Seeds of Rebellion

by Brandon Mull

  The third rider was getting away, beyond the reach of any in the company—until Kerick leaped out of hiding and tackled him from his saddle. Jason could hear Rachel murmuring Edomic from her kneeling position.

  “Knock it off,” Jason said. “You’re wiped out. You haven’t healed.”

  She glared up at him defiantly, brows knitted in pain. “We need the horses.”

  Jason noticed that the horses had slowed and were coming back around. “Okay, good point, but we’ve got it from here.” She bowed her head. He knelt beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You okay?”

  She nodded, eyes squeezed shut. “Ever had an ice cream headache?”

  “Sure.”

  “Picture having a really bad one and then guzzling down a freezing shake.”

  Jason winced. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault. Bad luck. I was barely starting to feel a little better. At least the commands worked. Did the zombies get away?”

  Jason looked up. “We’ve got them. And the fires are out. We have the horses, too. Good job.”

  CHAPTER 24

  THE WILD CLAN

  The three horses made all the difference. Suddenly Rachel could ride instead of hobble along, one scout could thoroughly explore the territory ahead, and another could effectively monitor the country around them.

  Nollin had been loudest in his desire to slay the injured sentinels. Farfalee contended that Borial was indeed engaged in a noble cause and should be given the maximum possible leniency. Nedwin noted that the riders must have ranged far on horseback, and on foot would probably not find their comrades in time to cause harm. Nollin argued that search parties might find Borial in time to mount a pursuit. In the end, they left Borial and his two countrymen alive but without footwear.

  For Rachel, the first day on horseback was agony. Her sore, swollen wrist was the least of her problems. It felt like her skull had shattered into irregular fragments and was now only held together by her scalp. Every jolt as her mount plodded forward stabbed painfully throughout her head. Rachel felt Corinne trying to contact her telepathically, but even the simple effort of will that allowed Rachel to understand the messages was too great. She could hardly think through the pain, let alone attempt telepathy.

  Nedwin gave her a preparation for the pain, but despite the unfortunate taste and unpleasant medicinal smell, the concoction did nothing to ease her suffering. What if the damage from the overexertion was permanent? What if the pain never subsided? What if the injury was to her mind rather than merely her brain? Worries plagued her as the pain gnawed persistently into the night.

  By the next day, her body showed signs of recovery. Her joints were stiff rather than sore, her wrist was less bothersome, her appetite was returning, and the ache in her head had eased to an uncomfortable tenderness that flared less violently than the day before.

  Rachel wondered what exactly the magic had done to her body. Were the headaches a side effect of the forces called into action by the Edomic commands or a direct result of overextending her will? Could she expect similar symptoms after overtaxing herself in the future, or would she face a new set of unwelcome consequences? She hoped never to find out.

  On the morning of the third day after meeting Borial, while still bundled where she had slept, Rachel heard Farfalee arguing with Ferrin.

  “We’ve approached the wild horses twice,” Ferrin said. “They’re too skittish. You would be too if every person you met was a zombie intent on draining your blood. Even astride our own horses, we haven’t gotten close. If she could just calm them.”

  “Did you watch her face yesterday?” Farfalee asked. “Have you noticed how she moves like an old woman? I tell you, any exercise of Edomic before she mends puts her at great risk.”

  “And an army of hundreds of the walking dead puts us all at great risk,” Nollin answered. “They can smell us from miles away, and for all we know, they’ve assembled and are preparing to intercept us as we speak. She’s the only one who can do this.”

  “The mobility more horses would offer could save our lives,” Kerick said.

  “Once she mends,” Farfalee said. “She needs more—”

  “I’m mended enough,” Rachel interrupted, sitting up. “You found horses?”

  Farfalee glared at Ferrin, Kerick, and Nollin before turning to Rachel. “You’ve been through some heavy trauma,” Farfalee said. “You saw what happened when you pushed yourself too hard before recovering.”

  “It was worse than the first big effort,” Rachel admitted. “And that was bad enough. But I’m feeling better now.”

