Skyborn

by Cameron Bolling

  “Less than a hundred live in the camp of slaves I come from,” said Pahlo. “Oleja says hers has several hundred, but I never saw it. I can’t even imagine that, let alone thousands.”

  Kella kicked a rock, which skipped away through the dirt. “I’ve been to towns of several hundred before. The biggest might have reached a thousand, I’m not sure. But never multiple thousands.”

  “Where’s the nearest town?” asked Oleja, jumping into the conversation again.

  “Ruined or inhabited?”

  “Inhabited.”

  Kella thought for a second, then shrugged. “Not sure. It’s been weeks since the one we visited northeast of here, but there could be one closer, somewhere on the edge of the desert. Casmia will know.”

  “So, there are edges of the desert,” began Pahlo, bringing the topic back to his questions of the world beyond. “We had stories about places with lots of trees and water and colder air. Are they true?”

  “Oh, definitely. This heat is the worst, I don’t know how you’ve put up with it all your life.” Reaching under her veil, Kella wiped her brow. “Actually, in the town where we got these clothes, I heard a story about the desert. Apparently in the Old World it was smaller and cooler, at least by a bit, but after whatever happened, it expanded and the temperatures changed. So, it wasn’t always this big or hot.”

  Pahlo laughed. “I’m used to the heat at this point. When we get to a colder place, I’ll probably freeze to death!” He wrapped his arms around himself and pretended to shiver.

  “It got cold in some places underground,” said Oleja. “It’s not that bad. Kind of refreshing, actually.”

  Kella danced around so she stood in front of Oleja, facing her and walking backwards. She hiked up her veil with one hand and studied Oleja with amazement. Oleja couldn’t help but focus her gaze on the other girl’s eyes, blue as the sky.

  “You’ve been underground?” Kella asked, her face alight. “That’s so cool!”

  “Yeah, it was… it was neat,” she said with a weak smile. In honesty, the mines lost all their charm before she ever set foot in them. “That’s where I did all my training.”

  “With your bow?” asked Kella, looking to the weapon in Oleja’s hand.

  “Yeah, actually. And learning to build. I taught myself some sword fighting too, but I never made myself a proper sword.”

  “I have a bow too! And a spear. I haven’t gotten super good with either yet, but I’m practicing. Will you teach me some of what you know?”

  Oleja blinked at her for a moment. “Oh, okay, sure. Yes, I’d love to.” She had never taught someone else before.

  “Swear on it?” Kella held out her hand. Another handshake—as if Oleja hadn’t had enough of those for the day.

  “Sure.” Oleja moved to shake the girl’s hand. Kella moved her hand away.

  “No, you’re doing that wrong.”

  Oleja looked down at her hand. “What?”

  “Here,” said Kella. She extended her arm out towards Oleja’s, but instead of gripping her hand, she clasped Oleja’s wrist. “Now you do it too.”

  Oleja shifted her hand and grabbed Kella’s wrist.

  “Now at the same time. Ready?” This time they swung their arms in towards each other in unison, clasping with a warrior’s force. Much better than a handshake.

  “Good. You better not break that deal, or I’ll have to hunt you down,” said Kella.

  Oleja grinned. “You can try, Sky-eyes.” Kella gave her a funny look that morphed into a smile after a few seconds.

  Casmia called a pause for a water break a short while later. She and Trayde filled bowls of water from the drum in the wagon and brought them around to the horses. The rest of the group sat on rocks or in the dirt beneath the striking blue sky above, dotted by no more than a thin wisp of a cloud here and there. They drank and laughed and looked about at the land ahead. While the horses drank, Casmia stood to the side, looking first down at her map, then up at the horizon ahead, then back again.

  What drew Oleja’s attention was the horizon at their backs. For the moment, no signs of Honn presented themselves, but even if she couldn’t see him, she knew that somewhere behind her, he followed her trail. Tracking her, biding his time, planning the perfect moment to strike; she could only stay ahead of him for so long. Could she trust the other raiders to keep watch through the nights, or should she and Pahlo keep their own watch?

