by J. P. Ashman
Flinching away, Couig only just caught Legg’s intervention. The lad dropped down onto the bench from the roof of the vardo, smashing the man-dogs away with brass covered knuckles. He deftly evaded their hasty lunges and swipes with crude sword and sickle, before crunching his fists into their faces numerous times. They fell away to the moving ground below, but Legg didn’t hesitate. Hearing a call from behind, he climbed back onto the roof and rushed to aid his fellow guards.
‘Gods, boy, but ye don’t know how good ye are,’ Couig managed under his breath. He risked a glance around and behind, to see adlets throwing themselves at the vardos and carts, and caravan guards throwing whatever they had back at them; fists mostly, but arrows licked out now and then, as did the odd spear. Couig saw Jevratt yelling orders up and down the line and couldn’t help but smile at the lad’s confidence, despite such a heavy assault.
Looking back to the road ahead, Couig grimaced. I’ve known them hit us hard before… but never well-planned, like this.
The log across the road was deliberate, of that Couig was sure, and his stomach twisted at the thought. Such a simple trick, yet nothing more is needed to halt us. ‘Legg!’
Couig’s nephew was quick to jump back down to the bench besides his uncle. Legg’s fists were bloodied, as was his torso, although from his own wounds, or his enemies, Couig had no idea.
‘Oh,’ Legg said flatly, looking ahead.
‘Aye lad. Now we need to move it, and quickly.’ Couig began to slow the caravan. He heard the cries of alarm and outrage that followed. Legg jumped back on the roof to pass the word on.
Before Couig could stop the caravan, three pony traps overtook him, towards the log. Reaching it swiftly, the dozen lads dismounted and made short work of rolling the log around in an arc, off the road.
‘Good lads—’
Couig stopped at the sight of the adlets running from the trees. Arrows left them, as did throwing axes. Only one trap made it away and that one with less lads on it than before. Cursing and swallowing the lump in his throat, Couig snapped his reins and cracked his whip. He followed that with a yell and the oxen accelerated once more.
‘Legg, I need men front!’
Someone screamed from not too far back, but before Couig could think on it, Legg dropped down, accompanied by a lad with a bow.
‘We’ll need more’n that, boy.’
Legg swallowed hard and nodded. ‘Aye, uncle.’
An arrow left the boy next to Legg, followed by another, but more came back their way from the adlets on the road.
Pony traps once more shot past. Four this time, with Jevratt and Belcher aboard the trailing one.
‘Ye stay there, Legg,’ Belcher called. ‘Us men’ll handle this lot.’ His wink was lost on Legg, for the lad had dropped to the road and set off at a run. A tremendous run.
Couig cursed.
The archer looked to Couig, a grin on his face. ‘He’ll ’ave the dog bastards, Master Couig. Don’t ye worry none.’
Biting his bottom lip, Couig said nothing as he watched his nephew leave the caravan behind. He was followed by an arrow that whipped past him and slammed into an approaching adlet. The one behind that fell to the weight of Belcher as the large man threw himself from the moving trap and flattened the raider. Before the adlet could react, its head crumpled to the meaty fists of Couig’s eldest nephew. Looking up for another threat, Belcher laughed as Legg ran past, dust rising from his feet.
‘Go get ’em, lad! Just don’t let ’em thrash ye like I do!’
Couig couldn’t hear Legg’s retort, for the traps had reached the adlets and the raiders were howling and the caravan guards were roaring.
Climbing to his feet and making for the scrap, Belcher clearly felt the rumble of the caravan reach his back. Moving to one side, he waited until Couig was alongside before jumping up with some effort to sit next to the old man. They both watched Jevratt and his boys go to work.
An adlet lashed out with a spear, but Jevratt sidestepped the weapon, grabbed it by the shaft and yanked it from the raider’s clawed hands. Dropping the weapon and stepping in close, Jevratt knocked his opponent out with a single blow, before rushing to his next target.
Legg arrived to take a young lad’s killer from his feet. Landing atop the thrashing adlet, he received a nasty gash from the clawed feet kicking out at him as his brass knuckles finished it. He jumped up and turned to face another adlet, but a young caravan guard with blood across his face took out the raider’s long legs and fell about it, slashing with a knife.