  “You keep resting,” Farfalee insisted. “You could very well develop into our greatest weapon against Maldor.”

  “I won’t develop into anything if we all get eaten by zombies. Besides, influencing horses is more a suggestion than a command. It doesn’t take as much effort.”

  Farfalee sighed. She glanced at Ferrin and Kerick, then back at Rachel. “Very well. Since the need is urgent, I’ll defer to your judgment.” She turned to Ferrin. “When Drake and Nedwin return, go see what you can find.”

  Rachel found Corinne and Jason breakfasting on fruit and nuts. Jason met her eyes with a smile. “You look better!”

  “Thanks,” Rachel said. “It feels like the day after being sick. I’m not all the way back, but so much better than the worst of it.” Rachel winked at Corinne. Good to see you, too!

  Are you sure you can talk like this? Corinne checked worriedly.

  Feels natural again, Rachel assured her.

  “Are you guys already doing telepathy?” Jason asked. “That was the one good thing about your headache. People using words for a change.”

  “We still use words,” Rachel said.

  Jason shook his head regretfully. “It’s like everyone is texting, and I don’t have a phone.”

  Rachel ate nuts and fruit with Jason and Corinne. Their camaraderie felt more natural and pleasant than ever, probably because she was no longer imprisoned in her own private cell of anguish.

  After Drake and Nedwin returned, Ferrin claimed Nedwin’s mount and Rachel climbed onto hers. Drake, Ferrin, and Rachel set out toward where Nedwin had last spotted the wild herd. For everyone to have a horse, they would need eight more. Ferrin and Drake each bore a pair of improvised rope halters.

  They rode for the better part of an hour before pausing on a ridge to gaze down on the herd in a valley below. Even from a distance, the wild horses looked considerably mangier than their current mounts.

  “Can you reach them from here?” Ferrin asked.

  “Maybe,” Rachel said. “The chances go up as we get nearer.”

  “They’ll run if we get too near,” Drake said. “They’ve learned to keep away from people.”

  “As we move closer, I’ll keep sending calming messages,” Rachel assured them. “What do you guys need to do?”

  “I brought some of the sweetleaves that I normally save for tea,” Drake said.

  “I have fruit,” Ferrin said. “If Drake and I can each claim a pair of horses, we’ll be halfway to our goal.”

  “There must be at least thirty,” Rachel estimated.

  “Seems like plenty,” Drake said. “But they’re fast, and they’re unburdened by riders. So far Ferrin and I haven’t managed to get close enough to have any chance of catching one. Kerick knows horses as well and has had no luck either.”

  “If you can keep them from running,” Ferrin said, “we’ll do the rest.”

  From where she sat, Rachel invited the horses to eat and relax. As Drake and Ferrin led her closer, she sent calming Edomic messages. She told the horses that she, Ferrin, and Drake meant no harm. She sent impressions of safety and security. As she pushed hard, Rachel noticed a faint pain blossoming behind her eyes.

  By the time they reached the herd, the horses were all grazing tranquilly. Most of the horses appeared scrawnier than the other mounts Rachel had seen in Lyrian. But despite their unkempt coats and rawboned
frames, they generally seemed healthy. A few let out gentle whickers to welcome the newcomers. Most paid them no mind.

  Ferrin and Drake approached their prospects on foot, petting them and sharing treats before slipping on halters. Rachel spoke peace to the horses, and evidently they listened.

  “What other horses would you ideally want?” Rachel asked.

  After conferring, Drake and Ferrin pointed out four other mounts. While Ferrin and Drake each led a pair of horses, Rachel called to the other four with her mind. More than ten followed, and then the entire herd.

  Rachel had an annoying headache by the time they made it back to camp. The others could not believe the bounteous equine entourage, and set about rigging additional halters. By the time the sun went down, everyone had spent time getting accustomed to their chosen mount. Though wild and presumably never ridden, the horses remained mostly obedient and manageable. Rachel went to sleep with her head throbbing at a tolerable level.

