by C. K. Brooke
Johanna kept to herself. He would admit, she was acting abnormally reclusive, especially since she was so keen to be part of the adventure in the first place. Pampered as always, she rode the mare. No one objected to its sluggish pace or asked for a turn. He wondered if his sister was beginning to regret her decision to come but was too proud to admit it.
Though the climate could certainly turn forbidding—particularly in winter, apparently—Drew couldn’t help but notice potential everywhere they trod. The forests provided plenty of lumber. The valleys, perfect spots for a new town to settle. Wildlife galore flooded the land and rustled the brush with sound. He tracked his ideas mentally. In the end, regardless of what the chief wanted, the decision to exploit the newly-gained territory belonged to his uncle.
By the close of the week, just when he was thinking the terrain would never break from monotonous dry gorges, a magnificent spectacle arched into view. A majestic waterfall, unlike anything he had ever seen, poured down from the mountains into a tremendous, boulder-packed river. The water appeared to cascade from the clouds themselves. Drew cupped a hand over his eyes, squinting for a better look as his companions marveled, hurrying to get closer.
They broke into a run, continuing for what felt like a mile. Drew kept up, boots pounding the soil. When at last, they followed along the riverside to its splendor, the sound was unbelievable, a relentless rushing that temporarily muted all thoughts. Tiny rainbows glistened everywhere. The Oca fell prostrate while the guards rolled up their trousers and waded in, the better to feel the waterfall’s spray.
“The Great Fall,” beamed Dag. He rose, his grin proud as though admiring a beloved relation. “Among most sacred place of all tribe.”
Even Catja appeared enraptured, a nostalgic smile overtaking her face. “It’s been so long since I was last here, with my father.” She exhaled.
Johanna, Ludwig and Kya traipsed to the edge of the bank to splash water onto their dusty faces and into their thirsty mouths. They chattered like children, beckoning Drew to join them, but he waved them down. No one was watching when he slipped back in the opposite direction. He had noticed something glittering in the riverbed on the way over. And he wanted to examine it, alone.
The water flowed more steadily, in less of a hurry, the farther he got from the waterfall. His eyes never left the sunlit rocks poking through the riverbed as he searched. He’d sworn something had caught his eye during the run there….
Before he knew what he was doing, he had waded in and soaked his trousers. He didn’t care; he’d found what he was looking for. A metallic stalagmite rose from the riverbed, water dancing just over the surface and reflecting its silver sheen. He plunged a hand in, feeling it, awestruck to discover more just like it.
He took a breath to stay his pounding heart. However long the mineral had been forming there, it hadn’t corroded. He grasped the shaft of the largest again, certain he knew the name for it.
He immediately stood, not minding his damp trousers, and emerged back onto land, heading back toward the others at a brisk pace. They were still basking in the waterfall, oblivious of his absence. He found his brother resting in the grass on the bank.
“Vigo.” Drew knelt to speak at his ear. “Come.”
Bemused, Ludwig got to his feet.
Drew glanced over his shoulder to ensure they were alone. He returned to the site with his brother, and beckoned him into the water. Though he looked hesitant, Ludwig followed him, wading in.
“I d-don’t understand. What are w-we looking for?” His brother’s voice was almost low enough to blend into the sound of the rippling current.
“Paladius.” Drew approached the glittering rocks again and stroked them gingerly. “If this much is out in the open, just on the riverbed, I can’t imagine how much must be in those mountains,” he nodded to the range behind them, “or even back there, in the canyons….”
Ludwig was already shaking his head vigorously, moving back toward the bank.
Drew leapt after him. “Vigo!” He stopped the man, meeting his eyes earnestly. “This place is a gold mine.” He couldn’t quell the excitement in his whisper.
“Leave it alone,” said Ludwig firmly, no hint of a stammer.
“But…but…!” Now Drew was the sputtering one, chasing his brother up the banks, his soggy boots squishing over the grass. “Paladius is so rare, so valuable—have you any idea how much wealthier Jordinia could become?”
“Jordinia has plenty of wealth,” said Ludwig between his teeth. “There’s no need to be greedy.”
“Greedy?” Drew couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He gripped the man’s arm, preventing him from moving forward. “I’m being loyal. To the Empire.” His mouth twisted. “Unlike you.”
“The island is in…habited!” Perspiration shone on Ludwig’s sunburnt brow. He glared down at his brother’s hand on his arm, and shook it off. “We p-p-promised the Oca! Andrew, you must end your quest to exploit and develop their land!”
“What, and betray our uncle?” demanded Drew.
“He is a man of rea—son!” Ludwig panted. His eyes were imploring. “He wouldn’t want us taking their homes away from them.” He pointed in the direction of the waterfall, where their companions were still cheerfully gathered. “Especially not defiling their s-sacred sites.”
Drew felt like he was shrinking. “This is all because of Kya,” he lashed. “She’s brainwashed you. She’s turning you against your own country, your people!”
Ludwig glowered at him, for the first time in his life looking deadly. “Kya has done no such thing. And I’d appreciate if you kept my wife out of this.”
Drew snorted derisively. “She isn’t really your wife. Not under Halvean law.”
