by Terry Persun
“But she has spoken to me. I can't say goodbye. Not yet. I don't want to celebrate her passing. I'm not ready.”
“Very well, my granddaughter. You can postpone your dance, but you can hear from the sound of the drum that the rest of the clan cannot wait. Go, then. We begin to travel early. I hope to be at the council grounds late tomorrow evening.”
Oro bowed to Brok and the other two thylacines. “You may do as your custom suggests. You will answer our invitation by morning. If you wish to leave, we'll supply food and weapons.” She took a breath. “I am sorry about Therin. I am truly sorry. You will have to watch him closely as his instincts may become much stronger than you can imagine.”
Breel rubbed Therin's forehead and the thylacine whined in pleasure.
Zimp followed Arren and Oro as they rounded the fire and headed toward the field where the dancing had already begun. Before she peeled off to head for the wagon, Oro took her wrist.
“I sent you to welcome them as guests and you steal his ring?” Oro said.
“That is what we do, Grandmother. Had it been anyone else you would have been proud.”
“It was not someone else,” the old woman said. “And I sent you to keep them safe.”
“He threatened us.”
“And you stole from him. Then, too,” she said with a nod, “it was a pretty jewel.”
Zimp kissed Oro's cheek. Perhaps the last comment was an acknowledgment that Zimp had made a wise choice, perhaps it was the only concession Oro felt she could offer at the time.
That evening, Zimp lay face down in her cot. The wagon cover muffled the sound of joy and song. She heard the rising wail of the celebrants, and the loud sizzle when the bound grass was thrown onto the fire. She listened to the drumbeat climb and fall, and imagined the rise of elation and fall of sadness that the clan would go through. She lay in the dark, letting her chest heave with the rise and sink with the fall of her own emotions as they moved through humiliation, distrust, and fear. Brok openly disrespected her. His arrogance grew stronger when Arren recognized his father's name and recalled Fremlin's history. Even though she tried to understand that Brok might not know of her traditions, there was something about the way he carried himself, always ready to act, that felt dangerous to her. The anger in his aura when she first looked at him oozed from his character like sweat from the body.
“Collect the herbs to stop the bleeding,” she heard in a whisper. She held her breath and listened closely, discarding her previous concentration.
“First thoughts, then words, then symbols, then actions,” Zora said. “Yes.”
“Why did you die?” Zimp said into the blackness of the inside of the wagon.
“So you could hear,” Zora said, “and now you don't.” Zora laughed until the sound of her voice faded, as though her physical body escaped through the top of the canvas, traveled into the woods, and disappeared.
8
DARKNESS FELL QUICKLY under the tightly woven canopy of the deep Dgosh forest. Lankor held onto his staff with his right hand. His ears perked at every sound outside his family's steps and movements. He could see ahead that Rend, too, had his hand on his broadsword. Mianna gripped Nayman's arm, as though her presence was essential to keep him upright.
Rend halted. Mianna and Nayman stopped but one step afterward.
Lankor trudged on to see why they had stopped. When Rend's hand went up, Lankor halted his own movements, began to breathe in shallow breaths, and listened for unnatural sounds. But it wasn't sound that arrested his attention. The passing odor of human sweat lingered for a moment. He checked in with his body. He wasn't sweating. The air stood still, thick. Perhaps it was Nayman. He worked hardest. But Lankor knew his brother's smell. He lowered his grip on his staff and lifted the weapon off the ground slightly. He leaned toward Mianna and Nayman. “I smell humans,” he whispered.
Rend motioned behind him for them to retreat.
Before Lankor could register the sound, the whoosh of an arrow broke the silence. It sped through the air, only to be interrupted by Rend's quick reflexes as he lifted the blade of his broadsword.
Mianna pulled Nayman to the ground as another arrow skimmed a nearby tree and sang over their heads.
Lankor could hardly see in the dark and wondered how their attacker could see well enough to aim an arrow. He advanced to where his mother and brother kneeled.
Nayman's sword was drawn and being used as a shield. Mianna had removed her pack and drew it in front of her facing the direction from which the arrows came.