  Their slow pace troubled her, but she couldn’t tell Casmia why in a bid to move faster. Admitting that she was followed, hunted by an eclipser, would be an admittance of failure. Failure to escape cleanly, failure to free her people, and failure to kill Honn. She had not yet figured out a way to kill him, to penetrate his thick armor and deadly skill. Turning to face him or allowing him to catch up was to face her own death. She hated that hopelessness, the feeling of defeat. She would kill Honn, she just needed to figure out how, and that required time. To gain that time, she had to stay one step ahead of him. She had to keep moving.

  Why bother trying to convince Casmia of the urgency to move? She had the map, sure, which gave her knowledge of the land, but she was getting older, and by no means took the prize for strongest of the group. Jeth should be the leader out of the seven, but he deferred to Casmia—a sign of some other weakness, no doubt. Oleja estimated that she matched Jeth in strength, and therefore tied for strongest. With her physical strength and superiority in fighting, the raiders would listen to her. She just needed to win over their loyalty.

  “All right!” she called, pulling the attention of the raider party away from their conversations. “Break’s over, get ready to move!”

  Several of the raiders exchanged confused looks. None of them got to their feet. Casmia marched over.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in a flat tone, one eyebrow raised.

  “Trying to get the group moving so we can cover more ground,” said Oleja.

  Casmia shook her head, her curls bouncing with the movement. “You don’t call the orders around here. I do. I’ll give you a pass this time because you’re new and don’t know how we run things, but I won’t have you coming in here thinking you can usurp me from my position, understood?” She did not wait for a response—merely turned on her heels and walked away. Oleja scowled after her. She wasn’t trying to usurp Casmia, because Casmia had no honest claim to the title of leader. It didn’t make sense that all of the other raiders treated her as if she did. Nothing held her in that role, minus the map, which the real leader could demand she hand over, stripping her of that as well. It just didn’t make sense.

  Back in the village, leadership was—in most cases—never requested, it just sort of established itself. Everyone acted as they felt they should, and those of lesser wills fell in behind whoever they naturally gravitated towards. Once a majority made a choice, the remainder fell in by intimidation, not wanting to clash with the larger force. If a more reasonable leader presented themself, the process repeated. In no way did Casmia seem to represent the strength or will of the group.

  Casmia called the party to move on shortly after, which they did with no hesitation, much to Oleja’s annoyance. The day wore on beneath their feet, and by nightfall they found a stretch of scrubland in which to make camp. The raiders unloaded tents and blankets and cooking utensils from the wagon and then set to work fulfilling their evening duties.

  The camp rose up in a whir of motion, and in what felt like hardly more than a minute, the group had a fire burning and their supper cooking, all situated in the center of a semicircle of tents. The party sat around the fire as they waited for the food to cook, the rich smells rising into the air amidst the smoke.

  Oleja found herself sitting between Onet and Pahlo. Onet drew spirals in the dirt with a stick; Pahlo chatted with Kella and Hylde, who sat on his right.

  “Good first day?” asked Onet without looking up.

  “What? Oh, yeah, I guess so,” she said.

  “Word going around says you two are
escaped slaves.”

  Oleja took a long breath. “Yeah.”

  For a few moments, Onet only nodded and shared a sad smile.

  “I was too, several years ago,” he said, but just as quick as he said it his head snapped up at attention. He raised a hand as a signal. The group went quiet.

  Sounds echoed in the darkness: scratching, gnashing, sniffing. They grew closer. Oleja grabbed her bow from where it rested on the ground behind her and nocked an arrow. If it was Honn, she just prayed the group collectively contained enough fighting skill to kill him before he killed her. She wouldn’t die by his hand, or any other.

