Remnants: Season of Wonder (A Remnants Novel)

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “We are to send the Maker’s people to the Valley as we go?” Niero asked.

  “Send them if they are in danger,” she said, “or if the Maker urges you to do so. If they are safe where they are, prepare them to follow and support Kapriel and the one who is to come. That is what the Maker has told me.”

  I thought about what she told us. How Tyree and Clennan knew they were to come with us. As we did too. I hoped the others we came across would be as obvious.

  “May your path be swift and sure,” said another elder, taking Niero’s arm, then mine, then Ronan’s and onward. “Know you are not alone. The Maker travels with you. And while you may be far from us, know that our hearts are with you. We shall pray for your protection, your direction, without ceasing.”

  We rode as pairs on the dirt bikes, Vidar and Bellona on the first — Vidar driving, since we were relying on his gift of discernment to lead us away from any Sheolites — Ronan and I on the next, Killian and Tressa on the third, and Niero on the last.

  The Sheolites who’d murdered my protectors had apparently left the Valley, tracking us outward. Even now, I hoped they were in Zanzibar, still seeking us there, rather than in the desert. Hopefully the Lord of Zanzibar would keep refusing to admit his walls had been breached, and they’d search and search, finding only Tressa’s empty hospital below ground.

  We reached Tonna’s Nem Post by noon, marveling at our speed, but the tradeoff was the dirt and mud that coated our hair, skin, and clothes as result of debris thrown up by the bikes that went before us. I could tell that Ronan tried to avoid the spray, often steering the bike to one side of the road or the other rather than directly behind Vidar. But before we left the Valley’s narrow trails, we’d been pelted repeatedly.

  We paused and waited for the guards to approach on their horses, knowing if we drove right in they were liable to shoot.

  Niero looked to Vidar, then back to the tent camp. “Sense anything?”

  Vidar frowned and shook his head. “Just a hint. Another shadow. I don’t think there are any Sheolites there now.”

  “You people have a lot of guts coming back here,” said a guard who continued to eye me and Bellona like raw mudhorse steaks, even covered in our filth. “Ever since, Pacifica scouts have been here like a plague. Every day they ask if we’ve heard word of or seen travelers who’ve been to Zanzibar and back.” He eyed us all, grinning as if he had us. “Their description sounds pretty much like you folk.”

  Niero looked forward, to the post. “Any scouts or trackers here now?” he asked evenly. I wondered how he did that — appear unmoved — when my own heart was pounding.

  “Four left this morning, heading north.”

  My heart pounded. North. We hadn’t seen anyone, but around noon, Vidar had led us away from the main Trader trail and through a long, ancient, now-dry riverbed. Had they been what Vidar sensed? It could mean they were heading north and east, into the Valley. I prayed that there were enough guards posted to fight off warriors like the Sheolites, that the Maker would warn them too. I shuddered, remembering the scouts that had attacked us in the forest the night of our call, and the tracker in Zanzibar. Our training had made us feel safe, with an extra layer of protection. But if our fellow Ailith — Keallach and Kapriel — had received the same instruction, and prepared their soldiers to counter our defenses, then how safe were we? The Nem Post guard had no idea how dangerous those scouts were to us; perhaps because his own foul heart resonated too easily with them.

  “We need to speak to Tonna,” Niero said.

  “I don’t see the mudhorses you owe her,” he tossed back, shifting the gun in his hands.

  “We’ve brought other supplies she’ll be interested in.”

  “We’ll see about that. Tonna’s none too pleased about the trackers. And without the horses — ”

  “Just be about your business,” Niero said. “And pass along our inquiry to Tonna. We will wait here.”

  “ ‘Be about your business and inquire,’ ” he mocked. “Aren’t you the uppity one?”

  Niero waited him out, staring at him benignly, and the man finally turned his mare and casually moved back to the post on the back of his mudhorse, leaving the three others to guard us.

  We waited for long minutes in the rain, but at last a flag was raised. We’d been permitted entry.

  I sighed in relief. Because there was one main thing we needed from Tonna — petrol. Our fuel gauges were all hovering on empty. Or lower; Vidar’s engine refused to start when we moved forward, so we all turned off our engines and walked the bikes forward.

