by Glynn James
Foolish . She cursed under her breath and jumped the gap toward them, but it was too late. A man stepped out of the bushes next to the clearing and kicked the quiver of arrows away. Seren nearly collided with him, but instead rolled to her right and came up ten feet away. The newcomer may have surprised them, but he hadn’t expected that, and he drew a blade from his belt. “A clever little bitch, are we?”
“Hold up,” said another voice from the bushes. Another taller man stepped out into the clearing, and Seren backed away a few more steps. Declan finally got to his feet, axe in hand, and tried to steady himself without the crutch.
“Well, it looks like we got lucky, doesn’t it?” said the second man.
“Who are you?” Seren demanded. “Leave us alone. We’re just travelers. We don’t have much—” she stopped speaking as another two men stepped from the bushes, and behind them another two.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said the taller man. “I think we’ll just be taking everything you have. And then some.”
“Run,” said Declan. “I can hold them off.”
Seren hesitated as the men entered the clearing and stood a few feet from Declan. Her arrows were still on the ground and too far away.
A growl came from behind her, and Sorcha moved slowly to her side, her teeth bared, exposing gums pulled back in a grimace.
“What the fuck?” said the first of the men, and he stepped back, edging toward the bushes again.
The tallest of the men didn’t step back, but he looked shaken. “Is that a wolf?”
“Yes,” said Seren. “And she won’t think twice about tearing your face off if you take another step forward.”
Two of the men stepped back, but the tallest, whom Seren presumed was the leader, cocked his head to the side and grinned.
“Six of us, two of you plus the wolf. You ain’t got no arrows, and your boy is already messed up. I could blow him over with a fart from here. I reckon we still have quite the advantage,” he said.
“Well, I ain’t gonna be the one that fucking wolf sinks its teeth into,” said the first man.
“Stop being a little bitch,” said the leader, and he turned back to Seren. “What do you say, girlie? Come calmly and let us have what we want, or your boy is dead. Your wolf pet, as well.”
“Just turn and go,” Seren said, feeling a rage burning in her stomach. No arrows, but she did have something else. She reached to her waist and pulled out the handgun that Abernathy had given her. “Who are you anyway?” she asked. “Are you Cygoa?”
The leader laughed and took a step forward. Sorcha growled, but he didn’t seem unnerved by her. The sharp axe in his hand swayed back and forth, ready to strike. “Course we are,” he said. “Ain’t no one in control round here but us.” He was five feet away now, and Sorcha was ready to leap at him, but Seren clicked her fingers and pointed behind her. The wolf backed away, and went to stand behind her.
The leader went to take another few steps toward her, but Seren raised the handgun, pointing it at his face. He frowned. “What’s that? A toy?”
“Leave us alone,” said Seren. “Or I’ll—”
“Or you’ll what?” said the leader, his voice louder now. He gripped the axe in his hand and lifted it to point at her. “Enough play. We could have let your boy live, but now you both go the way of the grave. After we’ve had our fun with you.” He stepped forward.
Seren felt her stomach churn. She had never fired the gun at a person before, and she didn’t know what to expect. She only hoped that it would work. Firing at practice targets with plastic bullets was one thing. The bullets inside the gun right now weren’t plastic.
The other Cygoa moved out from the bushes and advanced on them, the leader in front. She took one step back, levelled the gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened, just a slight click. Seren panicked. It wasn’t working. No—wait—the safety catch. She flicked it, quickly, just as Abernathy had trained her to.
“What’s the matter? The toy not scaring away the nasty m—”
Those were the last words that came from the man’s mouth as Seren squeezed the trigger, aiming at his face. The gun went off with a loud bang, much louder than she had expected, and the leader of the Cygoa was jolted backward, stumbling into one of the other men before he fell to the ground. The blast had taken his tongue and his teeth, along with a chunk of the back of his head, and splattered it across the three men behind him.
Seren jumped back, aiming the gun at the next man. Five versus two, now. Before the second man could shake himself out of the shock of being covered with his comrade's blood, she fired a second time. This shot hit him in the chest, almost dead center, and he reeled backwards, dropping his spear, and fell to the ground, struggling to breathe as blood spluttered from his mouth with every gasp.
That was enough for the other men. They ran, stumbling over each other, to escape through the bushes where they had first appeared from, but it wasn’t enough for Seren. She was angry now—furious. How dare they? She aimed at one of the fleeing figures and quickly fired once more. The man yelled, struck in the lower back, and stumbled to the floor. She fired again at the only other visible Cygoa but missed. Taking deep breaths, she cursed as the last of the Cygoa vanished into the forest, out of view.
“Wait here,” she said, though Declan said nothing. He sat on the ground now, staring at the gun in her hand.
