The young would-be scouts took up positions around the fallen men, and Grandfather Lute moved toward the stalled wagon. Harp and Shell, in the meantime, ran to the gate and engaged the men holding the thieves’ horses. Harp swung the staff with vigor if not skill, and Shell attempted to free the horses from the grasp of Rude’s men.
“Aah!” Matt cried, as Dent stepped easily past Matt’s weak jab with the staff and stabbed him in the thigh with his sword.
At his brother’s cry of pain, Mark swung his staff wildly, clipping Grandfather Lute near the temple on a backswing and sending him to his hands and knees, stunned.
Bell saw Grandfather Lute fall and started for him just as Rude jumped down from the coach. He raised his arms, hands clutching the long butcher knife over Grandfather Lute’s back. Bell ran, but the distance was too great; she would never be able to stop Rude. The triumphant outlaw paused and then started into his thrust.
“I will,” Bell said fiercely. The One Wave shimmered violently, and Bell was instantly propelled over the impossible distance, her staff hitting Rude in the chest. He fell back, gasping for breath.
“Bell! You saved him!” Book shouted running to Bell.
“How did you move so fast,” Page asked, moving with his brother, “You were just a blur, a streak.”
“Help Matt and Mark.” Bell pointed them in their direction, “I’ll tend to Grandfather.” She had no idea how to answer that question.
The twins, showing more skill than Mark, forced Dent back into Fiscal and into the two thugs with clubs coming around the team.
Bell reconnected to the One Wave, touched Grandfather Lute’s shoulder and sang a healing melody. Grandfather Lute shook his head and rose to his feet. “Thank you, Bell. You have a way with healing melodies.” He took a deep breath. “I seem to be all right. Keep an eye on Rude.” He picked up his staff and moved next to the twins, spinning the pole with a threatening mastery.
Dent and Fiscal ran for their horses, and the rest of the thieves were close on their heels. Harp and Shell were occupying the two horse tenders at the gate in what looked more like a game of tag than combat. Some horses had wandered free and were munching the poison oak in the wood across the road.
Harp and Shell saw the onrush of Rude’s men. They disengaged from fighting the horse tenders and ran for the family. The thieves mounted the available horses and sped out the gate and up Mill Road.
“How is Matt?” Grandfather Lute asked.
“Looks like a clean entry,” Mark said, checking his brother’s wound. “It’s in the muscle, no bone. So, not too bad.”
“Well, it hurts,” Matt said, “and you’re not helping by poking.”
“Bell,” Grandfather Lute said, “sing a healing melody for Matt.”
“Harp and Shell are teaching me, and they are much better.”
Shell had bent to look at the cut. “Come, Matt, I will clean and bind the wound, and then a sing healing melody.” She helped Matt to his feet and supported him as they made their way to the bunkhouse.
Grandfather Lute directed, “Mark, you and Harp put up the horses and take care of the coach. We will check the unconscious thieves.”
“What are we going to do with them?” Bell asked.
Grandfather Lute stood over Rude. “This man was going to stab me in the back and kill me dead. He would never have gone eye-to-eye. Back in my days as a scout we had a solution for such a person. Book, Page, go hook up the small wagon, I want to move this crew out the gate. Bring line to tie these thugs.” The twins ran to the stable.
The coach was back in the livery and the horses were tended. Mark and Harp returned, and in a moment the twins arrived, leading a horse and wagon. The unconscious men were loaded onto the wagon bed, which Grandfather Lute led out the gate and across the road, stopping at the edge of the wood.
Grandfather Lute pulled Rude from the wagon and dumped him on the ground. He began removing Rude’s clothing. “Pull down the others and strip them; all the way naked. Bell you go on the other side of the wagon, you don’t want to see this.”
“What are you going to do?” Bell asked nervously. “You’re not going to kill them?”
Grandfather Lute laughed, “Oh no, Bell. I would never do such a thing, although after this I am sure some of them will cry for death.”
Bell peeked through the wagon wheels as the thieves were stripped and the clothes piled by the wagon. Grandfather Lute bound Rude’s hands and feet and then the feet to the wrist behind his back. Grandfather Lute tore a sleeve from one of the shirts and fastened a gag over Rude’s mouth.