  She waited for us in the space between her tent and the others, arms crossed, her eyes squinting in a deeper glare the closer we got to her. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me?” she asked Niero.

  “I beg your forgiveness, friend,” he said.

  “Yes, well, let’s hope you’ve come as traders rather than beggars.” She looked down at his bike and then slowly took in the others. “Yamahas,” she grunted. “Did you bring these as replacements for my mudhorses?”

  “Now, Tonna,” Niero said with a patient smile, “you know you received more than enough from our packs to pay for the horses, passage, and more.”

  “Did I?” she said, raising brown brows in irritation. “I’m not so sure.”

  “I am,” he said, pushing the kickstand out and perching the bike at the side of Tonna’s tent. “Now, should we conduct our next deal or shall we be on our way to Tah Post?”

  “You know as well as I do that you don’t have the petrol to get there,” she said. “You carry empty cans, by the lift of them. Best come in and we’ll see if we can come to a deal. Can’t give you shelter, though,” she said over her shoulder as we followed her in. “If they find you here, I’ll lose my trader permits.”

  “That’s all right. We intend to cover some miles before nightfall,” Niero said. “Can you tell me more about the scouts and any others who have been asking after us?”

  “Yes. The first arrived the night you were here. Then scouts, every day, all originating from Pacifica,” she said, taking a seat on a table. “You wouldn’t want to tell me why they’re hunting you, would ya?”

  “No,” Niero said, with another disarming smile.

  “Figured. They were closedmouthed about it too. I’m just trying to figure out how people of the Valley have gotten Pacifica so upset. Each kingdom in the Trading Union keeps to her own. Why do they care about you?”

  “That is the question, isn’t it?” Niero said, taking his pack from his shoulders and beginning to unlace the top.

  Tonna grunted. “Well, if you aren’t going to trade information, you surely’d better be carrying valuables I want.”

  After Niero waved his assent, I pulled out of our pack bundles of dried mushrooms, wild onion, and garlic, their smell so rich and so quick to fill the tent, it made me remember the soups Dad used to make. Thoughts of him made me sick with longing, and the memory of yesterday’s despair made my eyes burn. I ducked my head and bent in to dig for more, not wanting anyone to see. There was mint, asparagus, and Mudhorse Weed. Tressa had twin oil-burning lamps fashioned from sheep horn, a woven blanket — softer than anything I’d ever felt — and twelve skeins of wool.

  Vidar shook his head, lifting Bellona’s heavy pack off her shoulders. “Sheesh, what’d you do to the old man that he hates you so much?” he grunted to Bellona, wrestling out one piece of heavy machinery after another and setting them side by side. I had no idea what they were. Did Tonna?

  “I don’t know,” Bellona said, rubbing her shoulders. “But I’m going to feel the ache from their weight for a few days.”

  The day’s trail had been grueling enough, with the bumps and dips and swerving. I couldn’t imagine holding on to Ronan and carrying such a heavy pack all day. My admiration for Bellona increased.

  Niero pulled a small, heavy chest from his pack and set it down with a clunk.

  Lifting a brow, Tonna reached forwa
rd and unclasped the latch, opening the lid. Slowly, she opened it, and I think we all inhaled sharply at the sight. For inside were fifty or more gold coins, all with a woman’s head on the front, in profile, wearing a crown. Tonna cast a wary eye up at Niero and reached for one, lifted it to what remained of her small, yellow teeth, and bit on it as her eyes greedily washed over the rest.

  Niero smiled then. “You see, Tonna. It is good to do business with us. We wish to trade for petrol. But we also wish to purchase safe-passage papers again. Papers for anywhere we wish to go.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  In the end, Tonna wouldn’t write our safe-passage papers for beyond the Wall. Only among the Trading Union, outside of Pacifica’s border. She’d looked at Niero as if he were crazy when he’d mentioned Pacifica. “You know they’re out for your blood, right?”

  “Clearly,” he’d returned.

  She’d just shaken her head. Niero told us he took what he could get, figuring the Maker would show us a way beyond the Wall and into Pacifica once we got there.