  Halco entered camp shortly before sunrise. He approached with his hands up, Nedwin riding behind him, and showed no ire at the bows bent in his direction. Several of the horses let out spirited whinnies, but even those without pickets did not gallop away.

  “He claims he hasn’t lost his mind,” Nedwin explained.

  “I haven’t,” Halco affirmed. “I’ve lost my amar, and my life, and my looks, but somehow my mind remains.”

  His robes were soiled and torn, and all visible skin was pale and blemished with puckered scars. The tips of two adjacent fingers were missing, as were some patches of his long hair. And he moved with less grace, favoring one leg slightly.

  “I’m full of worms, naturally,” he announced. “I checked. But since I retained my sense of self, I decided I might still be of service. I chose to track you. I know I’m little more than a ghost. My real self is in the amar. But I thought I may as well do all I can to help ensure I get planted somewhere far from here.”

  “Can you … smell us?” Nollin asked.

  “Your blood? I can, yes. The walking dead apparently feasted on me. I was unconscious. They drained me, and the worms took whatever I had left before I woke. I awoke bloodless. I didn’t even have traces on my robes. Your smell made it easier to track you. I could hurry through the night without rest. So far I feel no fatigue. I figured you could give me a clean end when we reach the river.”

  “You can control your appetite?” Farfalee asked. Her direct tone demanded honesty.

  “I believe so,” Halco answered without pause. “Considering what I’ve become, it’s odd how unchanged my mind feels. I think I can regulate myself. I feel well inside of my limits. I don’t expect to be a threat. I might be a help, though.”

  “Does it hurt?” Nollin asked hesitantly.

  “No pain. My senses have changed. The sun bothers my eyes. My hearing has an irritating echo. While my sense of touch has been dulled, I’ve grown much more sensitive to smell. I’m still getting accustomed to it.”

  “If a horse will carry you, please join us,” Farfalee invited. “But watch yourself. Keep your distance. No close proximity. It will be the token of your self-control.”

  “I won’t disappoint you.”

  The wild horses proved sturdy. With three or four mounted scouts roving, and everyone on horseback, the group made rapid progress. Following advice from the scouts, they took a zigzag route to keep well away from the mobs of zombies trying to close in on them. The horses proved much quicker than even the most eager zombies. The vast horde of walking dead to the south had no chance of heading them off once they had been spotted and a detour was devised.

  Moving ambitiously during the day allowed the delegation to almost relax at night. Still, they remained vigilant, with a mounted sentry always in motion, and their weapons ready. Halco prowled the darkness on foot, a tireless fail-safe.

  Within a few days Rachel could feel no lingering effects from her overexertion earlier in the week. She issued suggestions to the horses at her leisure without adverse reactions and maintained effortless telepathic conversations with Corinne. If anything, she felt more capable than before. Most of the herd had stopped following them, but five riderless stragglers persisted, even after Rachel had gently invited them to leave. In the end, she decided that a few spare mounts wouldn’t hurt anything.

  The morning they sighted the Silver River glistening in the distance was the same morning Kerick galloped to the group and breathlessly reported a host of more than a hundred riders in hasty pursuit.

  “Can we make it to the river?” Farfalee asked.

  “Maybe,” Kerick answered. “They’re coming hard from the southeast. We’ll have to veer southwest to have a chance of reaching the water first.”

  “Of course, crossing the river will be the problem,” Aram observed.

  Rachel frowned. The Silver River was the main eastern outlet for runoff from the mountains. Farfalee had warned that it averaged more than half a mile across.

  “To the southwest,” Farfalee urged.

  They ran the horses hard for the first time. Until now, the greatest need had been to conserve energy. Rachel enjoyed the wind in her face, and she sent suggestions to the mounts to run quickly and steadily.

