Altaica

by Tracy M. Joyce

  The first bodies Isaura came across were at the rear of a small outlying cottage. The animals had begun to feast upon them. There was little recognisable about them, yet Isaura knew who they were. She had helped them often enough. There had been no place for the elderly on the boat. Isaura thought of her final visit to them. She had offered them an escape from this fate; they had refused. They thought their age would save them. She urged them to take what she offered, just in case, and to hide deep in the forest. They never had a chance. Their throats had been cut and their bodies dumped like refuse behind their house.

  How many others like this? Isaura found three more. One was behind an empty hen house with an arrow lodged in his back and a fat raven perched on his head, feasting. The other couple were in a ditch. The flies and dog alerted Isaura to their presence. The old man’s head was caved in. The woman’s stomach, to the dog’s delight, was slashed open. There was something oddly compelling about it. She was fascinated by the incongruity between a village devoid of human life, and the vibrancy of the natural world surrounding it. If no one returned here, the village would disappear, but life would not. Isaura could feel its energy thrumming around her.

  What about Gabi’s parents? She hoped they had been spared this fate. Their orchard was some distance from the village, but it had not escaped the army. Soldiers had been camping under the apple trees. The house was bare. There were no bodies inside. The cold cellar under the house had been looted. A stone workshop built into the side of the hill behind the house and its adjoining cold room were empty. No apples, no barrels and no bodies. Where were they? They had been kind to her mother when she had first arrived and Gabriela’s mother had helped birth her. She dreaded finding their bodies. Desperately she searched on. Hope blossomed within her at the thought that they may have survived.

  To her surprise, she was beginning to feel tired; she just wanted to go home. There was no clear path to her cabin from here, but it did not matter—she had roamed these woods since she was a child. The moment she entered the forest she felt a sense of peace descend upon her. The restlessness and uncertainty that had been plaguing her since they began their voyage was dissipating. Sunlight filtered through the tree canopy, creating patches of mottled green interspersed with shafts of bright light. Ferns abounded, their tall fronds bowing their heads gracefully over moss-covered fallen logs and hollows. Small birds flitted amongst the undergrowth, their bright calls chorusing through the forest. It was a soothing balm to her sorrow. Here was life, abundant and vibrant. It beguiled her. I’m not leaving. Not yet, maybe after I rest.

  A colourful finch landed near her and cocked its head. His bright, dark eyes appeared to look directly at her—inviting. He flew off. Isaura followed, delighting in chasing his path; it felt like a game. He would flit from branch to branch and dart under fronds. At each stop, he cocked his head in her direction, beckoning her on. She felt certain he knew she was there. She would catch up, then the game would begin anew. Finally, he dived near a pool of water to snatch up a larva and greedily gobble it down. She revelled in this simple primitive joy. All her cares were forgotten.

  Everything here called to something deep within her spirit. It felt like the welcoming embrace of a friend, offering no judgement, just comfort; she desperately wanted that comfort. So much had happened. So many decisions she had made about the lives of others, choices she wished she had not had to make. The accusations of her father rang in her ears. If he had known everything I did, would he have gone through with his plan?

  The finch was long gone. Isaura realised that she was drifting deep within the forest. How have I come so far? I’ve faded. She could barely see her limbs. Concentrating on her form, she managed to strengthen her image slightly, but it did not regain the definition it had first held. Isaura frowned. Does it really matter? I just want to relax here, rest and not move.

  A stag wandered into view, paused and turned its magnificent antlered head toward her. Pio would love this. She knew what he would say and remembered his voice bursting with excitement the first time he had seen one with her. Finish what you started, Isa. Go home.

  She struggled to maintain the faint hope that she may see her mother’s spirit, but a desolate thought tortured her: If she’s anywhere it won’t be here. Travelling through the forest, Isaura put all of her will into ignoring the pull of the energy around her.

  Isaura crossed the narrow, rutted track that ran through the forest to the next village. The grass that usually grew long between the wheel ruts was flattened and broken, as were the branches of the dense undergrowth directly beside the road—all signs of the passing army. Looking more carefully, Isaura could discern traces of someone’s passing within the forest—scouts. Images of her home ransacked flashed into her mind. Bastards. Did they find it? It was still some way off.