  We drove for hours along the tattered remains of a long, straight road, through expanses of land devoid of anything but the occasional red stone butte, eroded by rain and wind. Here the rain fell, bringing green to the red soil that stretched for miles. All of us kept searching the horizon for other dirt bikes or the big vehicles Tonna warned us the Drifters favored, ready to move to higher ground if necessary. But it wasn’t until we’d crested a long, slow rise that we saw a town below, hugging the edge of a river that carved its way through the desert.

  Niero motioned for us all to pull over to one side of the road, and we stood there, drinking from our canteens, filling our dirt bikes with one of our extra tanks of petrol, and watching for any signs of life below.

  “Think anyone’s there?” Ronan asked Niero, as he pulled his scope down from his eye.

  “I see a few goats. That means there must be a shepherd hiding nearby.”

  “Probably jumped inside at the sound of our engines,” Vidar said.

  “Wise man,” Bellona said, “if there are Drifters about.” She flipped her thick braid over her shoulder.

  “There’s someone else there,” Tressa said, looking down at the town. “Someone I need to see.”

  “Need to see-see?” Killian asked, bending his dreadlock-covered head to get a better look at her face.

  She nodded softly, never looking his way. Her expression was a little eerie — distant, almost ethereal — and in response, Killian’s hard edge softened.

  We all took another look at the small, ancient gathering of buildings. Ronan reached for Niero’s scope and peered through it. The town was like countless others among the Trading Union — roofs blown off, walls down, streets overgrown with bush and tree. It wasn’t a post or settlement. Other than a few goats, it looked abandoned.

  “It could be a trap,” Vidar said. “Drifters waiting on us to come in and glean, then springing out to nab us.”

  Raniero continued to look down at the town, arms folded. “Any of you sense true enemies?”

  I shook my head and so did the others.

  Niero turned and straddled his bike. “Only one way to find out for sure,” he said with a smile, putting his goggles on again. “Tressa, you drive your bike. Same with you, Andriana. I want your knights able to access their weapons with both hands if necessary.”

  We did as he said, following him down the road at a slower pace than we’d been going, this time with Vidar and Bellona bringing up the rear. I concentrated on following Raniero’s back wheel, rather than my growing fear of a potential trap. If Tressa was right and we’d been called to this road in order to come across the remains of this town, so that she could heal someone here, then would the Maker himself not be keeping watch over us?

  We finally reached the ramshackle town. Old, rusted, corrugated metal on one roof — half peeled away — waved in the wind, making a terrible screeching sound. Most of the buildings were crumbling adobe, only a few with more than two standing walls. Niero pulled up a hundred feet from the only one with a roof and we alongside him. In seconds, all of us could all be away. But now we fanned out in a small arc, checking out the town. I could see the remains of an old, massive cannon — still pointed to the sky — at one end, in the middle of a crumbling wall that once circled the ancient weapon. We’d seen others. At one time, they’d protected their townspeople. Until bombs were dropped with vapors that carried on the wind, killing those that didn’t even see it fall.

  Vidar pulled out a small toxicity reader from his belt, and we could hear the static and warped signals as he waved it over the ground in front of him. For more than a hundred years after the bombs, huge spans of land had been unlivable — or proved deadly to those who tried. “Decent,” he muttered. “Not perfect. But decent.”

  “Hello in the house!” Niero called, pulling his goggles up to his head again. “We mean you no harm! Is anyone there?”

  A goat turned the corner and stood there, chewing long stems of sage.

  I glanced behind us, up the road. How had the goats remained unclaimed if there wasn’t a goatherd nearby?

  The door slammed open and an old woman appeared. “You get on!” she yelled, waving a rifle about. “Get on outta here unless you have goods to trade for cheese!”

  Ronan and I shared a look. Cheese?

  “We have goods,” Raniero said. “We intend no harm, friend. We are about the Maker’s business.”

  “Yeah? Which maker?”

  “I think you know of Whom I speak.”

  She gaped at him, and I could see for the first time that her eyes were milky white. “You move on! I’ll have no trouble over such talk! Go. Go!”

  “But I am to heal your eyes,” Tressa said, stepping forward.

  “Eh?” she asked, the folds of her face gathering in confusion. “What’s that you said?”