“Is that what you think?”
Drew crossed his arms.
“Well, I think you’re j-jealous,” Ludwig spat. “Jealous that Kya chose me, and not you.”
Drew could have laughed. “Jealous? Of you?”
His brother turned his back on him, hastening over the grass to rejoin his companions.
“Fine, then!” Drew bellowed at his back. With a snarl of frustration, he whipped a leaf of parchment and a pencil from his jerkin. Pressing the paper to dry ground, he began his diagram, recording the location precisely as he could and sketching his best rendering of the river and its surroundings. His wouldn’t be just any sorry map, but real plans. Ideas for a mine of his own.
Perhaps Vigo was content bringing home naught but fairy stories and tall tales spun by ignorant islanders. But Drew would return with something of value.
It didn’t take much to keep her warm those days. Johanna was feeling hot much of the time and savored the evening breezes.
A fox and two deer had been hanging dead from the travois as they journeyed, and Johanna thought she might retch looking at their rigid bodies dangling all day long. But her nose wasn’t opposed to the smell of them cooking over the fire that night.
They’d made camp high on a cliff overlooking what the Oca called the Hamaree, the same river that coursed through the whole island, and into which the waterfall poured. The guards gathered beneath the sunset, helping the Oca skin and gut one of the deer. The natives collected the animals’ skins, fur, teeth, bladders, and meat, letting nary a part go to waste.
Johanna felt a vibration where she sat. She pressed her palm to the earth, listening.
The Oca felt it too. She watched from a safe distance as they rose and went to the edge of the cliff, gazing down at the winding river.
“Ami taba! Ami, kinje!” One of them waved, excited. Johanna labored to her feet, approaching to see what it was. She tried not to waddle too noticeably.
With the men, she peered over the edge to behold a stampede of wild horses charging along the river’s course. Johanna took in a breath. Their muscular black silhouettes galloped into a red-orange horizon. S
he had never seen anything like it.
Something rippled in her stomach. She assumed it was a vibration from the horses’ hooves. But there it was again, with equal force, even as the creatures shrunk into the distance. She gasped, stepping away from the precipice and holding her stomach. For once, her condition had brought her more than just fear and anxiety. She had suddenly felt a sense of wonder.
She moved away from the others, concealing herself behind the thick trunk of a towering tree, its laden branches dipping over the precipice and concealing her in shadow.
But Bram had seen her. “Is everything all right?” he murmured, coming to her side.
Wordlessly, she took his hand and placed it over her belly. She questioned whether he would feel anything from the outside over the deerskin. “There was movement,” she breathed, gazing up at him. “I could feel it.”
He grinned. “My mother calls it ‘quickening.’”
She laughed in disbelief. Her joy was unexpected. And she couldn’t help but notice that Bram patiently kept his hand on her stomach, not eager to pull away like Jude Covington, the baby’s father, had been.
She felt another strong flutter. “Did you feel that?” she whispered.
“I think I did!” Gently, Bram lowered his hand. “It was like a tiny drumbeat.” They gazed at each other, Johanna’s heart swelling. He scratched his neck, looking away. “My mother also said if you can feel the baby move, he or she can hear us.”
“Say something,” she encouraged him.
He looked unsure at first, but lowered onto one knee and bent his violet head to bring his mouth level with her abdomen. “Un fulmi evéki convad inastä,” he intoned.
Johanna giggled as he rose. “What was that?”
“It’s an Old Jordinian blessing,” he shrugged. “My father says it sometimes.”
“What does it mean?”
He smiled, shadows of firelight dancing across his comely face. “I don’t know.”
Catja surveyed the brilliant, endless stars. Nary a trace of a cloud hung in the sky. It had been a dry week, and another clear night seemed in store. They would need rain soon. But the thriving vegetation around her was far from dried out. She wasn’t worried yet.
Laughter sounded from the other side of the fire. She glanced across to see Drew making himself useful for once, helping Junha carry a log. They heaved it carefully into the fire and the flames rose up to consume it, eliciting a huzzah from the men. Dag said something, and Drew laughed again in that carrying way of his.
She’d been caught watching him. Catja quickly shifted her focus elsewhere, but was too late. Drew was already parting from his fellows and making his way over to her. In spite of herself, Catja held her breath, awaiting him.
“I’ve just noticed you’re sitting over here all by yourself.”
She waited for the punch line. Not that I’m surprised, she expected him to say. “And?”
“And…would you like some company?”
“Oh.” Catja tucked back a strand of hair that had escaped from her bun. “Sure.”
With a contented sigh, he lowered down next to her. Catja tried to watch the Jordinians. They had given the Oca a deck of cards to examine, and were failing abysmally at teaching them how to play.
An elbow brushed hers. It was a friendly prod for attention, almost affectionate. “You know, you never told me where you’re from.”
“Haven’t I?” She linked her fingers together. “Sialla.”
“Mmm.” He took a sip from his skins. “’Ello, neighbor to the north.” He dragged the back of his wrist across his mouth. “That explains the olive skin.”
In the cool air, Catja felt her face burn. He noticed her complexion?
