The mammoth still steadily stomped toward her, and she felt her way around to the other side of the tree. The footsteps stopped, and Illtud said, Run away a bit, then pull out the knife again.
She ran blindly until her eyes began to adjust. When she couldn’t hear the mammoths anymore, she stopped running and looked behind her. She could see their shapes in the distance. “How do I get to my mom and dad?” she asked.
We must go south. I believe we follow the mountain range. You can take out your knife to light your way, Illtud said. The spell should last till the sun comes up.
“My father told me, ‘It is better to trust your eyes at night than to trust fire,’” she said sagely.
Your father is a wise man, Illtud said.
Samara sighed, missing her father. Then, she turned and began her long trek to find her parents.
*****
Sigmia stroked the bull mammoth’s trunk. “Easy, Father Bull.” She watched the young girl walk south. “She’s a lost soul, and she’s confused.” She patted the mammoth’s flank, then followed Samara into the night.
Chapter 6: Young Chief
The sun’s rays peeked over the tops of the mountains, brightening the sky in soft, morning light. Orin sat against a mossy rock, watching his coals burn. His breath was visible in the cold air despite the warmth radiating from the fire pit.
Across the fire from him, Nikolai slept. Orin had set up camp not too far from the ice wall, nestled against the rock. The snowmelts had eroded the area into a relatively flat surface.
He stood up and walked around the slab. From this vantage, he could see the scar on the plains steeped in shadow. He had heard tales of stones coming from the sky that caused craters such as that, but he had never seen one. He wondered if that was what had happened yesterday. He had a hard time believing that the elves had done that, as he had seen many of their kind among the bodies as well. But maybe they had no regard for life at all, he reflected.
He imagined his little Samara staring up at the ball of flame, just before it exploded into an inferno. Tears threatened again, but he swallowed them back down. Punching the rock, he tore some skin around his knuckles. It hurt, but he welcomed the pain.
He remembered how he had almost lost her once before, on the night of her birth. If he hadn’t gone to the Havallans for help, death would have taken both Natalia and Samara. The tribes of the Hunting Grounds were no strangers to loss—people often died on the plains—but he had no desire to let that happen to his family now.
He punched the stone again, a little too hard this time, and a sharper pain shot through his hand. Unsatisfied, he slapped the surface instead, preserving his knuckles. He smacked it repeatedly, but was unable to relieve his anger.
Why would the spirits save Samara as an infant only to kill her nine winters later? He had thought for sure that his little girl was special. Sigmia had even taken her as an apprentice. Now they were both dead. Swearing, he told himself that he would get his wife back, and that the elves would pay.
The sun peeked over the mountains, dispersing the shadows throughout the Hunting Grounds. When he heard Nikolai groan, he went and sat back down by the fire. Stirring the embers with a stick, he watched the young man roll onto his stomach. Bits of burning ash shot into the air and glided back down as Orin disturbed the coals.
Nikolai blinked against the early morning sun. Frost still clung to the grass not protected by the trees. Birds played in the branches, filling the air with their songs.
He sat up, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. Glancing around, he massaged his sore muscles. Orin thought he looked terrible. Cuts and abrasions marred his uncovered burnt skin, and his disheveled hides were covered in dirt. The blacksmith chuckled as he realized that he probably looked just as bad or worse. He hadn’t slept all night. Instead, he had retrieved Karena’s body and built a funeral pyre for her.
Letting the boy sleep while he worked had taken all his willpower. He wanted to question Nikolai about what had happened after he left the camp. He also wanted to start tracking the elves—Natalia still needed him. However, he knew the young hunter needed energy for the trek, so he had let the boy sleep.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Like I’ve just been trampled by a herd of mammoths.” Orin didn’t seem amused by the boy’s attempt at humor. Nikolai rubbed his temples. “Where are we? Why aren’t we back at camp?”
Orin raised an eyebrow and said, “Are you crazy, boy? How can you not remember?”
