Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles)

by Dale B. Mattheis

  Miraculously, the blizzard faded to distant moans and light snow. Jeff crawled out of the burrow under clearing skies and stood up to look around.

  “Gods save us! Some of those drifts must be forty feet high! I’ve seen big drifts before in Minnesota, but nothing that approaches this.”

  Helwin hurried out to join him. Coming from heavily forested land she had never seen really big drifts and gazed around with open mouth. She gasped and whirled to stare at Jeff.

  “The horses!”

  Two had died during the final day and night of the storm, but Cynic was on his feet and nuzzled Jeff’s cheek. He left Helwin to hand out fodder and checked on the troopers. Four had suffocated after their burrows drifted over or had collapsed.

  Those who had survived showed little emotion as they lay the plank-like bodies side by side. Their gentle manner and quiet reverence spoke louder than words or tears. There was no fuel to spare for a pyre, so they were covered with furs to offer comfort in a new life.

  The ceremony was brief, for every warrior understood that their own lives hung in precarious balance and hard work might improve the odds. Jeff sent his best archers with the wolves on a hunt that promised to be grim business. Helwin took it upon herself to catalog every scrap of food in camp.

  Jeff coordinated the hunt for the rest of the day, but they killed only one scrawny bull that was left for the wolves. About the time Jeff noticed the temperature was taking a nosedive, Helwin waded up with a grim expression on her face.

  “Captain, with prudence our food will suffice for two days.”

  Jeff kicked the snow to cover his anxiety. “Every warrior who can walk will have to go out again tomorrow, but we can’t expect them to do it on nothing. We’ll butcher one of the dead horses and give the other to the wolves. You’ll have to organize the hunt, Helwin. I must find a way to the caravan.”

  It was not easy to leave the burrow next morning. Jeff felt so secure in Helwin’s arms that he wanted to stay there forever. It was also the last time they could sleep together. The blizzard was gone, and they were once again captain and lieutenant. While he was looking at her, Helwin awakened and gazed solemnly into his eyes.

  “Yes. Duty must be attended to, but not for this last moment.”

  Throwing the furs aside, Helwin opened her thighs and held her arms out. Although weak from hunger their loving did not suffer. And then, as if their coupling was no more than a dream, they were dressed and left the burrow they had come to think of as home for the last time.

  Bundled up in furs, Jeff departed for the caravan with Balko in bright sunshine. Even Balko’s can-do attitude was hard pressed as they forced a way through snow that was hip deep in the shallow spots. Plunging along with giant leaps, Balko disappeared from sight time and again. They plowed a serpentine path around behemoth drifts and frequently had to backtrack.

  The thought of getting caught out overnight made Jeff’s skin crawl. Not again, he thought. Once almost killed me. Balko abruptly changed course and took off up a tall hill that was largely free of snow at the top. Jeff swam after him for a look.

  “So where is it? Nothing but monster drifts.” His gaze happened across what looked like a giant mole trail winding south. “Holy shit. That has to be it.”

  He stared in disbelieving awe. Drifts had piled up and over the wains, completely burying those that had taken the storm’s brunt. Pulling his hat low to reduce the glare, Jeff watched men toss snow from on top of several wains. Other than a blue haze from campfires, there was no other sign of activity.

  The broad valley the caravan had been following lay stretched out below. Blinding white in the sun, it was furrowed by giant drifts that resembled swells created by an ocean storm. Some met at odd angles, loose snow blowing off their tops like spindrift. In spite of how hard he had fought to stop the caravan, Jeff felt sorry for the civilians and horses. He watched the caravan for some time without being able to identify any of those moving about as the Salchek commander.

  “I know you’re there, and this is the end of road. Maybe for both of us.”

  Feeling the melancholy of deep winter, his gaze wandered out over a wilderness of snow that stretched to the horizon. Perhaps it was the pristine splendor of the valley or the bright clarity of the air that trapped Jeff’s spirit in a tangle of memories. Or maybe the wind’s song as it moaned a winter requiem that denied the promise of spring and new life, but offered rest. He lay there as the sun dropped toward the horizon, staring across the valley without seeing and listening without hearing.