“Tie the others, just the hands and feet.”
“All right, Mark, Harp, I want you to pick up Rude and throw him as deep into the poison oak as you can.” He pointed to the thick tangle of poison oak between the trees.
They picked Rude from the ground and rocked him back and forth one, two and on the third hurled him into the poison oak.
Bell came out from behind the wagon. She asked, “Are they all going in the poison oak?”
“My plan is to throw in their clothes. They will then have to choose: to retrieve them and get the dreaded rash or travel naked.”
“What about Rude?” asked Book? “Will they save him?” asked Page.
“Oh my,” Grandfather Lute said with a chuckle. “Yet another choice for them to make.” He threw the bundle of clothing into the tangled vines.
“This busy morning has worked up my appetite,” Grandfather Lute remarked as they returned the horse to the stable. “I think this calls for an early lunch.” He put his arm around Bell’s shoulder. “And then, my dear and wonderful Bell, you can tell us just how you got there in time to save me.”
Wind Point Plateau
Big Red could see by the dust over the road that the six riders had slowed their mounts to a walk. She drew as close on horseback as the land would allow, shadowing them all the way to Wind Point Plateau and keeping out of sight as they rode south in the direction of the old weigh station. She took the opportunity to explore the camps.
Big Red left her horse in the shelter of a rock near the second of two camps. This second campsite was clean of belongings; the wind had swept away most of the markings. Her scout training allowed her to read the remaining traces on the ground. She could see where the mess line had been set up and where the command tent and the officers’ quarters had stood.
She walked the length of the camp and then followed a trail to the cliff, where the survivors had given the dead to the ocean. Big Red looked down the face of the cliff to the crashing sea. She looked out over the ocean; the sun was sliding lower in the sky. She felt lost not knowing if Jana were alive or how people in the City had fared. She turned and followed the wagon tracks to the first abandoned camp, the site of so many deaths during the Dead Wind.
Here the ground was littered with the belongings of the dead. Big Red stood on the edge of the camp and opened to the One Wave. Her awareness aligned with the balance of the energies. She took a deep breath and moved into the camp.
She took her time establishing the placement of the various squads and, finally, she stood at the command center of the abandoned camp. She determined where the captain's tent had stood.
Big Red stepped just inside where the entrance to the captain's tent would have been. The ground was windswept, difficult to read. She could place the field desk and the cot by the faint depressions still left in the dirt, but no gear remained.
Big Red searched the ground more thoroughly. A struggle had taken place; a body had been dragged to the side of the tent. Here was a heavy stomp depression from a boot. Big Red remained still, fully absorbed in the One Wave. The ever-present wind rattled the scrub, and the sun flashed off a gold object lodged in the tangle. She bent into the bush and pulled out an officer’s hat, as her fingers touched the hat, Big Red was filled with anger. Instantly, her sword was in her hand; she wanted to kill, righteously kill. Then the moment passed and the anger left her. Big Red saw she was not
the one the anger sought.
Big Red took a calming breath and looked at the hat. She recognized the old Captain Stoneman's hat. It was covered with dust, perhaps had been crushed by a boot. On the ground at the base of the scrub, she picked up a button attached to a torn piece of cloth. The button appeared to have been pulled from a uniform coat with some force; strips of coat fabric and thread hung from the loop. Was this evidence to support that some violence had been done to the old captain? When she had picked up the hat, she felt a vibration like threatening wasps. She inspected the hat again; she would leave the dirt and boot’s imprint in it. She folded the hat and the button into a cloth, which she tied carefully into her gear.
Still pondering her discoveries, she felt a disturbance on the very edge of her awareness, an odd ripple in the complex wave of things. She had come to realize the tingling at the back of her neck usually indicated that there were people nearby.
She retrieved her horse and cantered toward the survivors' camp, circling from the opposite direction of the ripple. She led her mount down a small depression.
The ripple turned into six riders, coming up from the south along Coast Road. Big Red assumed they were members of the scavenger band and hoped to avoid them. She waited for the lead horse to appear beyond her hiding place.
