The Scorched Earth (The Chaos Born)

by Drew Karpyshyn

  “Outlanders stay here,” one of the warriors explained to them in a clumsy, halting version of Allrish. “Rest of camp forbidden.”

  He didn’t bother to wait for their reply. Instead, he and the rest of their escort turned and headed back to the main hub, not even bothering to post a guard.

  Guess they don’t figure we’re stupid enough to try anything when we’re outnumbered five to one.

  “We should get in from the cold,” Vaaler said, pulling aside the hide flap so they could step into the tent ring and get closer to the fire pit’s warmth.

  Jerrod and Keegan were quick to take him up on the offer; now that they weren’t on the move the chill of the air was more noticeable. Scythe hesitated, her gaze wandering over to the other side of the camp where Norr and Shalana had disappeared.

  “Are you okay?” Vaaler asked. “Want to talk about it?”

  Yes, but with Norr, not you.

  “I’m fine,” she mumbled, then ducked under the hide flap as Vaaler followed close behind.

  The air inside the tent circle was hazy from the burning peat, but it was a small price to pay for shelter from the wind and cold. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but at least it was bearable.

  Scythe hoped the others would have the decency not to say anything about Norr—as far as she was concerned, it was none of their business. Unfortunately, Jerrod felt like everything was his business.

  “It is clear you did not know Norr was married,” the monk said, showing his typical disregard for tact. “I’m worried what your reaction to this news will be.”

  “That’s between me and Norr,” she answered, her tone making it clear the conversation was over.

  “I wish that was true,” Jerrod countered, refusing to let the matter drop. “But in the eyes of the barbarians, we are all the same. Outlanders. If your emotions lead you to do something reckless, it might have consequences for all of us.”

  “I’m not a child,” Scythe reminded him.

  “We’re just worried about you,” Keegan chimed in. “This kind of betrayal can be hard to take.”

  What could a kid like you know about it? Scythe thought, momentarily forgetting that they were the same age.

  “We shouldn’t judge Norr until we hear what he has to say about all this,” Vaaler cautioned. “Whatever’s going on, I’m sure there’s more to it than meets the eye.”

  “It could be that he has abandoned us now that he is back among his own people,” Jerrod speculated.

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Scythe insisted.

  “Are you certain?” Jerrod replied. “Obviously you don’t know him as well as you thought.”

  “I don’t think he’d abandon us, either,” Vaaler said. “I bet he’ll show up any minute to tell us exactly what’s going on. And when he gets here,” he added, “we owe it to him to hear what he has to say.”

  The Danaan turned to look directly at Scythe. “Especially you. Listen to him.”

  Scythe didn’t bother answering; she was in no mood to be lectured.

  It didn’t take long before Vaaler’s prediction proved true, and Norr pulled aside the hides and blankets and squeezed his bulk in to join them. He had changed from the stitched-together Danaan robes he’d been wearing during their journey into an armless animal-hide vest, a leather kilt, and heavy boots.

  “We wondered where you had gone,” Jerrod said before the big man even had a chance to sit.

  “It has been many years since I left my clan,” he answered. “I had to speak with Shalana. There were things I needed to know and things I needed to tell her.”

  “What kinds of things?” Jerrod demanded, making no effort to hide the suspicion in his voice.

  Norr ignored him and turned to his lover.

  “Scythe,” he said, “we need to talk. In private. I want to explain what’s going on.”

  “This affects all of us,” Jerrod protested. “We put our lives in your hands. We deserve to know what this is all about.”

  Scythe snapped her head around to shoot the blind monk a withering glare, but when she turned back to Norr her words surprised even herself.

  “White Eyes is right. I think I’ve had enough secrets for a while. Let’s get everything out in the open.”

  Norr hesitated, then sighed and nodded. He awkwardly lowered himself to the ground and began to speak.

  “Shalana doesn’t have cause to speak your language often, and she sometimes makes mistakes. We were betrothed, but we never shared the marriage feast.”