  “Wolf-brother, attend me! The hour is late!”

  Jeff awoke from his trance to find Balko tugging at his coat. One look to the west and he tumbled down the hill in a frightened rush. The sun was nearly gone.

  “Oh gods, Please! Not again!”

  Balko went leaping off with prodigious bounds. He was under no illusion that Jeff could survive a night away from his furs. The path they had cut on the way out was largely drifted over and in places was entirely gone. Balko found their trail time and again, but then he could not.

  “I must leave to find our way, wolf-brother. Do not wander from where we stand!”

  “I will await your coming.” Balko porpoised around a drift and was gone.

  The wind shrilled its dirge around dark blue drifts and stars winked into being until the sky was ablaze with light. Reminded of a glorious sunset far to the north, Jeff knew he once again stood at the crossroads of life and death. Time was running out but fear no longer had a hold on him. It had grown tiresome. Balko would either find the way or he would not. There was no point in calling. Beginning to shiver, Jeff picked a direction that seemed likely and stepped out.

  At that instant Balko suddenly reappeared, grinned at him, and leaped back around the shoulder of a drift. Trying to remain calm but fighting the snow in his haste, Jeff waded after Balko. Eight or ten drifts later he won through a pass that was chest deep in snow and walked into camp. He took a deep breath and let it out in an explosive sigh.

  “Where were you, wolf-brother? I had nearly given up hope.”

  Balko’s ears fell and he radiated embarrassment.

  “This one must confess that undue confidence was amply rewarded.”

  “You went the wrong way.”

  “That is perhaps an overstatement, but does reflect the truth of the matter.”

  “I don’t give a shit.” Jeff dropped to his knees. “Come here.”

  Balko’s ears shot up and he bounded over into Jeff’s arms. “If my eyes do not deceive me, I believe we will fill our bellies this night.”

  At least eight wildebeest were being butchered near blazing fires. Hacking out a big slab of meat for Balko, Jeff wondered where on earth they had managed to find so many animals and fuel for such large fires. A grinning hunter handed him a nicely seared hunk of meat. Before tearing into the food, Jeff posed his questions.

  “The wolves discovered them, Captain.” The hunter pointed east. “Many animals are wintering in a deep valley not far distant from our camp. Pursuing the animals, we discovered thick stands of trees.”

  “Was the snow badly drifted in the valley, and did you take note of the grass?”

  “While the snow was deep in some portions, it was not badly drifted. A stream flows through the valley’s center and likely watered the grass to abundant growth in the warm season. Thus it should be worthy.”

  What remained of the First Cavalry was packed up and moving early the next morning. They were down to forty warriors and twenty horses. The horses were so thin and weak that everyone walked. When they arrived, Jeff discovered the valley was closer to being a canyon. He halted the column at the top to look it over.

  The canyon was oriented on an east-west axis. That would block the prevailing winds. Jeff let his eyes feast on the heavy growth of timber that wound out of sight along the course of the stream at the canyon’s center. They were real trees and not scrub. He cut the inspection short and started down the slope at a cautiou
s angle. There was a lot to accomplish before nightfall.

  It was slow, tense work, but they made it to the bottom without setting off an avalanche. Shortly, the sound of battle-axes put to constructive work echoed off canyon walls accompanied by enthusiastic songs. The combined effect set a cornice free to rumble down a sheer canyon wall a safe distance away.

  Well before nightfall, smoke sifted through the roofs of crudely fashioned but sturdy lodges. Although the stables weren’t much more than elaborate lean-tos, the horses were out of the wind. With their snouts buried in fragrant piles of grass, they were content.

  Establishing an outpost near the caravan, they waited three days without a sign of movement in the caravan. The wind was brisk and the temperature below zero, but their new campsite was well protected. Hunting was good, forage for the horses proved adequate, and camp routine settled into a pleasant rhythm of plentiful food and sleep.

  Two more days and the caravan still showed no sign of activity. They weren’t even digging out. Seated in their lodge, Jeff disassembled the Ruger for a thorough cleaning while Helwin looked on.

