He could feel the swell of pride mix with their grief. “The task was difficult but not beyond us. Now we must have the courage to go on. Tomorrow we will break camp and return to the City. We may find that our courage is needed there. We must show our strength,” Bartok raised his arms and shouted, “CAN WE DO IT?”
A roar of affirmation boomed above the surf. Flaming torches were passed among the troopers. Bartok lit his own torch in the fire and held it aloft. He walked to the edge and threw the torch in a high arch and watched as it flew into the waves. Others stepped forward then and flung their own torches. A rain of fire showered the surf, all consumed on contact.
Nance came to stand at Bartok's side to watch the last of the torches. “Order everyone back to camp, Nance. A good rest is needed. I'm going back to my tent, but I'll be present at the next watch change.”
Bartok made his way back to his tent. He hung his captain’s coat over the back of the camp chair and lay down on the cot, a smile of satisfaction on his face.
Wind Point Plateau
The last light of sun was waning as Jana made her way back to the camp. Using the last of the daylight to advantage, the troopers were repacking the wagons. The camp’s mood was one of tired silence. Jana glided past the troopers unseen. When she arrived at the command area, the watch was about to change.
Bartok, looking sharp but tired, stood with a frazzled Nance and a trooper assuming the watch. “Have the packing stopped for the night, Trooper. I want everyone rested for tomorrow. That's all.”
“Yes, Captain.” The trooper saluted and left. Jana could feel the vibration of the trooper's admiration for Bartok. She thought that Bartok might be able to feel the vibration of emotions as well.
Bartok turned returned to his tent, and Nance, eyes on his notebook, was only a step behind. As Bartok entered the tent, Jana diverted Nance.
“Not now, Nance,” Jana whispered in his ear and sent him around the side of the tent. She slipped through the flap.
Bartok had his coat unbuttoned before he noticed her. “By the Trickster, don't you ever wait to be announced?” he asked.
Jana gave a slightly embarrassed smile.
“I'm glad you’re back,” Bartok said. “We ride in the morning. Did you get to the City?”
“Yes, but first I would like to wash and eat.”
“Of course, you can use the officers' facilities. I'll have a meal brought here. Then we can talk.”
“Thank you, Captain. That will do nicely.” Jana shouldered her travel roll and went to the shower wagon. With water warm from the day's sun, she washed away the dust. Bartok seemed more confident and relaxed than when she’d last seen him. She resolved to be polite.
Returning to the command tent, Jana found a table set with plates of bread and a steaming stew, with a wine decanter and two glasses in the center. The food smelled delicious. She sat across from Bartok as he poured the wine.
“Tell me about the City.”
Jana took a large bite of stew and savored the flavors. “I rode through Redwood Gate. People are fleeing. There are many dead, but most have not been attended to. From what I could tell, there is no City government. Too many of the officials, administrators and clerks are dead. There are reports of looting. One report accused the City Troop itself of looting. Smoke billows around Glass Hill, but I couldn’t see what was burning. I heard that the merchant Ronzal is having the Wharf and Market Districts cleared of the dead and parts of the districts have been reopened. So, in those areas some semblance of order prevails.” Jana paused to take another mouthful of food.
Anxious to hear more, Bartok refilled her wine glass.
“I didn't have time to investigate further,” Jana said, “but I saw no sign of the City Troop. They may all be dead, or perhaps there are too few left to do anything. I fear the Scout Lodge residents were decimated as well.”
She paused for another bite, and Bartok said, “You make me think the situation is desperate. We should move now.” He leaped to the field desk to retrieve his sword, but Jana was there before him, covering the hilt with her hand.
“Tomorrow is soon enough,” she said. “The Troop needs rest.”
Bartok started for a moment; he covered her hand with his. “Right again, Jana. I could use having you around, to keep me clear headed.”
She slipped her hand from his and returned to her dinner. “You forget again,” she said. “I am a scout. I’m not under your command.”
