’s heart jumped at this thought. Of course, depending on how deep the breach was, and what was at the bottom, the water would eventually fill it up.

  “The boy is right,” said Ghafir. “All this land here is flat, and the lowest until you reach the sea. And if the breach goes all the way to the ocean it will fill much faster.”

  “If it doesn't then it could take years to fill,” said Jonah. “But well spotted and true. Until then, we need to make our way across, somehow. We have to wait for the clans to arrive and build our camp here, then hold council.”

  “What will you tell them?” asked Ghafir.

  Jonah looked west, to the forest. “I’ll tell them that our oldest enemy has returned and claimed our lands, and that we need to build our own bridge or we have to search for a new home.”

  Chapter 20

  Leta watched as Keana busied herself with the menial task of tying down the carts. Her mother had told her that they would be getting back on the road soon, that they would catch up with Jonah. Keana obeyed, and yet Leta sensed a rebellious streak in the girl.

  Strength.

  And that was why the girl’s question made the old woman pause.

  “Will they come for us?”

  “Oh, you poor girl. Come. Sit next to me.”

  Leta dropped down onto one of the logs near the fire pit and shifted to one side to make room for Keana. The girl gripped the twine in her hand as if she needed to prove to Sasha that she was still attending to the carts despite the momentary rest.

  “The Cygoa are out there. That is what your father be attending to now.”

  “No.” Keana shook her head and glanced to the tree line behind the camp. “I didn’t mean the Cygoa. I meant...” she paused for a moment, unwilling to mention the name.

  “The Valk,” said Leta, following the girl’s gaze. “The foul body eaters of the tunnels. You want to know if they’ll come for us.”

  Keana nodded, dropping her chin to her chest while her fingers continued to weave knots in the twine.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Keana smiled and opened her mouth to speak, but Leta continued.

  “We’re not warriors. At least not in the way things have been. From what I’ve managed to glean, from those fleeing the city, the Valk only eat the flesh of fighters. But given the way this world is winding down, I wouldn’t be surprised if us ladies eventually have to pick up the axe. And when that happens, yes, the Valk will come for us, too.” Leta put her hand on the girl’s trembling shoulder. “You wouldn’t want me to lie to you, right?”

  “Of course not,” said Keana. “I’m not a little girl, and I don’t need protecting.”

  Yes. Strength.

  “I was not suggesting you were a little girl. Or protected. None of us are safe, no matter how many warriors we gather around us, or however many more clans your father incorporates. He knows this, and that is why we must deal with the Cygoa. But you’re not nearly afraid of them, even though they wear the same black face paint as the creatures from beneath the earth.”

  “They eat people. Dead people.”

  “Yes, it’s disturbing, isn’t it? Did I ever tell you ‘bout the first time I saw one of the flesh eaters?” Leta asked, shifting her position on the log. Too long sitting in the same position and the aches would come. The bane of the old.

  Keana shook her head.

  “I don’t know. Thirty, maybe forty, years ago? Getting hard to remember much, these days. I’ve had my face in so many piles of rubble, looking for things to scavenge. Haven’t paid much attention to the world ‘til your father made me Elk. But when I was a younger woman, I was stubborn. I was tough. Just like you.”

  Keana flashed Leta a grin. The girl’s hands momentarily rested in her lap. Leta also smiled. The girl was strong but needed to be reminded, sometimes. Being the daughter of one of the greatest of tribal chiefs meant that folk would look at the girl with a kind of reverence, expecting to see in her the same traits they saw in her father and her mother, but that didn’t mean that Keana was aware of any of it. To her, it was just more scrutiny.

  “But those foul beasts will put a streak of fear into the hearts of even the strongest warriors. Like I was sayin’, it must have been decades ago, and I was in a place I can’t quite remember with a name I totally forget. It was a lot like Eliz. One of those cities that musta been quite a sight, back before the world died. Ruins as far as you could see, stretching way into the sky and as far across the land as could be.

  “You don’t care much about that, though. The Valk. Yeah, not sure if that’s what we called ’em, back then, but they was the same ones. No doubt. Different place, different time, same creatures. They still crawled out of the foulest places back then. But only at night. Back then, they hadn’t gone so white, and some still had hair, although they wore it long and tied back but shaved on the sides. They spoke more like ‘normal’ folks, and they just seemed a little more strange than everyone else. I think the way they talk and behave has just become more emphasized as the decades and years have passed. I remember them picking up dead animals off the roads. Maybe there ain’t enough dead animals around no more, so they eventually went to eating dead people.”

  Leta stared at the ground, deep in her memories. “I once watched them waiting in the shadows outside an encampment I was in. Few dozen people, all crowded together, mostly stragglers and solos travellin’ the road to Eliz in numbers, for safety and all. We were heading from the north. No, not the north you know. I mean north this side of the mountains.

  “Anyways, they waited until we had finished with what we were cookin’ and one of the men threw the carcass out of the camp into the bushes. Then they took it. Quiet as anything, just crept up and dragged the remains away. Couldn’t have been much left on the thing. They were like scavenging animals, looking for easy prey.”

&nb
sp; “We’re animals, too.”

  “Yes, Keana. That we are.” Leta looked around. She hadn’t noticed that so many of Nieve’s children had circled around her and Keana. They stood in the same, eerie silence they had many times since they joined the Elk camp. Leta hadn’t been the one they signaled when Gerth and his men had infiltrated their tents, but she figured that they must have spoken to someone last night.

  Sasha approached from the east side of the camp where the carts were now being assembled into a caravan. The sun had crept high enough to warrant a stop for the midday feast, even though they had little food left to qualify as a meal. Leta watched the woman’s eyes move from the children to Keana. Sasha opened her mouth to speak, but Leta interrupted her.

  “Just breaking for a breath. Deciding which tarp to use on that there cart.” Leta had been around long enough to know what a scolding looked like flying off a mother’s lips.

  “I was thinking of telling Solomon that maybe we should wait for Jonah to return instead of heading out on the road without him,” said Sasha.

  “Your daughter’s been spooked by the Valk, and now you are, too,” said Leta, then she winced, regretting her words, remembering that Sasha had been nearly raped and killed by an intruder. His men still swung from the trees on the other side of the field. Leta hadn’t considered that Sasha’s fear was focused on that experience and not the Valk.

  “One would be a fool not to fear those who eat the flesh of others.”

  Leta nodded, allowing Sasha to be right and avoiding an unnecessary conflict with the chief’s wife.

  “If the dead men have eaten, we should go.”

  Leta turned in the other direction where Solomon now stood. Nieve’s kids had disappeared almost as quickly as the Valk.

  “You are my husband’s right hand, and you decide in his absence.”

  The old woman smiled at how deftly Sasha had spoken the truth. Jonah was a brave man but Leta wondered if Keana’s inner strength was a gift from her mother.