The Edge of Hope: Wrak-Ayya: The Age of Shadows Book Eleven

by Roberts, Leigh

  At the close of the meal, Ben and Miss Vivian were happy to return to their quarters for their first night’s sleep in their new bed.

  The next morning, Oh’Dar spoke to Acaraho. “I have been thinking. My grandmother will start writing down our history; I brought more than enough materials to keep her busy for some time. However, part of that history is written on The Wall of Records.”

  “You are suggesting it is time they visit the Wall of Records? That means we must introduce him to Bidzel and Yuma’qia. I will make arrangements. We can go anytime you think they are ready.”

  Acaraho led the way, and Miss Vivian, Ben, Oh’Dar, and Khon’Tor followed. Ben held Miss Vivian’s arm to steady her along the snow-covered path. Finally, they stood at Kht’shWea’s entrance.

  Haan and First Rank, Haaka, waited inside to greet them. Out of courtesy, Haan had ordered the entrance and corridors cleared except for essential workers.

  Ben and Miss Vivian tried to contain their shock when they saw Haan and Haaka standing side by side. They had seen Notar only at night and then at a distance. All the detail hidden in the dark was now evident even in the dimmer cave light. The hulking shoulders, the thick, full-bodied coat that gave an illusion of green undertones, the large head, and the dark, deep-set eyes, the long muscular arms that ended in huge hands. There seemed little noticeable difference between the two, except that one was smaller, and there was some hint of breasts under her heavy covering.

  Oh’Dar translated as Haan issued a greeting before motioning toward the hallway, and they all followed. The soft sand accumulated through the ages was still underfoot, left there by the Sarnonn out of respect for the Ancients.

  Before long, they could see an overhead shaft of light that revealed a large entrance. Bidzel and Yuma’qia were waiting outside it, and Oh’Dar introduced them to his grandparents. Then the two researchers stood back, and Ben and Miss Vivian stepped past them and stopped.

  Ben squeezed his eyes shut and opened them, checking that he had indeed seen what he thought he had. Floor to ceiling, left to right, pictographs and symbols covered walls of spell-binding height. A considerable scaffolding of whole tree trunks, saplings, and branches was spread across part of the expanse. Steps reached up multiple levels, Ben realized, to give the researchers access.

  “This is the Wall of Records,” explained Haan. “The complete recording of the Age of Wrak-Wavara, The Age of Darkness. It was during this period the Fathers-Of-Us-All betrayed the trust of the Others—those you know as the Brothers. Through this betrayal were born the Akassa and the Sassen. For our own good, we were kept apart through the ages, but now we are reunited as one people and work together to create a future of our own making.”

  Oh’Dar continued to translate as Haan turned to address Ben directly. “Adik’Tar Acaraho tells us you are a great researcher in your own right. It is our fervent prayer that the Great Spirit has brought you here to help us solve the problem facing us. For if we do not, then both the Sassen and the Akassa will vanish from Etera.”

  “I’ll do my best to help you,” promised Ben.

  “That is all that can be asked of anyone,” Haan replied.

  Ben turned to Miss Vivian, “I’d like to stay awhile and study the markings.”

  She nodded and patted her husband’s arm.

  Oh’Dar offered to stay and continue translating.

  Haan then turned to Khon’Tor, “It is good to see you, Adik’Tar. You are welcome to stay with us as long as you wish.”

  “Thank you, Adik’Tar,” Khon’Tor replied.

  Haaka offered to show him to his living space, explaining that Sastak would tend to his needs while he was there.

  Adia and Acaraho returned to Kthama as much planning was underway for the arrival of the High Council members. Miss Vivian happily accompanied them.

  A guard approached Acaraho, “I have a message for you from Larara, mate of the previous Overseer.”

  Acaraho gave a nod and waited.

  “She has asked to come to the High Council meeting. She is petitioning for Bak’tah-Awhidi.”

  Acaraho glanced at Adia and was silent for a moment. “She is welcome to come. We will address her request privately.”

  When the guard had left, Adia spoke. “Not unexpected.”

