by J. Thorn
Chapter 36
The Leader staggered, vision blurred, the pain blinding. His whole left side was not doing as he wished. He turned, trying to ignore the rush of dizziness that came with even the simplest of movements, and looked at the thing protruding from his shoulder.
A Walking One’s Flying Claw. He had not expected as much, had not seen one of these things since he was very young, from back when Brown Hunter had been taken.
And now, here he was with one sticking in him from the top, the strange bird feathers almost glowing in the moonlight, and the sharp, pointed claw point of it poking out of him from below. He tried to sit, to lower himself to the ground, but the claw moved and pain followed. His vision washed with strange colors that he had never seen before.
I’m going, he thought. I’m done. One will come and take me now.
But it wouldn’t be one of his sons. The Stronger and The Faster were also gone. Gone in an instant, as the Walking One Bitch took them with her flying claws. And me as well, he thought.
He wondered, as he finally lowered himself onto his side and lay there, feeling movement all around him as the remainder of his pack scurried around in disarray, wondered whether it was just the female Walking Ones that had such claws.
He had not seen her until the very last moment, up there high upon the crumbling ruin, hiding out of view but watching his folk approach.
She was waiting for you to make your move, he thought. That was what it was. That was what she had done. The Bitch had waited for him to make his move and show himself, leader of the great pack. The greatest of packs. And while she waited for him to show, she had killed his sons.
Both, he knew, would be long dead now, gone to the great hunt in the darkness of the place above the land. Her claws had seen to that. He had not seen them fall, but he had felt them go, felt their pain as the claw hit them and crippled them, so that her hunters could attack them.
They would be as dust, or they would be her pack’s next meal.
But he was not gone yet.
One of the shapes surrounding him would soon make a move.
Which will it be? he wondered. I have no clue. Before, there was just me, The Stronger and The Faster. There were no other dominant males. And yet, there were so many in his pack that were strong and fast that it was difficult for him to decide which would be his end.
He felt a nudge at his back, and spun around, growling and baring his teeth, funneling the tremendous stab of pain into his anger and aggression.
You, he thought, as he saw the larger male back away and tilt his head, eyeing The Leader warily. You.
His own litter mate. The Brother. He was smaller, and had always been, and he had helped The Leader to raise his sons to be powerful, all the time staying subservient and always following orders. Now you bare your teeth at me and come to take what is mine.
Of course it would be, he thought. It had to be. And who else would I want, anyway? This was the best of endings.
And should he fight? He knew that the claw buried in his body was his undoing, his end. He could not take it out, and so he would die with it stuck in his side. At first he had bitten at it, and tried to pry it out, but it was stuck.
It had to be The Brother or the pack would pass to another bloodline, and that was something that must not happen.
And so I must die here, he thought. Or I must leave.
As though reading his mind, his litter-mate, the younger brother that had been at his side for so long, turned to look at the vast forest beyond and then back to him, almost beckoning him to go.
He looked into the eyes of the pack’s new leader and sighed heavily.
Should I just die here? he wondered. Stay and force his brother to tear him apart?
Or go? Stumble off and die quietly. It was not a good way to go, and he wondered, if he did so, would he be able to join the great hunt?
Then the smell came to him, drifting across the flat black surface from the Walking One’s camp.
The smell of cooking meat.
His sons. They were cooking his sons.
An anger grew in his stomach, burning his insides and flaring his cheeks. The fire spread to his limbs, giving him a strength that he thought was lost for good.
I will avenge them. My sons.
I will catch the Walking One Bitch and take her down, Flying Claws and all.
Then I will feast as she now does.
The Leader Who Was struggled to his feet, took one more glance at his kin, his folk, looked into the saddened eyes of The Brother, and then turned toward the darkness beyond the trees and limped away.
He felt his litter-kin following him closely, but knew that he would not move upon him. They would not attack. Even with a grievous wound, The Leader was more than a match for any that now lived and The Brother would not touch him.
As the pain enveloped him, the forest taking him into hiding, leaving the scent of his folk behind, his gaze turned to the Walking One camp and then farther into the forest.
He would follow and bide his time, wait for the right moment, and hope that he lived long enough to make his last move.
Chapter 37
“Ready?”
The warriors nodded at Jonah. Several still had dried blood stuck to the hair on their arms. The clan stood next to their carts with the morning sun glaring down on their long faces. Children remained quiet while women hid their red, puffy eyes.
“The next stretch is going to be tough. We’re entering the Blue Range, where the road ascends. We’ll not be able to travel at the same pace we did into Summerville.”
Jonah waited for a reply but none of the warriors did so. Many had made The Walk over the years and knew what he said to be true. Judas had used the same words his son was using now.
“Let’s go.”
Jonah motioned with his hand as he looked back at The Mall with the same sinking feeling he had leaving their village. He felt as though he would never see it again; never stand beneath the broken ceiling supported by twisted and gnarled trees. It wasn’t the wolves or the integrity of the ruins that made him feel that way, and that troubled Jonah. He hated not knowing more than he did.
“I need to tend to Marin.”
