by BC Powell
Deliberating her response, she looks up at the highest branches of the steel trees. From what she just told me, I understand a little better why her relationship with Aven seems so natural. She eventually lowers her eyes to mine.
“I don’t know that lonely is the right word,” she says. “I’ve always felt like I want to have experiences that don’t exist here. I honestly don’t even know what they are. Just something more than what the norm in Krymzyn is. You’ve told me a lot about your world and it all sounds interesting to me. I think that’s why I enjoy having you here so much. I discover new experiences with you, like getting to spend time with Aven.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” I say. “People spend a lot more time with other people in my world than they do here.”
We both turn towards the wall and resume our walk down the path.
“What are you doing with the morrow off?” Tela asks.
Larn decided we could finally reduce the number of Travelers needed for excursions outside the Delta. In all the months that have passed since Aven’s birth, we’ve only seen two Murkovin. They were both far in the distance and didn’t pay attention to us. As a reward for our hard work over the time since the attack on the road that killed Beck, half of the Travelers have the next morrow off, including Tela and me. The other half will take the following morrow off.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I say. “Sash and I have spent a lot of time with Aven lately. I don’t think Sash can take the morrow off, so I’ll probably just sleep and paint. How about you?”
“I was thinking of going to the Barrens,” she answers. “You know how it is.”
“Yeah, I know. I haven’t had a chance to let loose since Aven was born. Maybe that’s what I’ll do.”
“I have an idea,” she says excitedly. “On the morrow, you and I could go to the flats in the southwest Barrens that I told you about. We can race across the flats to get our count.”
“Our count?” I ask.
“We count in our heads while we travel between two large rocks. They’re exactly two thousand miles apart. The count is kind of like how you explained what seconds are in your world.”
“That sounds like fun,” I say, “as long as you don’t try to annoy me by snapping your fingers and counting out loud.”
She scrunches her nose at the reference to something she did when I explained time in my world to her. “You don’t think it would be . . . awesome if I did.”
We both chuckle at her sarcastic imitation of my slang. As was the case with Sash, once a sense of humor developed in her, Tela’s has continued to blossom.
“Will we have time to make it there and back in one morrow?” I ask.
“As fast as you and I are traveling, we’ll be back by sleep time. Maybe we’ll break Larn’s record in the flats.”
“What was his count?” I ask.
“I’ll tell you after we get ours.”
“Let’s do it,” I say.
After we return to the Delta, I find Sash sitting on top of a hill that overlooks the outside playground at Home. In the meadow at the bottom of the slope, the older children are playing on a giant jungle-gym. Aven is sitting in a swing with safety straps used for infants and toddlers. With her hands clamped to the steel ropes that suspend the swing, Aven glides through the air each time Kyra gently pushes her from behind.
“Hi beautiful,” I say to Sash, sitting on the grass beside her.
“How was your morrow?” she asks.
“It was great,” I reply. “How was yours?”
“It was nice. The trees are all well, so I came here a little early.”
“Your trees are always healthy,” I say. “I may be a little late getting back to our habitat on the morrow. Can you pick up Aven?”
“Of course. Why do you think you’ll be late?”
“Larn gave a few of us the morrow off. Tela and I want to go to the flats to get a count on our speed. Do you know what that is?”
“I do,” she answers. “Larn owns the record, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you surpass it as fast as you’ve been traveling.”
“Have you ever done it?” I ask.
“I did it once on the way to the Infinite Expanse.”
“What was your count?”
She looks at the children in the meadow. “I’d rather not say. It’s something that Travelers do. I’m a Hunter, so I shouldn’t even be able to travel.”
I know there’s no pushing the issue, her humility always intact, so I don’t even try. “Do you mind if that’s what I do? We’ve had a lot of time with Aven lately and I want to get out of the Delta for a while.”
“Not at all,” she replies, returning her attention to me. “I know what Travelers like to do on a morrow off. I’m very excited for you to get a count.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Something strange happened on the Mount.”
“What was it?”
“Well . . . I think Wren has a thing for Tela.”
She tilts her head to the side. “A thing?”
“Like what I have for you,” I say, resting a hand on her leg. “Like how it was when you and I went to the Tall Hill for the first time.”
“You call that a ‘thing’?” she asks rhetorically. “Why do you think Wren feels that way about Tela?”
“Just the way he looks at her. It’s the same way I look at you.”
“That’s odd,” she says. “No one here would ever look at another person that way, except maybe the Murkovin. And you and me.”
“That’s what I thought, too. But I think I’m kind of rubbing off on people. Like, their senses of awareness pick up things from my world through me.”
She nudges me with her elbow. “Does that mean you have a thing for Tela and Wren is getting it from you?”
“I’m serious,” I say. “I’ve seen it in others. Cavu blushed once when you complimented him. Tela makes jokes now and even laughs sometimes.”
“Maybe they’re just mimicking your behavior,” she reasons.
