Shards of History

by Rebecca Roland

  People poured into the open area, several carrying torches. A group of boys—the same boys who had been chasing the leather-tipped stick earlier—burst through one of the alleys. The one in the lead waved his arms overhead.

  “Jeguduns!” he cried. “They took Braxon!”

  A chill ran through Malia as if someone had thrown icy water on her. In Tuvin’s memory, a female Jegudun had tried carrying off a small boy. What if she—or others—had tried again? Without someone like Tuvin around, a Jegudun could carry off a small child easily.

  “Malia,” Enuwal said, “I thought the Jeguduns wouldn’t hurt any Taakwa?”

  She rubbed the chill from her arms and said nothing.

  Chapter 17

  In the center of the milling, shouting crowd, Posalo’s clan mother rose, apparently stepping on something so all could see her. Her hair was mostly gray, and her leathery face was as wrinkled as well-worn shoes, but she held herself as straight as any young woman. She wore a necklace filled with old Jegudun feathers and a brown-and-white wool vest over her deerskin clothes. The vest draped to the ground, a luxurious piece of clothing that none outside this village could probably afford.

  She raised her arms in the air, palms out, and turned a slow circle. “Silence,” she cried out several times. Sound dwindled so that when she completed her circle, all was silent save for the crackle of the torches and an occasional cry from the llamas outside the village. “Plasito, take some men and let one of the boys show you were they were playing. See what you can find.”

  The crowd parted to allow several men through, their faces grim. A woman followed. The man leading the group gently set her aside.

  “My son might be hurt,” she yelled. “You let me go with you, or may the clan mother bring curses down on you for the rest of your life.”

  Let her go, Malia thought. She’ll follow you anyway.

  Plasito gestured for her to lead. She grabbed the nearest torch out of another woman’s hand and began running. The men ran behind her, and soon they all disappeared through an alley.

  “Fron,” the clan mother said, “come up here.”

  She stepped off her perch as one of the boys stepped up, has face pinched and wan. Malia recognized one of the boys from the game of chase earlier that day.

  “Tell us all what happened,” the clan mother said gently.

  Fron shifted his weight side to side and hung his head. His hair draped over either side of his face like a blanket.

  “We blame you for nothing,” the clan mother said. “We need to know what happened.”

  The boy raised his head, a determined look on his face. “It was getting dark, and we only had a little time left before we were called in. We were playing catch-the-leader. Alliette was tending the llamas. She chased us from them when we got too close to the herd. Said we were bothering them.

  “Braxon had the stick. I caught him and wrestled it away.” He grimaced. “Braxon is fast for someone so small. I wanted to make sure I ended the day with the stick. So I shoved him to the ground. I ran, and the others followed. Braxon was behind everybody. That’s when—” His chin began to tremble.

  The clan mother laid a hand on Fron’s shoulder and squeezed. The boy took a deep breath, nodded. The trembling stopped.

  He continued, “That’s when a large shadow passed over me. There was a breeze, and I was cold all of a sudden. I looked up. There were two Jeguduns swooping down on us.

  “I screamed for everybody to drop to the ground. I waved the stick at the Jeguduns. They passed over, and I thought I had scared them, but then I saw Braxon. He was just standing there. I ran for him and yelled for him to get down, but it was like he didn’t hear me. Each Jegudun grabbed a shoulder, and then they were lifting him. I jumped for his feet, but they were too fast. I threw the stick at them.”

  He balled his fists on either side of his head. “If I hadn’t pushed him down, they wouldn’t have taken him. He would have been in the middle of the boys, and someone would have shoved him to the ground when he froze. But he was alone behind everybody else.”

  The clan mother spoke into Fron’s ear for a long moment. The boy shook his head, then nodded, nodded again. Then the clan mother sent him into the arms of a woman waiting nearby. She hurried him away.

  Enuwal leaned to Malia and whispered, “Why would the Jeguduns do such a thing?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.” It had to have something to do with the Maddion. “I should leave for the cliffs, now.”