As the lead rider came into view, however, he jerked his reins, urging his horse toward Big Red. He swung his sword at her head, but his horse slipped on the sandy dune and his swing went off balance. Big Red caught his sword on her Lute blade and stepped under the blow. She grabbed the rider under the arm and used his momentum to throw him from the horse. As he hit the ground, she struck a blow at the base of his skull with the butt cap of her sword. He slumped forward, motionless. The scavengers must have watched her explore the camp and planned to spring this trap. Big Red cocked her ear. She thought she heard a wagon coming fast, but the sound was gone in the wind.
The other riders charged up the dune from both sides. As they converged upon her, Big Red stood her ground. She ducked past the first and put her shoulder into the horse, forcing the beast off stride and into the second rider. The two horses did their best to avoid each other, throwing one rider to the ground. Now there was a barrier, keeping the third and fourth riders from coming close on horseback; they both leapt from their saddles, swords in hand.
Running, the third rider rushed Big Red with his sword outstretched. She knocked the blade from his hand with a circular move and followed through with a deep thrust into his thigh. He fell with a groan.
The fourth, fifth, and sixth riders were now forewarned of her skill with the blade; they came on cautiously. The three formed a semicircle in front of Big Red, swords held at the ready.
“There are three of us,” said the one on her left, “And three more on the way. Let’s be smart.” Saying that he lunged, his sword aimed for Big Red's chest. She pushed his thrust away with her sword, stepped toward him drawing her companion knife, and jabbed the blade into his thigh. He screamed and tumbled to the ground. She smacked him on the head with the steel butt cap of her knife. He collapsed unconscious.
Big Red circled to meet the other two. Three riders came fast from around the rear of the dune; the lead rider charged right for her, forcing Big Red to duck back into the two swordsmen. Swinging wildly one of the men slashed Big Red’s thigh. She fell back and hobbled up the dune. The riders dismounted and all five ran for Big Red.
Favoring her leg, Big Red slashed and parried. One man took a stab to the shoulder and fell back. The marvelous Lute sword was the only thing that kept her alive. Three rushed her, one dove and grabbed the ankle of her wounded leg. He dragged her down, and the others were on top of her. She squirmed and kicked and managed to stab one in the leg before they had a man pinning each limb. The last man she stabbed climbed astride her and pushed up her shirt and jacket exposing her breasts. “Blasted scouts, think you’re so high and mighty. Well, girlie, you stab me, now I stab you.” He roughly groped her breasts.
Big Red squirmed under his hands, trying to pull a limb free. Suddenly the man was jerked off her, raised in the air and then slammed to the ground with a loud thud. A very big man with round shoulders like boulders, grabbed each man holding her legs and crashed their heads together.
Another tall but slimmer man bashed the heads of the two assailants at her arms with a rattan stick about as long as his arm. Free, Big Red sprang to her feet and retrieved her Lute knife and sword. She quickly surveyed the scene; all nine of the men who had attacked her were unconscious or immobile from wounds.
Big Red turned to her saviors. “Thank you. You certainly saved me a whole lot of trouble, and probably my life. Thank you. I am Big Red.”
The big man bowed slightly. “I’m Bill; this is Slim.” Slim waved his hand. “We warned these bums not to let us see them robbing folk.” Bill continued, “Are you all right, Big Red? That wound is bleeding. It looks pretty deep.”
Big Red sat back on the dune and examined her leg. Slim knelt beside her. “I know a bit of healing from my mother. She was a Blood Magic practitioner.” He ripped strips from a shirt on an unconscious man. He sang a wordless melody and bound the wound. “This leg will need proper care; it can’t be left like this.”
“The Tanan Shrine is closer than the City, and Master Akien has the skill,” Bill said. He put an arm under Big Red’s knees and shoulders and lifted her like a baby.
“Put me down!’ Big Red protested. Bill said nothing as he placed her in the bed of their two-horse wagon.
“I have your horse,” Slim said tying the lead to the back of the wagon. He climbed up next to Bill and they made their way to the Tanan Shrine.