  As they cantered across the top of a tall ridge, Rachel glanced back and glimpsed their pursuers for the first time, a galloping cavalry small with distance. Kerick had been right. There looked to be at least a hundred of them. A hundred reasoning undead warriors, armored and mounted. Rachel wondered how many of them she would set on fire before she fell. Then she wondered if she should even resist them. After all, they were just trying to keep the world safe from the ravages of a devastating plague. Hiding from the thought, she clung to the small hope that she and her friends might outrun them.

  As the glittering expanse of the Silver River drew nearer, a pair of horsemen appeared up ahead, racing toward them. Of the four scouts, only Drake had failed to report back since the undead riders were sighted. One of the two riders was Drake. The other turned out to be Sakar, the emissary to the drinlings, whom Rachel had not seen since the Seven Vales.

  “This way,” Sakar ordered without explanation.

  They followed him west, directly away from the riders, paralleling the river rather than heading toward it. Farfalee rode beside Sakar, but Rachel could not overhear the conversation.

  The delegation reached a mounting series of low ridges backed by sizable hills. Atop the first ridge, Sakar pulled his horse to a stop. The brush around him stirred, and several men and women stood up, wrapped in cloaks expertly designed to blend with the wild terrain. Rachel felt her horse prance nervously, and quietly spoke Edomic words of comfort.

  “Meet Ul, son of Tha,” Sakar said gravely, “chief of the wild clan of drinlings.”

  A stocky man with a broad nose and heavy jaw nodded curtly. His mouth was firm, but smile lines radiated from his attentive eyes. His golden brown skin had a different tint than any complexion Rachel had seen before, and his irises were coppery, like bright pennies. The coloring seemed shared by the other members of his party.

  Ul turned to Sakar and spoke in an indecipherable burst of rapid, clipped syllables.

  “He tells me we should fall back and try to keep out of sight,” Sakar translated. “He will confer with the sentinels of Ebera on our behalf.”

  “Thank you,” Farfalee said, bowing her head in appreciation.

  Ul gave a curt nod and waved her away.

  Rachel and the others followed Sakar to a higher ridge. After securing the horses, Sakar led the group to a position where they could observe the plain below unobtrusively from behind a screen of tall brush. Rachel positioned herself near Farfalee and Sakar.

  “The wild clan are drinlings?” Rachel asked quietly.

  “Correct,” Farfalee said. “Evidently, the drinlings are the only race in Lyrian immune to the goma worms. In recent years they have played an increasingly pivotal role patrolling the Silver River.”

  “I only recently learned
this as I explained our need,” Sakar said. “The drinlings are divided into forty clans. The wild clan has historically provided many of the finest drinling warriors and has maintained close ties with the Amar Kabal.”

  “Mind you,” Farfalee inserted, “drinlings seldom live more than two years. So for them, it has been many generations since they have worked with Sakar or any of our people.”

  “But they keep an extensive oral history,” Sakar said. “A necessity if they hope to preserve a group identity, in spite of their brief life spans.”

  The undead horsemen came into view on the far side of the plain, riding hard. As Rachel watched from the top of the ridge, she thought surely there must be many more than a hundred. “What will happen?” Rachel asked, noticing that Jason and Ferrin had drifted over close enough to listen.

  “They will talk,” Sakar said. “Ul will claim we are all in his custody. He will ask the sentinels of Ebera to leave the matter in his hands.”

  “And if they refuse?” Rachel asked.

  “The wild clan is ready and willing to fight,” Sakar said. “The result would be tragic. We need the sentinels of Ebera right where they are, doing just what they’re doing.”

  “The drinlings could win?” Rachel asked.

  “Drinlings were made to fight,” Farfalee said. “It’s like Eldrin somehow compressed eighty years of energy into two. The drinlings are strong, tireless warriors. They don’t die easily, and they heal very quickly. They’re immune to most sicknesses and toxins. They never sleep, not even in a trance. They can eat and digest almost anything—even soil. They supposedly can also draw energy from the air and the sun.”

  “And there are more drinlings ready to take the field than a glance would suggest,” Sakar added. “Horses or not, the sentinels won’t stand a chance.”