by Glynn James
Long, thin planks shot out from the occupied side of the tunnel, and the ends landed on the other side with a loud smack. Two more followed, and within a matter of seconds, the Valk began to cross the breach, continuing on through their subterranean passageways with a makeshift bridge.
“First the Cygoa, and now these morbid fuckers,” Rav said with a whisper. “Now, where’s my flask?”
Chapter 6
“Buck rubs over here.”
“Are they fresh?”
“Can’t tell.”
Ferkinston Iowa—Ferk to his kin—looked at Ranky and shrugged. The deer herds had been doing strange things over the past few years, and since the rumble that tore a hole through the middle of their hunting grounds, the animals’ movements had become completely unpredictable. The Greyrook had been a hunting clan forever, stretching as far back into the Iowa line as Ferk could remember.
Ranky put his hands on his hips and stared out into the forest. “Valk?”
He shivered but smiled at the same time. Leave it to Ranky to get right to the heart of the matter.
“Opposite side,” said Ferk. “For now.”
Ranky nodded and turned, surveying the trees and the breach now running through the middle of the forest.
“You know those sons of bitches gonna find their way to the western side. Some folks coming out of Eliz say the Valk can crawl through the earth like worms.”
“So?” said Ranky. “Nothing to be done about it if they do.”
Ferk sighed and pulled a feather from his hair—one that had slid down and tickled the corner of his eye. He looked at it before dropping the feather to the ground. “Jonah and the Elk. They’ll fight’em.”
Ranky shook his head as he started down a buck trail that ran perpendicular to the one they had been following. Ferk followed him.
“Ain’t no human got a chance against them savages. Be best for all of us to run and hide ‘til they get whatever they looking for.”
“If everyone did that,” Ferk said, “everybody would die.”
“Everybody does die. Eventually.”
“Not what I mean, Ranky. And you know it.”
The two Greyrook hunters proceeded down the trail. It turned north about thirty yards from the breach and then dumped them into an open field bordered on all sides by towering oak trees. The ground had been covered with two-foot high wild grass that hissed at them when the wind came through the clearing. Ferk took a deep breath, and he thought he smelled blueberries nearby.
“Doe.”
Ferk froze and watched as Ranky raised his blowpipe and inhaled, puffing his massive chest outward until he appeared as big as a black bear. Ranky leaned forward. He looked at Ferk and winked.
A sound split the air and Ferk dropped to the ground, immediately recognizing it as an arrow traveling at a high-rate of speed—a deadly projectile. A thud followed the whoosh, and when Ferk opened his eyes, he was staring into Ranky’s face. The man’s wink had turned into a grimace, blood trickling down his throat and around the shaft of the arrow which had penetrated the back of his neck and came out the front. The arrowhead bobbed in the air as Ranky tried to breathe, drowning in his own blood.
“Ranky,” Ferk said in a harsh whisper, realizing how foolish it was to think their attackers didn’t know both men were lying in the grass. He looked up and saw nothing but blue sky overhead. But Ferk heard the hissing and smelled the stench of rotten eggs. It was then that he prayed to the gods, hoping they had been attacked by Cygoa warriors, as if that would be of some consolation.
“But they haven’t done this before,” he whispered to his dead friend. “The Valk come for the bodies, they don’t make dead ones. I don’t understand.”
The odor grew stronger, so much so that it burned Ferk’s eyes and made them water. Pale hands moved the tall grasses aside. He sat up, now staring directly into the faces of three Valk warriors.
“How did you cross the breach and why are you hunting us?” He didn’t expect an answer to either question, but Ferk didn’t want to die without at least asking. He hoped this might give his soul some solace in the afterlife he was about to join with Ranky.
“It is our time.”
He turned his head and raised his eyebrows. The words coming from the warrior in the middle felt greasy and forced.
“This world is empty. Dead. There’s plenty of room. Above and below.”
The Valk hissed. He licked lips blackened with charcoal before smiling at his fellow warriors. “We’re not living down there anymore.”
Ferk used his heels to push his body backward and away from the men when he felt his back strike something solid. He looked down and to his right to see a black boot. The Valk warrior who had come up behind Ferk grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet.
Ferk looked upon the field again, this time the grasses contaminated with dozens of Valk silently maneuvering through it like serpents. More came from the forest, down the trail he had traveled with Ranky, and from the other side where the path resumed. The Valk had found a way to get to the western side of the breach.
Ranky’s body had been dragged away, the last visage of his friend being colorful feathers stuck in the stalks of the high grass. The Valk clicked and hissed, some nodding but none needing words to communicate to each other.
“Give me an honorable death. Like you did Ranky.” Ferk doubted these foul beasts understood mercy but thought they might understand the honor of the warrior’s code. “I want to die with my weapon in hand.”