Jonah looked to his left at Sasha, her words interrupting his thoughts. “Why?”
“The wolves,” she said with a gasp, as if he should not have needed to ask the question. “They bit her husband’s arm, and she needs help with their cart.”
Jonah looked ahead, where the road ascended toward the rolling hills of the mountain range. He didn’t think they would be attacked by bandits so close to Summerville, otherwise he would not have let Sasha out of his sight.
“Go on.”
She nodded and touched his hand with her fingers.
Jonah kept moving forward as the wheels on the carts squealed like angry rats.
* * *
Gaston watched her approach from the front of the caravan. He could not remember seeing such a pristine, gorgeous face in all of his life. He had a moment, doubting the woman would survive The Walk. She would be a primary target of the skin traders or the ruthless men hunting women for their own nefarious means. He guessed that Jonah had more than likely protected his wife from such threats before, but never without the presence of Judas and Nera. Gaston looked away as she approached, keeping his eyes from hanging on hers for too long.
“Morning,” he said as she approached on her way to the rear of the caravan.
Sasha gave him a weak smile before walking past.
“May I have a word with you?” Gaston heard the question he spoke and immediately wished to retrieve the words.
Too soon and too strong, he thought. She will sense it.
“Marin’s husband. The wolves bit him and I must—”
“Yes, of course. That and your husband’s father banished me last year, apparently.”
Sasha turned around and began walking next to Gaston and the rest of the caravan lead by her husband.
&nbs
p; “I am my own woman. I do not ask permission to speak to anyone.”
Perfect, he thought.
“I was not suggesting you were not. I meant that I would understand if you chose not to speak with me.”
Sasha waited, her eyebrows raised and her head facing forward.
“Do you know of my book?” Gaston asked.
“Folks talk,” she said.
“Yes, that they do. Do you know what is inside of it?”
“Marin needs my help and I’d prefer not to play games with you. What do you want from me?”
Gaston chuckled, and the sound carried over the top of the carts being pulled along the road covered with gravel. His voice resembled hissing snakes.
“I’ve spent many years on the road. I understand the toll The Walk takes, and I’m shocked you continue to make it every season.”
“It’s foolish not to, and blasphemy to do otherwise,” said Sasha. “We have always walked.”
“You mean since The Event.”
“Right. Always.”
Gaston paused and removed the book from the pocket of his long coat. “The idea of White Citadel does not interest you at all then?”
Sasha turned and scrunched up her nose, as if he had thrown rotten eggs at her feet. “Books tell stories. Stories are not real.”
“This one is. That I can assure you,” Gaston said.
“How? Why should I believe you?”
“You don’t have to believe me. You can make up your own mind whenever you want.”
“My husband showed you leniency, despite the fact that his father sent you away. If Jonah were to hear what you’re saying to me now, he would banish you as well.”
“You are your own woman. I imagine he can hear our conversation.”
A child three carts ahead cried out, followed by the admonishing words of his mother.
Sasha kept walking beside Gaston, matching him stride for stride. “We survive when we continue to do what we do to survive. We’ve always made The Walk, as do all the clans. We know the risks and the consequences. We return home. That is survival. Chasing a traveler’s dream gets us nowhere but dead. I know what you’ve been saying to the others, but you best shut your damn mouth. Jonah let you join us because he is a good man, and not completely enamored of the ways of his father’s rules. He has an open mind, but if you attempt to undermine his authority, or destabilize the clan, he will kill you.”
Gaston held up both hands, the book in his right hand. “Of course. I would never challenge the leader of the clan. But it’s important to know about other possibilities, especially for your children’s sake. Is it not? I do not demand or preach, I merely suggest another way to consider, and one that I have come to believe is a true alternative.”
Sasha turned on Gaston, her brown eyes bright and sharp. “Listen to me,” she said, whispering so the family behind them could not overhear what she was about to say. “I am not succumbing to your charms or your devious words. I know of men like you, and they usually end up dead on the side of the road. I suggest you put that book back inside your pocket and that you shut your mouth before you find yourself bleeding and alone.”
Gaston grinned, putting the book into his coat as Sasha suggested. “I would be a fool not to heed the warnings of the chief’s wife.”
Sasha spun around and walked toward the back of the caravan, where Marin waited for her help. Gaston continued keeping pace with the rest of the clan, looking over his shoulder at Sasha.
“Good day, madam. Good day.”
* * *
The road snaked through the hills, each turn climbing higher into the blue sky. The autumn winds blew from the west, pushing the first whispers of winter across the tops of the trees. Leaves ignited in hues of red and orange, while tall pines poked through the foliage with their green needles. The clan spent the better part of eight hours on the road, leaving The Mall and Summerville behind them in the north. The sun sat above the ancient mountain range, the blazing orange orb floating on the top of the tree line. The old and crumbling pavement challenged Jonah’s navigational abilities. He steered the caravan around the ivy and trees threatening to reclaim the roadway, bursting through the blacktop like tufts of wild hair.
They passed several rusted frames, the ones from the old cars men once rode using the liquid fire. One car in particular had black ashes on the ground before it, and Jonah decided to stop and take a look. He pushed a finger through them and felt the dry, sandy grit on his fingers.