Seren moved through the bushes to where the third man had fallen, and found the grass flattened in a long trail leading behind a nearby tree. There was a lot of blood seeping into the dirt. As she rounded the tree, she heard a groan. The Cygoa was still trying to crawl away, holding the bloody wound in his side. With the man’s back to her as he lay struggling on the ground, Seren could see how damaging the gun was. Even though it made a little hole at the front, the hole in the man’s back was the size of her fist.
So much more dangerous than a bow .
The Cygoa saw her coming and rolled onto his back, crying out with pain. “Please,” he begged. “Please don’t. By the gods I swear I had no idea.”
Seren frowned. “What do you mean?”
The man struggled to breath, and he was drenched with sweat. “You. Called the thunder. You. Of the gods.”
She stood silently watching him, as his breathing slowed. “Please,” he said. “Let me go.” The anger that had driven her to shoot not one but three of the men seemed to evaporate, and somehow, she felt sorry for the man, even considering what he had been willing to do. Killing other than for the hunt, to fill her belly, was not natural to her. She had no stomach for it.
“Go then,” she said. “Though I doubt you will live for much longer.”
She watched the man crawl through the bushes. Every few seconds he glanced back, looking fearfully at her. Probably expecting me to change my mind and kill him. After a while, she stopped watching him, and the sound of leaves rustling dissipated, and she stood staring at the gun in her hand. Thunder. Of the gods. She shuddered and thought of how the leader of the Cygoa’s face had almost exploded when she shot him. Her stomach lurched. She lowered the gun, leaned against a nearby tree, and was sick. The shakes wouldn’t go away, and even though she carefully put the gun back in its holster, with the safety back on, and took a few deep breaths, when she lifted her hands they were still shaking.
This is what it’s like to kill a man , she thought. Come on. You have to get a grip. They would have done worse to you. She shook her head. She let one go—let him live—and now she thought that maybe it had been a bad idea. She thought for a moment about going after him but decided it was too late for that. They had to leave before more of the Cygoa came back. But then, would they? Even though the injured man would die soon, others had fled. They would tell others of what had happened. Maybe letting some of live to tell others of how she could “call the thunder” would be a boon?
She turned and headed back to the small camp, where Declan was waiting. He had gathered most of their things and packed s
ome of them.
“We should leave,” he said. “More may come. We need to be long gone.”
Seren shook her head. “I don’t think they will be coming back.”
She noticed that Declan glanced at her waist, where the gun was holstered once more. “No,” he said, quietly. “Maybe not.”
Chapter 28
Loner stood with his jaw hanging open and his eyes wide. He had spent most of his life with a small group of men chasing game through the woods. During a summer festival, a few years back, he had been part of contests and celebrations with a few hundred other hunters. Loner could remember the sensation of being overwhelmed by the sheer number of men concentrated in one location. The spectacle before him made that festival seem like an intimate family gathering.
He struggled to estimate how many heads stood in the field and on the perimeter of the tree line where more warriors gathered, tipping flasks and slapping each other on the back with hearty jokes that had been told by their fathers and grandfathers. Some of the men wore elaborate headgear, war paint, or carried exotic weapons from the lands far to the north. This was not the first time Loner had come into contact with Cygoa, but it was an introduction to their warbands.
“Let’s go, fucker. Get your ass moving.”
The blunt end of a weapon pushed between his shoulder blades and nudged him forward. Loner didn’t bother to turn around; the Cygoa all looked the same to him. At first, he felt the sweat break on his lip and underneath his arms. He thought that they might be walking him to his own execution, a bloody stump in the middle of the field where the heathen warriors would gather around and watch men’s heads roll. He didn’t think they would torture him; there would be nothing to gain. He had been thrown into a prisoner pit and would have the unfortunate luck of being the first execution of the day.
“I have information.” He thought it was worth a shot.
“Don’t we all?”
“I know where the Elk are headed.” Loner felt the pressure on his back lessen for a split second. “I know where they are and where they will be.”
The warrior escorting Loner through the camp kept the same pace, maneuvering around men preparing for the morning meal and an afternoon battle. They passed the structure Loner had seen the night before. A Cygoa warrior appeared on his left and on his right as they moved closer to the entrance of the camp.
As they approached a man seated next to a firepit, warming his hands over the still-glowing coals, the man glanced sideways and stood. This wasn’t a normal Cygoa, Loner thought. This man was different. He was clean shaven, and his hair was closely cropped. He also looked like he may have at least bathed in the last few days. The armor he wore was layered leather of some form that Loner did not recognize.
Loner felt the pressure ease against his back. The escorts at his sides fell away as he stood before the leader of the Cygoa warband. Loner felt a sharp smack behind his knees, and he dropped down, his eyes watering from the burning pain. A hot, breathy voice whispered in his ear.
“Show some respect, motherfucker.”