The Valk who had been talking to Ferk took a step toward him. He smiled again, this time parting his lips wide enough for Ferk to see his finely-sharpened teeth. The creature’s tongue appeared black as it slithered across the sharp, white points.
“You are a weak hunter clan. You deserve nothing.”
Ferk felt the pressure in his abdomen followed by a searing burn. He looked down to see the hilt of a dagger pushing against his stomach, the blade nestled deep in his intestines. Blackness tinted the edges of Ferk’s vision as the Valk warrior turned the blade. His legs went limp as they ran with blood. The Valk warrior behind him held him upright as the one in front continued to turn the blade. The pain rendered him numb, but still he tried to speak, though no words came. He looked the warrior who had killed him in the eye through fading vision and felt something in his hand. The warrior had grasped his hand and lifted it up to his face. Ferk tried to look as his strength left him. His hand was out of focus for a moment, but then he saw. The Valk had placed the bloodied knife between his fingers and clenched them shut.
You die with a weapon in your hand , he thought as the world began to fade. The weapon that killed you. Then, with one last look to the blue sky, Ferk’s head dropped and he died. The knife fell from his fingers and the Valk warrior stooped to pick it up.
Several Valk warriors swooped in and grabbed the fresh corpse by the ankles, dragging it across the field toward the forest as the Valk re-entered the woods on the western side.
The high grasses hissed in the wind except for those matted down and trampled with Greyrook blood.
Chapter 7
The leaders gathered in the clearing next to the collapsed barn, some huddled in small groups sitting on the ground, others leaning against the crumbling walls. Jonah heard the hum of chatter as he approached, but it quieted when he entered the clearing and walked towards the fire burning in the center. He looked around, recognizing all the faces. Most were leaders of clans he knew—Donast and Ghafir, Noti, Halforth and the other six clans leaders. Bira, Rav’s second in command, sat on a fallen log not far from the light of the fire. He had taken Rav’s position after Jonah’s friend had fallen, and Jonah was glad to know that the Neba clan had not collapsed after their leader had fallen at the battle of the bridge.
Corrun, of course, was not present, and Jonah could tell that some of the clan leaders had been hit heavily by his death. The old man had been sick, and folks had expected him to pass on soon, but not
by the blade of Cygoa. Not so soon.
Jonah recognized other new faces—the leaders of the smaller clans—from the brief meetings he had with them when they arrived. Each of them had asked the same thing—to join his clan. He had lost count of how many small clans had been swallowed up in the mass of people that now followed him and the Elk, but from the numbers of clan leaders gathered in the clearing it must have been in the dozens, maybe even as much as forty clan chiefs.
So many , he thought. There had to be more than at some of the great meets at Eliz. Clan leaders and their seconds sat, waiting for him to speak, as they would have at such events in the city. He had seen his father speak at such events but had never addressed that many leaders himself.
“Corrun of the Reed has passed tonight, as some of you may already know. He was sick, but it was not illness that took him but the blade of Cygoa scout,” said Jonah. “It is a reminder that we must always be vigilant, always watching. We cannot tell where they will come from next, or when they will strike, but we know that they will.”
He kicked at a log at the edge of the fire, and the flames leapt up higher, glowing brighter for a moment.
“It is with regret that our situation is such. Times were that we were the masters of our surroundings, but these Cygoa have spread across all the lands west of us, and we do not know their numbers. So, we must heighten our senses. Open our eyes and our ears and listen, see more than we could before if we are to be on our guard.”
He looked around at the gathered leaders, giving them a moment to speak out if anyone had a voice that needed to be heard. In some ways, Jonah hoped another would stand, speak out, make themselves more prominent than he, and maybe even take over the leadership of the clans. But no one spoke.
“But this is not all that we need to speak of. We have several problems to consider, and the Cygoa is but one of them. Many of you would normally be traveling back west now, back to Wytheville and the forests, and because of the Cygoa that is no longer possible. Even more of you would be heading south and north, to your own lands near Eliz, but that is not possible either, thanks to the Valk and the grumbles.”
He stared into the fire, listening to the silence. The other leaders nodded, but still no one else spoke.
“Two enemies, one on either side of us. And we are all gathered here, at Rocky Mount, a stop off for many heading west, and we find it has been razed to the ground—burned so that the supplies we need are not here. There are too many of us to settle here; the forest won’t support us, so we cannot stay.”
“Then we must move on,” said a voice from the edge of the clearing. Jonah glanced that way and recognized that it was Halforth that had spoken.
He nodded. “Yes, we must move on,” Jonah said. “The question is, where do we move to? My suggestion is still that we head farther west.”
“And move closer to them?” asked Donast.
“If the Cygoa hold the lands near Wytheville,” Jonah replied, “then they are still many miles from here, even if they patrol these lands with scouts. We can deal with scouts if we must—set up better patrols, keep a more active perimeter around our camps.”