I shake my head. “That’s what I thought at first, but it’s more than that. I see it mostly in people close to our age, but I saw it in Tork once as well. He got really angry about the tunnel under the river and slammed his spear against a wall. It’s like he couldn’t control his anger, so he reacted the way someone from my world might.”
“That is strange,” she says. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe the more they’re around you, the more they feel things through their senses of awareness that you would feel in your world.”
“That’s what I think. I just can’t figure out if it’s good or bad.”
“It’s neither. It’s just the way it is.” She suddenly snaps her face up to the clouds. “Aven needs to stay with the Keepers for a while.” She springs from the ground, looks down the hill at the meadow, and cups her hands around her mouth. “Darkness is coming!”
As I jump to my feet, the Keepers guide the children towards the back entrance of Home. Kyra lifts Aven out of the swing and then briskly carries her towards the door. Looking up at Sash and me, Aven waves her hand.
After Sash and I return her wave, I start to sprint down the hill in the opposite direction. When Sash doesn’t catch up to me as she usually would, I stop and look behind me. With her feet planted to the ground and her eyes glued to the meadow, she doesn’t move until Aven is safely inside Home.
Chapter 12
In a desolate part of the northeast Barrens, the woman stands in a bitter storm. Rain stings her head, bleeds down her body, and splashes to the mud at her feet. A canister that once belonged to Travelers of the Delta hangs from a rope looped over one of her shoulders. Her spear is planted in the mire at her side, close at hand should peril befall her.
Studying the top of a rocky hill in front of her, the woman is well aware that a group of her kind lurks behind the ridge. Not wanting them to view her as a threat, she waits for them to make the first move.
A few steps behind her stands a female Murkovin, a newly appoint
ed commander as those entrusted with overseeing new camps are called. Soon after the former Watcher had left the Delta for the last time, the female had joined their ranks. Possessing great skill at blending her light and expertise with a weapon, the female commander had gained the woman’s trust over many morrows of loyalty.
When a male Murkovin climbs over the top of the hill in front of her, the woman doesn’t move. With a worn, wooden spear in the clutch of his hands, he leaps onto a boulder. A second Murkovin, this one female, steps to the side of the rock the first creature stands on. From the corner of her eye, the woman spots a man creep around the base of the hill on her left. On her right, a muscular female jumps out of a shallow gully. The woman focuses her eyes again on the top of the hill. From behind the crest, several children peek over the jagged rocks.
“We mean you no harm,” the woman calls out over the wail of the storm.
“This is our territory!” the Murkovin on the boulder shouts. “What have you done to our tree?”
“We bring you a better way to take sap,” the woman tells him.
The woman lifts her spear out of the mud and points it behind her. The beast’s eyes follow the line of her weapon to a large sustaining tree with its upper limbs all bound by rope. Long before the woman found the tree, the lower limbs had been ripped from the trunk. Like many trees of the Barrens, the bark is riddled with scars from countless jabs of spears.
In a clan like this, the woman knows, one Murkovin at a time will drink from the tree while the others defend against the violent upper branches. During each Darkness, they typically fill a few crudely-made wooden containers to store sap for a later time.
The woman has now embedded four steel stakes in the bark. They were designed to look like Hunters’ stakes, but the blunt ends were left open when they were crafted in the Desert. With tubes running from the hollow ends to a transport, she can provide them with a greater supply of sap than they’ve ever known.
“Each Darkness,” the woman explains, “the transport will fill with sap. Since the limbs are bound, you no longer need to fight the tree. You’ll have a large supply of sap for when you need it, even during long periods of light.”
The man on the boulder aims his eyes at the woman. “Why have you done this?”
“We want to bring peace to the Barrens,” she replies, sinking the tip of her spear into the ground at her side. “It starts by ending the fight for sap.”
The woman removes the canister from her shoulder and throws it up the hill. Dull glints reflect from the worn steel when it splashes to the wet ground in front of the boulder.
“That will quench your thirst until Darkness passes,” the woman says.
The man springs from the rock and lands in a crouch. After grabbing the canister with one hand, he drops his spear to the mud. Never taking his eyes off the woman, he unscrews the cap and swigs down one long drink. As he extends his hand with the canister to the female behind him, he grabs his weapon with his other hand. The female takes a few small sips, steps backwards to the top of the hill, and hands the canister to one of the children.
They only had a little each before giving it to the children, the woman thinks. This is the kind of clan I need.
The commander behind the woman removes two flasks from her belt. She tosses one to the creature on their right and the other to the Murkovin on their left. They both snatch the metal containers out of the air. While they drink from the flasks, the woman raises her eyes to the turbulent clouds overhead. The dark billows gradually grind to a halt as rays of gray light split their edges.
The creature at the top of the hill walks down the slope towards the woman. The muscles in his arms are taut, she notices, but his gait is steady and slow. Although the woman remains in a relaxed and peaceful stance, her muscles sharpen in preparation for an unexpected attack. As she hoped he would, the Murkovin stops a few feet in front of her with his weapon idle at his side.