Loner blinked away the tears and raised his head to stare into Carlossa’s eyes. The chief looked down on him. The man tilted his head to one side and folded his arms across his chest.
“I hear that you joined us last night. I hope you had a pleasant stay.”
Loner felt the rocky soil digging into his knees. “Am I going to die?”
“We are all going to die.” Carlossa bent down.
Loner could see the scars on his neck and the unmistakable glint of intelligence in his eyes. He glanced to his left and saw that a small contingent of warriors had gathered nearby to watch the show.
“I have information.”
Carlossa stood back up. He let loose with a mighty chuckle that seemed to ripple through his men like a powerful undercurrent in the great sea.
“Are you hungry? Would you like something to drink?”
This time, Loner turned his head to the side. He glanced again at the Cygoa warriors who watched the exchange. They had stopped laughing.
“Very much so.”
Carlossa nodded. He turned and whistled. What Loner thought was a young boy approached. But as he came closer, he saw a long black beard with gray streaks. The man could not have been taller than five feet, but he seemed almost as wide. Thick, short arms stuck out from a barrel chest. He wore a stocking cap on his head pulled down to the tops of his eyebrows. When he was within three feet of Loner, the short man leaped into the air and kicked his heels together.
“He is your charge, Frantic. This man is not to leave your sight. He has free rein throughout the camp, but he is not to leave it. Get him some venison and fresh water, and maybe a woman if he so chooses.”
“Or maybe a young boy would be more his style, my lord?”
The Cygoa warriors within earshot of this early morning entertainment exploded into a massive fit of laughter. Some doubled over while others wiped tears from their face.
“Yes,” said Carlossa. “He probably does have those tendencies.”
Loner’s face flushed and he felt the burn in his cheeks. He bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood.
“Ya look like one of the white tail chasers,” Frantic said as he pulled Loner up to his feet. “I seen them.”
The little man put his fists above his head, one finger up on each hand. He pranced in a circle around Carlossa and Loner, soliciting another round of riotous laughter from the Cygoa warriors in the camp. What had begun as a handful of onlookers grew into most of the warband.
“Don’t shoot me. Don’t shoot me.” Frantic ran around Loner while Carlossa turned and walked away.
“They are headed to Raleigh,” said Loner, raising his voice a little and hoping to catch the leader’s attention before he was too far away.
Carlossa stopped, and he spun around to look at Loner while Frantic exaggerated his performance for the Cygoa warriors. “I already knew that. And if that was the only information you had for me, you would still be in the pit, or your head would be on the block. I want to know about the Valk and what section of the Raleigh ruins the Elk plan on using. But right now, I have other things I must attend to.”
Frantic bent down and used his fake antlers to scrape against Loner's legs, pretending to be a buck rubbing the fuzz from his horns.
“In the meantime,” said Carlossa. “Explore the camp and enjoy your guide. He can be quite amusing, if you can resist the urge to kill him. I suggest that you do.”
Frantic stomped down with one foot and snorted like a deer, sending yet another wave of laughter through Carlossa’s men.
Loner looked around as the warriors slowly returned to their morning duties. But the little man was not deterred. He kept up the performance, milking it for a final few chuckles.
“At least I’m not dead,” said Loner.
Frantic broke character and looked up at Loner. “At least not yet.”
Chapter 29
Leta enjoyed her time with Keana. Sure, the girl was the chief’s daughter, and there was some political advantage in that relationship, but that was not the way the old woman operated. Jonah had taken her in. He could have left her on the streets, and with the Cygoa and the Valk sweeping across the land, Leta had no doubt that she would have died out there.
The old woman and the girl pushed their cart along with the rest of the Elk clan. The front of the convoy had already reached Raleigh and begun to head through the ruins to the lake on the other side. It would be several hours before the last in line found a place for their cart. Leta continued to marvel at the sheer size of their group. She had never been part of such a massive collection of humans. Hell, she had never even seen a gathering of any kind this big.
The sun would set soon, and night would steal the rest of the heat from the ruins. They had moved farther west, and some said getting farther from the great sea meant warmer weather. Leta hadn’t seen any evidence of that yet. The nights felt as cold as they had been farther no
rth, and with it came a soggy chill that seemed to be able to penetrate her old bones. At least that had been the case until Jonah presented gifts to the women.
The Elk hunters had finally managed to corral and ultimately kill the wolf pack that had been stalking them since they left the distant lands of the north. Jonah had not said much to Leta. He hadn’t explained to her how they were able to wipe out all the wolves, and Leta didn’t think that mattered much anyway.
Jonah gave Leta and his daughter each a set of wolf skins. The hunters had kept the skulls, but the rest of the fur remained intact. Leta helped Keana affix the top of the skin to her head, creating a helm and a cloak. The thick fur and the spirit of the wolf seemed to ward off the chilly night air.