by J. Thorn
Now it would seem that not all of the clan believed that the path was the only way. Some could consider trying something new. And deep inside, though he would never mention it, Jonah envied them. What if they did try this new place? What if it was how Gaston’s book said it was, a place they could stay?
But the risk was too much.
He didn’t hate Gaston. He didn’t want to kill the man. But how else could he deal with this?
I am not Judas, he thought. I cannot be that way. I am not as ruthless as he.
He sensed movement around him as others from the clan arrived at the scene. He heard weapons drawn, and saw that Gaston and his followers, now numbering maybe fifteen of the clan’s warriors, were being surrounded. He saw the Bluestone warriors behind them, and those of the other clans, the Harpeth and those of the Valley, behind them. All were armed.
This was about to become a slaughter if he didn’t put a stop to it. And it would be the worst slaughter in the history of his clan since the days of the T’yun and the civil war that broke that once great clan.
It has to be stopped, he thought, but how? If he backed down and didn’t kill Gaston, he would appear weak. One challenge for the clan was enough. If he let this go, he would be challenged again and again. He gripped the axe tightly and saw the expression on Gaston’s face change from confident to fearful. Others around him moved, and the heavy breathing in the clearing was almost unbearable.
“Don’t do this,” said Gaston.
“You give me no choice,” said Jonah.
Then he thought of Eliz. The last two years there had been floods on the plains. The Elk had not suffered greatly, but many had. The weather was changing, and yet the book said it would not, that the path to Eliz was the way. If the path was the way, then how could things change?
He looked back to Gaston. Death was here, among them. He sensed his own father, Judas, was somehow present. Judas, the leader who had governed with a firm hand, a fist. Judas who had killed instead of listening, had forced others to obey rather than persuade. Now he had to become like Judas to keep his clan, but to kill? He did not wish to be completely like his father, and he did not want to kill a man that had saved his life only days before.
“Don’t do this,” Gaston repeated, pleading.
“Don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t do,” Jonah shouted, his voice shocking even himself. Many of the clan flinched at the noise, shocked to hear Jonah, the soft-spoken son of the bully-chief, Judas, speak the way his father had.
“Put away your weapons,” Jonah continued, turning to face his people. “All of you.”
After a moment of hesitation, warriors on both sides of the clearing lowered their weapons, glanced at each other nervously, and waited for Jonah or Gaston to make the next move.
“You will not bring death to my clan, Gaston,” Jonah said. “And I will not call those who stand behind you Elk if they stand facing me.”
“I understand,” said Gaston.
“I hope you do,” said Jonah. “You will leave before dawn, and those who wish to follow you will go with you. And they will no longer be of the Elk. They will no longer be welcome in my camp. Let them follow you away, never to return. Let them die like the fools that they are.”
Chapter 57
The dead whispered his name. He heard his father’s voice. He heard Nera. Their words crawled up the back of his neck and echoed softly in his head. Others joined them—travelers who came to the village and left, the man who plummeted into the New River Gorge, and countless others. They gathered together in the world beyond, murmuring together in hushed tones. Jonah felt the rise of many voices, some even dating back to the end of the old world. Those souls reached out, too. The cosmic message became as clear to Jonah as Gaston’s defiance.
You must take your people to Eliz or they will die.
Jonah knew this. His father had kept their book sacred, honoring it with the journey to Eliz each fall. It was the only way to survive the deadly winters of the forest, where the lake would freeze and starve all living creatures on its shores. For generations their clan made The Walk. Every time they made the journey, some were lost. It was the nature of their survival and, although left unspoken by the clan, a cold reality. They did not curse the unfortunate losses any more than they did the elderly who stumbled into the forest to die with dignity amongst the trees.
How dare this interloper?
Jonah knew, much like his father, that Gaston was not an ordinary road walker. He kept his motive hidden. But, like a throttled campfire, he could only contain it for so long. The man had saved his life, pulling him from the edge of the bridge, hundreds of feet above the river gorge. Yes, there was no denying that act of bravery. But to what end? Was it possible the man knew the clans south of Cygoa would accept a new way?
No. Not possible.
Jonah shook his head. He’d heard stories of the time before, a time when people could talk to one another across the miles as if they were standing next to each other. Other stories claimed the old people could transport their living image, appearing inside of a box to thousands all at the same time.
None of that mattered to Jonah. The world was not that place any longer. It had not been for centuries, and believing Gaston harnessed those powers was as ridiculous as the man’s desire to get to White Citadel.
And yet Jonah couldn’t shake the notion that Gaston’s book held bolder truths than their own. It had come from somewhere, put down by a steady and trusting hand, to preserve the beliefs of an unknown clan, probably a clan much like his own. One full of men and women and families, all trying to live the best life they could. Could Gaston’s path be a better one?
He spat and turned to look at the glowing embers at the base of the fire. Jonah had not moved for hours. He sat by the flame, watching it wither while the conversation in the camp did the same. Gaston didn’t have the support of many, but he had enough to cause Jonah concern. On The Walk, numbers became critical. They’d lost too many already and they had yet to turn east toward the shore of the great sea. More feral, primitive clans were known to stalk the old highways. Some killed and ate their prey, while others murdered for the thrill. The animals became stronger the farther south they traveled, as if the milder climate allowed them to propagate and evolve faster than their northern counterparts.
