Dreams of the Dark Sky

by Tina LeCount Myers

  A few of the men got to their feet and began to look. Válde noticed Gáral was not among them. Nor Herko.

  “Herko,” Válde said, getting to his feet and brushing off the pine needles, “You are supposed to have the best nose for finding mushrooms. Do you think you could find us some to go with Beartu’s fish?”

  Herko complained a little, but did not ignore the appeal to his pride.

  Válde looked to Gáral. He suspected the man would eventually get up and try to find forage for their meal, if only to keep the good will of the others.

  “I got another one,” Beartu called from the water, tossing it to shore.

  Válde picked up the two fish. “Get all that you can, Beartu. We could use some full stomachs to stop the bellyaching.”

  Beartu waved his spear in a salute.

  Herko returned, his hands filled with mushrooms. His normally surly face looked pleased. The others noted this with good-natured ribbing.

  “Gods spit on the lot of you,” he swore back at them as he dropped the mushrooms alongside the other foraged food

  Next to a pile of growing foodstuffs, Daigu gutted and cleaned the fish.

  Beartu, who had been so still that the others had forgotten about him, threw his spear into the water in a flash of energy. This time the spear came up empty.

  “They’ve grown cautious and wise,” he said coming out of the stream, his legs bluish from the cold. His wrinkled feet stumbled on the rocks by the shore.

  “Come stand by the fire,” Válde urged. “Warm yourself.”

  Beartu trotted over on tender feet to stand naked near the fire. The water dripping off him disappeared with a hiss as it hit the heated rocks.

  Feles brought the man’s clothes and boots to him. “Don’t stay too long like that or the midges will make quick work of that flesh of yours.”

  On the other side of the fire ring, Daigu splayed the fish on a makeshift stone hearth. A pleasing sizzle caught everyone’s attention. Edo and Mures brought the mushrooms, wild onion, sorrel, and pine sprouts to the fire. Beartu, now dressed, took charge. He lifted up one of the fish, poked at its pinkish flesh, and then placed it back down.

  “Come on Beartu,” Herko groused. “How much longer must we wait?!”

  “If you want to eat your fish raw, Herko, I’m not stopping you,” Beartu said over his shoulder.

  Herko fell silent. Beartu lifted the fish again. “There’s half for each and a handful of mushroom and greens,” he said, standing aside to let the others crowd in.

  “Skunk-assed-bearshit, that’s hot,” Redde said, shaking his hand and blowing on his fingers.

  Válde clapped Beartu on the shoulder in appreciation, then waited for his portion.

  Moments later the sound of a crackling fire dominated the makeshift camp. The tender fish gave the men something to occupy themselves with other than their old rivalries and recent arguments. The first to finish slaked their thirst at the river, then returned to sit and enjoy a full belly. Herko used one of the bones to pick his teeth. Beartu hummed a low, melancholy tune.

  “That was a worthy meal,” Válde said.

  When the murmurs of agreement died down, Gáral said, “One meal is only one meal.”

  Daigu complained, “Leave it be, Gáral. Let us enjoy this before you bring us back to all that we lack.”

  “It’s surprising you survived, Daigu,” Gáral said, undeterred. “You can’t see much in front of your face. Nor do you care to.”

  The insulted man leapt up, heading for Gáral. Válde blocked his path with a hand to his chest.

  Daigu pushed against him, then stood down, returning to where he sat with a rude sucking of his teeth.

  “Gáral is right,” Válde said, surprising the others. “This is only one meal. Tomorrow it will either be forgotten as we eat another meal or remembered as we go without.” He paused, aware that he had everyone’s attention. “But each meal builds our strength. Each day we elude capture builds our reputation. Herko was also right to say we need horses. We do. Our safety and ability to strike back depends on speed. Without horses we will only ever be fleeing.”

  “The question is then, how do we get horses?”

  Válde had scarcely enough time to take in Gáral’s smug expression before suggestions came from all sides.

  “Farms.”

  “Traveler huts.”

  “Village stables.”