  “So you’re not her husband,” Vaaler clarified. “You’re her fiancé.”

  “That was many years ago,” Norr explained.

  “Is that why you left?” Keegan asked. “To avoid marrying her?”

  “Not exactly. My reasons for leaving were complicated.”

  “Did you love her?” Scythe asked.

  “I did, once,” Norr said softly. “We grew up together; since we were children, we have been very close. There was a time when we shared our hopes and dreams; when just the sight of Shalana would make my heart race.”

  “Do you still love her?” she whispered.

  “I will always care about Shalana,” he admitted, “but you are the only one I love, Scythe.”

  She knew Norr well enough to recognize the powerful emotion behind his plain and simple words. She was still hurt and angry, but in that instant she knew this was something she’d get over.

  The others were silent, waiting for her to reply. But romantic declarations weren’t her style, especially not in front of an audience.

  “Let me see your knee,” was all she said, coming over and sitting close beside him and placing her hand on his arm.

  From the look in Norr’s eyes, she knew he understood exactly how she felt. In their relationship actions spoke louder than words.

  “What happened with you and Shalana?” Keegan wanted to know. “Why did you leave your clan?”

  “And how does all of this affect us now?” Jerrod added.

  “Shalana’s father was Terramon, Chief of the Stone Spirit clan. He was a great warrior in his youth, and a brilliant tactical and political leader. He’s also arrogant, stubborn, and sometimes even cruel.”

  Scythe was listening along with the others, but her focus was on Norr’s injury. His knee was so badly swollen that the skin around it was stretched and discolored.

  Fluid building up; his body’s trying to immobilize the joint to protect it. No wonder he can barely walk.

  Gently, she began to poke and prod the area with her fingers, trying to feel through the bloated flesh to find the full extent of the damage.

  “Thirty years ago, when Terramon took over as chief from his father, the Stone Spirits were already a large and fierce clan, with a dozen other clans paying regular tribute to us. But Terramon wanted more.

  “Over the next three decades he led a campaign of conquest. Stone Spirit warriors swept across the tundra, forcing more and more clans to bow down and swear fealty to Terramon until we were one of the largest and most powerful clans in the East.

  “In the early years, my father was Terramon’s most trusted thane, fighting by his side in each and every battle. Until the sickness.”

  “Sickness?” It was Vaaler who asked the question though Scythe knew they were all thinking it.

  “I don’t remember it well; I was only a child. It started with a simple cough. In a few days, those infected would be choking on thick, black phlegm.”

  Scythe recognized the symptoms from the medical texts Methodis had made her study as a child. In the south it was called lung rot.

  But lung rot thrives in warm, humid climates. How did it end up in the Frozen East? she wondered.

  She’d heard stories of adventurous traders from the Free Cities and the Southlands dealing with some of the barbarian tribes. If one of them had been carrying the disease, he could have passed it on to Norr’s people accidentally.

  Or not so accidentally if they knowingly gave them infected blan
kets and clothing during the trades.

  “Many clans suffered,” Norr continued. “Dozens of Stone Spirits died.”

  “It could have been worse,” Scythe told him. “Lung rot wiped out entire villages in the Southlands. The cold must have weakened the disease and kept it from spreading. You were lucky.”

  “The sickness took my mother,” Norr said quietly. “Shalana’s, too.”

  Mortified, Scythe felt herself flushing with shame.

  “I’m sorry, Norr,” she gasped. “I didn’t mean to …” She trailed off, unable to think of anything to say that could make up for her callous stupidity.

  He reached out one of his giant hands and wrapped it around both of hers, momentarily stopping her from tending to his injury.

  “It’s okay, Scythe,” he told her, gazing deep into her eyes. “You didn’t know.”

  The simple gesture lasted only a few seconds before he released her hands and resumed his tale. Yet that was all it took for Scythe to realize he had forgiven her.