  “Your eyes,” Tressa said, taking another step. Killian followed, just to her right. “The Maker wishes to bring back your vision.”

  The woman stepped out from under the shade of the roof, and I could see she wasn’t as old as I’d thought. She appeared to be only six decades, but she looked weathered, as if they had more sun here than rain. Perhaps they did, I thought idly. “You witches? Warlocks?” she called, waving her gun again. But this time with a little hesitation.

  “No, friend,” Niero said, glancing from the old woman to Tressa and back again. “Today you will know the power of the Maker. For he wishes to bring you back your dearest gift — your eyesight — through Tressa, who has the high gift of healing.”

  She lowered her rifle, considering him and Tressa and Killian as they drew near, the rest of us hanging back so she wouldn’t feel overwhelmed. Her mouth fell open. “You tell the truth,” she said, staring up at Raniero with eyes such a pure opaque they looked like pearls. Her mouth went a bit slack. “I’ve been asking and asking the Maker”

  “And he has answered you,” Niero said, taking her elbow when she looked as if she might faint.

  “Oh,” she said, bringing a freckled hand to her chest. “Oh! But not me, sir. Not me. You must heal my grandson.”

  Raniero looked to Tressa in confusion. But she shook her head and nodded at the old woman.

  “You first, friend,” he said, gently. “Then we shall see about your boy.” He looked back at us. “I’m not sure how long this will take. You and Andriana take up position where you can see to the north,” he told Ronan. “Vidar, you and Bellona go back up the hill and keep an eye on the south.” With that, he disappeared inside, leaving us to do as we were told.

  Reluctantly, we left them, feeling ill at ease in separating, but with clear orders. And with the little town on a low part of a long saddle, it was wise to get to points we could watch. I started the engine and Ronan slid on behind me. I liked the feel of his legs lining mine, the bulk of his body behind me. I only wished he would wrap his arms around me as I tended to do around him whenever I was on the bike. Inst
ead, he sat rigidly upright, only his hands upon my shoulders, as if he feared touching me. That wariness I felt … Was it me? Or our strange surroundings?

  I resisted the urge to pretend to falter, to alarm him into reaching forward and holding on to me. Quit it, Dri. I had no business fantasizing about such things. No business at all. But with him so close, how was I to keep from such ideas? Help me, Maker … Make me strong where I am weak.

  I clamped my lips together and drove as straight as I could, around potholes and over breaks, to the northern hill where Niero wanted us stationed. Once there, I pulled to the side, glad to see that there were a few boulders. With luck, we could gain some shade from the sun that seemed intent on keeping clear of the drifting cloudbanks. Ronan got off, and I used the toe of my boot to push the kickstand into place. I shielded my eyes and looked in a long, slow circle, as he did. The only living things we saw were the three goats beside the house, and in the distance, Vidar and Bellona standing on the ribbon of battered road.

  “Strange country, huh?” Ronan said, crouching and picking up a handful of the black substance that had once held the road together.

  “We’re a long way from home,” I said.

  “They called this road a highway.”

  “Yeah,” I said. I’d seen the sign too, rusted and upside-down on a post. “They used to crisscross the country.”

  He looked down the length of it, squinting. “I wonder how many are left, this intact.”

  “Guess we’ll find out. I mean, at least about some of them.” I rubbed the back of my neck and found it sweaty, and shrugged out of my oilskin jacket, draping it over the bike. Then, still finding I was warm, I pulled off my sweater, leaving just my T-shirt beneath. I hurriedly straightened it out, feeling my cheeks heat as it lifted up my belly, flashing bare skin. My eyes flicked over to Ronan to find out if he’d seen.

  Face muscles tight, he quickly looked away from me and rose, walking around the width of the boulder. To what? Get away from me?

  I sighed and leaned against the side of the boulder, raising my face to the sun. The heat of it wasn’t intense. It felt good, warming my skin and arms. I looked down at my armband and wished I could clean off the grime and see it again as it was meant to be — a jewel of interwoven metals. But even in its diminished state, it was pretty impressive. I fingered the edge, noting my healing skin at the edge. I tried to get a fingernail between it and the skin and winced. A tiny drop of blood formed where I’d pulled.