by C. K. Brooke
“What makes you so sure?”
“His ashes have ridden the four winds. They’ve sailed the waters, merged with the air and sky.” There was a strange light in his eyes that seemed to come from more than just the fire. “He isn’t tied here, so why ever should he want you to be?”
His words confounded her. “I suppose I never thought of it that way.” However, much as Catja liked to challenge her own thinking, this was pushing it. “But I’m still never leaving. I’m safest here.”
“From what?”
From people like you, she wanted to say, but held back. Because, somehow, it seemed that everything was turning upside-down, and she suddenly wasn’t so sure if people like him were as bad as she thought.
Drew leaned in. “You’re hiding from something.”
“No, I’m not.”
“What are you running away from?” He disregarded her denial. “Why not rejoin the rest of the world?”
“Because I’d never fit in down there!” A few heads turned, and she ducked from their curious gazes. She hadn’t intended to shout, but even she had never realized the deep insecurities she’d been bottling for so long.
“You don’t fit in here,” he pointed out.
“But I’m respected here.” She was surprised by the emotion welling within her voice. “Here, I have a role. Down in the Halveas, I’m just another worthless woman to be overlooked and locked into some man’s kitchen.
“I’m nothing on the mainland. No rank, no profession, no family. At least I’m important here.” Her voice hardened. “The Oca need me. I’m helping them. If I went back, I’d be treated like the scum on someone’s shoe.”
“I would ensure you are treated like royalty,” said Drew, very seriously.
Something rattled in the depths of her, wondering what he meant.
His face was set. “And anyway, things are changing. Look at my kid sister. She’s as independent as they come.”
“Far from it,” Catja dismissed him, somewhat bitterly. “Your sister is surrounded by smitten guardsmen all day long. As I’m sure you, too, have your very own harem of adoring female worshippers back in Jordinia, falling at your feet wherever you walk.”
He sounded somber, especially considering the topic. “Why do you think that?”
Was it not obvious? “That’s how you act,” she huffed.
“Perhaps it’s just acting, Professor,” he said significantly.
They were interrupted by Dag announcing it time to soothe the fire and prepare to retire. “Wake before sunrise,” he told them. “Enemy not far. Must make distance.”
“Enemy?” Drew wondered aloud.
“A tribe the Oca historically haven’t gotten along with,” answered Catja, though her mind was stuck on their previous interaction. She dusted off her trousers, distracted. “We’re supposed to stay out of their territory, or else they have the right to enslave one of us.”
“Oh.”
She got to her feet. “Goodnight, Drew.”
If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he looked sorry to see her go. “All right. Sleep well, Catja.”
But she knew she wouldn’t. He had given her too much to think about.
“We aren’t actually scaling that thing, are we?” Drew tried to assess the mountaintop behind the glaring sun. “Because I didn’t sign up for rock climbing.”
“No, silly.” Catja kept up beside him, shouldering her messenger bag. “We can use the Bonghee’s path.”
“What’s a Bonghee?” asked Johanna, riding side-saddle on the mare.
Drew continued to steer it by the reins, though the creature hardly needed it, docile as it was. He was quite sure it would follow him into the river and drown itself, if that’s what he led it to do.
“Sister tribe,” Zuri grunted, and walked on.
“A man of many words,” Drew remarked at his back. He was satisfied to earn a laugh, for once, from the so-dubbed professor.
“My theory is that the islanders originated from the same group centuries, if not millennia ago,” she said, “before eventually splitting off into localized tribes. Anyway, some have remained friendly, marrying into and engaging in trade with sister tribes, while others have made enemies for reasons no longer remembered.”
They crunched over dry stone, Drew helping the mare up the rocky terrain. “What’s an Oca war like?”
“Nothing like a mainland one,” Catja assured him. “Let’s just say, the worst that can happen is you get knocked off your horse by an arrow, and die a few days later from infection. But, luckily for the Oca,” she patted her bag, “the Siallans came with antiseptic.”