Turning again, Legg saw Jevratt battling two adlets. Their weapons seemed useless against the fast-moving man, who dispatched both with fists alone.
The immediate danger was over, the remaining adlets about them turning and running for the hills, but as Legg turned to take in the nearing caravan, his heart reached for his mouth. He cursed, then spat. ‘We’re all for the pyre.’
Eerie horns preceded more howls as well over a hundred adlets crested the nearest hill.
‘Don’t be so feckin’ sure about that, Legg.’
Legg turned to Jevratt, eyebrows raised.
Jevratt pointed to a hooded figure stood on one of the vardo roofs. ‘That man’s more than he seems to be. Of that I’m sure.’
Legg wiped sweat from his eyes and nodded. ‘I hope you’re right, for we’re gonna need somethin’ special to see that lot off.’ And no mistake.
As adlets raced down the hill towards the caravan, the hooded figure dropped from the vardo and ran to meet them.
Filling his cheeks and letting it out in one, Legg nodded again. ‘Jevratt,’ he said, ‘I think ye might be right.’
Jevratt grinned. ‘Come on, let’s not leave him to it.’
Jumping onto the nearest trap, followed by Legg and two others, Jevratt whooped and the pony launched forward, followed by the other traps, lads and guards.
As they passed Couig, the old man waved at them, face ashen. Belcher shouted a curse and climbed atop Couig’s vardo for a better look. More traps left the caravan to chase the hooded runner as arrows overtook him, slamming into the first adlets down the hill.
Whatever that man’s going to do, Legg thought, he better do it fast… and it better be good.
Stopping, the hooded figure raised his arms and looked up to the sky. The grass about him wavered, the sky darkened. The adlets faltered and the traps behind the figure slowed. With a bass thud which seemed to come from the man’s open mouth, the adlets nearest to him dropped to the floor, weapons forgotten. They clutched their ears and shrieked as the stranger released another three concussive thuds that resonated through the bones of all present. The traps stopped, but the archers and slingers continued. Their missiles found their marks, many of which were prone, and the remainder of the adlets faltered as many dropped to another resounding thud.
‘He’s feckin’ impressive,’ Jevratt shouted to Legg and the other lads on his trap. They all nodded. One let another arrow fly.
A chest pounding thud and yet more adlets dropped.
‘He’s doing it with his mouth, this man?’ Jevratt turned to Legg, then back to the strange happening before him. ‘Isn’t he, Legg? The bastard’s doing it with his mouth?’
Legg said nothing as the man released another thump from his impossibly wide mouth.
‘Eh? Isn’t he?’
‘Yes, Jevratt,’ one of the lads said, eyes wide.
‘Ha!’ Jevratt slapped Legg on the back. ‘The bitches are running.’ He turned to the moving caravan and shouted. ‘The bitches are running!’
He’s saved us all, Legg thought, eyes on the robed man more than the fleeing adlets.
A cheer went up from the caravan and two pony traps set out towards the hills.
‘Hold, ye little shites!’ Jevratt shouted, moving his own trap towards them. ‘Hold or I’ll smash ye, ye little bastards.’
The traps came about and clattered back past Jevratt. The boys on board were bloody, but their eyes were hard and their
faces set in their usual angry visages. Jevratt gesticulated to them and they steered clear of his trap as he brought it to a halt near the impressive man.
‘Who’d ye suppose he is, Jevratt?’ Legg asked, eyeing the strange traveller.
‘I dunno, but he’s feckin’ something else, isn’t he? Also, he’s paid his due to me ma, so I don’t give a bollocks who he is.’
Legg nodded and looked to the Toye Hills. The adlets were gone, apart from those who had dropped to missiles and the mysterious thudding; of those, none stirred.
‘We’ll lift ye back to the caravan, me man,’ Jevratt called to the approaching figure, who nodded his thanks and climbed aboard. Everyone stared at him openly as he took a seat.
Jevratt tore his eyes away to flash a dangerous look to Legg and the others. ‘Don’t be burning him with yer gazes, boys. Ye hear?’