Drew leaned back on his elbows, the breeze tousling his already-unkempt hair. “So, however in the world did you and your father wind up here?”
Her father. That was a topic she could handle. “Well, Father was a scientist who used to dream of seeing the islands, even though everyone tried to tell him it was only wasteland up here.” She tried to picture him in those days, when he was a younger man at work in the laboratories and on campus, but memories of her former life on the mainland were admittedly growing dim.
“When my mother died, just after my fifteenth birthday, the university honored his lifelong wish. They sailed us up here on a ship full of supplies they had hoped might make this place habitable. And they provided crates upon crates of what we thought would be decades’ worth of supplies, with medicine, clothing, sustenance, a canvas tent, and even a wagon and oxen to pull it all.”
He looked fascinated. “And it was just you and him, alone in the wild?”
“For better or worse.” She chuckled at the memory. “Sounds like a recipe for disaster, no?”
“Or a suicide mission.”
“Yes, well.” She leaned back in the grass to match his position. “No one else in their right mind wanted to come here. And back then, I didn’t blame them. We traveled for weeks, looking for a place to build a home together before we began to see any signs of human life. And then,” she smiled, “we met the Oca.”
“How did that go?” he wanted to know.
“Better than your first encounter, given that my father and I were only a mild-mannered professor and his harmless daughter, carrying no weapons.” She nodded in Dag’s direction. “They took us in, of course, as they did with you. And because we had no intention to leave, there was nothing to do but learn their language and customs.”
“I’m rather astonished,” he admitted.
“Trust me, Father was the astonishing one. I just learned from him and imitated him the best I could. But it was a rough adjustment for me those first few years.”
“Oh?” This seemed to surprise Drew.
“I was only a girl, and I was frightened.” She sighed, recalling the long-gone feelings of detachment and isolation, as though someone else had experienced them. “It was so very different from Sialla. Not to mention, I was still mourning my mother. It all took some getting used to.”
She watched as he studied her. She had to confess, he was better at listening than she would’ve guessed. “So, I take it you eventually came to embrace the Oca?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. They believed my father was a sort of shaman. He brought good medicine and wise solutions that made them well. And so, by extension, I gained their respect. And I learned to stop looking back.” She paused to listen to the wind in the trees, the clicks and calls of nocturnal insects. “I suppose that was made easier by the fact that I wasn’t allowed to speak of home.”
“You weren’t?”
“Father forbade it. He was careful not to introduce the islanders to anything too foreign, or tell them much about what life was like where we were from. He wanted something in the world to remain pure. That’s why he….” She looked down, unsure how trustworthy her audience was, and not wishing to sully her father’s reputation. But it was halfway out, and Drew was hanging on her words. “He never reported his findings,” she confessed. “He didn’t want anyone to know about the indigenous.”
“Why not?”
“Because then the rest of the world would know this place is habitable. And they’d come with their swords and dynami and slay these innocent people, and steal their land.” She stilled, meeting his eyes, wondering if he was the very sort of person she spoke of. “We couldn’t let that happen.”
His expression was indiscernible. After a moment, his eyes trailed away, resting over the firelight instead. “So you came here when you were fifteen,” he backtracked, “and you’ve never left?”
Catja hesitated, suspecting where the conversation was going. “Correct.”
“Then how exactly did you become a—?”
“I’m not a real professor.” She closed her eyes, embarrassment sinking in. “I guess I’d fancied my father made me a
sort of honorary one, since I learned everything from him.” She wanted to laugh at herself, but couldn’t. “When he died six years ago, the Oca turned to me to take his place. They called me ‘Professor.’ I just…got used to it. And I knew what I was doing,” she added, a bit defensively. “I believe I’m as qualified as anyone with a degree.”
“Maybe more,” he said quietly.
Though she searched, she found no sarcasm in his tone. She’d expected him to taunt her or gloat about the false title. But there was no judgment in his face, which almost made her feel more ashamed.
Already, some of their party had finished eating and was heading to bed. Drew’s sister, Johanna, was the first to turn in, climbing into the portion of the tent set aside for the women, separated merely by a hanging blanket. Officer Bram saw her safely inside, while Officers Findlay and Pearson yawned.
Drew seemed not to notice them. “Did you…” he twined a blade of grass around his finger, “I mean, have you ever considered…marrying into the Oca?”
Catja shot out a shocked laugh. “Oh, no.” She shook her head insistently. “Surely not. Their marriages are much too complicated. No, I’m only an observer.”
“You’ve been observing these people for what, ten years now?”
“Twelve.” If the number felt overwhelming on her tongue, it sounded even more surprising to her own ears. Had it really been that long?
He whistled. “Were you planning on returning home sometime?”
Her response was automatic. “This is my home.”
They watched each other. Drew continued to worry the blade of grass around his finger. “Well, would you ever leave?”
“For what?”
“I dunno.” Twirl. Twist. Tear. “The right man, maybe?”
Catja’s pulse missed a beat. “My father was the right man. The best as they come. And his remains are scattered on this island. So wherever he is, so am I.”
He worked on uprooting another poor blade of grass, but a distant smile crept over his lips. “Then you will return to the mainland.”