“What do you want in return?” he asks.
The woman briefly studies the man’s long, worn face, as well as the many battle scars on his arms. The man has faced the harshness of life in the Barrens, but proven he has the strength and will to survive.
“I want our kind to live in peace,” she answers. “How many Murkovin dwell near here?”
The man looks off to each of his sides and then returns his attention to the woman. “Almost forty within fifty miles of here.”
“All in clans like yours?”
“Most,” he says. “A few are loners.”
“Do you get along with each other?”
The man clenches his jaw. “We leave the others alone. A few create problems, especially during long periods of light.”
“How many sustaining trees grow in this fifty mile area?” the woman asks.
“Three that are still alive.”
“It must be difficult to get what you need for survival,” the woman says. “But imagine a new Barrens, one with sustaining trees never farther than a few miles apart. The trees are all bound by rope and provide more sap than you could ever consume. Imagine items made of steel and well-sewn clothing. Imagine the ground covered by grass, not the sparse patches of weeds we have now. And more than anything else, imagine our kind living in peace.”
The man shakes his head. “How can that come to be?”
“It starts with a better supply of sap. When we have all the sap we need, there’s no need to fight amongst ourselves.”
“But you can’t change what grows in the Barrens,” he gruffly replies.
“Not now,” the woman says, “but one morrow in the not too distant future, we can bring change. Camps like the one we hope to establish here have already formed across different parts of the Barrens. Some have several trees in a small area with as many as forty of our kind dwelling nearby. They have steel tools they use to improve caverns. They work together, not against one another. The time of killing our own has passed. An era of unity is arriving.”
“That doesn’t explain how you’ll change the landscape of the Barrens.”
“A plan is in place,” the woman replies. “The first step is dwelling in peace.”
“You’re not answering my question!” the man fires back.
A clever man. He’ll eventually be able to take over as commander for this camp, the woman thinks to herself before speaking out loud again.
“There will be a great battle one morrow. When it’s over, those who adhere to the new ways will control the balance of Krymzyn. But until you and I gain each other’s trust, I can tell you no more.”
The Murkovin glares at the woman. “You want us to fight this battle for you.”
She was ready for the man’s response, the same one she’d received at many other camps they’d set up. The woman doesn’t hesitate with her reply.
“You can choose to join us in the fight for a better life, or you can choose not to. You have no idea how many of our kind there are and how many want to take part in these changes. No matter what you choose to do in the future, we’ll help bring peace to this area. We require nothing in return.”
Considering her proposition, the Murkovin takes a few steps to the woman’s side and examines the tree fifty feet behind her. Knowing that she’ll need a final plea to convince the man to join her, the woman focuses her eyes on the top of the hill again. The female Murkovin is still standing on the crest with three small children partially hidden behind the rocks.
“I have a small child,” the woman says to the man. “Even if it costs me my life, I want him to have a far better existence than the one I’ve known. I believe you think the same way as I do.”
After a few moments pass, the man turns his head to the woman. “What if someone from the Delta sees one of these camps? They could bring others and attack.”
The woman shrugs her shoulders. “The people in the Delta don’t care what we do as long as we stay away from them. The camps we have now are in the southwest and northeast Barrens, well off the paths that Traveler
s use. We’ll eventually have camps in every part of the Barrens. At the speed that Travelers cross our land, it’s unlikely they’d even notice a group of our kind. They leave the trading posts alone as it is now, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Have you ever seen a Traveler near here?”
“No,” the man answers.
“And you probably never will,” the woman tells him. “As a precaution, the other camps always have a guard keeping watch. If a Traveler were to stop, the guard would see them and call others. The Traveler would be surely be killed. And if you work with those around you, dwell together in peace, you’ll have numbers against those of our kind who believe they can take what they want from others.”
Returning his attention to the tree, the man ponders all that the woman told him. The woman addresses the commander standing a few feet away from her.
“Bring the other transport,” she says.
The commander runs towards a hill on the other side of the tree. After briefly disappearing behind it, she returns with a large wagon in tow. The back of the cart is stuffed with steel tools, several long lengths of rope, a large bolt of black fabric, metal pitchers and cups, and a dozen steel spears. When the commander parks the wagon beside the woman, the woman reaches into it and pulls out a steel axe.
“Everything in the transport is for you,” the woman says and then holds up the axe. “Have you ever seen one of these?”
“Not made of steel,” he answers. “Only the kind made in the Barrens.”
“This one works much better.”
The woman tosses the axe straight up towards the sky. The man’s eyes follow the steel as it revolves in the air. After it reaches its apex and begins its descent, the woman holds out one hand. The handle slaps against her palm. In one fluid motion, she clenches her fingers around the handle, cocks the axe by her head, and hurls it towards the tree. Slicing deeply into the bark, the blade locks in the trunk. When the man looks at the woman again, the woman believes she sees respect in his eyes.
“Everything you’ve told me makes sense,” he says. “When the time comes, how many of us will you want to join the battle you spoke of?”