—Five—
Ahi'rea slammed into the ruin wall hard. Something popped low in her back. The wall, stone though it was, was ancient and brittle and gave way under the force of the impact. She collapsed among the grass and falling stones, barely able to move. Her vision blurry, she grunted as she pushed herself up on her forearms. The Cheduna soldier standing over her was thrown into sharp relief by the moonlight bathing the plains. As he loomed over her, a feminine figure twice Ahi’rea’s size leapt in front of her to block her hulking attacker. Still recovering from his wild shield blow, the soldier’s stance was wide open.
Ahi’rea’s eyes shut involuntarily as the pain set in, so she only heard a sickening sound, like a rotted tree branch splitting, as her mother’s machete struck down the soldier. His sharp cry was cut off. She must have cut through his throat. Ahi’rea paid little heed, forcing herself to concentrate through the pain rapidly spreading up her back. She felt it then—the power of Self, like a cool rush of wind traveling down her neck and spine, washing the pain away. She opened her eyes wide and gasped.
Her mother rushed to Ahi’rea and knelt at her side. Haruu’na’s eyes still glowed faintly green in the darkness. The long, animal-hide skirt she wore was splattered with blood, as were the yellowed bones lashed together in a loose, tabard-like arrangement of armor over her torso. The natural landscape around them was mimicked by the grass cape and hood falling about her. Her lined and scarred face, darkened by the sun to the color of aged leather, registered first terror and then relief as she saw her daughter’s eyes pulse and glow.
“That was careless!” Haruu’na stood and scanned the darkness around them. “If I hadn’t been here…”
“It won’t… happen again,” Ahi’rea gasped, hands reflexively clawing at the ground. Soon she relaxed as the pain ebbed, and after a moment she stood and stretched her aching back. “I let my guard down, and underestimated him. The Cheduna soldiers have been getting stronger.” Retrieving her spear, she looked up at the towering older woman. “Thank you.”
“Never mind,” her mother said. “You’re all right.” The glow in Haruu’na’s eyes dimmed and she seemed to diminish, sighing. “I think this area is clear. The others seem to be handling the rest of them.” A cry in the southern tongue rose and fell nearby. “How does it look to you?”
Ahi’rea inclined her head, her sun-bleached hair blowing across her face as the wind picked up. Her eyes shone, casting their eerie, green light on the moonlit grasses and the stones of the ruin beside them. “Three, running… south and east of here.” Her eyes cleared and she looked up again. “They have not gone far yet. I know where they will run.”
“Your father’s Sight.” The old woman’s voice rasped with exertion. With that, she smiled and her eyes lit again. Her breathing eased, and she hefted the machete as if it were a feather. “We’ll head them off before they even know where they’re going.”
—
“Did you hear that?” the soldier whispered, gripping his axe and looking over one shoulder, then the other.
“Quiet!” Cendro could barely make out his nervous companion ahead—the grass was too tall and thick. “You keep jumping at every sound, and we’ll be noticed for sure.”
“It sounded like someone speaking plainsfolk! They’re stalking us!”
“Shut it!”
“We’ll never get away at this pace—they’ll track us down!”
“I said quiet!”
“I can’t see anything!” the first man said, his voice growing shrill. “We need to find the road—hurry!” He broke into a run, rushing off into the dark grassland.
“Idiot! Stop!” Cendro gestured to a third man behind him. “He’s run off! Let’s go, he’ll alert the whole damned lot of them.” He gave chase, followed by the third soldier.
The moon was high before them. The shaking, waving grasses ahead shook and rattled. The path he'd stomped through them swung left. Cendro followed, then stopped. The grasses ahead had gone still.
Silence met his ears. The sound of the battle behind them was gone. He strained to hear, hoping for any sound at all.
“Maybe the idiot fell and knocked himself out…” Cendro whispered. He took a few slow, wary steps, axe at the ready.
“We’re dead men… by the King, we’re dead… they’re demons!” The other soldier knelt behind him, stifling sobs and muttering desperate prayers.