“No . . .” Nikolai seemed confused for a moment, then comprehension dawned on his face. He jumped up, his eyes darting around frantically. “I-I was fighting those creatures. We were driving them off. They killed my brother.” He paused, staring at the fire, slack-jawed.
“I’m sorry. They killed everyone,” Orin mumbled, poking at the fire.
“N-no!” Nikolai shook his head and stepped back.
Orin looked up at him. The young man’s face was pale, his eyes wide with fear. “What do you mean?” the blacksmith asked.
Nikolai pointed an accusing finger at Orin. “Your daughter!”
Orin jerked upright. “She’s alive?”
“No . . . what? I don’t know,” he said, taking a couple of steps back. “She did it. She’s a monster. She killed them all.”
By the time Nikolai realized that Orin had leaped over the fire, he hardly had time to put his arms in the way of the calloused fist before it bludgeoned him. The force of the impact was so immense that he collapsed, landing on his backside.
Orin stepped over and seized him by the throat with one hand, lifting him into the air. Nikolai struggled against his grip, but the blacksmith’s strength proved too much for him. He kicked at the stouter man’s side and tried to twist his fingers. To no avail. Orin took the hits as if he were made of stone. When Nikolai’s fight weakened, Orin tossed him to the ground, where he lay gasping for air.
“Don’t speak ill of my daughter,” Orin said, glaring at Nikolai.
“It’s what I saw,” Nikolai rasped. He raised his hands defensively as Orin advanced on him again.
Orin leaned over and grabbed him by the shoulder. Nikolai cringed, but Orin just held him firmly. He felt terrible about his outburst. He didn’t want to scare the young man; he just wanted to know what had happened. “I’m sorry,” he said. He let go of Nikolai’s shoulder and went back to sit against the rock. “Tell me about it,” he said.
Nikolai crawled back next to the fire, wary of Orin’s anger. “M-my brother returned to the camp last night.” He had never seen Orin act this way, and he didn’t know what to expect; normally, the former chief was calm and reflective.
Orin’s face fell. “He returned with the women? They’re dead, too?”
“No,” Nikolai said. “Father and the others had been ambushed by those creatures.” His eyes started watering. “Pyotr came alone, for reinforcements. They followed him. They killed him as well.” Nikolai covered his face.
Orin watched the young man sob into his hands, trying to hide his tears. Yaroslav had been Orin’s friend since childhood. He mourned the chief’s death, but he also felt guiltily relieved that his wife still lived. Scooting closer, he put his arm around the young man. “I’m sorry,” he said again, and Nikolai cried, leaning on the blacksmith’s shoulder for some time.
After a while, he disentangled himself and stood. His eyes were still watering, but an angry glint had come into them. “They came in after that, shooting arrows at us and attacking us with swords. They captured more people by making nets appear out of the air.”
He started pacing. “Me and some of the older hunters fought back.” He stared at Orin uneasily before continuing. “That’s when she came.” He paused, waiting for a reaction, but the blacksmith only gazed down at the fire, picking up his stick to stoke it.
“I didn’t see her come up right away, as I was busy fighting, but I did see the fire pit come alive behind her. It rose into the air like a fiery snake and struck down a
pointy-eared creature. More fire snakes came to life, striking anyone she looked at, including Karena’s father. It stopped after that, but then people and those creatures just started dropping. Limp or dead, I’m not sure, but then she started flying above the fire.”
Orin eyed the boy dubiously. “I swear it! She rose into the air and people kept dropping,” Nikolai insisted. “Then she looked up, and fire spewed from her mouth.” He sat down by the fire. “The last thing I remember was the world catching on fire.”
“How is that even possible?” Orin asked skeptically.
“I don’t know.” Nikolai tensed, and said, “Only a demon could do such a thing.”
Orin glared at the young man but controlled his anger. He believed that Nikolai believed what he was saying, but he also believed that he may not have seen things correctly. “It wasn’t Samara. Couldn’t have been.”
“Who else could it have been?” Nikolai asked.
“Maybe it was a demon copying her looks, but regardless, you grew up with Samara. You know she isn’t capable of doing anything like that.”