  The idea that it may not have been defiled by the Zaragaria cheered her and drew her focus away from the tantalising colours and sounds around her. Isaura encountered the path to her cabin where it meandered amongst towering, ancient trees. Their massive moss-covered boles were many arm-spans wide and the trunks formed graceful, sloping ridges that draped to the ground, anchoring them to life. Such was the size of these gentle curves that one could sit between them, reclining against the trunk on the soft earth, listening and losing oneself to the surrounding life. Isaura had often done so, letting the peace envelope her.

  The path twisted and turned; with each bend the sound of the river would intrude, then recede. It was impossible to see the cabin until almost upon it. There was no sign of disturbance here. Nestled in a sudden clearing, the cabin looked just as she had left it. Peaceful. Home. Her memory restored her mother to the garden, raising her hand in greeting and smiling. With the rattle of seed pods, the vision dissolved. No one greeted her.

  Isaura was alone as she wandered the small garden. The herb gardens had become unruly and the few remaining vegetables had gone to seed, their straggly drying stalks and seed pods making a dry scraping sound in the soft breeze. Her mother would have been horrified by its neglected state; even Hugo would have fretted over it. It was the one thing they tended together. Isaura couldn’t bring herself to care any longer. It was no longer her duty. None of it mattered anymore.

  She had shut the cabin up when she’d left for the barge, but the side shutter was now open. Frowning, she approached the window. It overlooked her parents’ room. Her heart stopped. One of the beds was empty, but her mother’s was not. On it lay Gabriela’s parents. They were embracing each other, cramped on the narrow bed—lifeless. They had not been dead very long. Their skin appeared grey and waxy, a trace of purple stained their mouths. The troops didn’t get here. They didn’t need to do this.

  Guilt threatened to overwhelm her. She tried to calculate their chances of reaching here undetected—slim given their age and condition. The likelihood that they would have wound up butchered like the others had been high, yet they’d made it here. They should have lived. She’d hoped for this to be a little haven, free from death, free from conscience.

  If Hugo had been here they would have lived. If you hadn’t given them the love’s lament, they would have lived. Hugo’s twisted visage appeared before her. ‘Will you kill us all?’ Her thoughts rebounded within her and each time they did she lost a little more of herself. If you’d left Hugo behind, they’d all be alive.

  A great weight engulfed her as self-loathing wrapped itself about her spirit. He was right—you didn’t know what you were doing.

  Near the cabin was a huge old tree. It had lost the battle against age and lightning long ago. The top half had sheared off and its timber was broken and grey. The centre of the tree had burned out, leaving a hollow base that had been a perfect playing spot for a young adventurer. It was to this ancient soul she went. Entering its dark confines, she wished she could sit, lean against its charred walls, feel its rough texture and the smoothness of the ground. Just let go … just … let … go. Deep below her the tree began to stir to li
fe.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  UMNIGA REACHED THE barge by mid-morning. The large boat lay on the water like a bloated carcass. Its single sail was torn, as was the canvas awning over the deck. There was no movement on the deck. Deo hurled a grappling hook over the railing and several of the young men scaled the side. Umniga followed their rapid movements with envy.

  ‘Don’t worry, old girl. Neither of us is getting up that way,’ Deo said, chuckling.

  A rope ladder was rolled out over the side of the boat at the gap in the railing. One of Deo’s sons leaned over, grinning. ‘Come on, old timers. Up you get.’

  Umniga scowled at Deo. ‘I can see where that one gets his manners from.’

  Deo laughed. ‘Well, up you go, old girl.’ Unmiga pursed her lips and clambered up with Deo behind her. ‘I’ve seen that face before.’

  ‘Deo—I swear if you touch my behind, I will kick you off this ladder into the water.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

  Once on deck, Umniga could see the shock, dismay and disgust on the other’s faces. Then there was the smell. She wrinkled her nose. ‘Check who’s alive.’ She proceeded directly to the cabin.

  ‘Get the water up here,’ Deo quietly ordered before he followed Umniga. ‘These the ones?’