  “No doubt. But this seems to suggest that Kurak’Kahn is not accepting Khon’Tor’s punishment. I doubt he ever will, really.”

  “Even with Berak’s body being found, Larara and Linoi’s parents must still be suffering greatly,” she said. “The offspring is out there somewhere. I believe this. No—I know it.”

  “I trust you. But that means someone is caring for U’Kail. It would have to be one of the Brothers’ tribes with which none of our communities is associated. Otherwise, I am certain that someone would have approached us by now,” Acaraho said.

  “Perhaps it would be appropriate to bring this before the High Council? They may know of other villages or camps where he might be,” she suggested. “I will speak with Larara when she arrives and get her blessing.”

  Acaraho nodded. He had drawn a representation of Kthama on a piece of birch bark and now returned to it. He was moving the stones around his depiction of the levels, living quarters, and other rooms in an attempt to figure out temporary living arrangements for their guests. Inviting the Healers and Helpers and the Brothers’ Chiefs brought the attendance almost to Ashwea Awhidi proportions.

  Adia let out a long sigh. “I miss Urilla Wuti. I am so looking forward to seeing her.” Has she had any visits with E’ranale? What has she learned about Nootau’s abilities? Will there always be more questions than answers? she wondered.

  The next morning, Khon’Tor left Kht’shWea for Kthama. On the way, he pondered his situation. Why am I being sent here? Because Urilla Wuti and Harak’Sar got some notion that something is afoot of which I need to be aware. Their continued trust surprises me.

  The cold snow crunched under his feet as he walked. Fresh snow was starting to fall and dusted his shoulders. Soon the entire High Council will arrive. Faces, other Leaders whom I have not seen in decades. We should not have let it go this long.

  As he walked into the Great Entrance, Khon’Tor stomped his feet and brushed the snow from his hide cloak. The guards along the perimeter turned to look and stopped talking. They started to approach him but then hesitated, not sure what was now proper.

  He waved them off and continued through to the Great Chamber where most would be at the morning meal. As he walked, several young males came up and excitedly chattered to him. He saw the admiration in their eyes and let himself take solace in it. Several of them even walked backward so they could continue to look at him as they talked. Finally, he stopped to answer their questions, which were mostly about whether he had returned to Kthama for good. He gently explained that he was only visiting and reminded them that their Leader was now Acaraho’Tor.

  “We meant no disrespect to Adik’Tar Acaraho,” said one.

  Khon’Tor nodded and continued over to the table occupied by Nootau, Acaraho, and Adia. Acaraho motioned for him to sit, and Mapiya soon brought him a selection of the morning’s offerings.

  “The first visitors will arrive this afternoon,” said Acaraho. “The morning after next, we should be ready to start.”

  “It has been a long time since the whole High Council has met together,” observed Khon’Tor. “The last one I attended was with Chief Ogima when we first discussed the Waschini threat. Many extraordinary events have taken place since then.”

  “There is much information to share, but we also need to listen,” replied Acaraho. “We know nothing of what is going on with the Brothers’ communities, other than Chief Is’Taqa’s. I am allowing quite a bit of time for that. No doubt, the news of the Sarnonn will come as a surprise to many of them. There have been rumors of their existence, but as far as we know, we are the only ones who have had immediate contact with them.”

  “You are asking Haan to speak?” asked Kh
on’Tor.

  “Yes. The Brothers need to know we have forged a bond of friendship and that it is also extended to them,” Acaraho answered.

  “And what of Oh’Dar’s grandparents?” Khon’Tor asked.

  “They will also be there. And the Sarnonn Guardians, and—” Acaraho looked at his mate. “And An’Kru.”

  He then turned to Khon’Tor, “As you have said, the time for secrets must end. If we cannot trust them with the truth, then our alliance is an illusion. A storm is coming. Something more important than anything we have been through yet. I know that sounds dramatic as we have been through so much already. But I think we all feel it—in our bones, in our souls. We all know, through our connection with the Great Spirit. Something is coming, something for which we cannot prepare, and yet, somehow, we must. It will take all of us working together to prepare for what yet lies ahead.”