Rend, in an unbelievable movement, altered the path of yet another arrow.
“How can he see?” Lankor asked.
Mianna motioned for silence and Lankor realized that Rend couldn't see well in the dark, but that he listened for the arrow cutting through the humid air, and let his reflexes do the rest.
Rend backed slowly until he was close to them. He lowered onto one knee, “They can't see well enough to aim perfectly.” His voice was almost inaudible. “Arrows are only coming from there,” he pointed before them, “one at a time. They must have been coming toward us and were surprised by our presence. Boys? Flank them. They can't be more than a few hundred feet given the speed of the arrows and this dense part of the forest. Mianna, take my pack.” He slipped the shoulder straps down his arms, careful to have his sword ready. “Back up and get behind the biggest tree.”
Nayman, despit having a crippled foot, moved more quietly than a cougar. Lankor matched his brother's stealth in the opposite direction. He heard another clank.
Thick shadows darkened the area. They were not only difficult to see into, they provided places to hide for their attacker. A sliver of moon rested in the sky overhead; its light fell as if through a canvas bag. When Lankor noticed a glimmer of white, it was often moisture that had accumulated on a leaf and not the ricochet from the point of an arrow. He circled wide until he caught the scent he noticed earlier. He kneeled behind a tree and waited. He and Nayman had no way to indicate to one another when they were in position. On bent knees, Lankor slipped from behind one tree to a neighboring tree, all the while straining his eyes for movement, sniffing the air for the tart scent of body sweat.
“Hey,” Lankor heard someone say. He stopped mid-step.
“Got ‘em,” another man said.
Lankor heard them take a few steps and then stop. How many were there? He continued behind one tree and then the next. He rested his hand against the rough bark and placed his face along the tree trunk as protection. In very dim light, Lankor observed three shadows, the only shadows that broke off at human height and moved. Standing still, he heard the strings of a bow screeching softly as it was pulled back. He took a deep breath then heard the trill of a morning bird. Nayman.
“What was that?” The arrow did not fly. The bow relaxed.
Lankor pushed off with all his strength. He leaped, then took three full steps and swung his staff across the head of the archer, cracking him hard enough to throw him to the ground.
Nayman was already swinging his broadsword across the shoulders of the man closest to him.
The last of the three fell to the ground with his arms protecting his face. “No! I beg you,” he screamed.
From where Rend and Mianna hunkered down, came the strength of a powerful voice. “Don't kill him,” Rend said.
Nayman yelled back, “There were only three.”
“I'm coming.”
Lankor heard Rend trot through the woods, Mianna at his side. “Good work, you two.” He appeared in the dim light, a dark figure, tall and broad like his sons.
Lankor and Nayman flanked the man on the ground, who sat in silence.
“Why were you trying to kill us?” Rend said.
The man cowered and hesitated.
Nayman said, “He's trying to come up with something.”
“No. I'm wondering if you'll kill me anyway.”
“We should,” Nayman said.
“But we won't,” Rend said.
The man looked from Nayman to Lankor and back. “They might.”
“Not without my saying so,” Rend assured him.
The moon, on its walk across the sky, entered a position where light settled more fully over them. The man chewed his lower lip, attempting to size up the situation before he spoke. “There's a war brewing,” the man said.
Rend looked puzzled. “Between who?”
The man shifted to sit more comfortably. Lankor placed the butt of his staff against the back of the man's head. “I don't like that,” the man said to Rend.
Rend nodded to Lankor, who drew back the staff.
“Might I say without injury?” the man bargained.
Lankor watched as Rend considered his answer. If the decision were up to Lankor, he'd knock the man out and leave him there.
“Your name?” Rend said.
“Dig. That's what they call me.” He nodded toward Rend. “I have two boys of me own. In the village ahead.”
“Why would you attack us?”
“The doublesight,” Dig said.
“What of them?”
“The evil ones are back. They attack at night and steal children.”
Rend laughed. “A tale to keep children from running off.”
“It's true. All around Brendern, Kurstom the Great is hunting the doublesight down. He announced that there would be no more raids on his people.”