“Smoke?”
Jonah looked up and saw the bright smile of a young warrior from the Bluestone clan. His missing teeth diminished the effect of his grin, rendering it more insane than friendly. Jonah wasn’t sure whether the man was offering him a smoke or requesting one.
“No,” he said, figuring the answer would suffice no matter what the warrior intended.
The boy nodded and sat down on a rock across from Jonah. The cool night air pulled the smoke and heat between them, shifting and twisting as if by an unseen hand. Jonah waited for the boy to speak again but he did not for a few minutes. He sat there, staring at Jonah with his gappy grin.
“You will take us to Eliz?”
“It is what clan leaders do,” Jonah said. “We protect our people.”
“The other one…”
“Gaston,” said Jonah, not willing to give the man time to remember the stranger’s name.
“Yes. The one who speaks of White Citadel.”
Jonah waited. When the man did not speak Jonah did. “He’s a fool. And any who follow him will die.”
“How do you know?”
Jonah began to reply and then stopped. It was a question nobody had posed to him yet. Did he know for certain that pursuing White Citadel would result in death, or was he using that irrational fear to hold his own clan together?
“Because defying the book is heresy. And heresy results in death.”
“He has a book too,” said the man.
“Gaston’s is false. Whatever is written in his is not true.”
“And yours?”
“Ours,” Jonah said, stressing the fact that he did not write their book, nor did
he claim sole ownership of its beliefs. “Is true.”
“Because you believe it to be.”
“Because it has proven so. We have traveled to Eliz for generations. And we live.”
“Not all of you. Don’t some die trying to get there?”
Jonah leaned back and kicked a rock into the fire. He grimaced and his mouth twisted into a snarl. “Many more would die if we did not walk.”
The man shrugged and grinned at Jonah again. He looked up at the stars and sighed. “They say the old ones lived up there.”
“Not everything they say is to be believed,” Jonah said.
“They say that man once walked upon the moon. But wouldn’t he fall off?”
Jonah shook his head, sensing the man had drifted off into his own conversation and was no longer concerned with White Citadel or Eliz.
“No. Man would no more fall off the edge of the moon than he would the edge of the Earth.”
“How do you know?” the man asked.
“Because I have never walked off the horizon. I believe it to be impossible.”
“So your belief becomes your reality?”
“Yes,” Jonah said, now wearing his own smile. He was finally getting through to this odd young creature.
“I understand,” the young warrior said. “You have faith. And you’re willing to risk your life and the life of your people for it.”
“I am,” Jonah said without hesitation.
The young warrior stood and placed a hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “Then you’re just like Gaston.”
Jonah frowned but gave no answer as the young warrior walked away, leaving him to his own thoughts.
Does it really matter? Jonah wondered. He could claim that they followed the words in the book, but it was just a bundle of scrawled papers. Gaston’s book was just the same. Words written by the dead. The clan made the walk every year out of necessity, didn’t they?
Chapter 58
Seren pulled back the flap of the tent, stooped low, and stepped inside. She was exhausted, and it was late. The last few hours had taken their toll on her mind and her body, and she couldn’t remember ever feeling as tense as she had that night.
The confrontation at the campfire was something she had never seen before. There were always conflicts, always fights, but that was something between different clans, or against raiders or lone travelers who were up to no good. It was expected. When food was scarce, people did things that wouldn’t normally be considered acceptable—unless you were a savage. Whether it was just to protect yourself and your family, or clan, or just plain old greed, it was common. It was life. But this time it had been different.
She had just stood on the outside of civil war almost erupting within her own clan. There, on the edge of the campfire light, with her bow drawn back ready to fire, she had seen her whole life falling into ruin around her as faces that had always been on the same side, always been part of the same clan, faced off against each other. She’d had an arrow notched, ready to fire, but she had no idea who she was going to fire it at. Not a single person—oddly including the troublemaker, Gaston—deserved an arrow in them. She didn’t think she could have done it had the moment arisen.
And standing behind Gaston, the man who had brought all this with him the day he walked into the camp, had been her own brother, Roke. How could she have fired upon her own brother? Or Jonah. She would have had to take one side or the other, and to Seren, both were choices that brought only great loss.
She stepped into the entrance of the large tent and looked across to the other side where Roke was crouched. He was leaning over his rucksack, and all manner of items from their small pull-cart were strewn across the floor in front of him, but he turned, reaching quickly to the bat that lay on the floor. He saw her and looked relieved, turning back to cart.
It was small, their cart; not like the large ones most families used. This one could have been pulled along by a child. They didn’t have a lot of possessions. Everything fitted neatly in the cart. Now there would be even less.
“Have you completely lost your mind?” Seren snapped at him as she threw her bow to the floor.