All three nodded and looked away from the man, and away from Jevratt. Legg’s stomach twisted in fear from Jevratt’s look, almost as much as it’d twisted when the adlets had crested the hill.
‘Let’s go, me man. Back to yer vardo and back to our journey, and at Grounding ye can talk me through that fancy shit ye pulled there. Eh?’
The hooded man turned to Jevratt. ‘Absolutely,’ he said, voice softer than any would believe.
From the window of a rocking vardo, Cheung watched with interest as Jevratt’s trap rode back to the line, hooded stranger on board. Now who the masters are you? Never mind… Cheung pulled the cloth across the opening and returned his unused kamas to their satchel. You saved me having to reveal myself and for that, I’m grateful. As should the Caravaneers be.
Chapter 4 – Another scar
The young woman groaned as the vardo rode over a bump in the road. She was unconscious but alive thanks to Cheung’s ministrations. After the adlets retreated, Jevratt came looking for Cheung, to ask him for help. There were people with severe injuries throughout the length of the caravan, and many more with minor wounds. The girl Cheung saved was close to passing before he tended to her trauma. He couldn’t let her die. He may have been taught basic healing by his tutors, and gained more experience since, but it was his cover that was important; priests of the Temple of Tears knew healing very well, and if he was to refuse Jevratt’s request to have the girl brought to his vardo, it would have raised suspicions. As it was, Cheung knew enough to save the girl, through poultice and wrappings. He was surprised no one else was able to help her, until he hung from the vardo’s door, heard the cries of pain and saw the multitude of persons tending to the wounded.
As the caravan moved on, Ghauni Forest clinging to its left, unwrapped bodies were tossed from the moving column. There was no room for sentiment within the families of the Caravaneers.
They free themselves of the burden of the dead, Cheung thought, watching a former child bounce as it hit the ground. A woman wailed and a man stood stock still, gripping his partner in a seemingly emotionless state. Cheung knew better. He holds it inside, I’m sure, so she can let it out. Time will pass and roles will reverse. Although his release could come in many ways, not all of them good for her. Licking dry lips, Cheung pulled back inside the vardo and sat back, eyes locked on the slowly rising and falling chest of the girl he’d saved. Your kin would have left you behind too. Left for the kites, for the crows and the foxes and the worms. All things along this road gain the taste for human flesh because of this tradition. Your people think they release a burden, but they create one; predators… adlets.
Cheung wasn’t sure whether adlets ate human flesh, after all, they were part human themselves, but he’d heard rumours, and rumours tended to come from some truth, at least.
A song began outside Cheung’s vardo. Low at first, before building in strength. Many voices added their own uniqueness to the lament, which stretched the length of the caravan. The words were muffled in places, and without knowing them, Cheung struggled to understand, although the gist was clear to him. It was sorrow and farewell in one, both to those lost and to Ghauni Forest herself. The caravan was leaving Eatri behind to cross the River Beddoe. Beyond that, multiple mountain passes led through to The Marches. The caravan would skirt up and around the forests that made up those ever-contested borderlands, to pass below Chapparro Minor and the Altolnan gnomes that lived there.
At least we will be free of adlets and the like. Cheung leaned forward and checked on the dressings of the girl. And you will likely be able to leave my vardo.
She groaned again as his hands left her bandaged side and Cheung hesitated; his hood was down. Eyes fluttering, corners creasing and cheeks lifting with pain, the girl turned her head and looked up into the dark eyes of her saviour. Her eyes widened as she took in the scarred face for the first time. They widened yet more as Cheung’s henna-patterned hand pressed across her opening mouth.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, leaning into his hand and restraining her with his other. His stomach turned as she struggled, but a few deep breaths calmed him until she fell still and quiet.
Taking a deep breath, holding it a while before releasing it, Cheung rubbed hard at his face and sat back once more, this time with his hood up.
Why did you have to wake so soon? Why did you have to see my head, my scars? Your body will bounce now. I only hope to the masters this doesn’t cause more of your kin to fall to the side of the road.
Cheung closed his eyes and listened to the chickens cluck, and the song of the Caravaneers.