“Recent. Most likely burned in the past week or so.”
Sasha stood next to him, her eyes scanning the forest surrounding the road, while the rest of the caravan sat on their carts, awaiting Jonah’s next directive.
“How many?” she asked.
“One man. Maybe two. I think its fine.”
Seren appeared and Jonah stood.
“Are we camping here for the night?” the girl asked.
Jonah smiled. “We’re a keen one, aren’t we?”
Seren blushed. “Sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to—”
Jonah held up his hand to stop her. “I’m teasing, Seren. You have more energy than most, and I’m sure the warriors are glad not to be the ones taking messages up and down the line.” He looked away, taking a long, measured look south. “The summit will have to wait until tomorrow, I guess. Let them know we will stay here tonight.”
“On the road?” Sasha asked.
Seren started to turn and leave but halted when Sasha spoke.
“Where would you suggest we stay?” Jonah asked. “We had what we thought was a safe camp at The Mall, until the wolves arrived. We can guard ourselves no matter where we camp for the night.”
Sasha opened her mouth but then shut it. She paused and then spoke to Seren. “Go on. You heard the chief. We camp here for the night.”
Jonah turned from Sasha, tilting his head sideways as he untied the knot holding the tarp over their cart. “I’ll stand watch tonight. You should get the tent ready.”
Chapter 38
Seren left Roke to help with Marin’s family. Sasha helped them set up camp and then rejoined her own family at the head of the caravan. “You can travel together for the rest of the journey,” she heard Sasha say, and she was pleased when Roke nodded. She had sensed, as Sasha seemed to have, that Roke felt out of sorts, unable to adjust to his new role among the warriors. Two problems solved at once. She knew Marin appreciated the gesture and that Roke would feel as though he had a purpose. It also meant she could leave the group and spend the night alone.
Seren always knew she was different. When the other children recruited her to play amongst the ruins, she had an excuse. Over the years, Seren discovered three or four places on the outskirts of the village where she could hide. Not from predators or intruders, but from her own people. With all the noise and chatter in the clan, Seren couldn’t hear the past or see the vastness of the world around her, the places left to explore, places no feet had trodden for centuries. The artifacts created by the people before The Event whispered to her, but only if she found a secluded spot and really listened.
Making The Walk put her in a strange place. Even though they traversed unknown and remote trails, Seren felt claustrophobic. The people remained physically closer to each other during the voyage than they did in their village. It all made sense, because it was about survival, and at the same time, it wore her down until she had no choice but to leave the road and spend the night alone in the empty, desolate forest. Seren knew the risks and the range of her bow. She understood why Roke didn’t understand. It was hard for her to explain it using words, the things that always left her true intention hazy.
The clan lit their fires, most choosing to do so on the edge of the road. The wolves’ attack left them feeling vulnerable and trapped within The Mall. Nobody pushed back on Jonah when he suggested they camp, literally, on the road. The carts could provide a wall for defense, and not being trapped in a ruined, confusing building allowed them more freed
om of movement.
The sun slid beneath the soft peaks of the old mountains. She knew the rolling elevations had been there for eons, many travelers pointing to the weathered tops as proof. Time, along with the Earth’s natural weeping, wore away at the rock. Some spoke of another range in the lands far to the west, where the land bit into the sky with peaks like fangs. The old men of the villages said those were “young” mountains, breaking through the Earth’s surface in just the past couple of million years.
All of it felt ridiculous to Seren. Nothing before The Event really mattered. She harbored a morbid fascination with the lifestyle of her ancestors, and that was what lured her into the solitary places where they whispered amongst the ruins. However, it did nothing to change her existence, her daily life. And she knew it.
The crackling of the fires and the aroma of burning pine shook Seren from her thoughts. She secured the quiver on her back and gripped her bow. Her hand slid around it, the wood worn and smoothed to the contours of her fingers. She checked her rucksack and made sure she had an evening meal and a flask before stepping off the crumbling blacktop and into the gaping maw of the forest. She thought again of Roke and knew he would be fine with Marin’s family. He would, again, not understand her compulsion to find solitude in such a dangerous circumstance.
She pushed the low-hanging branches aside and stepped into the darkening woods. The last remaining rays of sunlight gave the trees a deep blue hue that made her smile. During The Walk she made three seasons prior, one of the old men of the village said the mountains were once known as The Shenandoah, a name that held no meaning to her. She couldn’t remember the old man’s name, and he had passed while at Eliz. Although Seren had no way of knowing whether or not the story was true, she liked the way the name “Shenandoah” slid from her tongue and how it rang in her ears. She began to hum as she pushed through the trees and deeper into the forest.
Seren stopped a few hundred yards into the woods. She stopped humming and held her breath, closing her eyes to help accentuate her sense of hearing. A few lonely birds chirped, and even the voices of the clan seemed to be swallowed by the ancient mountains, along with the remaining sunlight. She knew the wolves could be close but she had not heard them yet. That didn’t mean they weren’t there, but Seren did not sense their presence, and her instinct rarely misguided her.