by Sean Golden
Again Lirak’s movements fell into a rhythm and he steadily worked his way up the slope toward the top of the Gap. Only once was he stymied by a particularly wide section of cliff which forced him to make his way further to the north than he wanted, but at noon, he was sitting, satisfied, at the top of the Gap, looking down the smooth gradual slope to the east. Beside him, tongue lolling out, was the cat.
He ate more of the smoked liver and heart, and drank about half of his water. The cub was sitting beside him, gazing at him expectantly. Lirak dribbled a few drops from his water skin onto the nose and lips of the cub, and it sneezed. Then it licked its lips. It looked up and reached up a paw as if to take the water skin. Lirak dribbled a few more drops and the cub finally seemed to get the message and allowed Lirak to pour a short stream of water into its mouth. When Lirak finally got up to go, the cub fell into step behind him, acting for all the world like a heeling puppy. Lirak smiled ruefully, he was sure the village elders would not let him bring home a dangerous half-grown mountain cat of alarming size. Still he felt the cub would grow tired of the walking and leave eventually. But something in his mind also seemed to welcome the cub’s presence. Was this cub some other “gift” from Kathoias? Soon the two were walking through trees and the rocky slopes of The Gap were left far behind. At times Lirak wondered if the cub might be a danger, but the welcoming presence in his mind soothed those concerns and Lirak soon ceased worrying at all. Occasionally he found himself reaching down to pat the head of the big cub, and the cub seemed to enjoy the attention.
As he walked he thought back to Dedrik’s words, and what they might mean. His eyes searched to the east, looking for familiar landmarks to locate his village but it was too far away. He would have to get closer, at least to the low hills three days west of the village. He would have to do some hunting to replenish his supplies on the way, which shouldn’t slow him down too much. He felt a compulsion to hurry and had to consciously slow himself down to maintain a walking pace that he knew would carry him farther each day than the faster pace his body seemed to yearn for. Finally, as the sun set behind the western mountains, he made a sparse, cold camp and was soon asleep. That night Lirak remembered no dreams.
As they prepared for another day of hiking, Lirak noticed a large rabbit nearby. On impulse he quietly nocked an arrow and quickly killed the rabbit. Retrieving his arrow, he simply threw the dead rabbit on the ground in front of the cub, and watched as the cub sniffed it, then quickly tore it to pieces and devoured it. Finished, the cub licked its bloody lips and stretched, then curled up on the ground, as if to go back to sleep. Lirak waited a moment, and then turned to go. The cub flicked an ear, and its short tail rattled the leaves on the ground, then it stood up and followed Lirak.
For six days Lirak and the cub walked through the forest. Each day Lirak found small game that he killed with his bow. He killed two usually, one for him, and one for the cub. During the day he ate cooked or smoked meat from his pouch. At night he skinned and cooked the game he had killed. He felt he could go on like this forever, or until the squirrels went into hibernation and the rabbits became invisible in the snow. He felt no need to take bigger game, not wanting to waste the meat he couldn’t carry. Occasionally the cub would disappear for a while, but it would always return by nightfall. Usually he recovered the arrows he used, but inevitably, arrowheads broke off, and when he got down to ten good arrows, he started worrying that he might have to stop long enough to find some suitable wood to make more arrows. But before that need arose, he smelled the Fedon River ahead. He sighed and thanked Kathoias for her blessings and looked forward to paddling downstream, letting the current push him toward Luh-Yi.
He found his canoe where he had left it. He had covered the canoe in branches to hide it, and the area seemed undisturbed in the days he had been away. After uncovering the canoe and pushing it into the water, he tied the canoe to a stout bush and set up camp for the night. The cub had disappeared for a while as he set up camp, and returned as he built a fire with a large rabbit in his jaws. Soon Lirak and the cub were both eating supper. Before finally going to sleep Lirak wondered what would become of the cub since he was sure it could not keep up with his canoe moving downstream in the river.
The morning dawned cool and clear, the Fedon River flowed smoothly past the small camp where Lirak and the cub slept. Lirak awoke and ate a quick breakfast of rabbit meat, tossing the last of the rabbit to the cub.