Donast nodded. “I’ll give you that much.”
“And we would be farther away from the Valk,” Jonah said. “They may have been stopped at the breach, but they may still find another way to cross. We did. But as you say, we trade distance from one enemy with closeness to another. But which is the greater threat? We have the numbers and strength if we stay together, but that comes with its own problems. Too many mouths to feed.”
“What of the migration?” asked Noti. “If we head farther west, we will have less game to hunt. The herds are not moving back to the forest, they are stuck on the eastern and southern plains.”
“We can’t move the herds,” said Jonah, “and we can’t head back that way unless we want to fight the Valk. You will all just need to adapt. Get used to hunting birds and fishing rather than catching deer. There are many among us who can help with teaching those ways.”
“So that others may take what they need?” asked another of the clan leaders.
“It may be a strange concept to some of you, but the western forest clans have been sharing hunting grounds for centuries and learned how to co-exist without causing the other to starve. But I do understand your point, which is why I called you all here to discuss something.”
Jonah waited again for others to speak, but there was just silence.
“The Elk have taken in a number of clans over the last year, and have grown greatly in number because of it, and we continue to take in new people. If my clan can do this, then others can.”
“What is it you’re suggesting?” asked Donast. “That we all take more mouths to feed when there is little enough to go around?”
Jonah shook his head. “Like we did for you just yesterday? In a manner, yes, but not quite so. I am suggesting that we, the remaining leaders of the clans, unite and agree an alliance of the clans, of all of our clans.”
There was a rumble of murmurs at this, but no one stepped forward to dispute the idea loudly.
“Until both the Valk and the Cygoa have been dealt with,” Jonah continued, “we must work together, or our clans will be destroyed, one by one. If we band together, then yes, we will have the problem of feeding so many, but we will also have the numbers to withstand both the Cygoa and the Valk.”
“And if we agree to this...alliance,” Ghafir said, “where would we head next? You say west, but where? There are forests and ruins that way, but most are barren. The forests to the west were always fruitful, but the lands between have always been mostly abandoned because of the lack of food to be found there.”
“I have thought on this, and spoken to Bira of the Neba and Briar, both hunter clans who have travelled farther than most of us, and they both agreed that Lake Jordan should be the place. Near Raleigh. We would have the ruins for building supplies and to build a settlement within, and the lake is the best for fishing for miles around, with little taint. No doubt we will have to remove any Cygoa who may be encamped there, but the lake is large, and we can build guard camps along the shore. The lake itself will block attacks from the west if we guard the causeways.”
“And then what?” asked Donast.
“Then we build, and heal, and prepare,” said Jonah.
“For what?” asked Noti.
“For war against the Cygoa. To remove them from the land. And when we have rid ourselves of the Cygoa, we will turn back to the east and the Valk. Both will fall if we ally and stay strong.”
There was a murmur from the gathered leaders. Jonah stood silently for moment, waiting, but none of them questioned him further. Finally, he coughed and looked down at the fire.
“There is one other thing to attend to this evening,” he said. “We have lost a great man and fine leader of the clans this night. Corrun must be remembered. We gather in one hour to stand our vigilance for his Dustfall. In the meantime, please, go back to your clans and tend to your needs and those of your people, but also sit, think, talk among yourselves. Think of what I suggest. This is the plan I intend to follow for the Elk and the clans that will come with us. If you choose otherwise, then you may freely go your own way with no quarrel from us. All I ask of those of you that do leave is to remember the Elk well, and remember how we helped rather than cast your peoples aside in this time of need. If we ever meet again, consider us friends.”
Chapter 8
The Brother crouched over the body of the dead Walking One, his senses pinned to the edge of the clearing. The Walking Ones they had followed several times over the last few turns of the sun were different to the ones that lived in the valleys and the forest. These, like a few they had found before, were newcomers, and they were easy prey. He didn’t know why, but these ones were unused to the sight of his kin.
Around him, the pack feasted upon the other newcomers, and even the young pups were allowed to join in, such was the abundance of prey. Normally the
pups would have to wait, and pick at the remaining scraps, but not this time.
It was all good, but something was bothering The Brother.
Over the last turn of the moon there had been another presence in the forest. He’d been able to sense it. He knew that it was still a long way off, many turns of the sun in travel, but the scent was still there, drifting on the dry wind.
It wasn’t a scent he had ever known, though it was similar to the scent of Walking Ones. The difference was still vast between this new scent and the newcomers. At least the newcomers were not so different to the ones who lived in the forest, even if they were so stupid they didn’t know what a wolf was. No, the scent on the wind was different in the same way that the dead were different to the living, and it was not a smell that he cared for. It made him edgy and nervous. He looked into the dark places in the forest, places where he and his kin would normally be comfortable hiding, and somehow sensed that those places were where this new creature dwelled.