by Mark Tufo
“I’m going to hit you, Cedar,” I told her. It didn’t faze her in the least.
Haden had grabbed my hand. He reluctantly let go as Serrot led him off.
“Aw, that’s so cute, he looks like a puppy.”
“Cedar, you do realize that we are in the midst of a war and there is a very good chance he and I may never see each other again?”
“You should have kissed him then, don’t you think?”
She was right. “Haden!” I shouted. “Haden, stop!” He turned to see me running toward him. I grabbed his face in my hands and kissed him so hard I thought I would make my lip bleed.
“What’s that for?” he asked breathlessly as we pulled apart.
“A promise.” And then I went back to where I’d been.
Serrot had to hold onto Haden’s shoulder as his leader stumbled as he walked, trying to look back at me.
Chapter 15
Picket Test
KINDER TOOK A couple dozen Ferals with us and sent the rest away to await our return.
“This seemed like a much better idea ten miles ago. My feet are killing me,” I told Cedar.
“Yeah? You try lugging around a bag full of books and then let me know how your back is doing.”
“You brought all your books?”
“It’s war, Winter. Who knows where I’ll end up.”
The Ferals had kept their distance much of the day. When I did occasionally see one looking in my direction, they would quickly glance away. Kinder stayed near, but always two or three paces behind.
“This would be a good place to stop,” Kinder said as he came abreast of me.
I did not see what he saw; the land was rocky and covered in a bristly leaved plant that would make bedding down uncomfortable, not to mention what type of wild life could be hiding in the undergrowth.
“Gregor?”
“We’re maybe another eight to ten miles out, but he’s right–we are losing light. I’d like to climb that ridge, though, so we’ll have a better idea of what, and more importantly who, is around us.”
“The ridge?” I asked Kinder. He shook his head. “Any particular reason this place is better than any other?”
“Who cares, Winter? I can finally sit and take this pack off.”
“I guess I wouldn’t mind stopping either.”
Four Ferals came running up carrying some animal hides that they threw over the ground.
“Thank you,” I told them before I sat. I won’t say it was comfortable but it beat walking, or sitting on rocks.
Within a few minutes a fire was made, and although the coming evening was not cold, or even all that cool, the heat produced was somehow comforting, as if it could hold back the chill of conflict.
A large pot came next and a few of the Ferals busied themselves preparing a myriad of vegetables and spices. Cedar even stopped her voracious reading to smell it.
“That’s heavenly,” she said, testing the air with her nose. “Venison?”
“We do not eat meat,” Kinder said.
“What? Ferals don’t eat meat? We’ve heard that you’ll even eat hu...”
“Cedar!”
“What?”
“We do not eat the hearts of our enemies, if that is what you were about to suggest,” Kinder stated. “We do not eat meat of any kind. We believe it weakens the spirit.”
“Ferals don’t eat meat and they are spiritual?” Cedar was as amazed as I was. One more thing we’d been told from birth turned out to be a lie.
“That name…it is not what we call ourselves. It is your name for us, I suppose because we choose not to live in stone buildings, not eat other living beings…and to not be made in a lab.”
“Why do you fight, Kinder?”
“Because your kind, and Mennot’s, and all the rest would take our essence from us, force your ways upon us.”
“I think we’ve both been living with some misconceptions. I’d no sooner force my ways onto someone else than I would eat a human heart.”
“I heard they’re pretty good with a little salt,” Cedar joked.
“Don’t listen to her. I am glad we stopped, Kinder, but why here?”
“It is where Mythos said he would meet you.”
“Mythos?”
“Our Shaman.”
“He’s coming here tonight? How did he even know I would come?” I don’t know why that made me nervous but it did. “When?”
“I believe sometime after dinner.”
The sun had set when Kinder said dinner was finally ready. I don’t know what could have taken so long as the water had been boiling for nearly an hour. He was going to cook all of the flavor out of the vegetables.
“Are we waiting for Mythos?” I asked as I was handed a small bowl and a crude spoon.
“This is so good!” Cedar declared, foregoing the spoon to slurp her soup from the side of the bowl. She was eyeing mine greedily and she was only halfway through with hers. She was right, the soup was among some of the best food I’d had in my entire life. Everything was cooked to perfection, a subtle sweetness masking an underlying bitterness that did not somehow detract from the overall flavor.
“I fleel flunny,” Cedar said once her bowl was empty. “How did my mouth get up there?” she asked, placing her hand on the top of her head.
“What are you talking about?” I thought she was playing around until I felt a strange pressure around my eyes, my words beginning to elongate and even echo as if I were speaking them within the library.
Gregor stood up. “We’ve…been grugged.” One of the Ferals caught him as he fell over. He was fast asleep before the man could even lay him down properly.
“True…?” I asked Kinder. I was having great difficulty finding the appropriate words to form a cohesive sentence.
“It is. I have steeped the soup with zukan root, which has hallucinogenic properties. This will allow you to communicate with Mythos.”
“He’s not…coming here?”
“Not physically,” Kinder smiled. “Sit back. The effects can be quite soothing.”