“By your own report, Scout, the City government is gone. I plan to fill that gap. If I do, then you will report to me.”
Jana was firm in her reply. “I don’t report to the government, Captain. I am pledged to the good of the City.”
Bartok frowned, and Jana could see the confusion on his face. She said, “I will admit you need help. Poor Nance is about to collapse.”
“Time and events haven't allowed us to do anything but set up the barest minimum. But if I'm to take … ah, help the City, I'll need officers and staff.”
“Not many of the veterans survived the Dead Wind, but the ones who did are the best of the Troop,” Jana said. “You couldn’t ask for a better group of officers. They might not make the best administrative officers, but for demonstrating know-how in the field, you couldn't go wrong, provided you treat them fairly.”
Bartok paced back to the table. Jana could feel his agitation as he struggled to digest her recommendation. “No, they’re not staff officers,” he agreed, as if to himself.
He looked at her. “Thank you. Thank you for surviving the Dead Wind.”
Jana stood. “Thank you for surviving the Dead Wind, Captain. I believe the dead will once again be your first priority when you reach the City. I need some rest, Captain. Thank you for the meal.”
“My pleasure, Jana, sleep well.”
She left the tent and stood in the early dark. The fog had drifted in; the wind had dropped off. Bartok puzzled her. His desire to command was plain, yet his concern for the Troop seemed genuine. She was too tired to work the matter out. She’d ponder it later.
She bedded down near the line of horses, intending to be gone before sunrise.
Six
Woodside Mill
With the first glimmer of sunlight, Grandfather Lute and Bell rode to the new gravesite. They stood next to the graves, hand in hand. He pressed his other hand against his heart and, with tears running down his cheeks, he spoke with halting words to the dead. “Thank you for the lives you shared with us. We will remember you always. May you find joy in the One Wave.”
The two stood silently for a time, and then Grandfather Lute let go of Bell’s hand and began to load the wagon with the shovels and tools. On their way back to the stables Grandfather Lute said, “That was a strange smile they all had on their faces.”
“I hate that smile,” Bell said. “It wasn’t right. It didn’t belong.” Tears rolled down her face.
The Butte
Deep in the Butte, Noster placed his palms on the Altar Stone in his throne chamber. For two days he had prepared his lure, his invitation. Delving into the emotions and desires of Ardo, his host body, Noster had found the right vibratory combination of lust and greed to draw, like flies to sugar, a certain type of person to the Butte. Noster needed an aggressive and ambitious leader with an armed force. He needed troops to tend and train his blood riders and to bring him the live captives that would be his food.
Noster took a slow breath and willed his crafted vibration out into the environment. The effort drained Noster’s host body and he slumped onto the Altar Stone, spent but satisfied. Soon they would begin to arrive, and his plans for conquest and revenge could be fulfilled.
Bottom
Mistress Iris stood on the edge of a long burial pit. The three other surviving mistresses of the Blood Magic stood with her. Boh and other young readers, the students, stood reverently behind the mistresses. The bodies in the burial trench were stacked neatly with their heads pointed north. Down the line, more bodies were b
eing placed by townspeople. Up the line, many more townspeople shoveled dirt over the body-filled trench.
“May the Hermit Tok light the way through the dark vale. May the Red Priestess vanquish the demons of death. May the Goddess Yil dissolve you into the One Wave. May you return to bring joy.” Mistress Iris cast blessed water and the three mistresses scattered flowers and herbs onto the bodies before them in this open grave. They stood silently for a time. Then they moved along the trench to the next mound of bodies and repeated their ritual.
The City
The survivors had moved the dead to the street. It was a grizzly sight, and the smells of decay were beginning to hang heavy in the air. It wouldn’t be long before the stench and horror of the decaying bodies drove survivors out of the City.
Master Aiken’s three years of walking the City as Hoodeye had given him a good working knowledge of each district. Hoodeye opened to the One Wave; he could feel the grief and fear radiating from the survivors as he passed occupied houses. He tried all of the doors and called out as he made his way down the street. He hoped that all the lost children had been found, but he would continue his search until he was certain of it.