“Get up. They’re men, like anyone else. We’ll get out of this. I’m going to—”
Cendro turned away. There was a rustle of grass. He spun back, but the kneeling man was gone. There was nothing left save a dark spatter of blood on the grass and earth, reflecting the moonlight.
He held his axe high and whirled about, swinging and lunging at the grasses. “Where are you?” he shrieked. “Damn you! Come out and fight!”
A faint green light illuminated the waving grasses before him, glimmering against the blades as if it were shining through water. He moved without hesitation, as he had been taught, spinning and swinging the axe from high to low with all the force and desperation he could muster. The stalker would be hobbled or incapacitated at least.
He felt no impact, just tall blades of grass falling before the axe. As he spun, he looked up.
A green-eyed devil was leaping high and driving a spear point down, down, meeting his wrist at the exact moment it crossed the spear’s path.
The apparition slammed into him. The collision drove him back and he fell with a lurch. Something caught his axe-hand. The pain that followed, ripping along his hand and arm, confirmed what he had seen but still had not had time to understand: he was pinned to the ground, the spear through his wrist.
Shock overwhelmed him as he lay, gaping up at the creature that had attacked him. The green light faded from her eyes and he realized it was a woman, one of the plainsfolk. Blood stained her dark skin and the moon shone on the bronze machete in her fist. Pale hair roiled behind her and her woven-grass cape blew high in the wind. Her deep brown eyes stared back at his. She was small and slight, probably not a year over twenty.
Perhaps it was shock, or the revelation that she was just as human as he, but Cendro’s bluster returned with a red roar in his ears. “Your kind are dying! It’s only a matter of time. Give up quietly. I’ll make certain that you’re well treated.” He looked her up and down, grinning madly, and winced as he tried to tug the spear from his arm.
The woman stared back, a look that chilled his blood.
“The Ghost Witch.” Terror flooded back into him, and he opened his mouth to scream as she raised her machete.
—
Ahi’rea rejoined Haruu’na not far away, where she had made short work of the one that had bolted. Together they made their way, swiftly and silently, back to the spot on the road where they had first ambushed the patrol. There they saw the tall form of Ruun’daruun, his long hair hanging heavy with sweat, his bare chest splashed with blood. None of it appeared to be his. He was supporting his brother Ruun’gaphuu, who limped along beside him, his many characteristic braids hanging in disarray before his face. Ahi’rea sighed with relief at the sight of them even as she worried at Ruun’gaphuu’s injury.
They were like dark shades in the night—no torch or lamp lit the world around them and the only light came from the moon overhead. Ruun’daruun waved but did not call out. Haruu’na waved back, her silhouette now seeming smaller and a little bent. She labored for air but brushed off Ahi’rea’s whispered concern. Fear clung to Ahi’rea still. What she had Seen before the fight could still come to pass.
The four of them headed to the nearby ruins—an ancient structure, little more than foundations, long forgotten in the grasslands and now used only by the Huumphar as a landmark and shelter.
Fifteen. Ahi’rea tallied the dead in her mind as she slipped amongst the tall grasses. We counted twenty before the attack. I hope Naph’oin is alright. She tried not to think about what she had Seen, what her dreams had told her. Be wrong, she though
t. Be wrong again.
She reassured herself that he was fine. Naph’oin was their most accomplished warrior. Despite his age, there was no chance he would fall to a small group of soldiers, especially here in the plains. He is probably smoking, making us worry just to tease us about the looks on our faces. Dread grew in her by the second.
The four approached the ruin, stepping over the body of the soldier who had nearly killed Ahi’rea. The scent of blood hung in the night air despite the breeze. Circling the structure, they spotted a form reclining against the wall’s remains not far ahead. Vaulting over a toppled column, Ahi’rea could see that it was Naph’oin. His decorated spear lay beside him and his long gray hair was unmistakable.
Something is wrong. Ahi’rea’s heart began to pound. Naph’oin’s hair was tangled and no smoke drifted from his nostrils. “He is hurt!” she hissed, dashing forward. She knelt by his side, whispering. “Naph’oin! Naph’oin!” Haruu’na and Ruun’daruun caught up and knelt as well while Ruun’gaphuu held himself up against the wall. Terror swept through Ahi’rea. It is all happening. No, we can change this. Nothing is set.