“That’s the best I can do,” he said to the cub. “I hope you make it OK in the forest.”
Bundling the last of his equipment into the canoe and covering the small fire remains with dirt, Lirak then squatted in front of the cub, feeling strangely sad to be leaving it behind. The cub sat on its haunches, its eyes on Lirak’s face as Lirak massaged the back of its neck. With a final pat on the cub’s head, Lirak stood, untied the rope, and began to push the canoe into the river. The cub stood and stretched, watching as Lirak carefully climbed into the canoe. As Lirak used his paddle to push off from the bank, the cub walked to the water’s edge watching as Lirak smoothly stroked the canoe into the current and began paddling downstream with powerful strokes. Looking back, Lirak saw no sign of the cub. A sense of loss and sadness hit him, surprising him in its intensity. He had come to enjoy the cub’s company on the long hike back to the river.
All that day Lirak moved down the river. Tired from his long hike he allowed the river to carry him along for long periods before paddling forward again. The river’s current was smooth and steady, but Lirak still pulled to shore to rest and eat his lunch. Each time he stopped the Gap looked smaller. Finally, as the day’s light began to fail, Lirak looked for a good spot to camp as the trees crowded the banks on each side of the river. He found a spot on the south bank of the river where a small stream entered the river creating a small clearing on the western side of the stream. He made a small fire and collected some branches to make a soft bed, finally falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Lirak awoke slowly from his untroubled sleep, feeling well rested and for the first time feeling no aches from his various wounds from the valley of the Fire River. Stretching his arms, he felt the familiar warm fur of the cub sleeping beside him. Sudden realization hit him and his eyes snapped open. The large young cat lay curled up beside him, sleeping deeply. Its paws were covered in damp mud, meaning the cub had only recently reached his camp. He realized the cub must have walked or run all day and all night. Lirak was amazed. He quietly went about eating a quick breakfast and loading his things back in the canoe again. As he untied the canoe to prepare another day of river travel, the cub suddenly stood, stretched and walked to the canoe, sniffing it and nudging it with his nose. Then, to Lirak’s amazement, the cub jumped into the front of the canoe and settled down at the bottom, curling up and appearing to go back to sleep. Nonplussed, Lirak was nonetheless happy for the company and he pushed the canoe forward, and climbing into the canoe behind the cub, he was soon stroking steadily down the river, anxious to get home.
For three days the two travelers made their steady way downstream, stopping only when necessary, even taking their meals as they floated down the river. The cub seemed to enjoy the canoe ride and Lirak’s fears that the cub would panic or jump out or capsize the canoe faded over time to be replaced with an easy familiarity. On the third day Lirak began looking eagerly ahead, knowing that he was at last getting close to the forest he knew well.
Instead what he saw to the east was a line of black smoke. Too much smoke for a cooking fire. To the right and left of the smoke, much farther away, he saw two more such lines of smoke reaching into the sky. His stomach felt queasy, but he refused to panic. There had to be some explanation. Perhaps the elders had approved the burning away of some trees to build more huts. But why would there be three such fires? All three were just south of the great Fedon River he thought, although it was hard to be sure since the great trees of the Dwon forest hid the river from even a short distance.
He increased h
is paddling. The smoke was still a long way downstream, and he knew he would not reach it that day. Much later that day he floated among familiar forest trees and sounds. The sun was steadily sinking, but Lirak pushed himself, knowing that he should stop and make a proper camp. The smoke was dissipating now, in the glimpses he managed from time to time. Soon it was gone altogether. This didn’t stop his worrying. As it got dark, the crescent moon gave some dim light, and Lirak decided to try to continue to paddle by moonlight. But the river was treacherous in the dark, and after the third time the canoe nearly capsized on hitting a log in the water, or scraped a sandbar, he finally decided to stop for the night. He made a cold camp, not even bothering with a fire, simply lying beneath a large fir tree in the soft needles. He woke up with the first rays of the sun, and found the cub curled against his back sleeping soundly. Lirak could see that the cub had grown even in the short time they had been together. It was getting heavier and stronger. There was some quality in its eyes as it watched Lirak that made Lirak feel there was some bond between them. He did not look forward to trying to explain the cub to the villagers of Luh-Yi.