  “My father took ill, but he survived,” he continued. “But his lungs were ruined. Even walking across the camp left him gasping for air; his days of being a warrior were over.

  “Out of respect for what he once was, Terramon let my father keep his title as thane. While Terramon led our war parties on their forays deeper and deeper into enemy territory, my father stayed behind and oversaw the day-to-day welfare of the clan.

  “He also took over the responsibility of raising Shalana. Knowing she would be the one to succeed her father as leader of our clan, he taught her the ways of our people even as he taught them to me: our traditions; our customs; how to track; how to hunt; how to fight.

  “When we came of age, we joined Terramon’s raiding parties, fighting for the glory of the clan and spreading the reach and influence of the Stone Spirits. Shalana had heeded my father’s lessons well, and over the next few years she became a great warrior, forging her legend in the fires of battle.”

  Knowing Norr’s nature, Scythe guessed that he had also created quite a reputation for himself but was simply too humble to mention it.

  “Back then Shalana and I were close, but our feelings were only those of good friends. But when my father returned to the earth something changed.

  “He was taken too soon; after the sickness his health was always poor. His death left a void in Shalana’s life … as it did in mine. In our loss and sorrow we turned to each other for comfort. We drew closer. Eventually we became much more than friends.”

  Norr grunted in pained surprise as Scythe’s examinations found a tender spot.

  Luckily the ligaments aren’t ruptured, she noted, trying to recall Methodis’s lessons about anatomy. But he needs to stay off his feet for at least a week to heal properly.

  Norr looked down at her, his eyebrows raised inquisitively. Scythe indicated for him to continue his tale with a subtle tilt of her chin.

  “That summer we approached Terramon and told him of our feelings. We asked for his blessing on our union, both as Shalana’s father and as leader of the clan. He granted our request without hesitation. At the time, neither of us knew him well enough to suspect the trouble he would bring upon us.”

  “He didn’t actually approve of you?” Keegan asked.

  “Terramon and my father saw the world differently,” Norr said after a long pause to gather his thoughts. “Terramon believed in conquest and expanding our empire. Battle was all he knew. But though my father had once been a warrior, he learned that there was more to life. He believed there comes a time when it is more important to defend and protect what you have, when one must set aside the sword and keep close the very things you once fought for: family, friends, and clan.

  “He had spoken to Terramon and the other thanes of this, and many agreed with him. Terramon’s never-ending wars had spread the Stone Spirit influence and brought us wealth and prestige, but there was a heavy cost: many warriors had lost their lives, and those who lived spent many months of each year away from their families.

  “After thirty years of war, the clan was weary. Many hoped Terramon would step down and let Shalana become chief. That is the way of my people when the chiefs enter the twilight of their years. They step aside and take on the role of councillor to the new chief.

  “Many expected that, even with Terramon serving as one of her advisers, Shalana would take them down a different path. But Terramon was not a man of peace; he had built his reputation on conflict and strife. Perhaps he feared what would become of him once he stepped down; perhaps he feared his counsel would be ignored. Maybe it would have been.”

  “So he refused to step down?” Vaaler asked.

  “That would have been a temporary solution,” Norr explained. “Eventually, the thanes would have forced him to name a successor. Or one would have risen and challenged him for the right to be chief. Terramon knew this, so he devised a more cunning solution.

  “He called a meeting of the entire clan. There, in front of his thanes and all his people, he named me to be his successor instead of his own flesh and blood. Shalana was devastated. Humiliated and shamed in front of everyone.”

  “I don’t get it,” Keegan said. “Couldn’t you just refuse?”

  “The damage had already been done,” Norr explained. “Terramon had cast a cloud over Shalana’s name. He had publicly questioned his own daughter’s ability to lead our people. Even if I refused, there would still be those who doubted her, especially among the other clans.