  “You’re in no shape to do that.”

  At the edge of the crowd, Dalibor and Andrij hovered. Dalibor watched her as a hawk might watch a rabbit before swooping down upon it.

  “If I stay here,” she said, “I’m afraid somebody might tell the clan mother why I left Selu.”

  Enuwal followed her gaze. The lines around his mouth deepened into a frown. “I won’t let him.”

  Malia laid a hand on his arm. “There’s nothing you can do to stop him if that’s what he chooses. And he would only get you in trouble along with me. I need to sneak away before he even realizes I’m gone. You can’t change my mind,” she added when Enuwal began to protest again.

  “You can’t go off into the woods alone at night.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  The muscles around his jaw twitched as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. “Dalibor won’t stay long once he realizes you’re gone. He’ll go after you.”

  “I’ll be at the cliffs. I’d like to see him try to get past the Jeguduns. He’ll go home eventually.”

  “Will you come back here once he’s gone and you’ve delivered your news to the Jeguduns?”

  Malia was tempted to say yes. She wanted to return to village life. She didn’t want to be one of the only humans among Jeguduns. But she might be risking Enuwal’s reputation. And if war did break out, she might not be able to return to the same Taakwa lifestyle. Everything might change.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But while I’m gone, talk to your clan mother and father. Try to convince them to look outside the valley for the real threat to the Taakwa.”

  “That will be hard considering Jeguduns just took a boy.”

  The words stabbed her. “I know. Maybe you could show the more open-minded the cave you found.”

  Enuwal sighed. “You ask the impossible of me.”

  The crowd shifted as one with a rustling of clothes and feet against packed dirt to look towards one of the alleys. Plasito, the rest of the men, and Braxon’s mother had returned. Her crestfallen face told Malia all she needed to know. The boy was, indeed, gone. A pair of women hurried to her to flank her on either side, lending their support.

  The clan mother welcomed Plasito to the center of the crowd. He declined stepping onto her platform as he already stood nearly a head taller than most of the people gathered there. He raised both his arms, and everybody fell silent.

  “We found Jegudun feathers at the place where the boys had been playing,” he began. “But we found no signs of Braxon. We called for him and searched the surrounding area, hoping the creatures had found him too heavy and dropped him. But it seems they have carried him off.”

  “What now?” a woman cried out from the crowd.

  Dalibor frowned in Malia’s direction. Then he began picking his way through the crowd.

  She whirled to Enuwal and hissed, “I need to leave, now.”

  He said nothing, merely took her arm and helped propel her through the crowd. They ducked into his home, the fire dying in the hearth. He ignored it, only grabbing items from the shelves and shoving them into her travel bag.

  “Some food,” he said. “And the rest of the paste I put on your wound. Take off the bandages tomorrow, wash it, then put more paste on. Leave it unwrapped, but make sure it stays clean. I’ll keep them from following you as long as I can.”

  Malia shrugged the bag over one shoulder, adjusting the strap across her chest. She hated leaving so quickly.

  Enuwal took a l
antern from a niche and lit the oil within it. “It won’t give you much light, but it will help. Be careful crossing the bridge. The water’s still high.”

  She couldn’t help the smile that came to her face. “If you keep worrying over me like this, I’ll think you care.”

  He placed his hands on both her shoulders. “I do care. I want you to come back to me soon.”

  Her breathing quickened. She could lean into him, let him wrap his arms around her. But then she would be tempted to stay when she needed to leave and tell the Jeguduns that the Taakwa were coming with an army. She pulled away reluctantly.

  “I’ll try,” she said. It was the best she could do.

  Then she turned and left before she could change her mind.

  Chapter 18

  Malia hadn’t gotten far before Dalibor’s voice rose from inside Enuwal’s home. She caught only snatches of words, but it was enough to make out that Dalibor was angry to not find her there. Her knee and wound ached, but Enuwal’s interventions had eased the pain enough that she could push herself. She trotted from the village and Dalibor, only the slightest of limps noticeable.