  What emerged from behind the scraggly bush was not Honn and his coyotes. The creature crawled on all fours, hunched and rigid as it crouched, with a long body and tail stretching ten feet long from end to end and an arched back that rose to the height of Oleja’s chest. Scales covered its form, black with jagged lines and blobs of yellow. A wide jaw split its face, showing a forked tongue that flicked at them as the beast hissed. A collection of sharp claws lined each foot. They clicked on the hard ground as the beast padded towards them. Set behind the nostrils on the rounded snout were two black eyes that gleamed in the firelight. It cocked its head and snarled, letting its tongue dance on its lips before disappearing back within its maw. It looked past the ring of people to the food where it cooked in the center.

  Trayde moved first as she dashed to the horses. They whinnied and stamped as they tried to escape their tethers and flee from the beast. The rest of the raiders seized their weapons. As they did, a second beast appeared behind the first, this one less inclined to wait and size up its opponents before rushing into a fight.

  Jeth led the charge, blocking the lead monster from Oleja’s view as he moved to slash at it with his swords.

  “Jeth, look out!” Oleja called. She loosed an arrow without waiting, hoping he’d get out of the way in time.

  “Wha— whoa!” shouted Jeth as he leapt out of the way of Oleja’s arrow just in time. The arrow struck the first of the beasts in the snout, causing it to rear up in pain. Jeth lost his balance and fell onto his backside, dropping one sword.

  Oleja dashed past the fire and moved around, trying to get a better angle. She loaded her bow and drew, ready to strike.

  Onet plunged his spear into the neck of the same one Oleja shot, and it bucked twice before going still save for the occasional twitch.

  Casmia swiped at the second with her sword but it backed up out of her reach. Hylde helped Jeth to his feet. Pahlo and Kella stood back, watching the fight unfold.

  Wulshe sprinted towards the second beast to flank it with Casmia just as she scored a hit, causing the beast to roll its head towards her and bite at her legs. She staggered back and out of range as Wulshe lifted his sword, but Casmia’s absence opened Oleja’s shot.

  “Hang on Wulshe, I’ve got this one!” called Oleja.

  Wulshe glanced to Oleja as she called his name. As he did so, the beast whipped its head back around and it collided with his legs, sending him crashing to the ground. Oleja fired her arrow and it found a chink in the scales behind the jaw bone, sinking deep into the thing’s flesh. It snapped its mouth, and with a choked hiss, it fell.

  Casmia sheathed her sword. “You’re a fantastic shot, Raseari.”

  Oleja twirled an arrow in her hand. “Thank you. I actually tau—”

  “But you got two of your own knocked on their butts.” Oleja looked over to Jeth, who dusted himself off and retrieved his sword, and Wulshe, who nursed a nasty scrape on his chin from his fall. Blood dripped through his beard.

  “Oh.”

  Casmia gave Oleja a stern look. “Looking out for your allies in battle is more important than landing a few blows. We are a team.”

  “Ah, she’s new to this,” said Wulshe, hobbling over in an exaggeration of pain. He grinned at her. “Not to worry, we’ll get you fighting these nasties like a true raider in no time.”

  Oleja was somewhat taken aback by his implication that she fought with anything but years of honed skill. She had no time to protest before Pahlo spoke up.

  “What were those ‘nasties’ exactly?”

  Onet wrenched his spear from one of the carcasses. “They’re mutants. Some byproduct of whatever catastrophe ended the Old World. These were mutated versions of the black and yellow lizards you see around here sometimes—Gila monsters. But there are mutated versions of most creatures.”

  “The mutant bears in the north are fierce,” said Hylde. “The rattlesnakes around here aren’t too bad—they’re bigger, but their venom gives you intense hallucinations instead of outright death, so they have their pros and cons. There are mutant humans too.”

  Casmia nodded. “They’re awful things. Most packs of them call themselves the ‘earthborn.’ We try not to have dealings with them whenever possible, as they tend to be violent and territorial. There’s a group due east from here—we avoided them at a wide range on our way through.”

  “That’s where Oleja and I escaped from,” said Pahlo, nodding. Oleja cast her eyes to the ground. Yet another fact she had hoped to keep to herself. What honor was there in sharing the details of their captivity?