Roke either ignored her or didn’t know what to say. Probably the latter, she thought. He carried on filling his rucksack. Seren stepped forward and kicked him in the ribs.
“Don’t you ignore me,” she said, her voice a loud hiss.
Roke cried out. The kick had not been a light one, and his sister, even at such a young age, could whack someone quite hard if she needed to. He turned but didn’t look her in the eyes. “What do you want me to say?” he asked, shrugging.
“To say?” said Seren. “Maybe that you’re sorry and you made a mistake? That would be a start.”
But Roke shook his head. “I haven’t, and it wouldn’t matter, anyway.”
Seren frowned. “Why not?”
“Because I’m still banished with Gaston,” he said.
Seren felt a wave of shock run down her spine. Banished? Roke? Her own brother? It couldn’t be possible. But yes, she thought. He had stood against Jonah, backing up Gaston when they had faced off at the central campfire. He had been seen to do so. Jonah had said Gaston was banished, along with all who stood with him. Any of those who stood with him were also to leave. Roke was no longer of the Elk.
“Jonah repeated it to us after everyone had calmed down, after Gaston had left,” continued Roke. “We’re to leave tonight. I can’t stay in the camp for even one more night. Everyone else has the night to think about what they want to do, but those who stood with Gaston at the campfire are out, banished, and must leave immediately or face death in the morning.”
“But where will you go?” Seren blurted. “There’s just ruins out there, and all manner of horrible people. You can’t just go. You can’t seriously be thinking of following Gaston into the tainted lands?”
Roke was still shaking his head and went back to filling his rucksack. “Gaston has headed to an empty lot just down the road from here, where there is a disused building we can block up and defend. It’s Wytheville, anyway, so there shouldn’t be bandits.”
“No. Just a whole lot of people from The Five Clans who are just as rough and just as likely to kill you for your shoes,” said Seren. She felt a burning pain in her eyes and wiped away the tears forming there, glad that Roke had his back to her.
“Look,” he said. “I’m not taking much. Just a few basics. I can’t make you suffer because I chose to go.”
“I don’t want any of it,” said Seren. “You can have it all.”
“Well you’re going to need it,” Roke said.
“Ask him to forgive you,” Seren said. “Maybe he will, if you ask. I’ll ask him. He might listen to me.”
“I don’t want to ask,” said Roke. “I believe what Gaston says. I think we have a chance at a better life if we go with him.”
“But he has no proof,” Seren said. “It’s all just words in a book.”
“Words that make sense. You should come with us.”
Seren stared blankly at him.
Go with them. She had been trying to get Jonah to listen to Gaston because, strangely, what the man said seemed to make sense, even if she didn’t trust him. Now she had the choice. She could stay with the clan and head to Eliz, or she could throw her fate in with a stranger she hardly knew. Normally the question would be answered already, without any doubt, but now her brother, the only person in the world related to her, was going.
“Imagine it,” Roke said. “A land where we don’t have to move on every year. We can even grow crops and herd beasts. We could never do that before, because the winter killed the crops and the beasts were too difficult to take with us on The Walk. We could build a proper house and not live in some stupid shack.”
“And you’d just do that?” asked Seren. “You’d leave the clan to follow a man that you barely know anything about, to go to some fabled land that you don’t know really exists? He doesn’t even know if it really exists.”
“I know him well enough to know that he believes in the book,” said Roke. “He doesn’t know for sure, but he believes that the words in the book are true, told by a traveler long ago who went there.”
“They are still only words in a book,” Seren said. “They could be lies, like a tale told around the campfire to scare children or make them laugh.”
“And yet, they do not read like a tale,” said Roke. “I have seen the words in the book Gaston carries, what ones I could read. I know, you were always the better reader. Seren, it’s a journal. A log, written by a traveler who saw the green fields. You should come. We should go together, start a new life.”
Later, when Roke was asleep, Seren lay on her quickly thrown-together bed and barely slept. Her mind ticked over the decision she had to make. Leave the clan, and go with Roke, or maybe never see her brother again. Go to Eliz or never see Keana or Logan again. The more she thought about it, the less decided she was.
And she wondered why almost every choice she had to face meant a loss, no matter which decision she made.
Chapter 59
Gerth pointed a finger at the campfire, an oasis of light in an otherwise black void. The chains across his lieutenant’s chest rattled as the man stood to try and get a better look. Gerth grabbed the man’s leg with a gloved hand and pulled down hard, wanting nothing more than to break the man’s skull for being so careless.
“Stay low,” he said, the words hissing from beneath his mask. Gerth stared into the lieutenant’s eyes, although Gerth’s goggles concealed his fury. “If they see us it’s all ruined.”
The leader of the feral clan that stalked the woods near Wytheville leaned to his right. He crouched low and scuttled between trees with the dexterity of a spider. The lieutenant’s chains rattled again as he followed his leader. Gerth spun and gripped the man’s throat with his right hand. They had been using the woods surrounding the town, and the wandering populous, for the best part of two years now, and the only times that Gerth could think of that they had been close to being caught out by a patrol large enough to be a threat, it had been this old idiot making too much noise.