by J. Thorn
Shouts broke the uneasy calm. Jonah peered into the darkness creeping into the camp in the direction of the noises.
“Where is my father?”
The men next to Jonah lowered their weapons and turned back toward camp where a fire and some rye whiskey would warm their bodies.
The others stepped aside as Gideon walked into camp with two hunters in tow. They each wore hides over their shoulders, but it was not the skins that caught Jonah’s attention. Long, bright feathers were woven through their natty hair. The hunters did not carry bows, axes or knives. Instead, they each held a blowpipe almost as tall as a fully-grown man. They stopped several feet behind Gideon and waited for the boy to approach his father.
“Where were you?”
“Please don’t be mad, Father. I was lost, and these guys helped me find the breach and get back here.”
Jonah looked up and over Gideon’s head at the two hunters.
“We mean no disrespect,” one of them said.
He held his hand up, palm out, to the hunter on the left who spoke. Jonah wrinkled his nose at the strangers and then glared at Gideon. “I told you not to go near the breach. You went into a foreign forest, a place with dangers you can’t possibly imagine.”
“Father, please. Let me explain.”
Jonah put both hands on his hips and waited for Gideon to speak again.
“I used breadcrumbs, but then I couldn’t remember where I tied the last few. But the breach is an hourglass, and these men live there.”
“Slow down. You are talking nonsense.”
Gideon took a deep breath and spoke again. “I was lost, and I’m not sure if would have ever found my way back to camp. If these hunters had not come back with me, I’d still be out there.”
Jonah felt the muscles in his face loosen. The other warriors in the camp went about their evening tasks, but Jonah knew they’d have one ear trained on this conversation.
“You were lost. The hunters escorted you back here. Fine. I’m appreciative.” Jonah attempted a bow of a gratitude but it was just a slight nod of his head toward the hunters. “You and I will discuss that later. What about the breach?”
“There might be a way across. For all of the Elk.”
“Go on.”
“There is a place where the breach narrows. It's small, and it’s a few miles into the forest. But with a few felled trees, I think we could move the caravan across. Like I said, it’s like an hourglass there, with a gap that is much less wide.”
“How far is it from the road?” Jonah watched Gideon’s face as the boy did the mental estimates.
“Only three miles or so, and these men say there is a large clearing a short distance away on the other side of the breach, a big flat area they used to use for their meetings, when they could get to it.”
“And we can get all our carts through those three miles of dense, ancient forest?”
“We can help,” said the hunter. “We can guide you along the buck runs. The deer trails will need to be widened, in places, but a crew with axes could make ya do just fine.”
“What is your name?”
“Iowa of the Greyrook. We are a hunter clan that live over yonder. Got the brightest and best feathers this side of the Northern Plain.”
Jonah nodded but did not extend his hand or offer a formal greeting.
“I’m sorry, my lord. We know how this looks, and we meant no disrespect. Gittin’ yer boy back here. We was hoping that would show our good nature.”
“Thank you,” Jonah said, now extending his hand to Iowa. “My boy’s a bit stubborn.”
“Ain’t they all at that age.”
Jonah smiled.
“Just so you know, we’re trying to cross that breach, too. Our best tree stands are on the opposite side of the hole, and like your boy says, we were planning to cross, but we’re small of numbers, so it would take us some time. But you have the numbers to do the job faster.”
“I know we can get across there, Dad.”
Jonah turned to look at the Elk warriors drinking around the fire. He felt the pressure of time on his shoulders. The Elk were on the way. His wife and daughter. He had to have a way across the breach that wouldn’t end with a Cygoa slaughter on the other side.
“Take a crew and head out with Iowa. Clear the deer trail from the road to the breach. I’ll need a second crew to go with Gideon, to the spot he speaks of, to begin to fell trees.”
Gideon inhaled, stuck out his chest, and smiled at the men who had gathered and were now listening to his father’s commands.
“Get some initial trunks down and over the breach so at least a man can get across. That’s first.”
“Then we build the bridge?”
Jonah put a hand on Gideon’s shoulder and shook his head in response to the boy’s question. “Then you wait for me. We can go across and find out who or what is on the other side of that breach. There’s no point in crossing into danger. We could do that here if the trees were tall enough, but they aren’t.”
Gideon’s shoulders dropped, and he nodded. “Right. Yes, Father.”
“One more thing. Someone needs to figure out a way to get Briar’s attention. No matter what, we’re going to need his bows to cover us while we’re building a new bridge across the breach. That is if he is even still over there and hasn’t left, which I wouldn’t blame him for. He will not know we plan to bridge the gap miles from here.”
Chapter 35
They were moving swiftly now, flowing through the dense foliage and around trees as though they were a river. The scent was getting stronger, and The Brother could feel the tense emotions of the pack. Whatever they discovered near the great hole in the ground, they would set upon it without pause.
They are beyond my control, he thought.
The smell of death in the air, and the sweet scent of prey, had driven them throughout the night, as they made their way back. It was unusual for the pack to retrace their steps, and The Brother preferred to be moving onward, moving ever forward, rather than returning to a place where they had already hunted. But the smell on the air told him things had changed much in the short time since they had taken the lone Walking One in the clearing near the great hole.