  As Adia turned An’Kru around and tucked him inside her wrap to nurse, Khon’Tor glanced at the tiny offspring, then back at Acaraho. “He is the key.”

  “Yes. Somehow, An’Kru is the key. But he is not all of it. There are other pivotal figures. I now believe you are one of them,” Acaraho said, staring at Khon’Tor.

  Khon’Tor looked away and almost said something cynical about himself before realizing the others were probably becoming as tired of his self-disparagement as he was. He ran his hand through his hair. Find your way. Move on. What is done is done. Tehya deserves more. She deserves someone present and engaged in this life, not constantly bemoaning mistakes of the past. You are of no use to anyone like this.

  He looked back to see Acaraho studying him.

  “You are, and always have been, a wise and powerful speaker,” said the new Leader. “I trust your judgment. If you feel called to address the High Council, do not hold back. I am asking you.” His eyes never wavered from Khon’Tor’s.

  “How have you laid everything out?” Khon’Tor finally asked, and Acaraho went through the planned order of events with the former Leader of the High Rocks.

  Chapter 10

  Newall Storgis ripped open the envelope, hoping it was the news he was waiting for. Inside, scrawled clumsily across a previously used scrap of paper, were the words I have information you want. Bring payment.

  Storgis crumpled it up and tossed it into the trash can before packing the papers on his desk and closing his shop. He was on his way back to Wilde Edge.

  Tucker was waiting for him in the usual spot, the seedy drinking establishment on the far edge of town. Storgis walked directly over to him.

  “I’m here. So tell me what I want to know.”

  “Is that how you treat your employee?” snarled Tucker. “Not even offering to buy me a drink?”

  Storgis frowned and walked over to the bar, where he handed the barkeeper a coin and tilted his head in Tucker’s direction.

  The barkeeper slammed a glass on the bar and filled it with whiskey. Tucker wandered over, picked up the shot, and downed it.

  “Another,” he said, sneering at the lawyer.

  Storgis nodded to the barkeeper, who poured a second one.

  “Ahhhhh,” Tucker sighed as he threw back the second shot.

  “Alright, get on with it. You must have found him and followed him, correct?”

  “I did. Tall, straight black hair, came in on a wagon with a fine team of bays, just like you said. And I can take you right to him.”

  “How far?”

  “About a five-day ride.”

  “Tell me where he went,” said Storgis.

  “Pay me what you told me you would, and I’ll take you there myself,” was the answer.

  Storgis thought a moment, realizing that traveling cross-country with no idea where he was going was a ridiculous thought. “I’ll pay you half of what I promised you and the rest when we get there. That’s the best I’ll offer you,” he said.

  “Alright then. Meet me here in the morning. Rest tonight because it’s going to be a tough journey. Can you hunt?”

  “Well enough,” Storgis said.

  “If your well enough isn’t good enough, you’re going to starve, so if you aren’t sure about it, better stock up on some supplies for the road. You can rent a horse over at the livery. And don’t forget to buy a feedbag and some grain as the grazing this time of year will be sparse. It isn’t a properly marked route like that from Shadow Ridge, and there aren’t any settlements along the way. I highly doubt you’ve any experience with a trip like this.” And Tucker looked him up and down with another sneer.

  “I’ll settle with you in the morning,” said Storgis. “Before then, I have some friends I want to check up on.” He laid another coin on the bar and walked out.

  Storgis set off to the Webb place. The cold air cleared his mind, and he went over the plan of what he was to do next.

  He walked up the steps in front of the Webbs’ house and knocked on the door. Within a moment, Mrs. Webb had opened it. “Well, Mr. Storgis, how nice. Please come in.” She stepped out of the way.

  He removed his hat, stomped the snow from his boots, and walked in. The warm air was comforting and the smell from the kitchen delightful. A moment later, Grace popped around the corner.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Grace!” Mrs. Webb exclaimed. “Really, is that how a young lady speaks?”

  “It’s alright.” Storgis couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Grace as he spoke. “I’m passing through, and I wanted to make sure that everything was fine with the bank and the other arrangements Mr. Morgan had me make. Are you having any trouble with any of it?”