  ‘The girl and the boy.’ She indicated Isaura and Pio, then snorted derisively. ‘And their families.’ The boy was next to the girl, holding her hand. Umniga held out her hand as Deo passed her a water bottle. She shook the boy and patted his face. ‘Come on, little one, C’mon. Wake up.’ Pio mumbled. She poured water on her skirt hem, then used it to wipe his face and eyes, clearing away the dirt and grime sticking his eyelids together. When he blinked disbelievingly at her, she grinned, lighting her wrinkled old visage with kindness. Raising his head, she tipped the water flask to his mouth, slowing him down as he greedily gulped. ‘Slowly, slowly.’ Pio could not understand her words, but her gestures made sense. He pointed to his parents. Deo nodded and took another flask to them.

  Nicanor, now awake, was looking about dazedly. Deo held out the flask, but Nicanor’s fingers fumbled at it, so Deo held it for him as he drank. Deo admired the man’s self-control. Sunburned, chaffed, peeling and cracked skin, hollow-eyed and sallow—he looked terrible, but he only drank a little. Deo held up the flask, but he shook his head, indicating the woman beside him. Together they roused Lucia and she drank. One of Deo’s sons saw to Jaime, Gabriela and Daniel. Umniga could not rouse Isaura.

  Deo moved to Curro and Elena. Curro was attempting to sit up, but only made it halfway. Deo crouched behind him, propping him up. ‘It’s alright lad, you’re safe. Here, drink this.’ Curro looked puzzled, but Deo gave him his best gap-toothed grin while waving the water flask about. Curro nodded weakly and drank, smiling at the old man in gratitude.

  Elena reached single-mindedly for the flask, determination etched harshly on her face. Curro tried to hold it for her, but Elena snatched it from him, succeeding in dropping it with her stiff, clumsy hands. She emitted an animalistic moan, scrambling for the flask as it skittered across the deck.

  Deo reached it first. Uttering a harsh oath, he scowled at her and raised his hand toward her. ‘Stop, girl.’

  Dismay flicked across her face, anger quickly followed it. Her eyes lacked understanding. She remained fixated by the flask.

  Deo smoothed the scowl from his face as he took pity on her. Kneeling before her, he said gently, ‘It’s all right. Just go slow.’ She didn’t hear. He held the flask out of her reach. ‘Sl-ow-ly.’ He enunciated each syllable, slowly and clearly, hoping the pace of his speech would make the message clear to her. The man with her, now sitting up on his own, spoke to her. She dragged her focus from the flask to him. He spoke again, softly, yet firmly. She nodded. Deo then held the flask up to her lips. She did not snatch it, but drank greedily. He began to withdraw the flask, worried she would make herself ill. Elena panicked, tried to snatch the flask and push him over. Curro restrained her, giving Deo a look of both apology and thanks as he left the flask.

  Deo returned to Umniga, who was kneeling beside the girl. She had bathed her face and eyes and was now rubbing her hands. He had never seen such concern on her face. ‘Damn it.’

  ‘Is she …?’

  ‘No. Not yet. I need Devi.’

  Deo called down to his boat, now anchored to the barge. ‘Wake up Devi. He’s needed.’

  ‘Ow! He just bit me,’ cried a distant voice.

  Umniga’s fist thumped the deck. Just what she needed, cantankerous bird. ‘Devi! Get up here before I decide you’re more use as a feather duster.’ An abrupt squawk followed before Devi landed awkwardly inside the cabin. He barked at her, ruffling his feathers and looking utterly indignant. ‘Not long, my friend, then you can sleep. We’ll make it nice and dark for you.’

  Deo knelt beside Umniga. ‘Give me a hand, will you?’ He sat behind her supporting her as she merged deeply with Devi and slumped against him. Deo turned his attention to the girl. Although she was thin and dirty, she looked in better shape than the others, yet she appeared lifeless.

  Umniga and Devi viewed the girl’s aura. It was weak, the colours were muted. The flecks of violet and red were nearly non- existent. There was a very faint aura trail from her body. She’s travelling. Oh gods, no! She scanned the length of the deck and about the barge. Desperation speared her. Where is she? She came back to her body and sat up, looking stricken.

  ‘All right, old girl?’ No answer.

  ‘We’re too late?’