“What's this got to do with a family traveling in peace?”
“You're traveling at night. Only doublesight, a nocturnal doublesight, owls or thylacines, or cougars, travel in the dark.” Dig swallowed. “Unless you are one of Kurstom's army. Your swiftness is like that of an animal, might I say. Like that of a doublesight.”
“I don't know these woods, and hoped that we would find an Inn soon,” Rend said. “We will be more careful from now on. Where's your village?”
Lankor braced himself when Rend lied. His father never lied.
“To the East.”
“We wouldn't have passed through. We are going almost due south.” Rend got to one knee in front of Dig. “We'll let you go and you will wait for your friend here who was knocked out. He'll have quite a headache. The two of you will return home with your dead friend. We won't pass through your village and you won't follow us. You can see that we are nothing but a family traveling away from your home, not toward it.”
Dig nodded his head. “We'll go home. I'll tell them not to worry. Shall I say you are a soldier?”
“You do that.” Rend stood. “Is there a clearing up ahead where we might camp?”
“Several. Maybe a mile for the first one.”
“We'll post guard. You'll leave us alone.”
Dig hid his face and answered, “Yes.”
Lankor noticed the grief in Dig's face and thought that the dead man must be a brother or friend.
Rend turned to go and Mianna followed. Her sword flashed as she placed it back into her sheath. Lankor wondered if she were as quick with the blade as Rend. As he and his brother stepped away from Dig, the man crawled to the dead man and rolled him over, probably in the hopes that the wound was not mortal. Lankor knew better. Nayman had been trained, as were they all, by Rend. War made up much of their history, as they were used by Sclan as fighting machines before Sclan turned on them. This long history of fighting was in their blood even though few battles had occurred in The Lost the last few decades.
Away from Dig, Rend repeated, “Great job tonight,” as he helped Mianna with her pack.
“Do you believe Dig?” Nayman asked.
Rend looked serious. He swung his pack across his back and slid his arms through the straps. “I don't want to believe him. Kurstom the Great fought beside Brendern.”
“The Holy Man?” Lankor asked.
“The doublesight Holy Man. Brendern was a thylacine. That's why Brendern Forest is overrun by the animals.” He helped his boys with their packs. “Most of the thylacines are animal only these days. There are doublesight and humans living throughout the forest, mostly fur traders. They live side by side, but I'd guess that the humans don't know which are which. In fact, I'd bet that many of the doublesight don't know which other families are of their kind. Regardless, Kurstom has always been a friend to the doublesight, knowing that we are the most peaceful. We revere life as neither the humans nor the animals do.”
They began to walk. Mianna said, “You are both well aware of the reason for that fact.”
“We are, Mother,” Nayman said. “But we did not bless the dead back there.”
“I blessed him silently,” Mianna said.
“And I,” Rend said. “Had we performed a complete blessing, Dig may have figured us out.”
After a few minutes of walking, Lankor asked, “What brought us back into existence after the slaughter by the Sclan armies?”
“A mistake of the natural world,” Nayman said. “Great Grandfather was born doublesight.”
“I know that story,” Lankor said. “I just didn't know how he was born that way.”
“No one knows,” Rend said. “A throw-back to another time.” He stopped and turned toward his family. “It was supposed to be impossible. He ran from his village and hid out for many years before taking a wife.” He pointed into the darkness that surrounded them. “Let us stop talking about this in the event that others are out there listening.”
“There doesn't seem to be many thylacine in this forest,” Lankor said.
“Dgosh means left-behind,” Mianna said. “For some reason the thylacines stayed in Brendern Forest. Few migrated this far north. Close to Lake Earnwood the weather gets pretty harsh, but farther south along the boarder of Dgosh and Brendern you'll find a few strays.”
“Have you traveled this way before?” Lankor said to his mother.
“A long time ago.” Mianna touched Rend's shoulder.
The sliver of moon lighted the path before them. It lay directly overhead. A clearing spread to their left and Rend headed for it.
“Won't we be conspicuous?” Nayman asked.