  She also ran from Enuwal. And the Taakwa. Her steps faltered. Would she ever be able to return? Or did she hurry to a true life of exile, living among the Jeguduns? And if she had to stay at the cliffs, would it really be that bad? Rasmus had managed to live there for years.

  But she wouldn’t be able to have a family. She wouldn’t get the chance to watch her brother finish growing into a man. And all her training would be wasted. What good would it do her to know the lineages of her people if she lived alone? The realization brought a bitter taste to her mouth.

  Of course, she would have plenty of time for her pottery, but that couldn’t outweigh what she lost with each step.

  The river no longer roared, but rather flowed with a gentle shush. Malia paused at the old bridge. Funny how it had survived the onslaught of water when the newer one hadn’t.

  Nobody followed her. She waited a few moments to be sure. She had thought nobody followed her to Tuvin either. This time, at least, she had Enuwal to keep Dalibor occupied.

  When nothing unexpected moved, she turned to the bridge. She lay one hand on the rough rope railing. It trembled a bit. She clutched the rope tighter to still the shaking. The river would not rise up again and tear down the bridge. She could do this.

  The lantern hardly lit the wooden planks beneath her feet, but the bright moon aided her. She took a deep breath, then started across one deliberate step at a time, the bridge creaking and swaying slightly in response to her weight. Halfway across she paused to wipe a sweaty palm against her skirt and check that nobody followed her. All was still clear.

  She scurried across the rest of the way and sighed when her feet touched the ground. She hastened into the sparse woods until she was sure nobody from the village could spot the dim lantern light. The village itself gave off a faint glow barely perceptible through the trees. Then she considered which route she should take to the cliffs.

  Direct would be best. There were no more roads, and the woods would be empty of Taakwa. Only Enuwal and a few of the braver hunters ever ventured this way. In the morning, the situation would be different as people would no doubt be trying to find Braxon or as men began marching upon the cliffs.

  She started towards the cliffs, which rose like a wall of darkness above the trees. The ground here sloped less as it rolled forward to eventually meet the base of the cliffs, but she still had to watch for dry gullies and rocks and roots jutting from the ground, waiting to trip her.

  The darkness pressed in all around Malia. The scant lantern light grew feeble against it. Just outside the valley, the Maddion camped. No doubt they had huge fires that blazed against the night as they planned their assault against the Taakwa and Jeguduns. Malia’s footsteps quickened, as much with the urge to get her news of the approaching Taakwa to the Jeguduns as to find companionship against the dark.

  She suddenly had the sensation of being watched, as if one moment she had been alone and the next she wasn’t. Her pulse quickened. She whirled, expecting Dalibor and Andrij right behind her, but the woods were empty. One hand rested on the hilt of her dagger as she spent a long moment studying the shadows. She hardly breathed, her ears straining for the sound of footsteps following her. Only the trees moved, their limbs dancing in the slight breeze.

  “Malia,” a voice whispered beside her.

  She spun, drawing the dagger as she did so and raising the lantern. She would throw hot oil on whoever it was and then use her blade.

  Rasmus stood at the edge of the lantern light.

  Malia cried out and took a step back, barely keeping a grip on the lantern. Oil sloshed over the sides.

  “You’re dead,” she said.

  She had never believed the stories of wandering ghosts that the older children had told her when she was young, but she did now.

  “I’m not a spirit,” he said. “I’m alive.”

  Her legs quivered. How could he not be dead? He had plunged into the river with his hands and legs tied. Nobody could have survived that. But then she noticed the way his chest rose and fell quickly. Ghosts didn’t need to breathe.

  Her world spun upside down for a moment as she tried to resolve her belief that Rasmus had died with the fact that he stood before her. His clothes were torn, his tunic hanging by a strip of cloth from one shoulder and a long slash down his loose leggings. A scabbed cut marked the side of his shorn head. He swayed like a cut tree about to fall over.