Drew glanced at her. While her words were confident, her gaze grew distant, as though worried for the future. Perhaps her supplies were running low? It had been twelve years, after all.
“But the Oca carry those spears,” said Officer Terrance, who wore buckskins to replace his tattered uniform trousers. They clashed terribly with his royal purple blazer, but most of the guards were dressed similarly. Oca clothing was simply more durable for their exploits.
“Those are for impaling animals, not people.” Catja hung onto Drew’s arm as she squeezed past a thorn bush poised precariously over a precipice. It was only after she let go when he realized he’d been hoping her hand would stay there. “But you’re right; more war-prone tribes might use their spears on humans. I’ve not seen it happen, though. In general, peace is favored around here.”
They trekked for miles up the winding mountain path until Drew felt as high as a bird and his head ached from the elevation. The farther they went, the more plentiful signs of other civilizations became. They spied animal traps—one of which Officer Rylon had to pull an unsuspecting Officer Milo away from—and wooden posts with faces carved into them.
Drew was beginning to think his feet would fall off and his stomach would never stop complaining when the Oca whistled for the procession to halt. Squinting ahead, he could see why. A pair of strange men blocked the path. They looked skeptical of the Jordinians, but not unfriendly as the Oca spoke to them.
Though the strangers shared the Oca’s golden brown skin and coarse dark hair, that was where their similarities ended. While the Oca were broader, stouter men, the mountaineers were tall and reedy, with a black substance painted around their eyes, resembling panthers. It reminded Drew of col, in fact. Decorating their wrists, necks and upper arms were bands of colorful beads, more than Drew had seen on anyone in the Oca village combined. Additional beads had been strung into their clothing, forming symbols and designs, and hanging as fringe.
“They can understand each other?” asked Johanna.
“Oh, yes. The dialects across the isle are very similar,” Catja informed her quietly. “Once you head north to the other islands, it gets more complicated. Or so I hear.”
Up ahead, Kya was whispering into Ludwig’s ear. Drew felt a twinge of regret. His brother hadn’t spoken to him since that afternoon at the Great Fall. In fact, Ludwig was speaking more to the tribe than to his own men. Kya had been teaching him Ocanese, and in turn, he gave her violin lessons. While she made the instrument screech like a raving alley cat, Ludwig was uttering full sentences in her tongue without the trace of a stammer.
See there, Vigo, thought Drew. Papa always said it was all in your mind.
“Bonghee invite us stay,” Dag announced. “Plateau good place for rest. Long journey down other side tomorrow.”
The Bonghee pair led them up a new side path Drew hadn’t noticed before. They submerged into a naturally occurring tunnel, encased in temporary darkness. Drew followed, dragging his hand along the wall to keep his bearings.
It wasn’t long before they came out on the other end. Fresh sunlight greeted them above an expansive clearing. Drew glanced down at his hand, noticing his fingertips were black. He frowned, looking over his shoulder at the
tunnel, but his party was moving on. He couldn’t linger, lest he lose them.
Had he not spent so much time among the Oca, he wouldn’t have found much of a difference between the two tribes. But the Bonghee had an exuberance about them, spoke more loudly, dressed in brighter colors. Where the Oca focused on function and blending with the land, it seemed the Bonghee’s way was to liven the place up. The women wore so much paint on their faces, Drew could hardly distinguish their true features beneath it. In spite of himself, he kept close to Catja, like an apprehensive child clinging to his mother’s skirts.
“Relax,” she whispered. He was reassured by the levity in her voice. “They’re our friends.”
The chief was a jovial character wearing so many bright feathers, Drew wondered if his goal was to fly. He embraced every last one of them, including Johanna, who’d descended her horse to pay her respects. His wives were the epitome of hospitality, cramming more food into their guests’ hands than they could hold.
