Shards of History

by Rebecca Roland

  The other Jeguduns led her past him and through a dark opening. Vacir followed.

  They all stood in a small room. A thin line of water trickled down one corner to a bowl. The walls and floor were bare and cold. Two torches stood in sconces on the wall, hardly illuminating the space.

  It took all three Jeguduns to force the struggling female to her knees with her back to Vacir. He pulled out a sharp knife, grabbed the edge of one of her wings, and laid the blade against it.

  Bile rose to Malia’s throat. Apparently, the Jeguduns punished their own by clipping their wings and leaving them underground, denied access to the air. She wanted to close her eyes or pull out of the memory, but Vacir had too great a hold on her mind. She had no choice but to watch.

  The blade made a clean cut through bone and flesh. The female shuddered but didn’t cry out. She slumped, and the others had to hold her up for Vacir to cut the other wing. Then they quickly tended the wounds, cleaning them and bandaging them. By the sour expression on the other Jeguduns’ faces, they didn’t enjoy this at all.

  Then they unbound what remained of her wings. One of the Jeguduns hurried out of the room and brought in a basket with food. He left it in the corner near the water. Then they all left, Vacir last. Malia could sense the heaviness in his heart as he turned his back on the female.

  She was surprised they did not block the door when they left. But what could the female Jegudun do? She could walk out of the caves, but how could she hunt or fend for herself? Without use of her wings she was slow and clumsy. She would die. Perhaps some of the punished Jeguduns did wander out to die.

  Vacir’s pull on her mind let go. Malia was back on the ledge. The night’s chill caused gooseflesh to rise along her arms, and she rubbed them vigorously.

  “That was horrible,” she said. “But you knew she had left Tuvin for dead?”

  He nodded.

  “And you knew she tried to take a boy to the Maddion?”

  A nod.

  “Can you watch other Jeguduns’ memories the way you can watch mine?”

  Another nod.

  At least Jeguduns could be fairly certain that those they punished were guilty. And even though clipping a Jegudun’s wings was harsh, was it any worse than turning someone out into the wilderness without even clothes, with the knowledge that that person would probably die within a few days?

  “Rasmus said the Maddion needed blood to bring down the barrier,” she said. “Do they need … much?”

  Vacir shook his head.

  “What will happen if the Maddion break into the valley?”

  Vacir gazed out over the valley for a while, so still that he could have been one of the carvings in the trees around the hot springs. Then he took Malia’s hand again.

  This time the pull at her mind was stronger and deeper, turning her inside out, spinning her around until her stomach flipped along with the sensation and threatened to send the tea back up. Images rushed past in a blur. Malia couldn’t draw a breath for the wind howling past her. She didn’t think she was about to see one of Vacir’s memories. Too much heaviness weighed on this one and too many images passed by.

  Then the images slowed. She pulled air into her lungs, shaking at the speed with which they’d traveled. She was in the air, flying over the valley. It was hazy, covered with morning fog. But something was wrong.

  She realized it wasn’t morning fog. The sun hung high overhead, dimmed by clouds, and by smoke. Fires burned throughout the valley. The memory was so tangible, she coughed on the acrid air.

  She flew through the haze and landed on a grassy plain. Patches of it were burnt, and much of the surrounding forest was nothing but charred sticks jabbing the gray sky.

  A line of poles stretched before her. As she drew closer, she could make out figures hanging by their arms from the poles. They were all Taakwa, and they were all dead, covered with blood. She didn’t want to go any closer, but she was trapped in the memory.

  The Taakwa had been ripped open from neck to navel, their innards hanging out, flies buzzing around them. The trampled dirt around the base of the poles was the color of rust. The air smelled of blood and death and fire.

  The nearest Taakwa was a young man around Vedran’s age. His mouth hung open in a perpetual scream, and his lifeless eyes were wide. Trapped as she was in the memory, Malia couldn’t even give in to the sobs building up deep inside her. Take me out of here, she thought.