  Herko shook his head. “We are nine. We’ll need at least five horses but more would be better. Farms, at best, will have a pair. To be sure, the bigger farms, or the wealthier ones, may have more horses, but they also have more people to stand in our way. That’s a problem, unless Válde, you’ve given up your convictions.”

  “No, Herko. I stand firm that killing farmers does nothing but turn potential allies into enemies,” Válde said.

  Herko shrugged.

  “But, you are right to say that most farms will not have the number of horses we need. One or two horses will not help us,” Válde continued.

  “A travelers’ hut or a blacksmith’s stable would get us what we need,” Beartu said.

  “Preferably a travelers’ hut,” Redde added. “I’ve no desire to run the risk of getting caught by being in a village.”

  “Your aversion to risk sounds more like a measure of weakness,” Herko said.

  “Herko!” Válde snapped.

  “Redde’s right,” Daigu said. “Getting caught in a village isn’t something any of us are willing to risk. At least with a travelers’ hut there’s a chance of escape back into the forest.”

  “Feles, where do you place us?” Válde asked.

  The quiet man stroked his long red beard before answering. “About ten leagues west of the Order of Believers.”

  “That’s a single day’s hard ride,” Gáral pointed out.

  “Yes, but the soldiers are coming from the south, like us. Not from the east,” Feles countered.

  “Still,” Redde hesitated.

  “We must be close to villages and farms,” Daigu said.

  “The farther west we go, the fewer opportunities we’ll have to get horses,” Herko said, adding, “And, unlike the Jápmea, I am not keen to ride on the back of a smelly reindeer.”

  “Don’t worry, Herko, you’re ugly enough to scare off a whole herd of reindeer,” Redde said.

  Herko’s hands balled into meaty fists. “You’re the one that’ll run scared.”

  “Stop it!” Válde shouted. “We have a decision to make. We can continue west and hope to come upon an outlying settlement or traveler’s path. Or, we can head east, where we are sure to come upon the northbound trade route.”

  “The route will be patrolled,” Daigu pointed out.

  “Then we will need to be careful,” Válde said.

  “It’s decided then,” Herko clapped his hands, sounding impatient.

  When no one contradicted him, Válde said, “We will have a few hours of rest. Set two watches. We will take advantage of this twilight.” He turned to Gáral, “You organize the first watch and I will take the second.”

  The almost imperceptible twitch of Gáral’s mouth served to confirm Válde’s concern about his would-be challenger. He and Gáral had never been friends but neither had they been enemies. They had trained together but had been in different regiments. Gáral had distinguished himself in the battle, but also blamed himself for not being able to protect the Avr upon their return. Válde wondered if guilt continued to motivate him. But whatever the origin, the man’s need to prove himself would work against them.

  Gáral strode toward the perimeter of their camp. “Mures. Herko. Edo. Take the north, west, and east perimeters. I will take the south.”

  Válde watched their silhouettes fade into the forest. He hoped he had done the right thing by trusting Gáral. If not, then not even horses would be able to save the Brethren of Hunters.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  AS DÁRJA RODE IN front of Marnej, she noticed that something unforeseen y
et fundamental had shifted within her. When Marnej spoke of his time with the Brethren, she’d not only recognized his struggle, but she’d also identified similar conflicts within herself. She’d experienced betrayal, and she’d fought and killed to prove herself. Despite a childish wish that it was otherwise, she had to admit they were not so different.

  Still, he doesn’t need to know that, she thought. He’s already overbearing.

  “We’re getting close,” Marnej said.

  Dárja gladly turned her attention back to the present. She heard far-off voices carried on the wind. From their distant tones, she assumed they were an Olmmoš man and woman, but she couldn’t tell what they were saying.

  Marnej drew back on the reins, stopping the horse.

  “I’m going to see if they have anything we can use,” he said, placing the reins in Dárja’s hand before jumping down to the ground.

  “I’m counting on you to not disappear into the Song while I’m gone,” he said, patting the animal’s wither. His tone was both mocking and veiled.

  “I can’t bring the horse into the Song,” Dárja said. “Even if I could, I don’t desert my comrades.”