Pushing himself hard that day, Lirak rested only briefly, allowing the current to push him downstream while eating or resting. The hot sun and glare of the reflections of the river made his head hurt. Lirak’s wounds from the big cat were almost fully healed now, with just four thick scabs covering the deep puncture wounds in his shoulder. His scalp also felt fine, and he used his knife to gingerly cut the knot of the sewn thread, and then pulled the thread from his scalp, which bled a bit, but left his scalp smoother. He wondered what it looked like, two thin white lines descending from his thick black hair, across his dark forehead, reaching almost to his eyebrows. What would Mayrie think?
By evening they were getting close to the village, Lirak began recognizing many landmarks. Finally his canoe came around a large bend in the river, and Lirak could see far ahead the familiar grove of redwoods on the southern shore of the river. But there was something else that made Lirak’s blood run cold. Far down the river, well past the village, but still within sight, a huge dark object was in the river. In growing panic, Lirak recognized one of the floating huts of his dream. Feeling naked and exposed in the river, he quickly pulled his canoe out of the current and behind some overhanging branches near the southern shore.
Lirak was still some distance from the village, but he pulled the canoe out of the water, tying it up and covering it with branches to hide it from sight. As the light of day faded into darkness, Lirak tried to make his way through the trees, but eventually he decided he would have to stop and continue the journey the next day. He made a cold camp, unwilling to make a fire and spent a fitful night of confusing and violent dreams that he did not want to recall the next morning.
The first body he and the cub found early the next day was of a young Dwon woman. Her body was unclothed and bloody. Lirak felt he had never seen anything so cruel and heartbreaking. Great flyblown gashes at her throat and belly left no doubt how she had died. Her face was bruised and contorted in an expression of mortal agony so much that Lirak could not recognize her. Nearby he found the body of a young boy, his head split nearly in two. Everywhere he found strange markings on the ground, heavy foot-shaped prints and strange moon-shaped marks deeply gouged into the earth. In some places the markings were random, chaotic, almost as if the creatures had simply run wildly through the forest. In other places they were in neat rows, step-by-step as if men had linked arms and measured their steps to match one another. What madness was this?
He found more bodies. In one place, under an angry buzzing cloud of flies and a flock of carrion crows, he found four unclothed female bodies piled on one another under a tree. Fighting against the stench of death, Lirak shooed the crows and flies away to discover that one of them was Tarii. Nearby were five bodies of men, fully clothed, their hands bound behind their backs and their feet tied with a strong cord. The marks on the women’s bodies made Lirak turn red with shame and rage. There was no doubt what had been done to the women. There was also little doubt that the men had been made to watch before being slaughtered themselves. This was too much for Lirak, and he retched until his sides and stomach ached.
Finally recovering, Lirak looked desperately for Mayrie. Moving Tarii’s bloody body, his heart stopped for a moment on seeing Mayrie’s unmistakable flaming hair. But it was just a clump of hair, bloody and with a shred of flesh as if it had been torn from Mayrie’s head. But none of the bodies was Mayrie. Frantically searching the area he was unable to find any readable sign in the chaos of the torn and bloody earth. Mayrie had been here, but that was all he could tell. Placing the clump of hair in his belt pouch, he expanded his search into the nearby underbrush.
Near their bodies, discarded and forgotten under a small bush, he found a strange object. It looked almost like a large piece of buckskin, but he could see it was made of hundreds of small rings linked together. It had a hole in the middle big enough to put his head through, and had loops and straps placed along the sides. It was heavy, and the rings were hard as rock, but were of a material he had never encountered. If the murdering creatures had been wearing such things, they would certainly have left deep prints. To carry such a thing any distance would require great strength, and he doubted that his arrows would penetrate it.
The cub had sniffed at a few of the bodies, but had backed away from them. Lirak hated leaving the bodies behind, fearing that they would be claimed by forest scavengers, but he wanted to find living villagers, so he pressed on.