Over the last two days, Hoodeye the Beggar, had gathered about fifty lost children in his living space in the abandoned warehouse near Market Square. The only other people he knew who took in children were the sisters, two old family women, friends of his, who had opened their City home to the orphaned a few years before. The need was great and the sisters and their orphaned charges had quickly outgrown their space. The sisters asked Hoodeye if he knew of a place outside the City, where they could live and farm. He sent the two sisters and their party to his longtime friend and former City Scout mate, Lute Miller at Woodside Mill.
Now Hoodeye’s thoughts turned to the older children he had rescued. They had begun to carry messages for money. Ronzal, in the Warehouse district, used the children’s services and called them messengers. These messengers took it upon themselves to help in the search for other lost children, and also looked for their own families in the process.
At the next door, Hoodeye called. When he heard no response, he moved on.
Jana’s first glimpse of the approaching City Troop was a cloud of dust rising above the roll of the road. It didn’t take long for the lead riders to come into view. Bartok was at the head, sitting tall in the saddle. He raised his hand in greeting.
As the Troop came to a halt, Jana, on horseback, approached Bartok.
He dusted off his captain’s coat and looked toward the City’s gate. Redwood Gate was hidden by a bend in the road. All that was visible was the cliff face running to the City Bay. “Have you been to the gate, Scout?”
“Yes, Captain, it's clogged with wagons, all trying to leave the City. The mess is starting to clear, but our entrance into the City may be hindered.”
“Let's have a look.” He waved his hand, and the City Troop stepped into motion. As the gravel of the road gave way to the paved stone of Redwood Gate plaza, the thunder of hoofs commanded the attention of all who’d gathered at the gate. Heads turned toward the source of the deafening sound that echoed off the cliff face arm of Barracks Hill.
Bartok dispatched a squad to untangle the traffic. The crowd, intimidated by the mass of riders, proved willing to squeeze a path for the company to pass through single file.
Bartok urged his horse to the opening of Redwood Gate. Jana followed behind shading her eyes as they left the portal and entered the City, which was bright with sunlight. The growing heat of the morning sun intensified the stench of dead bodies. Jana gasped, covering her mouth. She spotted bodies piled against many of the stone buildings that formed Government Square. She had no time to comment before Bartok spurred his horse up a road that led to square.
Jana found a bandanna and tied it over her nose and mouth, bringing her horse to Bartok's side. Together, they topped the rise that put them on one side of the square. Live oak and laurel trees dotted the square’s grass-covered park. Paved walkways wound through the grass slopes. A stream wandered diagonally across the grounds. Well-tended though it appeared, the Square seemed empty and lifeless. Through the trees, Jana could see the government buildings rising above their surrounding wall. Along the wall, at Speaker’s Gate, she glimpsed some kind of commotion.
Bartok was looking back toward Redwood Gate as more of the City Troop made their way through the throng. Gathering in two lines, the Troop awaited Bartok's command. Jana sensed a confidence in the riders in spite of the evidence of the dead.
Jana touched Bartok's arm to draw his attention. He turned still lost in his own thoughts.
“Some sort of activity in front of Speakers Gate,” Jana pointed through the trees. “Oddly, they seem to be carrying mops and brooms.”
Bartok stood in his stirrups and stared toward the gate. He turned and waved the lead officers forward. Fifty riders broke away from the main body of the Troop and cantered toward Bartok. He and Jana rode to meet the lead riders. As they drew abreast, Bartok spurred his horse and shouted the riders into a gallop.
The mounted troopers reached the Speakers Gate quickly, but the thunder of the horses’ hooves on stone had alerted the mob to their approach. They disappeared, running in all directions. By the time Bartok had reached the Speaker’s Gate, no one was left.
“Bring me some prisoners!” he shouted, and two of his squads galloped in pursuit.