  Another line of poles stretched in the distance, and another beyond that, and another beyond that. Hundreds, if not thousands, of Taakwa had been butchered. Their blood was everywhere.

  The image blurred and faded, and then Malia was rushing along again. She came back to herself on the ledge, gasping for air, tears stinging her cheeks. She let out a sob, grabbed for Vacir’s hand, then scooted away from him, suddenly afraid he might show her more of those horrible images. Her stomach heaved as she recalled the gutted man who reminded her of Vedran, and then she was leaning over the cold stone as her stomach’s contents spilled out. She wiped her mouth with a trembling hand when she was through.

  “Clan mother save us all,” she gasped.

  “I was sick the first time I saw it, too,” Rasmus said quietly from the door. He wore clean, plain, loose-fitting pants and a tunic.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Warn me?” She sat back on her heels.

  He shook his head. “It’s something you needed to see for yourself. Now you know what we’re up against.” He sat beside her. “Whoever survives this war will end up enslaved by the Maddion. From what the Jeguduns have shown me, they’re just as cruel masters as they are warriors.”

  The sky was clear overhead. Just outside the valley, the Maddion prepared for war, and the only thing protecting the Taakwa right now was a magic barrier that Malia couldn’t even see. She squinted, trying to make out something, anything to promise that the barrier covered them, but all she saw was the stars hanging from the night sky.

  “You should bathe,” Rasmus said, “And then we should both sleep.”

  “I don’t think I can sleep.”

  “You need the rest.”

  Malia sighed. Truth was, her thoughts were indeed muddled, and a bath sounded good.

  The pool was warm, the soap smelled of lavender and rosemary, and Malia felt a little better once she’d washed her hair. Vacir was nowhere to be seen when she poked her head outside the door.

  “Where’s Vacir?” she asked.

  “He’s gone to tell the others to expect the Taakwa.”

  If only the Taakwa knew who their real enemy was.

  Rasmus pulled one of the blankets off the sleeping pallet and stretched it out in one corner. “I’ll sleep here. You take the pallet.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Many seasons might have passed since I lived among the Taakwa, but I still remember to show the proper respect to women.”

  Malia ducked her head in thanks and stretched out on the sleeping pallet. She spread her damp hair out so it would dry.

  Rasmus blew out the lanterns, leaving only the hearth as a source of light, and it would soon die.

  She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. The ground beneath her hummed, as if carrying the pounding footsteps of hundreds upon hundreds of Taakwa men towards the cliffs. And what were the Maddion doing? Did they have Braxon? And if so, what were they doing with him? An image flashed before her mind of Braxon hanging from a pole with his life’s blood dripping from a long gash in his belly. Malia pushed it away quickly and turned onto her side.

  It was a long time before sleep overtook Malia. She dreamed of blood pouring over the cliffs in lieu of the Big River, and the bodies of her people and the Jeguduns scattered all around. And lying among them, Vedran and Enuwal. Their blood soaked the ground, and her knees sank into the rust colored mud as she knelt beside them, sobbing.

  Chapter 20

  Malia came out of her dreams as if rising from a crushing watery depth. The scent of blood and smoke clung to her.
She gasped as her eyes opened, her entire body tensed and ready to flee. For a moment, she had no idea where she was, she knew only that Vedran and Enuwal lay dead. One hand found the blanket she’d thrown off during the night, then moved to a cold stone floor as the odors from her dream faded. A dim red glow marked the hearth. Then she remembered … she was in Rasmus’s home.

  She’d been dreaming. Nobody had died. But the memory that Vacir had shown her had been real, and it might come to pass again, her people lined up in rows throughout the valley, butchered.

  She couldn’t let it happen again. She went out onto the ledge, taking great gulps of the cool, early morning air. The moon had set, leaving a cloak of darkness over everything.

  Torches still burned at some ledges. The occasional beat of wings and trills marked Jeguduns’ passing as they quietly went about their preparations. What were their plans?