The village was the worst. In front of the smoking remains of the elders’ hut he found the bodies of Asok and Traze, dead as if cut down as they stood. The buzzing of flies was everywhere, and the smell of death made bile rise in his throat, but he could only manage dry heaves. Bodies not hacked apart on the green were burned in their huts as if they had hidden inside, only to be burned alive. Some huts were burned, split and torn asunder as if a giant flaming fist had crushed them. He found many villagers he knew, slaughtered like goats and left to rot.
Surely some escaped, he thought. Many of the bodies were so disfigured or burned that he could not tell who had died. But still he held out hope for Soonya, Jerok and Mayrie. At the smoking remains of Bok’s hut he found Bok, face down and hacked to pieces. Bok’s massive right hand still held his best axe, broken, but encrusted with blood. Scuff marks in the dirt beside a drying pool of blood showed something heavy had been dragged off. Lirak’s eyes clouded over and in spite of the grief that overwhelmed him, a flame of pride and satisfaction surged through his veins. Bok killed one! He realized. They aren’t demons. They can be killed!
Oath takers
Oaths given to Kathoias will root you to her as a tree is rooted to the ground. Oaths given to Dalpene are like the sea, they will swallow you. Oaths given to Vurl will burn in your soul until fulfilled. But oaths given to Faydah will be woven into your destiny and that of your children and your children’s children. Beware of the Weaver of Fate.
– Dwon oral tradition.
Lirak and the cat sat beside Bok’s brutally savaged body for a long time. He was numb, exhausted and paralyzed by grief and a growing rage. The sun was past noon by the time Lirak’s aching, hungry and thirsty body finally reached past the grief and he roused himself. Through all of this the cub had stayed with Lirak. It now curled up beside him, resting its large paws on his ankle. Lirak absentmindedly placed his hand on the cub’s head and stroked the tawny fur. The cub made a deep rumbling sound in its chest and closed its eyes.
“They are all dead,” Lirak said, as much to himself as to the cub. “Everything is gone. I don’t know what to do.” He looked down at the cub. “I guess the elders won’t throw you out now.” His fingers moved down the cub’s neck and massaged the back, feeling the sharp shoulder blades under the skin. “If you want to stay with me, you need a name.” With that the cub’s ears twitched, but otherwise it lay still. “I’ll call you Thorn because you have stuck to
me like a thorn in my moccasin.” Again Thorn’s ears twitched. “Hey Thorn, look up” Lirak said. Putting one finger below its chin and lifting gently. “Thorn,” he said, placing his finger on the cub’s chest. “Thorn.” He touched it again. “We’ll work on that, okay?”
Lirak pulled together several logs from broken or smoldering huts, and laid them in the center of the devastated village. For the rest of the day Lirak dragged bodies and placed them on top of the logs. It took most of the day, but he finally had dragged all the bodies he could find into a large pile. They were piled as high as he could lift them by the time he finished, dozens of the bodies of his friends and neighbors. Then he gathered all the wood he could find and placed it on top of and all around the bodies. This he piled as high as he could reach or toss, and as thick as he could manage. It was well past dark by the time he finished. The last wood he threw on the pile he tore from his own hut. Then he set fire to the pile.
On the edge of exhaustion Lirak looked to the sky. “Vengeance, Kathoias?” He paused, coughing in the smoke. “You want a Vengeful Blade?” Pulling his stone knife, he held it to the sky, his hair and body silhouetted against the brightly burning flames, “Help me fight them!”
The pyre burned a long time, and was still smoldering when the sun came up. Lirak and Thorn lay like dead things, exhausted by labor, pain and loneliness. In all that long, brutal day they had seen no other living person.
Lirak woke to find Thorn licking his face and mewling a low insistent sound, not like a growl, more like a whine. He realized it was morning, and sat up. Thorn pawed at his leg, placing his head against Lirak’s leg, he pushed, as if to make Lirak stand. Then Lirak heard footsteps. He looked around the ruined huts and crawled quickly over to one that was a pile of rubble and hid as well as he could.