  “Captain, I am puzzled. Perhaps they are debating what to do?”

  “I have no doubt the civilians are. They’ve lost well over a 100 wains and a lot of friends. Now they stand to lose everything.”

  “They might decide to winter over.”

  “I suspect that is what their commander is urging them to do, Helwin. He is not a man to give up.

  “That much is certainly clear!”

  “He is a professional.” Jeff methodically checked each part of the Ruger for dirt. “I think we’ll see the outcome soon. If they don’t head south in the next few days they will winter over. I doubt that is going to happen.”

  “Of course. The horses.” Helwin made a quick grab and snagged a piece of the Ruger that popped from Jeff’s hand. She gave it to him. “They are afraid they will lose them all.”

  “That’s part of it.” Jeff finished assembling the Ruger and inserted the magazine. “They are also exhausted and see nothing but more of the same ahead. They’re right. It’s called a no-win situation.”

  “It is sad.”

  “Yes.” Jeff examined the Ruger for several moments and slipped it into the holster. “For all of them.”

  Next day a trooper from the outpost charged into camp with news that the caravan was breaking up.

  Jeff and Helwin provisioned themselves for several days but arrived after dark and had to live with their curiosity throughout the night. Those on duty at the outpost reported what appeared to be fighting. Dawn told the story. As they watched, several wains straggled out of line and wallowed south leaving piles of cargo behind.

  “The civilians have had enough. They’re saving what they might and abandoning the rest.”

  Throughout the day, wagon after wagon pulled out. Although no one spotted a mounted soldier, it appeared that foot soldiers were accompanying the wains. Just like Napoleon and Hitler’s retreat from Russia, Jeff thought. I wonder how many will survive? He strained his eyes in an attempt to spot the Salchek commander, saw several uniforms, but knew with exquisite certainty that the man was dead.

  Throughout a two-day period the portion of the caravan they viewed progressively shrank. Since the caravan stretched south for many miles and well out of sight, Jeff and Helwin coursed its length before returning to base camp. The same pattern prevailed.

  They made no attempt to hide their presence, and on one occasion stood only yards away as a wain fought through a drift to escape its slot in the line. It was pulled by four painfully thin horses and was nearly empty. The teamster on the wagon seat was so exhausted he didn’t even look at them.

  “Good fortune. May the gods see you safely home.”

  The teamster did not respond to the hail, nor did the men and women trudging behind. Jeff realized he must look equally ragged and exhausted, but felt his heart go out to them. Heads bent to watch every step, to conserve every shred of energy, they methodically placed each foot in the wagon tracks.

  When Jeff and Helwin were advised that no sign of life remained in the caravan, they rousted out the company and set out under frigidly clear skies. The deserted laager had the eerie quality of a ghost town about it. Splitting his troopers into teams, Jeff sent them out to make sure. He ordered a wagon broken up for firewood and it made a cheerful blaze, but there was no cheer.

  Teams straggled into the bivouac until well after dark with the same story. Deserted wagons, disease and death. Dead horses, dead men, dead women, even dead children. There was no singing or celebration, just silent groups of warriors staring into the fire and taking what food they could stomach.

  Jeff had given orders to search the clothing of any body that appeared to be Salchek. Several teams did run across Salchek lying trampled in blood-soaked snow, but their pockets revealed nothing except a few letters that might have been last wishes. Jeff gave them to Helwin for safekeeping. The day might come when they could turn them over to a Salchek representative.

  They were sitting on a wagon wheel discussing the only positive find of the day, eight heavy sacks of grain that might go fifty pounds each, when the last team dragged into camp. The team leader, Wulfern, sat down on the wheel next to Jeff and handed him a leather bag.

  “We discovered this under the body of a Salchek, Captain.” Jeff extracted a hot piece of meat from the fire and handed it to Wulfern. “An officer?”

  “I believe this to be so, although I am not familiar with their custom of dress.” Wulfern stopped chewing and looked deep into the fire. “I am moved, Captain. While this man was an enemy and outlander, his spirit will be well received by the gods. I have viewed many faces after death, but recall none that were so composed and gave the impression of such strength of person.”

