by T. C. Edge
“So, that’s why you left the church before we arrived. Just to test me?”
“That, and so I didn’t have to suffer your company on the journey. It’s quite enough to endure it from here on out.”
I can’t help but laugh. Zander shoots me a pinched glare and I lift my brows and turn away.
Doing so, my eyes sweep over the contingent of hunters around us. I look from one face to the next and recognise many of them from our past journeys together, most notably to the mines and back. Among them, the face of West sticks out, youthful and keen and quietly determined.
His glancing eyes pass by mine and quickly sweep away. I sense he continues to harbour a grudge towards me for infiltrating his private mental spaces.
I hurry on back to the front, where Rhoth and Zander continue their conversation. I have no compunction about butting in. They still seem to be embroiled in their silly routine of testosterone-fuelled one-upmanship.
“West’s here,” I say to my brother, grappling his attention away from the big man.
He nods.
“I know.”
“Well, shouldn’t we talk to him too? He might know some more.”
Rhoth frowns down at me. He’s protective of the young man he took under his mighty wing.
“Be careful not to go thrashing about in his mind again,” he warns. “If you wish to speak with him, use your words only. If he doesn’t return them, leave him be. Understand?”
I suppose I have no choice.
“Maybe you should go,” I say to Zander. “I’m not sure he likes me much.”
“I wouldn’t be so concerned about that,” counters Rhoth with a glint in his eye. “You are a pretty girl, Brie. Young men always like pretty girls.”
My initial reaction is to huff at such a simple and base remark. I’m sure West is more complicated than that. But, it does lead me towards an idea.
“Fine,” I say, before slipping back through the group and approaching West with my trepidation suppressed.
Instead, I widen my eyes as girlishly as I can, flutter my dark lashes, and paint my face with the most inviting and pleasant smile I can manage. I’d imagine the likes of Sophie, Tess, or Kira would be better at it than me, but my camouflage seems to do its job.
West smiles back, albeit briefly and nervously. Then his eyes shift away at an angle through the woods, just about enough so he can still view me in his peripheral vision.
“Hey, West,” I say, making sure my voice matches my friendly countenance. “How are you this fine day?”
I get no verbal response. His eyes flick back at me, his pursed lips shift down, and he offers the tiniest of nods. Then he looks back to the woods.
“OK, erm, so I just wanted to apologise for what happened before. I feel really bad about it. I’m so sorry. Will you accept my apology?”
Another flutter of my lashes.
He shifts his eyes to mine once more and inspects me for a moment longer this time. Then, seeing the contrition in me, he manages a weak smile before nodding hurriedly.
I beam more brightly than the sun above.
“Good. That’s great! Thank you, West.”
He heaves in a breath, as if mustering some inner strength, and then empties his lungs with a single, quiet word.
“Welcome…”
I try not to react with too much buoyancy from hearing him talk. It’s a small victory in a larger war. As I begin to walk alongside him, I consider the best way of getting him to open up a little more.
“So, did you hear what we were talking about earlier?” I ask. “Down in the clearing?”
It seems that, after breaking his vow of silence, he’s struggling to justify reverting to it. He’s spoken now. There’s no going back.
“Yes,” he says, his eyes turning to his companions. He slows his step, so that we begin to trail behind by a good five, ten, fifteen metres, some space opening up between us and the main pack.
I don’t think he wants the rest hearing him speak. If they do, his status as a mute will be called into question. I suppose he’d rather maintain it.
“If you don’t want to talk about this, that’s just fine,” I say, giving him an out. “Just tell me, and I’ll leave you alone.”
He doesn’t move away. It’s all the answer I need.
“OK. So, you heard what we were saying?”
He nods.
“I heard it all.”
His voice is tentative and quiet, yet fitted with a husky tone that’s quite appealing on the ears.
“And, do you know anything? You came from a long way away. You must have seen things on the way here.”
I have more questions waiting to slide down my tongue, but hold back. I can’t overload him for risk of him shutting back down again. I stop short and wait. He takes a moment to consider things.
“I was young,” he whispers. “But…I remember. You…you saw? The people in my village?”
“I did. I’m sorry about that, again.”
“It’s OK. I don’t like to think about it. But, it’s OK now.”
“And that village, your village, it was a long way away?”
“Long way. Very long way. We walked for weeks…months. We knew of the beacon here. People from our village had left before to come this way. We didn’t know if they had made it…no one knew. My…my family. We were going to come together. Now, it’s only me.”
His voice pulls to a stop, the flow of words ending as they began to pour faster and faster. It’s as if he’s wanted to speak of such things for years, but hasn’t been able to. Not among his adopted tribe. Not with such fierce men.
But with me, his words run free. He looks ahead again and checks that no one has turned around. I lay a hand on his arm and give a little squeeze.
“It’s OK, no one can hear us.”
His eyes stay a little hooded. He takes a few more moments to warm back up, and we drift a few more metres back to be sure.
“So you were planning on coming here all along? People from that far away know about Haven?”