Ridge Road
The blood rider sat on his horse and looked over the Oak Vine Inn. On his journey from the Butte, he had gotten a name: Scary. This is what the groom at a stable had said he was, and the blacksmith had agreed.
The need to feed gnawed at his consciousness. He tried to bring his instructions to mind: he was to gather help through force of will by compelling anyone available. Gather help without feeding on the help. Why he was gathering help was unclear. He had felt only the barest contact from Noster; now there was none. Scary pulled the glob from his pocket and looked at the amber orb. The image of the Tanan Shrine flashed in his head, and with this he knew his direction and his purpose: to place the glob on the Tanan Shrine Altar Stone. He spurred his horse toward the inn.
Olive felt a shiver go down her spine as she saw the rider approaching the inn. She put down the broom and called into the common room, “Dad! Come out here, bring your staff! And mine too!”
Cobb came through the double doors with only his long staff. “What’s the matter?”
“A strange rider,” Olive said, reaching for the broom to use as a staff. “He makes me feel afraid.”
Scary came through the arch and the hooves of his horse clattered over the pavers. The blood rider could feel the young woman’s strong vibration, and the need to feed rose in him. He pulled the horse to a halt and looked down on the young woman, ignoring the man, and carefully formed the words, “Tanan Shrine?”
Olive was speechless; his stare froze her with fear. Cobb stepped between the rider and Olive and pointed to the small road leading to Wind Point Plateau. “If you go that way, you pick up the Coast Road which meets Ridge Road. The Tanan Shrine is north of the junction. If you get to Three Corners you have gone too far.”
The blood rider stared at Cobb for a long moment before his hungry gaze went back to Olive. He licked his lips, but he turned his horse and started for Wind Point Plateau.
“Saddle up, Olive. Take the Lute knife and your bow. Ride as quick as you can to the Tanan Shrine and warn Master Aiken trouble is coming.”
“Is that why you sent him the long way?”
“Yes. You’ll get there first. Now go.”
Within moments Olive was galloping toward the Tanan Shrine.
Scary had no interest in the abandoned City Troop camps he
rode past. The glob had begun to pulse a slow steady rhythm as he drew closer to the Tanan Shrine Altar Stone. Ahead he could see a number of men reclining on a small dune. Saddled horses wandered at will. Here was the help he needed.
Scary spurred his horse to the foot of the dune and dismounted, pulling from his saddle a hollow crude metal staff. He walked to the closest man, the one who’d been wounded by Big Red, and pointed the end of his staff to the man’s chest. “Mine, mine, mine,” Scary chanted. The scavenger’s eyes went blank, his own will gone; he was now bound to Scary’s will. The man shivered, arched his back and then rose to his feet. He followed the blood rider and watched as, one by one, he subjugated the rest of the men. The last man he approached was near death and would be of no use in a fight. Scary bent to him and, clamping his mouth over the victim’s face, sucked the life from him. Then Scary, his hunger quenched for the moment, let the corpse fall to the ground.
The blood rider surveyed his new recruits. They stood rocking back and forth, ignoring their wounds and concussions, and awaiting his command.
“Mount!” he said, and when they were seated on their horses, he told them, “Follow.” Scary led his witless followers across Wind Point Plateau toward the Tanan Shrine.
The City
Jana had spent the morning alone at the Scout Lodge going over records and inventory. She was trying to get a sense of what the scope of rebuilding the City Scouts would be. Her concentration had waned and her back had become stiff. She could not shake the nagging fear that Big Red was injured. Finally she pushed away from the First Scout’s desk and announced aloud, “I’ll go talk to Master Akien.” She saddled her horse and made for the Tanan Shrine.
Woodside Mill
The blood rider hid, watchful, in the redwoods near the Roadhouse Inn. His journey had been difficult, and the trouble he’d encountered had taught him to be wary of inns. He had ridden his first horse to death; with this second horse, he knew to rest and water it. Everyone he’d met had treated him with fear and suspicion, and some had attacked him. He had killed them, two bandits, with bursts from his hollow metal staff. Finally, he was near the Grotto Altar Stone; the glob pulsed slowly.
The Dead Wind Page 15