Naph’oin made a gurgling sound, blood running from his mouth. His hands clenched tight across his stomach and dark liquid seeped from between his gnarled fingers. His eyes, eyes Ahi’rea, Ruun’daruun, and Ruun’gaphuu had known since they were children, implored them to help him. Haruu’na opened a pouch at her side and began to pull out leather cords and herbs. She called for water. Ruun’daruun’s waterskin was already in his hands. He passed it to Haruu’na and whispered to his grandfather, telling Naph’oin that he would be fine despite the fear in his voice. He put his own hands over the old man’s, keeping pressure on the wound. Ahi’rea stood, unsure what more she could do to help and fearing that it would not matter even if she knew.
Naph’oin lurched forward, gripping Ruun’daruun’s shoulders. Blood gushed from his stomach and ran from his mouth. His speech was mostly unintelligible, but he struggled to be understood. “South… they ran… ba-, back to the road…”
“Naph’oin—did they see you like this? Did you get away after you were wounded?” Dread strained Haruu'na's voice.
He slumped back, eyes staring, and his blood-soaked hand fumbled at the hem of Ahi’rea’s skirt. “Stood right here… they saw. Don’t give up…” he choked, and with a final gurgle, he ceased to breathe.
Ruun’daruun and Haruu’na worked feverishly, but stopped as it became clear that he was gone. Ahi’rea wept—he had been strength for their entire tribe. His words had guided their struggle for nearly three generations. Ruun’gaphuu sobbed beside her, fear and fatigue finally overcoming him. Haruu’na stood and stumbled a few steps away. Ruun’daruun remained where he had knelt, his grandfather’s head now resting in his lap.
Little time passed before Haruu’na returned looking frailer than any of them could remember seeing her. Her voice, however, was strong. “We can’t waste much time. Naph’oin’s killers can’t escape or we will lose our greatest ally—fear. To this day, none of them have seen any of us die and lived to tell it. They have to be stopped before they return. Their king grows stronger while our numbers dwindle. Some say Lasivar’s son leads the fight against us, instead of for us. The western plains burn. If we are to have any hope of keeping our lands and our lives, they can’t escape. If we wait for the rest of the warband to arrive, they’ll get away.”
“I’ll go.” Ruun’daruun stood. “They won’t make it out of the plains.”
Ahi’rea, dulling her sorrow with resolve, dried her eyes. “I am going too.”
Ruun’daruun nodded and looked at Haruu’na. “My brother is hurt. Elder, can you stay with him here? The warband will be along in a day or so, and you can direct them after us.”
Ruun’gaphuu jumped up, his face contorted with pain and anger. “No, Daruun! I’m going.”
Haruu’na opened her mouth to speak, but Ruun’daruun cut her off. “You’re in no condition! You will slow us down, and you will only get yourself hurt or killed.”
“I’m going. Would you deny me vengeance for Grandfather?”
“No Gaphuu, I wouldn’t, but you can barely walk. I won’t risk you going like this.” Ruun’daruun said.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child, Daruun. You’ll have to bind me or kill me. I will go regardless of what you say, older brother or not.”
Ruun’daruun saw the hard look in his brother’s eyes and knew there would be no swaying him. He turned away, embarrassed and angry.
“Ruun’gaphuu,” Haruu’na said, “you can’t—,” but the pain in his gaze stopped her from going on. Ahi’rea made no attempt to dissuade him. Ruun’gaphuu was resolved to go and, though she feared the worst for him, she said nothing. Even if he believed her visions, and he would, it would make no difference.
They were each silent for a moment. Ruun’gaphuu remained on his feet, ignoring his wounds. “We should see to Naph’oin,” Haruu’na said. “I regret that we cannot see him on the Journey in the proper fashion, but we can at least start him on his way.”