  “No, no, thank you, none at all,” replied Mrs. Webb. “Will you join us in the kitchen? We have just finished making dinner. You will stay, of course?”

  “Oh, no, I should get back to town and get a room.” He was embarrassed to say this as it sounded exactly like the last time he was there.

  “Fiddlesticks, you’ll stay with us as you did before. Grace, please call your father and brother to wash up for dinner.”

  Just as they were sitting down, there was a knock at the door. “Gracious, we never have visitors, and today we get two?” Mrs. Webb laid her napkin on the table, got up, and went to the door.

  She opened it to a tall stranger who loomed above her. “I’m looking for a friend of mine, Storgis. Is he here?”

  “Why, yes, he is. Please come on in.”

  The stranger stepped inside, and Mrs. Webb showed him into the kitchen. In the corner, Buster growled.

  “Mr. Storgis, a friend of yours is here,” she said as they entered the room. “A Mr.—”

  “Tucker, Snide Tucker, ma’am,” he said, belatedly removing his hat. “Snide’s not my given name,” he added.

  Mrs. Webb now recognized him as being around town occasionally, usually hanging out near the bar. He always looked unkempt, and she’d felt he had a mean edge to him. He was old man Rusty Tucker’s boy and had either inherited or taken up his father’s bad temperament.

  Storgis stared at the tracker, and for a moment, couldn’t figure out what to say that wouldn’t alarm the Webbs. Tucker was certainly no friend of his, and he could think of no valid reason for the man’s arrival.

  “Well, sit down and eat with us then, since you’re here,” said Mr. Webb. Ned jumped up to get a plate for the stranger and moved his chair over to make room. Tucker flopped his hat down on the sideboard.

  “Sorry for the intrusion, Ma’am,” he said. “Mr. Storgis, we neglected to say what time we were meeting in the morning. I do recommend we get an early start.”

  “What time do you suggest?” Storgis queried, a little too curtly.

  “Daybreak is fine with me.” Then Tucker started to help himself to the food on the table. Over the next hour, he pried out of the Webbs every bit of information he could. While they were talking, he kept eyeing Grace, a fact not lost on Storgis.

  “So, how do you know each other?” asked Mr. Webb.

  “Oh, we’re business partne
rs,” Tucker quickly replied. “We’re about to go out of town on a business trip. Should be gone a couple of weeks. I’d be glad to stop by on the way back through,” he added.

  Storgis saw Mrs. Webb glance at her husband and realized that this line of conversation and questioning was starting to worry them.

  Though he was not finished, Storgis pushed his chair back and laid his napkin on the table.

  “Excuse me, Ma’am. Tucker, you’d best get going if we’re each to have that good night’s sleep you mentioned. Let me show you to the door.” Storgis picked up Tucker’s hat from the sideboard and practically strong-armed him out.

  Once outside, Tucker shrugged off Storgis’ grasp.

  The lawyer closed the door behind them, “What are you doing? Why did you follow me here? And what was all that about in there? I’ve half a mind to pay you right now and be done with the whole thing,” he hissed.

  “Calm down; I’m just being friendly. Nothing wrong with that,” Tucker snarled back. “You can be done with it, but you’ll have wasted your trip here. I wasn’t lying; I saw the man, and I know just where he is. So, are you sure you want to leave it?”

  Storgis huffed. “I’ll meet you at daybreak. But you’re never to come back to this house again. You understand?”

  “Or what? You’ll pull some lawyer move on me? The hell you will. But alright then, I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Storgis stood on the porch and waited a long time, watching Tucker until he was totally out of sight.

  The lawyer let himself back into the house and went into the kitchen, “I apologize about that, folks. Mr. Tucker is a business associate, but after this deal, we’re done. I have no need to bother with him again. Now, with your permission, I’ll retire. I have a long trip ahead of me and a lot on my mind.”

  Needless to say, he didn’t sleep well.

  Having had lots of time to think about it overnight, Storgis was prepared. He met Tucker in town in front of the bar as agreed. “Here,” he said, holding out a bag of coins. “Here’s your payment. All of it.”