Nikolai sighed and dropped his gaze back to the fire. “Maybe,” he replied.
Standing, Orin said, “As far as we know, the women are still alive. We need to get them back and kill those creatures that took them.” He put a hand out for the young man. “I could use your help.” Nikolai nodded and took Orin’s hand, and the blacksmith pulled him up.
Orin gathered the few things he had used to start the fire, then pulled some dried mammoth from his bag, tossing it to Nikolai. “We’ll need to climb up to that wall of ice and start looking for tracks. But before we go, I want to show you something.”
He led Nikolai through the forested mountains, back to the destroyed blackberry field. As they neared the dripping ice wall, the path grew treacherous from the runoff, their feet sliding in slick muck and sinking inches below the surface in some spots. Soon, they had to climb over the felled trees around the blackberry clearing.
Nikolai stopped. “I’ve already seen her, Orin. I don’t need to see her again.”
Placing his hand on the young man’s back, Orin guided him into the clearing. “Come pay your respects.” He started to protest again, but then saw the funeral pyre Orin had built the previous night. He stepped slowly up to it, the obsidian crust cracking under his feet, then dropped to his knees and cried silently, saying a little prayer to the spirits.
Orin glanced down at the young man, just barely sixteen winters old, and his heart went out to him. Tears welling in his eyes, he turned angrily and sat on the rock where he had found Karena.
He was no stranger to war. The tribes fought often—for control of territory, rights to the mammoths, and rights to food. His people were familiar with loss, but no war could compare to this. Nikolai turned to Orin. “Thank you,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes.
“Are you ready?” Orin asked, pushing away from the rock.
“I am,” Nikolai replied, standing up. He put a hand on Orin’s shoulder. “Orin . . .” The older man turned toward him, an eyebrow raised. “I’m sorry about Samara,” he continued. Orin tensed. “You’re probably right. It was dark, and it could have been something else.”
He could tell that the young man didn’t really believe that, but he let it go, grateful for the attempt. “Samara told us those creatures did this. Perhaps they’re responsible for what happened to our tribe, too.”
“Thank you,” Orin said, then he bent down and set the pyre on fire. Once again, they paid their respects. After a while, he stood up and said, over the sound of the roaring flames, “Now let’s get moving, I need your help to find the women.”
Nikolai grabbed a strap off Orin’s shoulder, receiving another raised eyebrow in response. “Let me carry the bag?” With a slightly amused smile, Orin slid the straps from his shoulder and watched Nikolai’s shock as the weight almost pulled him to the ground.
He knew the boy was no weakling, but Orin was renowned for his strength, and the pack was heavy, even for him. “What do you have in here?” Nikolai asked.
“Tools and weapons,” Orin said as he took the bag from Nikolai, who was still struggling to put it on.
“Well, alright,” Nikolai said, humbled by the older man’s strength.
Orin took his spear off his bag and tossed it to Nikolai. “You can carry this,” he said. “I’m going to use this, anyway.” He indicated a long two-handed sword sheathed to his back, an instrument he had fashioned for himself after the smaller versions the Havallan people wielded. He stood six feet tall, and the sword extended to his chest if he placed the tip at his feet. After flinging the bag over his shoulders, he slapped Nikolai’s arm and pointed to the ice with his other hand.
“You’re a better tracker than I am. I need you to do that. I found the start of the tracks over here,” he said, walking toward the icy monolith and a little up the slope above it, leaving the roaring pyre behind.
Nikolai came over to him and, within seconds, picked up signs of passage. He truly was an excellent tracker. “I imagine that they have quite a lead on us already,” he said after studying the ground. “They might be a little harder to track through the forest than in the plains though. I’m unfamiliar with the mountains.”
The ice monolith stood high above them, its crystal, shard-like towers dripping and cracking under the mountain sun. Orin looked up and could see that icicles had formed from the tips of the shards. The trees that had been where the ice burst out of the ground were strewn about the base of the crystalline structures. He hoped the tracks didn’t lead through the ice. “Do you think you can follow them?”