Dag and Zuri stepped aside with the chief, conversing with him. Drew suspected the Jordinians to be the object of their discussion. Sure enough, the chief’s eyes flickered to Drew, his siblings, and the guards several times. Drew watched him suspiciously.
He felt Catja come up beside him. “They’re talking about us,” he said.
“They are.”
“All good things, I hope?”
“They’re trying to decide on the easiest way to kill you,” she smirked, “and which herbs will go best with the taste of your charred flesh.”
He hesitated. “You’re joking, right?”
She flooded with laughter, resting a hand on his back. He was momentarily lost, watching her, her shaking shoulders, her uncharacteristically wide grin overcome with helpless giggles. “Oh, Drew,” she sighed at last.
As she walked off, an odd sense of hopelessness consumed him. He shook it off, whatever it was, and looked down at his hands. He still held the piece of fruit that one of the chief’s wives had given him. He took a bite and red juice splattered his blouse and jerkin. The man glanced about, glad no one had witnessed his embarrassment, and blotted the juice with his kerchief. His fingers stained the fabric a dusty black. Curious, he examined it.
The evening was a vibrant affair. The Oca and Bonghee had much to catch up on. Even Catja became lost after a while, unable to keep up with the stories and wild laughter as the tribes spoke over each other. The Bonghee served a hot green drink made from a hard bean that grew on trees and seemed to be the source of everyone’s energy. Indeed, it made Drew feel rather intoxicated, but not in the usual buzzed, groggy way of alcohol. His mind seemed sharper, more alert, as though he’d put on a pair of lenses and everything around him had refined into focus.
As a result, he noticed when a young boy tossed a black lump into the fire to keep it going. Drew stared at the rock in the flames as the foreign voices drifted over him. He looked up to see if anyone else had seen, but the Jordinians were engaged in discussions of their own.
He’d known it.
The Bonghee’s mountain was chockfull of col. It was practically made of the stuff! Not that he hadn’t inherited plenty of col mines from his late mother, but this one was untouched. A whole new source to fuel steamships and locomotives, to sell and trade with other countries….
He drained the last of his cup, pondering. Much as he was bursting to take his brother aside, it would only cause more harm than good. He knew where Ludwig stood.
And yet, he also knew that they hadn’t come with the lofty objectives of ambassadors or scholars, to simply be diplomats and make peace, or to learn about an ancient culture. His uncle had sown visions of renown and glory in his mind. Those visions had sealed his decision to venture there in the first place. After all, was the expedition not intended to be their chance at worldwide, historic notoriety as conquerors, explorers? Were they not ordered to discover something valuable for their country and pave the path for more of Halvea to follow? Even if the natives were against outsiders colonizing, what would a bit of mining hurt? These people had more col and paladius than they surely knew how to use.
With only the moonlight to guide him, Drew broke apart from the assembly at the fire. A bat screeched, veering overhead. Finding a secluded spot on the plateau, he withdrew the parchment containing his plans for the river, and turned it over to begin his sketch of the Bonghee’s mountain. He’d seen plenty of diagrams of his family’s Asiotican col mines. He knew how to design one himself.
They hadn’t intended to stay more than an evening. However, one night with the Bonghee turned into two until, by the fifth morning, their party was finally packing to leave. Part of her wished she could stay behind with the friendly mountain dwellers, but Johanna wasn’t about to admit to weakness and arouse suspicion. Therefore, she resigned herself to the prospect of more sleepless nights out in the open, pestered by insects and the sound of men snoring.
The chief’s amicable wives insisted on loading their travois with baskets of beans and maize for their travels. The steer snorted impatiently. That was another prospect Johanna was dreading—inhaling the stench of animals all day long.
Junha and one of the guards had taken the mare for a drink at the stream, and Johanna awaited her equine chariot, lost in thought. It had been a close call when, the evening before, some of the Bonghee children had come upon her bathing. While they splashed and played, she’d kept everything below her shoulders submerged until they left. She’d wondered if they were too young to reckon her condition, but didn’t want to take any chances. It had been a close call.