  Marnej’s grin faded. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, not meeting her gaze. He ran his hand along the horse’s neck. “If I don’t come back . . . ride north.”

  Though his insult still stung, Dárja found it difficult to maintain her annoyance. She rolled her eyes at Marnej. “You’ll come back. Now, go find us some food. I’ll be waiting.”

  Marnej patted the horse again, then gave her a determined nod.

  Dárja snapped the reins lightly, leading the horse back into the green cover of the woods. Sensing that she was being watched, Dárja looked over her shoulder. Marnej stood among saplings, facing her, rooted like the other trees. His smirk was gone. She waved her hand, urging him on.

  Walking away from Dárja, Marnej’s shame hung over him. He’d jested about her leaving, yet he’d been the one who’d left her while she slept. He’d been the one to twist weak excuses into justification so his honor would remain intact. And, he’d been the one to get on the horse and ride west two leagues before his guilt made him turn around.

  Dárja had called him her comrade. He felt worse for it. He couldn’t call her the same. She wasn’t a comrade, nor a friend, nor a sister. She was his link to another world, his savior. But even as he thought it, it felt wrong. A savior brought forth gratitude. With Dárja, he always felt frustrated, as if he were constantly swimming against the current, yet making no headway. Besides, he didn’t need saving. He was the one going to get them food.

  Marnej came upon the edge of a farm. Still mulling over the puzzle that was Dárja, he crouched low to the ground and surveyed the terrain ahead. Green rows covered the tilled field between him and the squat, turf hut in the distance. At least there will be turnips to eat, he thought.

  Darting forward, Marnej snatched from the ground the closest bunch. Pale white turnips hung below their leafy tops. He tossed the harvest to the nearest tree behind him, then moved forward to grab another bunch, and the one after, pitching them with the others.

  From where he knelt, Marnej saw no one in the field, nor could he hear any voices, but smoke rose from the tiny structure ahead. He weighed his options. He could skirt the forest’s edge to get within range of the hut, but at some point, he would have to risk being seen to get a better view of their stores. A flash of movement caught his eye. He tensed. His fingers curled around his knife’s hilt, then he saw it was only the fluttering of wash hung out to dry.

  Marnej considered entering the Song. Even now, he found it hard to believe this other realm existed. He’d thought his earlier experiences, all those voices and sensations, had been visions. Now he knew the Song of All was real. What he didn’t know was what he could do within this other realm. And Dárja had been of little help. Marnej reasoned that he was better off relying on skills he’d developed in his own world—the world of the Brethren.

  The wind shifted. Marnej smelled meat and vegetables cooking in fat. His mouth watered and his head swam for a moment. He shook off the temptation to run forward and chase after the enticing aroma, reminding himself that Dárja was counting on him. She needed him. And he needed to make amends for his conduct.

  Voices drew his attention. A man with greying hair emerged from the hut. He took long, purposeful strides, heading toward a lean-to shed. At the outbuilding, he spun on his heel to face the direction he’d come. A woman’s voice issued from within the earthen walls. The man’s posture stiffened, then with a brusque wave he dismissed whatever had been said and entered the outbuilding.

  Marnej waited to see what the man would do. He didn’t like having two unknown points of action. When he felt he could no longer hesitate, he raced across the rye pasture between the forest and the eastern side of the grass-sloped hut. Crouching below the hut’s lone window, Marnej looked back across the pasture and winced. Bent and broken stalks marked the way he’d run. His trail was clear to any who cared to look, and his decision to forego the Song now felt reckless.

  Marnej closed his eyes and willed the voices to come to him. Come on, he silently urged whatever gods had power over the Song of All. What he heard was the sound of a crackling fire and the swift scratch of broom bristles along the floor. A woman’s light and absent-minded humming floated out above his head. Marnej forgot about the Song and flattened himself against the wall.

  Unable to discern a pattern to the sounds coming from the hut, Marnej took a chance. He popped up to peek through the window, then dropped back down again with his heart pounding in his ears. He held his breath, expecting the woman to come to the window to investigate.