“We'll look friendly and unthreatening,” Rend said. “And we'll take turns walking the periphery. Lankor first.”
Lankor nodded. Nayman needed to rest his leg if he were to travel the next day at all. And Rend would not sleep soundly anyway. He'd protect the campsite while Mianna slept beside him.
“Leave that staff and hold your broadsword ready,” Rend said.
“I like my staff,” Lankor said.
“I know, but I want you ready for anything.”
“Do as your father says,” Mianna said. “And put on your cloak. It will be cold out there.”
Lankor threw the staff down and pulled his sword and handed it to his mother to hold until he retrieved his cloak from his pack.
Moss and mushrooms covered the clearing. Nayman and Rend kicked the mushrooms from a space where they were going to lay their blankets, and dredged the moss so they could build a small fire. Lankor felt the space becoming comfortable already, but he wouldn't get to experience the soft ground or the warmth of the fire for a few more hours. He leaned his pack against a sapling, removed his blanket, and spread it from the pack toward the fire pit. Anyone who happened by would see that a guard had been posted and would be more careful about his actions.
Lankor lumbered into the darkness, keeping an eye on the dim glow of moonlight over the camp. In a few minutes, the fire will provide even more light. They had not eaten in hours and the acid in his stomach churned. He leaned against a tree and let the odors of the forest seep into his lungs. The smells were exotic, filled with musk and earth, the scents of a strange place in a land he had never walked nor seen, but had only heard of. If he thought of the trees closing him in as a cave or canyon, it eased his mind. But if he allowed the vast dark of the forest to assert itself, he felt closed in as if the trees were the thick bars of a cage or a maze that was impossible to exit. At the moment, he couldn't see more than a few hundred feet in any one direction and that
unnerved him.
He concentrated on the caves of Sclan. Exploring them deep into a mountain, those caves grew tighter to his sides and close overhead, yet he always knew his way out. Once he learned this forest, would it be less frightening to dwell here?
The fire pushed light farther into the forest and Lankor extended the periphery he chose to walk. As quiet as he could be, he knew that Rend could hear the occasional snap of a twig, or the whoosh of a branch let go. Lankor chose to stop and listen to the night every few hundred feet. He concentrated on staying just outside the firelight. It would be days before they reached the council grounds. He wondered what they would find there.
9
BROK SAT AGAINST A TREE overlooking the plains to the south of Brendern Forest, his sister sitting and his brother lying on the ground beside him. Off to their left, the crow clan danced, drummed, and sang for their dead. Much of the time the dancers appeared to be joyful, which caused Breel to react in the opposite. Her tears sopped Brok's shoulder. Her quaking body could hardly be contained. Occasionally she mumbled words that he could not understand. Her thin fingers disappeared into the thick fur around Therin's neck. When she finally moved perpendicular to Therin so that she could lay her head across his stomach, Brok climbed to his feet and stood beside her.
The moon lay directly overhead and placed a soft glow across the plains. In the distance, Brok thought he saw buffalo grazing. He walked into the tall grass nearby. He needed to consider Oro's invitation, but the strength of vengeance coursed through his blood like acid. He opened his hand. His father's polished sodalite ring gleamed in the moonlight. He felt peaceful while looking at it. He relaxed.
Brok turned to see that his siblings were asleep. They were in the open and still felt safe. There would be time enough to decide their path. Casting the worry from his mind would be good for him. Let the memories fade for a while.
Brok pushed the ring onto his finger. He bent at the knees and placed his hands on the ground. He crawled into the field until he couldn't see the dancers, only the fires sizzling higher and higher into the night sky. In a slow, thoughtful, and painful process, Brok shifted into his beast image. Immediately his olfactory senses kicked in and he could smell the buffalo a few miles away. His eyesight cleared to the point of being able to see details, an increased contrast between blades of grass, stones, mounds of dirt. And yet, the color of those same objects became dull and muted. His smell was in color, thousands of tiny odors mixed in the grass. There were rabbits nearby, and moles. Worms poked their heads out of the ground at night and created a new odor, different than the odor present during the day.