“It’ll be hard on this ground. The melting ice is distorting their tracks, but they went north, not over the mountains and not south. We can probably pick them up again after we’re clear of this ice.” Nikolai turned his gaze north. “Perhaps they’re heading to Mammoth River. From there, it would be easier to travel east or west. If they go beyond that, they’ll hit the frozen north,” he said.
“West would take them near the mountain people,” Orin said, nodding. He had already considered the boy’s assessment of their path as a possibility.
“I saw some mountain people at the last Gathering. They told me stories of strange creatures, like manticores and rocs. They have many dangers up there. We’ll have to be careful,” Nikolai said.
Orin remembered the last Gathering. The tribes of the Hunting Grounds held them every five winters to trade and parley. The lake people had always been welcome at the Gathering, and the Bear tribe had invited the mountain people after following the river into the mountains many winters ago; occasionally, they would make the long trek to attend.
The most recent additions to the Gatherings had been the Havallans and the dark ogres out of the east, when he had been a young child. He remembered being scared when he saw an ogre for the first time. At the last one, Samara had been four winters old, and he remembered how excited she had been at seeing the dark ogres.
He had spent a little time with a dark ogre, Nikatsu, a fellow blacksmith. He had helped the ogre with the bellows at the time and later, traded techniques and steel. Samara had gone with him to Nikatsu’s colorfully striped tent, and had been fascinated by the ogre’s glossy, obsidian skin.
She had waddled up to Nikatsu at one point, while Orin was at the forge, and touched his leg. Orin had known of the ogres’ strict rules about physical contact and had readied himself for a fight, but Nikatsu had only smiled, scooped her up in his massive hand, and proceeded to make ridiculous faces at her.
She had laughed and laughed, and Orin had relaxed. He and Nikatsu had become fast friends that Gathering. The ogre would carry Samara through the crowds as they walked around, enjoying the various festivities.
On the last day of the Gathering, Nikatsu had told him, “Orin, my friend, your daughter is special. Take good care of her.”
Tears dripped down Orin’s chin. It hurt so much to think about his daughter. She was certainly
special to him, and he wished that he had followed Nikatsu’s advice.
“Orin, are you alright?” Nikolai asked.
“I . . .” He swallowed his tears and wiped his face. “I’m fine. Let’s get going.”
*****
After following the tracks for several silent hours, Orin and Nikolai arrived at the site of the ambush. Several tribesmen lay scattered on the ground: Borya, Evgeni, Vladik, and Chief Yaroslav.
Orin stared down at the deceased quietly, while Nikolai fell to his knees next to the body of his father. Their corpses were punctured in many places, and a broken arrow protruded from Evgeni’s back. The forest had been otherwise left undisturbed. Orin made a mental note that the elves had collected their arrows.
Nikolai picked up his father’s body, carried it over to his cousin Borya, and gently laid the corpse down. “What are you doing?” Orin asked.
“I thought we should at least lay them next to each other if we can’t cremate them. They should be cremated on the plains.”
Orin grunted agreement and picked up Vladik’s body. He had been a young man, just a couple of winters older than Nikolai. Orin gently placed him beside the other two. “Are we sure that the women are still alive?” he asked, staring down at the dead men, starting to lose hope. He had been voicing his question to himself and didn’t expect Nikolai to respond.
“Before the creatures . . .” Nikolai paused, remembering what Samara had called them. “Before the elf creatures killed my brother, he said that our hunting party had found the women and that they were alive, but that the creatures had defeated Father and his hunting party. They must still be alive,” he said, placing a hand on Orin’s forearm. “Don’t give up hope. We are all that is left of our tribe.”
Orin glared at the boy for a while, resenting his assurances, but he kept his bitterness to himself. He could see that Nikolai’s eyes were wet in the corners, and he reminded himself that the young man had lost his family and tribe, too.
He realized at that moment how well the boy was taking it. Not once had Nikolai gotten angry or lashed out with emotion, except when he first woke up. He will make a great chief, better than I or Yaroslav ever made, he thought.
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