  She hurried to him and slipped one of his arms around her shoulder. He leaned heavily against her. She eased him to the ground, and he sat against the trunk of a pine tree with a sigh.

  “You must be hungry. And thirsty,” she said. She pulled her water pouch loose and handed it to him.

  As he drank, the apple of his throat bobbing up and down, Malia set the lantern down carefully and pulled off her travel bag. She rummaged through it until she found the package Enuwal had stuffed in there. Out came dried turkey and a small pouch containing a bean paste. She handed both to Rasmus.

  He dipped his finger in the paste and shoved a wad of it in his mouth, quickly finishing it off. Then he turned the pouch inside out and licked the rest. Two bites finished off the turkey. He took another long drink and then leaned his head back against the tree with a sigh.

  “How?” she asked. “How did you make it out of the river? And what about the other two men?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what happened to them. But I got caught up in a small tree hanging from the river bank. It slowed me enough to try to get my feet untied. Just when I thought I couldn’t hold my breath any longer, I got the ropes loose and kicked my way to the surface. I crawled onto land and waited for someone to come running up to me and grab me and hobble me again. At that point, I didn’t care. I was just happy to be alive. When I realized I was alone, I worked on the ropes around my wrists and finally got them off. Then I stumbled into the woods.” He rubbed his scalp, and when his fingers encountered the cut, grimaced. “I can’t quite remember what happened next. I just tried to stay awake. I had a feeling that if I fell asleep, I’d never wake up. And then I started for home.”

  “I have something for that cut.”

  “No, it’ll be fine. Did you find your healer?”

  “Yes.”

  “He took care of the arrow wound?”

  “Yes.”

  Malia didn’t want to elaborate on Enuwal. Although she’d made a decision not to return to him, for his sake, part of her still held out hope that maybe she’d be able to see him again. She didn’t want to bring that up with Rasmus when he was completely exiled from all Taakwa villages.

  “But Jeguduns took one of the village’s young boys.”

  Rasmus sat forward. “What? When?”

  “When night fell. The other boys said two of them swooped down and took one of the smallest boys. Why would they do that?”

  He kneaded hi
s forehead. “It probably has something to do with the Maddion. If they have the blood of a Taakwa and the blood of a Jegudun, then they can bring down the barrier and get into the valley.”

  “How much blood do they need?” She thought of Braxon’s mother and shuddered.

  Rasmus shrugged. “I’m not sure. They might need a few drops, or they might need—” He broke off when he took in her face. “More.”

  All of it. Malia was sure those were the words about to come out of Rasmus’s mouth. “But why would the Jeguduns take a Taakwa if the Maddion released the river?”

  “The Maddion would release the river only if it suited their purpose. They wouldn’t do it because they gave up and were ready to go home.” He struggled to his feet. “We need to get going. We need to find out what’s happening.”

  Malia reached out to help him. Rasmus held a hand out as if to say, no, I’ll do this alone. She slung her bag over her shoulder instead and grabbed the lantern.

  “This healer,” he began. “You trust him? Nobody will follow us?”

  She turned. The woods behind them were empty. “Him I trust. But there are others who might follow us.”

  “You’d better tell me everything that happened since the bridge.”

  So she spoke as they made their way to the cliffs.

  Chapter 19

  The cool night breeze caressed Kushtrim’s face. He stood at the river’s bank, hands clasped behind his back tightly. Pain racked his shoulders and upper back. He found it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to concentrate on anything but that pain. This was the worst it had ever been. He had chewed on willow bark a while ago, with only scant relief. He wanted something stronger, but didn’t want the healer to know how much pain he felt.

  Okpairo strode towards him, carrying a torch. The flame cast dancing shadows across his face. The loose hem of his long tunic flowed about his knees, the purple sash trailing behind him.

  “The poison is ready,” he said as he approached. “The men only wait for your command. They’re poised well down river.”