  The blanket at the door rustled and Rasmus joined her on the ledge. She couldn’t make out details of his face in the dark. Despite the stiffness of his movements, he stood straighter. Sleep had done him good.

  “May I join you?” he asked.

  Malia nodded.

  “I had trouble sleeping also.” Rasmus stood beside her, studying the darkness of the woods. “They’re coming.”

  She crossed her arms against the night’s chill. “Yes.” She didn’t know if he referred to the Taakwa or the Maddion, but she figured both. “My brother is probably out there and heading in this direction.” The young man in Vacir’s memory flashed before her again.

  “If the Maddion get into the valley, he wouldn’t be any safer in your village.”

  “I know.” She wanted to reach up to the invisible barrier and hold it down to keep the Maddion from getting in. But that was only part of the problem. Her people were about to attack the Jeguduns, their allies.

  “The feathers you carried,” she said, “where did you get them?”

  “From Vacir.”

  “I have them. I was going to use them to show Enuwal what I was talking about, but he mentioned a cave he came across. There were paintings that showed the history between Jeguduns and Taakwa.”

  “I know that cave. It’s not far from here.”

  Malia’s thoughts picked up speed. “If we could just show some of the Taakwa those pictures, through feathers or through those paintings, it might be enough to slow them down and keep them from attacking the Jeguduns.” She shook her head. “No, not the feathers. They won’t trust that. But they would trust the cave. Enuwal said there were Taakwa paintings there also. They’d recognize the style and be more likely to believe what they saw there.”

  “In my experience, Taakwa don’t always hear what you have to say, no matter how convincing you think you are.”

  “We have to try.” She glanced at Rasmus. “I have to try. If you don’t want to get involved, I understand.”

  In the distance, a few flickering lights appeared. Torches. The first Taakwa were closing in. No, it’s too soon, I’m not ready. Her hand went to her necklace, fingering the two feathers, one old and worn, the other new. Tuvin had risked his life to save a Taakwa boy. She had to tell her people the truth, regardless of what it meant for her. No more running.

  “Tell me where this cave is. I’m going to head those men off and take them there.”

  Rasmus shook his head. “You’re determined to talk to them, aren’t you?” He sighed. The lines on his face deepened, and the scar on his cheek pulled his mouth into a crooked grimace. “Well, I can’t let you do this alone.”

  They went back inside. Rasmus lit two lanterns and began preparing his weapons. He filled a quiver with arrows and took a bow down from one shelf. He strapped his nephew’s dagger to his waist with a leather belt.

  Meanwhile, Malia took the bandages off her thigh. She doubted she’d have a chance to check the wound later. With a cloth, she wiped the area clean with water.

  The wound no longer looked an angry red. The outer edges were pink, and the inside, although red, appeared normal. Malia spread more of the herb paste on the wound.

  The knee she’d injured on the bridge hardly hurt. She was on the mend, and just in time. They’d have to hurry to reach the approaching Taakwa before they got too close to the cliffs. Whatever she said to them, the words had to be just right. She had to allay their fears enough that they’d listen to her. Her stomach burned. The wrong words could lead to her death and to the deaths of her people. She took a few deep breaths to slow her thoughts. She could do this.

  Rasmus tossed some food into her travel bag and into another one he strapped around his waist while she filled two water pouches from the trickling waterfall.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  He rolled the ladder off the ledge. “I’ll go first. I’m used to climbing down with a lantern. Let me go down a few rungs, then you follow.”

  Rasmus started down the ladder. All around them, Jeguduns hurried from one home to another. A large group flew in from the south, apparently having just cut across the valley. Any Taakwa who spotted them would surely think the Jeguduns were amassing their own army.

  Malia followed Rasmus down. The height didn’t bother her so much this time as a new urgency spurred her on. She soon dropped to the ground next to Rasmus.

  “The cave is west of here,” he said. “I’ll go ahead and light the torches inside it. Bring whoever you can to the cave.” He passed the metal lantern to her. Light danced from moon and sun shaped openings.

  “How will I find it?”