I have but one mark, that is all. I will travel leagues to see that life end and it could even cost me my own. I do not wish it to cost any more, but if that is what it takes, that is what I will do.
Masters forgive me, but my toll on this path has already begun.
Eyes locked on the girl’s lifeless orbs, Cheung pulled one of his kamas from his satchel and drew the depthless blade across the back of his unblemished neck.
I will not forget you.
Chapter 5 - Grounding
Not long after Couig’s battered caravan crossed the wide bridge over the River Beddoe, did Grounding come into view. Nestled between the foothills of the Chapparro Mountains, the grassland plateau stretched out to either side of the road.
Pony traps rode left and right, followed by dogs of varying sizes and the vardos and carts themselves, pulled by horses and camels and oxen. The sudden breaking of the caravan seemed random, but as Couig watched on, he knew each family led their wheeled homes to specific pitches on the featureless but fertile grassland.
Leading his own family on, Couig guided his vardo to an unmarked spot; he knew it well, since his family and ancestors had pitched there for centuries. Once in position, Couig waited for his family to form a circle of vardos and carts, his in the centre. Other families did the same, some close, some much further away.
It took a while of manoeuvring, shouting, cursing and some singing before all the families were settled. When they were, the previously plain plateau was spattered with circles of gaudily painted wood and faded canvas, and should any of them have been able to fly, Couig knew, they would see that Grounding resembled a giant eye, with Couig’s family the pupil.
Dusk arrived by the time beasts were tethered and fires were lit. There was little wind and less cloud and the first bright dots appeared in the eastern sky. Couig lay on the long grass, a stem sprouting from his mouth. He listened to far off singing, accompanied by quiet groans and whimpers. There were many injured and many more grieving.
‘We shall have a wake,’ he said, staring up into the darkening sky.
‘Tonight?’
‘Aye, Legg, tonight will be remembered, and through it, our felled cousins and siblings and parents and children. All of them.’
Legg put more wood on the fire and nodded. ‘All of them.’ He sat back to admire his work and turned to his uncle. ‘Is it time?’
Couig watched the orange sparks lift with the smoke, sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. ‘No. Not yet.’
Jevratt and Belcher arr
ived and crouched opposite their cousin and uncle.
Couig looked over to the two lads, then back to the glowing spots of orange mingling with the shining spots of silver far above. ‘Tonight, the wake comes before Grounding.’
All three nodded at their uncle’s words. They stared into the fire for a while, watching the wood darken and lighten in shimmering oranges and yellows. It was mesmerising, as always. Such a simple thing, fire, and yet to look at it was to be drawn in. To look at it was to feel its heat, its light; life and death, joy and pain.
‘That hooded stranger’s a one, ain’t he?’ Belcher said.
Legg nodded and Couig said nothing. It was Jevratt who replied.
‘Oh he’s the boy alright. A tip-top boy by my thinking, and I wanna know what he knows. I wanna know what it were, what he done.’
‘Where’s he to?’ Legg asked.
Jevratt wrinkled his nose and shrugged. ‘Dunno. He said Altoln to me ma. No specific place though. He’s the boy though, that’s for sure. Powers like that, he be a wizard or the likes, eh Couig?’
The stem of grass launched from the old man’s mouth in an impressive arc.
‘He’s of magic, for sure,’ Couig said. ‘But a wizard? I dunno, lad.’
‘Well whatever he is or isn’t, he’s top boy in my mind.’ Jevratt surged to his feet and cursed at the pain. ‘Anyways, it’s time for the wake. Ye agree?’
Legg and Belcher both said ‘Aye’ and Couig rolled and pushed himself up to stand with them.
‘Right ye are, Jevratt, me boy. Right ye are. Let’s get to it.’
Belcher made to move and stumbled. ‘Feck me leg and feck it twice.’
‘It’s that bad?’ Legg asked. ‘What was it? Spear? Sword?’
Belcher bent at the knee, sucked in air and shook his head. ‘Nah, a knife. Didn’t hurt at the time. Never noticed it until after the scrap with the bitches. It’ll be good though, don’t ye worry.’ He managed to dance about a bit, although the pain was evident on his face. ‘Good enough to smash you again, Legg. Good enough to smash you.’