  No more words were necessary. Jeff knew who the man was, that his inner conviction was now fact. And it hurt terribly. He was too tired to find anger, too distraught for tears, but it hurt terribly.

  “Tell me of his death, for he will be remembered.”

  “Yes, Captain, this must be so.” Wulfern took another bite. His eyes, sunken orbs in dark circles of fatigue and starvation, shimmered with what remained of remorse. “His body was not defiled, for he died by his own hand. While this is not our way, I believe he did so to sustain honor and not fail of his duty. The pouch was hidden under his body.” Wulfern shook his head in denial and wiped at his eyes. “Will you share its contents with us?”

  “I will do this, but you must understand that I do not have understanding of Salchek writing.”

  Wulfern collected his team, and others drew near to be part of a ritual of passage that would honor courage. The pouch was lined with silken material of lavender and contained packets of letters in Salchek script. At the bottom, Jeff discovered a smaller pouch. Inside was a single sheet of parchment bedded on shredded leaf that looked like tobacco. He unrolled the sheet and extracted a curved-stem pipe.

  “Oh, goddam this war to hell,” and the tears did come.

  Jeff held the pipe up for all to see. “This was his totem, this speaks of the man.” Murmurs of assent rumbled around the troop while Jeff tried to focus on the sheet of parchment. It was composed in the language of Chaldesia. “Now you will hear his last words.

  “‘Greetings from Lingol Bollit, Tlakish. I have come to respect you as soldier, thus the man, and trust these letters to your safekeeping. My family must know I died with honor. The gods understand what we do, I do not, yet duty is complete. Now fill my gomwok with sindar weed and offer smoke to the winds that a better life be opened to my spirit, but do not then cast it aside. I would be pleased to know that this part of me continues. I am saddened that we did not meet in better times, for we would have been friends. May you survive this war.’” Jeff folded the letter and inserted it into a breast pocket along with the pipe and pouch.

  Ripping a sideboard off a wagon, he threw it on the bonfire. “Let us sing for his spirit.”

  T
he troop opened their hearts and sang for Lingol Bollit, sang for all who had died, sang for themselves. Jeff filled the pipe with sindar weed and set a red coal on top to light it. It was not tobacco, did not smell or taste like tobacco, but it did not matter.

  The Song for the Dead filled his heart as he drew a deep lungful of smoke and exhaled slowly. A brilliant shooting star flashed overhead from zenith to horizon, and he knew Lingol Bollit was at rest.

  “How many days march do you calculate we must travel, Captain?”

  Jeff concentrated on pulling a bone needle through tired leather. He tugged the stitch down and tied it off inside.

  “If it were summer and we were riding well-fed horses, perhaps three weeks to Rugen as the bird flies. Afoot as we are in deep snow, we must first make our way to the forest well south of Rugen. There we will rest and hunt before following its border northwest. I estimate that trek alone will require four weeks. Let us pray to the gods that it snows no more during that time.”

  “Let me hold it.”

  Helwin took the jacket Jeff was repairing and held the torn seam together so he could start a new line of stitches. They sat side by side in the small lodge, one lighted by a tallow candle and a fire that flickered over spent fuel. Wildebeest hides floored the lodge, and beds of fur were placed close to the firepit on either side. Helwin released the jacket after the third stitch and idly tossed twigs into the fire.

  “The last hunting party reported that game was scarce. We must leave soon.”

  “As soon as possible. Troops ready?”

  “Yes sir. The horses have gained enough strength to carry our food and theirs, but fuel will journey on our own backs. I have had the wood tightly bound to ease the burden.”

  “Good thinking.” Jeff cut the thread free and laid the jacket aside. “Sleep well, Helwin.”

  “And you, Jeffrey.” Helwin held her lips up and they shared a kiss full of memories.

  There were more than a few backward glances as the troop crested surrounding hills and headed north early one morning. The canyon had come to be viewed as home. Jeff was too preoccupied with the welfare of their horses to spare more than a quick look. Work as they might, they had been able to collect only a modest volume of tightly bundled grass and that decomposing.