  A number of the raiders exchanged glances. Trayde sucked in a quick breath through her teeth.

  “If you are honest in your assertions,” said Jeth, “I pity you both. The earthborn are not kind to their slaves.”

  No one spoke again for a long while.

  Chapter Ten

  Oleja slept better knowing that things just as dangerous as Honn lurked outside her tent.

  It was a strange reassurance, but it meant that the raiders knew to be diligent in their watch even if they didn’t know how likely it was that an eclipser—or earthborn—would track them to that very location, ready to put up a fight. Knowing the raiders had no love for the mutant humans provided an added bonus—if Honn showed up, the raiders would kill him whether they knew his motives or not. Together, all of the new knowledge helped her sleep like a rock.

  In the same manner of speed that they put it together, the raiders broke down the camp and packed up the wagon. They ate, refilled their waterskins from the tank, then set out, walking northwest now after rounding the tip of the plateau the day before.

  Oleja was pleased to find the cut on her forearm healing nicely. Scabs and bruises still painted her skin in a myriad of reds and blues and blacks, but pain no longer flowed through the wound unless she coaxed it out with less-than-gentle prodding. Other smaller aches and bruises from her rough landing had since made themselves known as well. She barely gave them a second thought. Minor aches were none of her concern when she had so much else to worry about.

  Their pace carried them no faster than the previous day’s, but none of the raiders seemed concerned with their traveling speed. They were all too happy to break at intervals, while Oleja waited impatiently to continue. Pahlo seemed to have forgotten his fears of Honn, finding some false sense of safety among the trained, well-armed group. He hung around near the back of the group again with Kella and Hylde. Oleja took up a position on the left side of the wagon. Carved into the wooden side ran a ledge just wide enough for her to prop her tools on, allowing her to tinker as she walked without stowing everything back inside her bag whenever a task required both hands. She used the time to assemble a set of hinges from the scraps in her bag—pieces she needed for a new glider.

  It wasn’t that she needed a new glider. Her old one served its purpose—she made it out of the canyon and hadn’t died from falling back down to the ground, so that leg of the plan had been a success at least. She didn’t need a new glider, but that didn’t stop her from wanting one. Her glider, now a splintered heap of garbage in the heart of the eclipser camp, was one of her most complicated and unique inventions. Being up in the sky… it felt freeing. If the opportunity arose to use a glider again, she would take it. Perhaps she could even figure out a means by which to take off from the ground, removing the need for bulky, rudimenta
ry, and potentially dangerous catapults to get her airborne. But something like that would be tricky, and she had a long way to go before she could defeat gravity altogether. In the meantime, she’d settle for the deadlock she could achieve with a glider.

  One problem existed with her new mobile tinkering setup: every significant bump of the wagon pitched her tools and components to the ground. Numerous times she paused to collect her things. On perhaps the fourteenth time that her hammer became acquainted with the ground, Oleja turned to find Trayde holding it out.

  “You lost this. Again.”

  “Thanks,” said Oleja, taking it and placing it right back on the same little ledge so it could fall off a fifteenth time.

  Trayde jumped up onto the cart, grabbing onto the frame of the roof and bracing herself against the side with her foot.

  “Think it’s going to stay there this time?” she asked with a note of sarcasm.

  “Absolutely not. But it’s more productive than doing nothing while I walk, so I’ll manage.”

  Trayde hummed in thought, and then swung herself up and over the rear wheel and into the back of the wagon, never letting her feet hit the ground. Muffled bumping and clattering came from inside, and then she reemerged, a stack of wooden boards under one arm. She dropped to the ground next to Oleja.

  “What if you make a little tray? You could cut holes here and here,” she pointed to the side of the wagon, “and add pegs to the tray so it’ll slide right on and then detach when you’re done with it.” She held out one of the boards. The wagon hit a bump, causing Oleja’s hammer to wobble, then fall. Trayde caught it on the end of the board. She looked back up at Oleja with a wide, open-mouthed smile, clearly impressed with her own reflexes.