“You look tired.”
She turned to see Drew approaching, his hair windswept. “Likewise,” she remarked.
“You sure you’re all right?” He held a hand to her forehead, and Johanna involuntarily flinched. “Easy. Your skin feels hot, Joni.”
“I’m wearing deerskin.” She bowed her head, causing his hand to fall away. “It makes me warm.” She folded her hands in front of her, praying he wouldn’t notice the protrusion of her stomach. “How are you feeling?” she asked, eager to evade the topic of her own health.
He looked pensive. “To be honest, nothing about this expedition has gone as expected.”
“You can say that again.” She cocked her chin in the direction of Ludwig and Kya. The couple stood removed from the others, overlooking the gaping valleys below, his arm around her waist. Ludwig’s hair trailed in the breeze and he pushed it out of his face with his free hand, leaning down to kiss her.
“Our Vigo’s a man now.” Somehow, Drew’s voice didn’t carry its characteristic amusement.
“And when do you plan on growing up?” She nudged her brother. “That could’ve been you, you know, had you married her instead.”
“She didn’t want me.” He grinned. “No self-respecting woman does.”
Johanna laughed. “For once in your life, talking sense.”
“Are we ready?” Officer Pearson guided the mare their way. Johanna nodded, and Bram came forth to help her mount.
The journey down the mountain lasted the entire day. Johanna ducked beneath branches and steered the horse as cautiously as she could. She was learning how to handle the reins better. At home, her primary transit was by carriage and locomotive; only local messengers and the bored elite rode horses, as far as she was concerned. But she was coming to learn there was something meditative about riding horseback.
The afternoon was wearing when the land finally began to level, and they reached the mountain’s base. Johanna thought she would become permanently bowlegged if she sat for another minute.
“Bram,” she called, “I’m ready to get down.”
The tallest of the guards halted at the sound of her voice, and was at her side in no time.
She pulled back the reins to stop the horse. “I need to stretch my legs. If I don’t, I’m worried I’ll never feel them again.”
She reached out to wrap her arms around his neck, and Bram hoisted her down, careful to crook his arm beneath her backside, to avoid squeezing her waist. Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither moved. Johanna studied his face. His cheeks bristled with raven stubble, awakening a yearning within her. She longed to feel it brushing against her palms.
“S’pose I can put you down now.” He grinned shyly, returning her to her feet.
The rest of the line was proceeding, heading into the pines. “They’re getting ahead of us.” She took a step.
Whoosh.
They stopped cold. Johanna’s heart jumped into her throat as something shot between them, narrowly missing their faces. The arrow lodged into a tree behind them. Bram went examine it, his dark brows stitching together. He cupped a hand over his mouth. “Dag?” he shouted.
“Ei, ei, ei!”
“What the—?” Johanna leapt out of the way at the sound of battle cries and stampeding hooves. Her mare whinnied and galloped over the field while the Jordinians and the Oca turned in alarm.
“Køvi!” The Oca’s faces were stricken. “Meh-ra!”
“Run, Joni,” Ludwig cried.
Johanna lifted her feet and took off, Bram following suit, but the stampede was fast gaining on them. She glanced over her shoulder. She could see the enemy now, a league of shirtless men with long hair billowing in the wind as they rode horseback. Their faces looked fierce, bows poised for more shots.
A hundred questions sifted through her mind—who were they and what did they want?—but Johanna could ask nothing. She could only breathe, focusing on each connection her heels made to the ground as she ran.
More shouting erupted along with the chaos of additional arrows whirring past. They had almost reached the sanctuary of the pines when Bram jolted beside her and staggered back. Confused, Johanna stopped in her tracks.
“Bram,” she gasped, seizing him for fear he’d topple over. Looking stunned, he touched his arm. She trembled to see an arrow pointing clean from his upper arm, just below his shoulder.