They set to work. Ahi’rea cleaned the old man’s face and hair, chanting a blessing for his spirit and reciting what of his many deeds she could recall. The others worked in silence, letting Ahi’rea’s voice surround them. They selected a spot high amidst the ruins and cleared away the grasses around it with their machetes. Ahi’rea’s chant was wordless now, an ancient supplication in haunting tones to the spirits of their people. It echoed of wolves on the plains and the wind’s whisper in the grasses, rising and falling like the breeze before a storm. Ruun’gaphuu and Ruun’daruun sought out small trees and scrub nearby, using their machetes to take them down. All the while, Ahi’rea’s chant drew on, punctuated by the harsh chop of metal biting into dry wood. They laid brush and wood atop the wall and soon they lifted Naph’oin’s body and laid him upon the humble pyre they had made.
The sun rose as they set flame to the pyre. Silent now, they watched the surrounding grasses, but Haruu’na and the brothers had been diligent in their brush-clearing. No fire caught in the plains. They watched the horizon, too, scanning for anyone coming to investigate the smoke. They saw no one, however, and each was alone with his or her thoughts as the smoke carried Naph’oin’s spirit to the wind.
—
The summer sun beat down on the figures of the Huumphar as they loped across the plains. Ahi’rea and Ruun’daruun were ahead of the elderly Haruu’na and injured Ruun’gaphuu, scouting for enemies and searching for their foes’ trail as they went.
They spoke little, conserving their breath to keep up their pace. Their enemies had too great of a head start. The road was hard and packed, so there were few obvious signs of their passage. However, the trackers were certain that their prey would not stray far from the road.
Near the end of the day, they stopped to rest and consider their next move. Haruu’na and Ruun’gaphuu breathed heavily and from Ruun’gaphuu’s face it was clear that he was in great pain. He favored his left leg and his skin was drawn and pale, despite the exertion and heat. Ahi’rea put her hand on Ruun’gaphuu’s shoulder. She concentrated, projecting feelings of relief, guiding his mind away from thoughts of pain—but there was little else to guide it to instead. She suggested they find a place to rest for a few hours. Neither Ruun’gaphuu nor Haruu’na argued and Ruun’daruun assented, though it was clear that he would rather move on.
Leaving the road, they found a thick stand of grasses to hide them from any southern scouts. Ruun’daruun searched out a spring and replenished their waterskins. The sun grew low and red. It was still hot. They sat cross-legged, drawing their grass capes over their heads as shade and shelter. Thin, short poles that they carried served as makeshift tent poles and held up the capes.
“We should move again soon,” Ruun’daruun said. “Run at night and rest in the day.” There came no reply. They all preferred that schedule as a matter of habit. Ahi’rea responded by shifting a little closer to Ruun’daruun, so that one o
f her knees touched his. She could almost sense his smile without seeing him—he never smiled broadly, but she knew him too well to think him dour, as many others did.
“I will tell Father what has happened,” she said. Her cloak blocked her view, so if anyone had moved she did not notice, but no sound met her ears save the south wind snaking through the yellowed blades around them. A comfortable warmth settled around her as the day’s exertions made themselves felt, and she closed her eyes.
An old man turned to face her. His hair was gray and sprang, rough-chopped, like a dingy halo around his head. His eyes were a vibrant green, contrasting with the dark circles around them. A cautious smile hung on his lips as he spoke.
“Ahi’rea. You seem well enough. I sense you are not coming home as soon as we had hoped.”
“Father. I am unhurt, but we are not well. Naph’oin… he was killed. We had to perform his Sending here, after the raid.”
The smile faded from his face. He sighed and said nothing.
“Some of them escaped. If we do not track them down—”
“Yes, you must. They will lose their fear of us. You must go.” His face grew stony. “Is anyone else hurt?”
Ahi’rea could see that he expected something in particular. It was difficult to read faces in the Dreaming, especially his. What is it you know? she wondered. What are you afraid of? “Ruun’gaphuu,” she answered. “I am worried about him, Father.”
“He will not go home will he? Not after Naph’oin’s death.”
Ours Is the Storm Page 6