  ‘No, not yet … not quite. Not while she still breathes.’ Umniga felt old and tired. The adrenaline that had spurred her thus far was dwindling. All this effort surely could not be wasted.

  ‘You’ve got the boy,’ Deo said. She nodded, pulling herself together. Pio was looking anxiously between them. She gave him a half-hearted smile.

  ‘Yes, but I’ll not give up the girl yet. We’ve got to get back as fast as we can.’ She stood and surveyed the deck, surprised at the organisation quickly emerging from the chaos. The fishermen had lined up half a dozen bodies near the gap in the railing. The splash as they threw the first one overboard startled the remaining survivors. Some cowed, others cried out in indignation and tried to rise shakily to their feet. Though they were easily pushed back down on the deck, their hostility did not subside.

  ‘Wait,’ Deo called out before they could toss any more bodies into the ocean. ‘Perhaps you should do something, old girl,’ he suggested. She gave him a quizzical look. ‘They are the dead and you are a priestess. Say a few words for their passing.’

  ‘They’re not our dead and they’re not my concern.’

  ‘Didn’t you say Munira had brought you word from Lord Karan, that they were all to be saved? It’ll be a lot easier if they trust us. Say some words, make it look like we care.’

  Deo was right, she could not disobey her clan lord. ‘You are the most gods annoying old sod I’ve ever met.’ Umniga rose and made her way to the bodies. She made pacifying gestures with her hands as she walked among the survivors. ‘Easy … easy,’ she soothed.

  She had no idea if Rana and Jalal would welcome these strangers or if they even deserved welcome. Perhaps they had their own gods—gods who had abandoned them. She knelt before each body and placed her hand upon their hearts. Umniga could feel the heated gazes of the strangers boring into her back as she muttered a quick prayer. ‘May the Great Mother and Father find a place for you, and protect you—alvida.’

  She stood, smiling warmly, facing the remaining villagers. Her real prayer was for their trust. The gazes that met hers were wary, but mollified. As the bodies were dropped over the side, Umniga walked among the survivors. She projected as much caring and calm assurance as she could while handing out more water and small amounts of food to reinforce the fact that they were here to save them. Soon they calmed.

  Deo leaned over the railing to talk to his son, who was hanging from a rope inspecting the side of the ship. Clearly
peeved, Deo spat in disgust. ‘Let’s look below and see what we’ve got on our hands.’ The pair disappeared into the hold.

  ‘Gods, this is an old tub! Who in their right mind would go to sea in this? It’s got more patches than a quilt.’

  His son grunted. ‘They’re all that’s holding it together.’

  On deck again, they inspected the mast and sail. ‘Sail is useless; there’s a crack in the mast too.’

  ‘How long do you think they’ve been out here?’

  Deo shrugged. ‘I do know that they won’t last much longer. It’s not worth trying to sail this hulk back. We’ll load them all on our boats—just them. No room for their things.’

  ‘It’ll be crowded.’

  ‘We’ll cope.’

  The process of transferring the villagers from the barge to the fishing boats was laborious. They had to be lowered over the side via ropes. Only a few would fit on each boat; once one boat filled another took its place. Finally, only the group near the cabin remained. The men helped Gabriela to her feet. She protested weakly, fearful of being separated from Jaime.

  Deo watched this with amusement, before turning to Umniga. ‘You’d think they’d be a bit more grateful.’

  Umniga moved forward and took the girl’s face in her hands. ‘Ssh,’ was all she said as she held her. ‘Ssh.’ Umniga maintained eye contact with her and exuded calm. ‘Ssh.’ Gabriela, transfixed, stood quietly while the men prepared her to be lowered over the side. Her terrified eyes never let Jaime out of her sight. Once in the barge, Jaime held her protectively. Daniel followed, but sat apart from them, simply staring stoically out to sea.

  Umniga next approached Elena, who shrank back from her. Umniga paused, then completely ignored Elena and gestured to Curro. He frowned. He would not leave without Elena. He was about to refuse, but the old woman gave a subtle shake of her head as she slid her eyes almost imperceptibly to Elena. Understanding, he allowed the men to help him to his feet. Curro struggled to bend to gather the rolled leather bundles he always kept near him. The man who had helped him up spoke gruffly and grabbed his arm, shaking his head adamantly.