How long had it been now? Two turns of the bright sky, or maybe three? He could not remember. They had barely rested since that kill and were now growing hungry once more. This time the weather had ceased its freezing bite, and the bright, cold crust that covered everything when the coldness came was turning to water once more. Now the color of the forest was returning, and so should the prey. But the great hole had done something to change even that. How, The Brother was not sure; he had never paid attention to where the great migrations went during the cold time. The pack would not follow them all the way on their journey, waiting the winter for them to return. But the great hole in the ground now seemed to have stopped the migration.
But surely the hole could not reach to the very ends of the world, The Brother wondered.
They would normally travel to meet the returning herds and wild game, and it was not unusual for them to go without food for many turns of the bright sky. They were used to it. During the cold time, they would slow their pace, sleeping for longer periods. They huddled in a pack, in the best shelter they could find, to hide from the harsh wind, but now their stomachs were rumbling, and the youngest was whining in pain.
As they reached a rise in the land The Brother slowed and sniffed the air. He peered through the thick line of bushes.
There, he thought. I can sense them. They are hiding in the bushes, thinking themselves unseen. And maybe to other Walking Ones they were, but not to his kin.
Without his command, the pack launched itself forward, rushing toward the hidden group, and The Brother could do little but make sure he was at the front.
Chapter 36
Loner hated the woods at night. It wasn’t a sentiment expected from a hunter, from a man who had spent his entire life rubbing his back against bark
and wiping his ass with leaves. But it was true—a secret phobia Loner wouldn’t share with anyone. Not even Briar.
Most hunts began at night. The best archers would claim a tree or platform, nestled between branches, ten feet in the air. The deer spooked easily, which meant getting in position and settling well before daybreak was a necessity. The young hunters trained by pushing—walking through the trails and nudging the deer from their beds and toward the hunters, waiting with full quivers. Loner remembered those days fondly; entering the forest under a cold but brilliant sun and without the expectation of making a kill.
A twig snapped and drew his attention to the east. He sat on the precipice of the breach and continued to rub the muscles in his leg. A limp in hunting might cost a set of antlers, but in war, it could mean the difference between life and death. Briar had trusted him to stand guard, although from whom? Loner hadn’t convinced himself that the Elk were much more noble than the Cygoa. Just two bloodthirsty clans bent on destroying each other.
Loner turned back to his leg and then picked up his bow to inspect it for cracks or frays. The sound had most likely been an animal and was not worth his attention. The bow looked strong. He counted three hides in his sack, along with about a half pound of jerked squirrel.
It’d last me several days. And if I got a buck on my way out, I’d be set for weeks.
He set the bow down and pulled the quiver into his lap. His leg ached, demanding another massage, but Loner pushed the dull pain from his mind. He glanced at the funeral pyre in the distance and then over to the camp fire they had lit earlier. Briar was not more than twenty yards away and yet Loner felt isolated. Distant.
Nine arrows.
Not exactly enough to get out of a skirmish alive. Maybe not even enough to bag a hare or slow-moving groundhog. But enough.
“They call you Loner.” He spoke the words but the darkened forest did not answer.
He couldn’t remember who had first given him that name but it was not randomly chosen. Loner spent hours alone in the forest—but in daylight, of course. A cold, narrow creek ran through the village where he lived as a child and the sound of the water had provided a beautiful blanket over the sounds made by the other humans.
“Okay. I’ll go.”
He stood and the pain seized his leg. He stumbled forward and grabbed the quiver, throwing it over his shoulder. Loner clutched his bow in one hand and took a step toward the west when the first cry tore the night open. Men screamed, and beneath it all, Loner heard howling and growls. He put his hands to his ears, wishing the creek near his village was there to drown out the sounds of death. Three, possibly four distinct voices rang out and within only a few minutes, they all fell silent.
Loner started running. He couldn’t remember where the screaming originated from, and once he had gotten thirty yards into the forest, he could no longer remember where the breach sat. He could smell the smoke from the fires but the flames had been hidden by the trees. He ran faster, ducking and stumbling over fallen trunks, ignoring the new pain blossoming in his leg.
What about the breach?
One misstep would put him at the bottom, along with the cold bodies of dead warriors. Loner dodged to his left and ran right into Briar. Both men dropped their bows and the impact knocked the breath from Loner’s chest. His face hit the ground and he gasped into the dry leaves sticking to his lips. He rolled to one side and saw Briar on one knee, a thin dark line of blood now trickling from his right nostril.
“What the fuck?”
“Sorry, Briar.” Loner coughed, trying to get air into his lungs at the same time as apologizing to the hunter. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Briar used his sleeve to wipe the blood from his nose, smearing a thick red swath across his cheek.
“Did you hear that? Holy shit. I was trying to get back to you and the others at camp. I musta gotten turned around.”
Briar waited for Loner to stand. He peered into Loner’s eyes.
“Yeah. I guess so. Crazy how you ended up running in the complete opposite direction to the camp.”