“They know. All people know. Our lands were under siege. We planned to leave, but were too late. You know what happened. You…saw.”
His deep sadness causes a similarly deep feeling of guilt to swim down my veins. I apologise again, and have it accepted.
“Rhoth told me about your brother,” I say softly. “I’m sorry that happened. It’s awful.”
“I have got much revenge for him,” he says, his posture and voice firming. “I have killed many Shadows. Each one, I imagine it was the beast who took my brother. He got me here safely. Without him, I’d be dead. I will never be able to kill enough Shadows until the day I die.”
“I know the feeling,” I say. “My parents were killed when I was a baby. I never knew them…”
I withdraw their picture from my jacket pocket as I speak, and unfold the card.
“This is them?” he asks.
I nod.
“My father, Maxwell. And my mother, Elisa. They were killed because they wanted to be together but couldn’t. They were killed because they gave life to my brother and me. We both come from hard worlds, West. I just want to save the people I care about now. And…kill those who wrong me.”
“Do you know?” he asks quickly. “Do you know who did it?”
I nod, and my face darkens.
“I know. And I’ll kill him one day.”
“Good. You’re like me. I just want to kill the bad people, and save the good. I think we are alike, Brie.”
I smile as he says my name, proud that I’ve been able to draw him from his shell, that he’s been willing to open up to me.
“So what you heard earlier…all this about people coming to take the city. Do you believe that’s possible, given what you’ve seen?”
“Possible,” he whispers. “Very possible.”
He doesn’t offer anything more. But his words have already proven the point that I wish I could deny – that the city of Haven is known across t
he lands. That the beacon that has drawn them in, only to kill them, has now been put out. That the revenge that consumes West, consumes me, might just fire the minds of many others who settle in the lands beyond our sight. And that, as my grandfather told us, we are far more vulnerable right now than we’d like to admit.
As I ponder it all, a booming voice clatters from the front, and I regain my focus to see that Rhoth and the troop ahead have stopped. The big man comes thrashing back through the brush, his eyes descended in anger.
I assume his chagrin is aimed at me. I instinctively take a step back and brace.
His fiery gaze works straight past me, however, and at the young man by my side. He looms over him, preparing to growl.
“West, you know better than to drop back out of formation!” he says. “What are you doing twenty metres from the pack?!”
The boy has gone mute again. His lips quiver and then clamp shut. Everyone behind is now watching.
“It’s my fault,” I say. “I was distracting him.”
“Yes, you wanted to speak. I know this. But West knows too that a single weak link can cause our destruction. Now, back in line! Right now!”
West scurries off to his post, and Rhoth’s heaving breath pours out at me instead.
“You’ve tasted the dangers, girl, but you don’t understand them. Don’t draw my men from their posts again.”
“But you said…” I lower my voice and check for watching eyes. “You said I could talk with him.”
“Talk, yes…but not lure out here. And, well, I didn’t really expect him to speak. He did, did he?”
“A bit. It’s my charm, Rhoth. Few can resist it.”
“The beasts care nothing for your charm. Nor do the other tribes. If they find a spare girl wandering alone, it won’t be your charms that they’re interested in.”
“But this is your territory, isn’t it?” I look around, my bearings lost. “We’re still in the western woods, right?”
“We are in no man’s territory here. All may lurk and drift this way. Soon, we’ll reach the higher passes where the Roosters dwell. But here, you keep your wits about you at all times.”
I nod silently and promise myself to keep a tighter watch.
Then, heading northwards, the lands continue to rise.
220
We press on for an hour, during which I seal my lips shut and refuse to utter a single word.
Walking a little back from my brother and Rhoth, I begin to note the changing shape of the earth, my lungs starting to work a little harder as the ascent grows increasingly steep.
The quality of the air here is also very different from the woods down in the basin. The poisonous fog seems to thin in direct accordance with the increase in altitude, and before long it’s growing as sweet and clear as I’ve ever tasted, leaving my gas mask redundant and hanging casually from my belt.
The density of the forest also takes a new form, the trees growing apart as they reach higher into the sky. Thick trunks begin to appear up ahead, peaks as tall as buildings slicing into the big blue, and between them, now closer than ever, the rocky shards of the towering mountains lift into the gathering clouds ahead.
From what I’ve heard of the Roosters, tree-living is their forte. Rather than suffer the fumes down below, they chose to develop a more pleasant manner of living by climbing higher and building their nests off the ground. The trees here are suitable for such a purpose, being grand and mighty as they are, and before too long the first signs of their existence are beginning to appear.
“A sentry hut,” Zander says, pointing out a small structure built into the high branches of a grand evergreen. It’s staggeringly high up, and seemingly inaccessible.
“How do they get up there?”
“They’re skilled climbers, and learn how to scale the tallest of trees from a young age. They say they can clamber up bark before they can walk…”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say. “Climb before you can walk?”
He shrugs.
“It’s just what they say.”
The sentry post, however, is empty and long abandoned. That becomes clear as I set my gaze to it and see that it’s external structure has grown moulded and rotten, the thin planks liable to break under any significant weight.