I don’t remember actually getting into a prone position, but when I came to I was face up, looking at the stars. I marveled at how brightly they shone. A spiral pattern within them would pulse on occasion, almost as if the mystery of the cosmos was attempting to unveil itself to me. If it was, it was beyond my capabilities to understand it, though I enjoyed the show all the same. Individual creatures and people began to take shape and reveal themselves; there was a ram, a bull, a warrior, lovers...but was it Tallow or Haden? A streak of light blazed across the sky, a lone wolf cried in the distance, crickets chirped wildly. Cedar called out in her sleep as the earth’s heartbeat vibrated my body.
“You feel it, don’t you.” It was more of a statement rather than a question.
“I do,” I answered the disembodied voice.
“The earth is a living entity, much like we are. The rivers carry her lifeblood, the ocean is her womb; each plant and animal on this planet serves a purpose to its master. Save one.”
“Are you Mythos?”
“I am, Winter. I have dreamed of the day when I would finally meet you. You may be the one that finally discovers the truth. You can be the one that delivers us. You can be the one that ends all this.”
“Why do you say ‘can’?”
“Everyone has a choice, Winter. Just because you are able to do something doesn’t mean you will. To tread this path will cost you dearly, and you may decide that the price is not worth it. No matter which way you choose, you may still come to believe that.”
“That’s not very helpful, Mythos.”
“It is not my place to help or to hinder; I but illuminate the choices before you.”
“Are you always so deliberately vague?”
“I, nor any living being can see all outcomes, Winter, I only suggest the possibilities.”
“Anything could be a possibility, could it not? If in the morning I decide against going to the Pickets and
instead head back to the cavern, have I not closed an infinite number of pathways and opened up another infinite number in a different direction?”
“Perhaps.”
“How then could you possibly have any idea what may come to pass?”
“There are outcomes that are more probable because of the course you are on right now, Winter. You choose only from what is before you at any given moment.”
“And if I die?”
“They die with you.”
“In how many of your possible scenarios do I die before anything substantial is accomplished?”
“An infinite number.”
“Should I laugh or should I cry?”
“Either, neither...both would be acceptable.”
“Do you know which man I will love?”
“From where you now stand, one will pay the ultimate price, the other will betray you; you will search your heart for the correct path once it is before you.”
“But that also has infinite possibilities? You’re giving me a headache. It seems to me that anything could potentially happen.” I sat up quickly. “You’re a fraud, Mythos. Any fool knows the future is not written but is created one choice at a time. You can say absolutely anything and then preface it by saying this is just one of many possibilities. That’s crap! How hard is that? I could do it.”
“The fire of youth. Ahhh, it has been a long time since I’ve felt that. It is true, Winter, I cannot divine the future. I can only see what will likely come to pass if a person chooses the right path from those in front of them.”
“Who decides what is the right path?”
“You do.”
I don’t remember when Mythos departed. We were together staring at the stars, a somewhat comfortable silence between us. I felt he had more to say but was afraid of the reaction it might elicit. A Shaman was scared of me; I didn’t know whether to be horrified or flattered.
“Whoa,” Cedar said as she sat up, the morning sun creeping up over the horizon. “I had the strangest dreams. You were in some of them, Winter–on a horse. You were chasing down Tallow, your sword out. You were screaming…you were getting ready to strike him down!”
I shivered. Was that the eventual price of his betrayal? I shook the cobwebs from my mind; Tallow would never betray me. This I knew in my heart.
“Gregor, did you dream strangely?” Cedar’s eyes were bright with the question.
He grumbled as he stood. “We should get going.” He was packing his things.
“Next time I would appreciate you telling me before you put something in my food or water,” I said to Kinder.
“As you wish, Winter.” He gave a slight bow.
“What did you see, Winter?” Cedar asked.
“Nothing and everything.” My disposition was much like Gregor’s as I rolled up the skins I’d slept on.
The day was unseasonably hot, each passing minute and every footstep seemed to bring more warmth. The sky was deep blue, not a cloud could be seen as the sun sat high. Fingers of heat dragged across my neck, burning as they went.
I was miserable. The zukan root from last night had left my body achy, my mouth perpetually dry, and my head threatening to split open to reveal its mushy contents.
Kinder smiled at me. “I am sorry. Visiting the spirit world takes its toll on our physical forms.”
I would have believed him if Cedar wasn’t a few steps away, skipping and talking animatedly (and continually), and just generally having a good time.
“And her?”
“Zukan root affects each person in different ways.”
“You’re as bad as Mythos.”
The ground was relatively flat and uniform. The only thing breaking up the monotony was the sparse, thorny vegetation. I’d yet to see anything that could possibly offer shade, unless one was no bigger than an ant. The sun was beating everything back into the ground, including me and definitely Gregor. Cedar, however, was thriving.
Thankfully, one of the advance scouts had found water and shade. A ribbon of green became visible on the horizon. One plodding step after another and the line began to take on definition. I don’t think I’d ever been so happy to see a tree in my life.