“I know, right? The sounds. I heard men screaming and…”
“We heard it too, Loner. We were right over there. It was a bunch of wolves. That’s all.”
“If it was just that, what happened to the men? I gotta assume the pack attacked Cygoa. Those are some bad-ass sons of bitches. You really think some normal, mangy pack could take out Cygoa?”
Briar put his hands on his hips. His tongue flicked out to lick at the drop of blood on his top lip as the flow from his nose slowed. “No, I guess not. You’d think they’d be better with their weapons.”
Loner straightened up and nodded. A cough turned into a high-pitched giggle. “I don’t like it here. We should be a long way from here by now.”
“I know. Everything is off. The earth splitting, the Cygoa. All of it. I don’t have a good feeling about it. But we can’t go anywhere if they are all over the lands. We need the clans over the breach to give the damn Cygoa someone else to worry about, so they won’t even notice us.”
Loner nodded but did not speak. Leaving the area and escaping into the vast wilderness couldn’t be his idea. Briar would have to come to that on his own. However, Loner wasn’t above nudging him in that direction.
“They’re not ordinary wolves. That pack is running with demons. You heard those sounds, same as me. It ain't no normal sized pack.”
“Come back with me and the rest of the hunters. Dawn is only a few hours away, and I expect to hear from Jonah soon.”
Loner reached out and gripped Briar’s shoulder. “Of course. Whatever you decide, I’m with you. But honestly, I’d rather face Cygoa straight on than deal with this shit. I mean, maybe there’s even Valk— “
“No. Don’t even speak of it. We have enough to worry about now without bringing those demonic heathens into the mix.”
Loner turned and took one last look to the west, where the land stretched into eternity. He winced at the pain in his leg, which had returned now that his adrenaline had faded. “Right on. I’ll follow you back.”
Briar nodded but held eye contact with Loner. He looked away, unable to hold Briar’s gaze.
Chapter 37
Seren awoke to near silence. Other than the distant howling of the wind, as it flowed through the ruins, there was no other noise. She wondered, as she sat there rubbing the dust from her eyes, if the wildlife that migrated back to the forest ever came here. She had noticed birds but little else. Would this remote and hidden city always be as quiet and desolate? Or in a month’s time would it be filled with the cacophony of the forest that she often heard in the mornings before heading out to hunt?
The thought of the village, her summer home, her shack up on the road just far enough away from the other buildings to give her the solitude she loved and yet not so far that she was completely isolated, gave her a pang of regret. She missed the village and knew that when she returned—if that ever happened, now that strangers had invaded Wytheville—it would never be the same. Roke was gone, possibly forever, as were many others.
I may never see my brother again, she thought.
She glanced to her feet, where Sorcha lay curled up on the deer skins, still fast asleep. She carefully pulled back the furs and shivered at the cold. It was still not yet spring, and even though most of the snow had thawed, the land was still cold at night and first thing in the morning. The skins from the deer were so good at blocking the cold that it was easy to forget until she wasn’t wrapped in them.
Seren shifted and eased her way around Sorcha, leaving the skins where they were and hoping that the wolf would stay where she was. The room had been littered with junk when they found it, but she had kicked most of it out of the way, pushing it to the edges of the room, and now a clear space led to the doorway and to the window next to it. She walked to the window and peered out.
They had found the place the night before, when darkness was almost upon them. She
hadn’t liked the openness of most of the spaces she had seen before that, but she had been almost ready to stop anywhere. A lot of the buildings had too many open holes, too many entrances that would let in the cold, wind and any predators that wanted to sneak in. But finally, as she was ready to give in, they came across what looked like an old shop on the corner of a street, a dozen blocks from the huge clearing covered with ivy. Surprisingly, the windows along the front of the shop had still been intact, as was the door. Although the latter was barely hanging from its hinges, it hadn’t fallen off yet and was easy to wedge shut. Inside was as much a mess as any other place. Broken furniture, fallen tiles, dirt, rubble and dust littered the floor and was piled up in the corners and against the walls, most of it covered with cobwebs.
But then she found the stairs leading down to what appeared to be a sub-level storage room. It was quite dark down there, but some light came through a panel window in the ceiling that she hadn’t noticed from the outside of the building. It was small—no bigger than one of the rooms in her shack back home in the village—but that was good. It meant it would easily warm up and there was enough ventilation through holes in the upper floor that she would be able to light a small fire in one corner, near the stairs, and not worry about drawing too much attention should anyone or anything pass by.
They had both slept all through the night, the two of them completely exhausted.
Standing at the small window, peering out onto the street, Seren wondered if it was early morning. She had no idea of the time, and with all the buildings blocking the view of the sky, she couldn’t see the sun. She heard a sound behind her and turned to see Sorcha sitting up. The young she-wolf shook herself, looked at Seren, and made a whining noise.
“Morning,” said Seren. “I know it’s cozy here, but we need to move on, get going.”
Sorcha sniffed and then lay back down.
Seren turned back to the window. “I may have one last look around, in the buildings along this street. You never know what might be hidden in this place. Doesn’t look as though people have visited here in a long time.”