Rhoth catches our whispered conversation and adds his voice, providing an explanation.
“They’ve been moving steadily higher over the years. There are lots of old posts around here that they no longer use.”
“And they’re friendly, right? You have a better relationship with them than the Bear-Skins and Skullers?”
“Better, but by no means good. They tend to keep themselves to themselves, but we exchange information sometimes if it’s mutually beneficial. I consider this to be one of those times.”
“Let’s hope they agree.”
The forest continues to thin as we go, the floor less tangled with shrubs and vines and creeping roots. Visibility improves, and soon enough the view down the valley begins to grow clear. I stop for a moment, not caring whether Rhoth should reprimand me, and gaze upon a view more staggering than any to have graced my eyes.
From here, you can see all the way down through the western woods that spread for miles below. To the east, the city sits strong and proud, a sprawling jungle of concrete and metal that, at a glance, seems peaceful and calm. Zoom in a little more, however, and the rot and decay becomes clear, so much of Haven now little more than dust and rubble.
I draw my vision back, and the details fade. I prefer it like that, seeing it from so many miles out, a canvass upon which my imagination can paint anything it wants. Then, hidden away among the woods far to the south, I can just about see the REEF, little more than a blurred cluster of grey amid the green, where my grandfather lurks with his army of slaves.
A heavy hand pats down on my shoulder.
“Come now, girl. If you like that, you’ll love what’s coming. The view grows greater than this, I promise you that.”
He’s right. As we press on up the wooded slope, and the air cools and begins to set a chill to my skin, I glance back at increments to bless my eyes with an increasingly dramatic set of panoramas. Each time, I try to mentally sear the image into my mind, and each time have to erase the last to make space for the next.
I begin to turn with such regularity that my brother has to hurry me along.
“Don’t look back for a while,” he says. “It’ll make the final view even better.”
I decide to follow through with the suggestion, and instead enjoy the growing scale of the forest around us. During my many afternoons sat on the factory roof in the eastern quarter, gazing right to where I now stand, I never considered that the trees could be so large, both in girth and height. They grow in more uniform fashion too, standing further apart as they stake their claim on the soil and suck up its moisture through their vast roots.
After another thirty minutes, Rhoth whispers to the group to be on their guard. A tension quickly spreads and they begin to walk with more precision. Eyes scan the canopy above, searching for hidden threats, and once more I begin to make out the well-concealed shapes of little structures built at their tops.
Then, a high pitched whistle suddenly flows across the air. It sparks from the right, about thirty metres up, directed further to the north. As it fades, another whistle takes on the baton, sounding from a little further away through the wood. Then another, and another, until the chain is too distant to be heard.
“It’s their alarm,” says Rhoth. “They know we’re coming, and have alerted the village. Hands off weapons, all of you. Adopt postures of friendship, nothing threatening.”
We move on, and my eyes now constantly watch above for motion among the high foliage. Another half an hour passes without incident, until finally we arrive at a large wall, crafted from thick wood, spreading through the forest to the left and right. From two mighty trees, faces look down either side of what appears to be a gate.
I catch
eyes with them, and see the light associated with Hawks shine out. Arched brows hover, and arrows aim from tightly wound bows.
“Now what is Rhoth of the Fangs doing at my gates?” comes a voice.
It belongs to a third man, appearing now from behind the summit of the wall, stepping onto a ledge. He’s nothing like Rhoth, and nothing like Bjorn. He carries a more open air, his face thin and cheeks hollow and hairless, adopting the look of a scholar more than a warrior, dressed in warmer furs to protect against the bitter chill up here so high.
“Kervan, I merely come seeking information,” says Rhoth respectfully. “We mean no harm at all. I present to you Zander and Brie, children of the Nameless. They would like to speak with you, if you will allow it.”
The man called Kervan inspects us with interested eyes, a thin mop of greying brown hair pushed aside to get a better view.
“And what interest do you have with the people from the big city with all the lights, Rhoth? You have spoken in such vile terms of the Nameless before. It seems you’ve changed your opinion. Or…has it been changed for you?”
“My reasoning is simple, Kervan,” says Rhoth. “I seek to ensure my tribe’s safety, and the western woods have grown dangerous. I have entered into a pact with the Nameless that will benefit us both, I can assure you. I know you have no love for the Bear-Skins and the Skullers. I seek to rid them from these lands, so both our tribes can live in peace.”
Kervan considers his words with interest.
“We’ve had little trouble with the Bear-Skins since we retreated further up these hills. And the Skullers don’t come this high because of the cold.”
“Perhaps, then, you are lucky. But my people have suffered from their barbarism for too long, and our truce has worn away. The Nameless will help me defeat them and…”
“And you will give them what in return?”
Rhoth stumbles a little off his stride at the interruption. He returns to sure footing quickly enough, displaying his skilful grasp at negotiation.
“I have already helped secure the safety of some of their people, but the reason why I’m here goes beyond that. You see much of the world from up here, Kervan. Perhaps you can help the twins here to see the light. That is all they wish, nothing more.”