  “Just come back this way and follow the cliffs. It will be well lit.” His lips thinned. “If it seems like they’re going to give you any trouble, don’t push it. Just let them go. Otherwise they might decide to treat you like a Jegudun sympathizer right then and there.”

  Head shorn, stripped naked, and left alone in the woods. Malia didn’t want that, but she wouldn’t give up on them either. “I’ll see you in a while, then. Hopefully with plenty of people in tow.”

  “Do you remember the whistles I used last night to call to Vacir?”

  She nodded.

  “If you need help, call him. One long whistle, two short, one long. Can you do that?”

  “I can whistle just fine. But I won’t need his help.” She didn’t want to see Vacir killed the way Tuvin was killed, and she feared the Taakwa would shoot any Jegudun that got too close to them.

  “I don’t want to see you hurt. Call him if you need him.” Rasmus broke into a trot and soon disappeared into the dark.

  Malia hurried towards the area where she’d seen the Taakwa’s lights. Dew covered grass dampened her legs and the hem of her skirt and, combined with the chill of the air, raised gooseflesh along her arms and legs.

  Jegudun wings beat the air high overhead, and their calls echoed off the cliffs. Anticipation hung thick like smoke all around Malia and drove her to move faster. She slowed only when she reached the river of rocks. Once through them, she hurried again. Her breathing came faster, and not just from the physical exertion. The men had to listen to her.

  The darkness beneath the trees was heavier. The lantern hardly cut through it, but Malia didn’t slow down. In her mind, she tried to form the words that would convince at least some of the Taakwa men to follow her to the caves. Her free hand strayed to the necklace she’d inherited as clan mother in training. The decision to give it to her hadn’t been her mother’s alone. Each member of the women’s council had to agree to it. They’d had faith she could handle not only the memorization of lineages and pairing couples, but that she could also lead her people.

  And yet, she felt as though she’d messed up somewhere along the way. Maybe she should have gone straight to the men’s council when she’d found Tuvin. He might still be alive, and she might have already convinced some Taakwa to believe her about the Jeguduns.

  Torches flickered amidst the trees ahead. No use thinking of what might have been. She would reach the men soon.

  They marched in a long, wide line, weaving
almost silently among the sparse trees as if they were ghosts. Torch light cast long, flickering shadows across their faces, elongating them. Bows hung from their backs, blades at their sides, and most bore freshly crafted shields with their clan symbols painted on: wolves and cougars, owls and falcons, deer and rabbits. A quick search turned up no fish, but Malia hadn’t really thought it would have been that easy to find her brother among these men. Her steps hesitated.

  “Who’s there,” one of them called as she neared the column of men, his voice gruff. “Stop where you are.”

  Malia stopped, glad to give her throbbing knee a rest, and held the lantern close to her face so they could see who she was. “I am Malia of the Velebit clan of Selu.” She managed to keep her voice from trembling.

  The line of men stopped, and one continued forward alone. The torch he carried revealed a face deep with crags, his nose and chin standing out in sharp contrast. He was wiry but trim, as if he could run all day and not be winded at the end. She recognized Posalo’s clan father.

  All chances of convincing any of these men faded. They would all want to find Braxon or, barring that, get revenge upon the Jeguduns for the two that took him. This was impossible.

  No. For Vedran’s sake, and Enuwal’s, and the Jeguduns, she would try to talk to these men. There might still be one among them who would listen to her. She held onto the tiny rock of resolve deep within her as she stepped forward to greet the clan father.

  The clan father stopped several paces away. “My life in your hands.”

  Malia nodded in acknowledgement.

  “I am Roktin, clan father of Posalo. What are you doing out here? It’s extremely dangerous right now. The Jeguduns have been gathering.”

  “Yes,” she said quickly. “But not to attack the Taakwa.” She held up a hand to stop him before he interrupted. “I know about the boy that two of them took from your village. They are not like the other Jeguduns. What they did was horrible, and I’m not condoning it.” She ignored the men’s mutterings at her words.