The Speaker’s Gate opened then, and a group of bedraggled troopers rushed out, all talking at once. These men, themselves part of the City Troops, claimed they’d been attacked by looters and had retreated behind the gate. Jana studied these troopers, thinking something about their story didn’t ring true. She leaned toward Bartok and, speaking low, said, “This should be checked.”
Bartok had some in his own force take the remnant of this City Troop aside for questioning. Then he led a small party of riders through the Speaker’s Gate and the hanging gardens of the City buildings to the foot of Speaker’s Stair. There, leaving their horses, they mounted the vast stone stair and passed through the tall arch that led to the courtyard in front of the Speaker’s Building. Bodies lay in the courtyard, where they had fallen in the Dead Wind. The air was filled with the stench of the decomposing dead.
“Something needs to be done about the dead immediately, Captain,” Jana said. “The bodies are just beginning to smell. That’s bad enough, but soon the City will be racked with sickness and vermin.”
“Yes, of course.” Bartok nodded as he spoke, covering his nose and glancing at Jana, who adjusted her neck scarf around her face. “After I set up headquarters here, I will make the dead my first order of business.”
Bartok led his party through the ornate lobby to the speaker's chambers. The main office was empty, but the air smelled of death. Bartok sent Troopers to search the sumptuous rooms that made up the living quarters of the speaker. They found the bodies of the speaker and her husband in bed. Their servants and personal guards were all dead. Bartok had the bodies removed and sat behind the large desk in the speaker’s office. Jana could feel his satisfaction as he rubbed his hand across the fine wood of the desk.
“The City is mine, Scout; from here I rule.”
Jana glared at him across the desk. “Your duty is to rule only until the ravages of the Dead Wind are eased. Then the rightful government will be elected by the people, as it always has been!”
Bartok gave Jana a hard look. Then his face relaxed, and he stood. “Yes, Scout. That is my duty.”
In this moment, Jana could not read Bartok clearly. The new captain’s energies whirled with great complexity, causing her some suspicion about his motivation, but she chose not to comment.
The troopers who had removed the bodies returned, and Bartok asked that Nance be found. He was to organize a detail to clear the City buildings of the dead.
As the last trooper hurried out of the room to fulfill Bartok’s orders Jana said to him, “If you have no need of me, I would like to
check the Scout Lodge.”
“Yes, Scout, of course. But attend the officers’ meeting in two hours.”
Indicating she would be there, she left the chamber.
Jana retrieved her horse and took the road that led up behind the City buildings. The sun had pushed back the fog and was now filtering through the redwoods. The Scout Lodge was on the edge of a vast stand of these ancient trees. The main doors of the finely crafted wood-frame building stood open, and the bodies of two scouts lay dead on the entry floor.
Going farther into the lodge, Jana found the body of the first scout in his office. She pulled his corpse to the front of the building to lie with the others. No one was alive. Jana knew she might be the only scout left. She felt a deep sadness settle on her as she cleared the building of her dead comrades. She thought again of Big Red. She hoped the scout was still alive and would show up. She might have survived, and other scouts might have as well. But Jana had no sense of them.
Feeling grief and a sense of hopelessness, Jana arranged the bodies of her friends as well as she could manage and then mounted her horse and rode back to the City buildings.
As she entered the courtyard, the officers were arriving. Grim-faced troopers had brought up wagons and were loading the dead in to them.
Inside the building, Jana was directed to the Council Chamber. Bartok stood at the center of the chamber, waiting for the officers to file in. Jana found a seat along the semi-circle of chairs. Soon everyone who’d been summoned had arrived.
Bartok began, “Again we face a task of terrible proportion. The City is filled with the victims of the Dead Wind, far more than we can hope to bury. We will send criers to all parts of the City, calling the survivors to speaker’s balcony tomorrow morning. Just as we did at Wind Point Plateau, each survivor will assist in placing two of the bodies in wagons. We will take the dead to the docks and place them on barges, which we will move out into the bay and burn.”
The Dead Wind Page 4