The scout was talking to Kinder. I’d more or less just been following the Feral leader as it was easier than thinking, or looking, or just about anything else.
“The great fence lies before the river.”
My feelings vacillated between happiness for the water and shade and fear of the Pickets. I was willingly going to walk through them. If my mother was wrong or just delusional I was about to die, painfully. I wasn’t ready for that. But I must have been; otherwise why would I have made the journey to begin with?
This was clearly a crossroads in the path I’d chosen. Was one of them more right than the other? And how would I know? The easier path, to turn around and resume my role in The War was the more certain, but it would not afford me the answers I needed to know. Was there indeed a place in this world where people were free? Through my trepidation, I knew the risk was worth the reward.
We could hear the roar of the river. The Pickets hugged the bank, blocking us from it.
“You don’t need to do this.” Cedar was serious as she looked up at the large towers.
“Who is going to get us water if not me?”
“We can find another way, Winter. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”
“I’m the one taking the risk, Cedar.”
“What? It’s not all about you, Winter.” She had an edge to her voice and she'd grabbed my wrist. “It’s also about the ones you leave behind–maybe more so. You die, then it’s done for you. It’s the rest of us that are left to pick up the pieces!” She was close to tears.
“I’m sorry, Cedar. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s something I must do. It needs to be done, I think, for everyone's sake.” I was trying to convince myself more than her.
Kinder started handing me canteens to fill once I was past the Pickets.
“And if I die?” I asked.
“We won’t find another water source before it is too late.”
“Are you kidding me? You had to have known this. Is this Mythos’ way of forcing me to choose the path he wants for me? I might have had doubts about going across for myself, but he must have known I would never allow all of you to die of thirst if there was a way to prevent it.” I did not like that I was being manipulated. I was as trapped by my morals like a snared animal.
Kinder said nothing.
“Your kind are not bred in bio buildings?” I asked.
“They are not.”
“Then according to my mother’s note, all of you should be able to pass through the pickets.”
“Yet we cannot,” he answered abruptly.
“That does not bode well for me then.” It was looking worse than I had previously thought, yet I stubbornly continued on.
“Answer me one thing before I go. What do your people call themselves?”
“Hurry back and I will tell you.”
I took two quick breaths and started slowly walking toward the Pickets.
“I love you, Winter.” Cedar called, then bowed her head, alternating between watching me and watching the grass grow.
“Same,” I said.
“Wait, are you saying you love yourself or that you love me back?”
“Oh, Cedar. Both, I guess, but I meant you.”
I was now closer to the Pickets than I was to the group I’d come here with. I was still alive, for whatever that was worth. Ashe had just crossed through when he’d convulsed, collapsed, and ultimately died. I placed my right hand in front of me, hoping to feel something, I guess. When I finally did, it was not what I was expecting. I was thinking it would be something solid but it was more of a tingling sensation I felt on my hand, as if I’d slept on it funny. It intensified as I moved closer, the sensation traveling up my arm.
Instinctively, I knew it was my head where the decisive result would be determined. The f
eeling of spider legs walked across my right cheek and my nose. It began to caress my brow and then up onto my forehead. It was a wholly unpleasant sensation, though not particularly painful. Something wicked within me wanted to fall convulsively to the ground in jest, but Cedar would rush to my aid and there was a very real chance I would not be able to stop her in time. The crawling sensation crested over my head, washed down the back of my neck and then was finally gone. Was it possible I had passed into the spirit world and didn’t even know it? But if I had, should I be feeling cold water slosh around my legs?
“Winter! Did your brain melt?” I turned to see Cedar’s hands cupped around her mouth as she shouted her question at me.
It was true! All of it was true! I could leave this place, I could leave The War, I could go find people like me–free people, maybe even my family. Possibly even my father. Couldn’t he have just as easily left as I did? He could come and go as he pleased. Then I looked at Cedar, and thought of Tallow and Haden. I couldn’t just leave them here; I was still as much a prisoner as they were, maybe even more so because I knew there was a way out for myself, yet I couldn’t take it. I was certain my father would have felt the same way. He loved my mother and he would have done whatever it took to get back to her. I dutifully filled the canteens and didn’t even submerge myself into the cooling water. I did not want to take advantage of anything that they themselves could not.
I paid absolutely no heed to the vibrations as I once again passed through the Pickets, my head down.
“Comanchokee,” Kinder said when I returned.
“What?”
“Comanchokee. That is the name my people call themselves.”
“That’s much better than Ferals,” I told him honestly.
EACH STEP WE took that day as we headed back was agony. Not because of the heat or my sore muscles but because it was one step further away from what I desired most. If the hardest path was the “correct” one, then I was well on my way. Cedar could sense my melancholy mood and was constantly joking and teasing me, as if just by sheer volume of joviality she would be able to lift the layer of despair that had descended over me. I felt like the ghost the Comanchokee called me. I was still corporeal, but my insides had been hollowed out like a tree ravaged by termites. The tree appeared strong, but a stiff wind could blow it right to the ground.