  When time passed and the woman hadn’t shown herself, Marnej’s pulse slowed. He felt foolish for worrying about being discovered when he could just enter the hut, kill the woman, and take what he needed. It would be so easy, he thought. He edged closer to the doorway. The scratching broom continued as a counter-point to the woman’s low humming. So easy and simple, he told himself. If the man returned, Marnej could kill him as well. He and Dárja could then rest in the hut.

  Only these two people stood in his way. Marnej’s hand hovered above his blade. He was so tired and hungry. An image of Dárja flashed in his mind. Would she think him a monster if he killed these two Olmmoš? Or even care? She hated the Olmmoš. Besides, she thought the worst of him already.

  But he wasn’t a monster. Whatever else the Brethren thought him capable of, he’d taken an oath. He wouldn’t kill the unarmed or the innocent.

  Marnej sheathed his blade. Sensing his opportunity was slipping through his fingers, he eased around to the doorway. Beyond it, a wooden cover lay across the ground at an angle to the grassy slope. A root cellar! Marnej’s initial excitement instantly faded when it registered that he would need to pass by the door to the north side of the hut where he would be clearly visible to the man in the shed.

  Hunger won over circumspection. Marnej dashed past the open door, then pressed himself tight to the turf wall, feeling the tickle of grass blades against his sweaty neck. Wasting no time, he bent down and pulled open the root cellar’s door. The leather hinges squeaked with a mouse-like protest. Marnej froze, listening. But the humming inside the hut continued as before.

  He quickly descended the few steps into the underground gloom. Without waiting for his eyes to adjust, he began to rummage through familiar shapes of vegetables: carrots, onions, turnips. His head bumped into something weighty that swung away from him. Catching it on its return arc, Marnej held the smoky hunk to his nose. Meat. It took all his fortitude to not sink his teeth into the curing ham right then and there.

  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Marnej saw that the cellar contained more than he had expected. Smoked dried fish hung in a neat row. He grabbed the closest one and tore off a piece, shoving it into his mouth. He chewed with earnest focus as he pulled his tunic over his head. The frayed fabric caught on his belt, but he tugged
savagely until it pulled free. His hands reached out in all directions, grabbing what he could, to pile food in the middle of his discarded tunic. Speed made him sloppy, and he realized a moment too late that the woman’s humming had stopped.

  Marnej rushed to tie the corners of his tunic around the bounty. With a curse upon his lips, he emerged from the cellar into the bright sunlight to see the outline of the man walking in his direction, a scythe in hand. Abandoning all pretense of stealth, Marnej sprinted past the startled woman. The farmer chased after him. Rage coursed through the man’s shouted abuse. Marnej leaped over the furrowed rows, his feet crushing the growing plants as his heart raced ahead of his pounding footfalls.

  “Take this,” he wheezed, coming upon Dárja at the edge of the woods.

  Dárja caught the bundled tunic just as Marnej pulled himself up behind her. The startled horse side-stepped. Dárja drew back on the reins, but the animal had a mind of its own. It took off at a jolting pace that momentarily threw her backward into him. The heat of her sun-warmed leather vest pressed against his bare, sweaty chest. Marnej’s mind swam with her heady scent, his own hunger, and the excitement that rushed through him. Encircling her waist with his arm, he let out a hoot of exhilaration. Then he felt the thrill of Dárja’s laughter ripple through her as the two of them flew like the wind.

  Dárja sat on a rock, watching the horse graze.

  “Ready?” Marnej asked.

  She popped the last piece of carrot into her mouth, mumbling a yes as she continued to chew.

  Marnej grabbed hold of her long braid. He held it out from the nape of her neck, taut. She felt the blunt edge of the cool niibi blade on her skin. Then her head jerked back as Marnej cut upward in one quick motion. Her thick braid, however, resisted his effort.

  “Do all your kind have hair like cordage?” he asked.

  Dárja ignored the question. Instead she picked up where their earlier conversation had left off.

  “Even if the scouts have made it this far,” she said, “they’ll be looking for a Jápmemeahttun nieddaš and a Piijkij. No one will be looking for two Olmmoš boys riding north.”