  “By stepping aside, I would make the Stone Spirits seem weak and some of the chiefs who paid us tribute would challenge Shalana’s authority. The thanes would have to set aside their desire for peace to defend the glory of our clan.”

  “And Terramon would have what he wanted all along,” Jerrod noted. “More battles. More war.”

  “I tried to speak with Shalana,” Norr continued, “hoping we could find some way to put things right. But she wouldn’t listen to me. She was bitter and angry.

  “There had already been whispers among some of the thanes that I should be the next chief. Because of my size and strength, my reputation had spread across the East, and my father had been a great warrior in his youth and a respected voice of wisdom in his later years. And while it is not unheard of for a chief to name a female successor, it is uncommon.

  “By publicly naming me, Terramon strengthened the resolve of those who wanted me to take over. Shalana saw this as another betrayal, another slight against her reputation and her pride. So she turned to the old ways, and challenged me to single combat to prove which of us was worthy of becoming chief.”

  “That spiteful bitch!” Scythe snarled, instinctively jumping to Norr’s defense even after the fact. “It wasn’t your fault her father’s an ass, but she turned on you the second she didn’t get what she wanted!”

  “She’s not like that,” Norr insisted. “You just don’t understand.”

  “I think I do,” Vaaler said quietly. “Terramon took away her birthright. As long as she could remember, she’d been told she would one day rule her people. That identity defined her. Everything she did and everything she learned was centered around it. She spent her entire life trying to prepare herself for the responsibility; to make herself worthy of being a leader. And then in a single humiliating moment it was all stripped away from her. You can’t imagine what that feels like.”

  His words gave Scythe pause, and in light of the former prince’s obvious pain she decided to keep any further arguments to herself.

  He’s right—I don’t know what that feels like. But Vaaler didn’t turn on his friends when it happened to him. Shalana did.

  “According to our customs, Shalana needed at least a third of the thanes to support her claim before she could challenge me,” Norr continued. “She found them, though there were many who still supported my claim as well. Terramon had driven a wedge between the thanes, forcing them to choose sides and stirring up bitter animosity in our clan.”

  “
Who won the duel?” Keegan asked, eager to hear the end of Norr’s tale.

  “We didn’t fight,” Norr answered. “The duels are rarely lethal; typically one of the combatants would yield once the other gained the upper hand. But I feared Shalana wouldn’t yield. I feared she would force me to kill her.”

  “What if she defeated you?” Jerrod asked.

  Norr paused before reluctantly admitting, “Shalana was a great warrior, but she was no match for me. Few were. My strength and size gave me too great an advantage. We had sparred enough times for us both to know this.”

  “Yet she challenged you anyway,” Vaaler noted. “She was desperate. She would rather die than face the humiliation of what her father had done to her.”

  “Even if I let her win,” Norr said, “many of the thanes would suspect what I had done. Some of those who supported me would continue to urge me to become chief, constantly pushing me to challenge Shalana to a second duel for leadership of the clan. And my presence would be a constant reminder of Shalana’s shame.

  “I realized that as long as I remained with the clan, there could be no true resolution. The only solution was to disappear; to vanish. So I fled the night before our duel, slinking away like a coward in the night, renouncing my people and my status as a warrior.”

  That’s why you refuse to carry a weapon now, Scythe realized. You don’t think you’re worthy of one anymore!

  “You could have told us this before you led us into this frozen wasteland,” Jerrod growled. “Instead of delivering us into the hands of a bitter political rival.”

  “It’s not like we had a lot of other options,” Scythe reminded the monk.

  “I’m sorry for keeping this from you,” Norr apologized, though Scythe wasn’t sure if he was speaking only to her or to the entire group. “I struggled for the proper way to bring this up, but I thought I’d have more time.

  “Shalana is the clan chief now; I didn’t expect her to be part of the delegation that came to parlay with the Ice Fangs.”

  Scythe shook her head at Norr’s naïveté. “Did you really think disappearing for a few years would make her forget everything that happened between you?”