“There are more than there were,” Oliver shouted to Crow, his inky eyes never wavering from the zombies. “How can there be so many? There seem to be more corps than there are people living in the Green Lands. I just don’t understand.”
“I don’t either, but I think we both will, in time. We’ve a long journey ahead of us, and I can tell you all that the Elders told me.”
“I heard whisper that I was to accompany you. Funny that no one has taken the pain to tell me directly.”
“Well, you are sitting higher than the seagull flies, my friend. If I didn’t feel you staring out with me towards the shore, I wouldn’t have known where to find you either.”
Oliver wrapped his nunchaku around the mast before gracefully sliding down the pole until he was standing nose to nose with Crow. He put his hand out.
“I look forward to this,” Oliver said. “This will be an adventure.”
“Yes,” Crow said, taking his new comrade’s hand and shaking it. “It certainly has the makings of one.”
They parted ways, both presumably to get some rest. They did little of that, however, their nerves being too ‘lectric to allow them sleep. Crow sat in his bunk listening to the hum of the ship’s engines as it chugged its way upstream. He had initially balked at Alvin saying that his destiny was intertwined with Oliver’s, and dreaded the prospect of being on the road with him for a half-moon, but his view had shifted, had evolved. He now saw the tall, young man as a kindred spirit and could think of no one better to accompany him west. That thought, as well as the vibrations of the ship, took him over the edge of wakefulness and into sleep.
“Brook!” Crow cried, bolting upright in his bed. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. He had been dreaming of his sister, of them running through the woods, pale white corpses stumbling after them in hot pursuit. He had thought Brook had been running right next to him, but then he heard her scream, and turned to see their hands all over her, tearing at her flesh. The killim hooked their hands into her wailing mouth and started to pull, the skin around her lips tearing. Her scream became inhuman, like the cry of a great underwater beast, growing louder and louder the more the killim tore. The sound was pulling him out of the forest, away from his sister and back to the waking world.
He was alone in the darkness, semi-delirious, when his nose filled with the brine of the river and the second blast of the foghorn sounded. He remembered where he was. He rubbed at his eyes as he thought of the dream, of his sister’s scream which had shifted into the foghorn, pulling him from the throes of sleep. He prayed to Elon that she was okay, that she had made it back to the Black Wing camp alright.
Thinking of her made his stomach feel like a bloot berry being squeezed between a sweaty pair of hands; he was at once disgusted with himself for allowing himself to get caught and separated from her and uneasy from not knowing whether she was alive or dead.
“If she’s dead, then that’s on you,” Crow seethed to himself. “You’ll have to live with that for the rest of your days.” He could hear DeMontaigne barking orders above deck before another blast of the ship’s foghorn drowned him out. They must have been nearing the Cliffs of the Widow. It was about time he started on the next leg of his journey.
Within minutes, Crow was above deck, standing next to Kara and Oliver as the ship neared the cliffs. His black clothes had been mended and cleaned, as had his cape, which had been torn by the slaver’s spear he had narrowly dodged. He had by his feet a pack that had been given him by the Boat People, filled with dried food and supplies for the trip ahead. His knives were polished to a gleam and rested fitfully on the belt around his torso. He felt as ready as he ever would.
The cliffs loomed over them, scraping the sky, their gray, basalt columns rising from the foaming edge of the Hud all the way to their peak. There was the ruin of a bridge at its top, a structure that had once spanned the Hud in the long ago. Kara reached over and squeezed Crow’s hand. “How do you feel, Skalla Ta?”
“I told you, call me Crow,” he said, smiling. “And I feel fine. A little nervous, but fine.”
“Do you have the book that the Elders gave to you?” She asked. Crow nodded. “Let me see it.”
Crow reached into his pack and delicately pulled the old tome out from between the softest clothes he had stowed away. Kara looked it over, her eyes burning fiercely. “Do you see what it says on the cover of the book?”
Oliver looked at them from the corner of his eyes, his interest piqued. “No, I am not familiar with those words,” Crow said.
The foghorn sounded again as Kara turned the book around so the cover faced both Crow and Oliver. A floating dock, so small when compared to the hugeness of the Cliffs of the Widow, came into view, extending out into the river as though it were a leech at the suck, its body trailing out behind it. Crow and Oliver didn’t see it, though; they were transfixed by Kara’s gaze. “The book is called The Saga of Jai Lin. In here lies the history of the Green Lands, as well as our destinies. There will be much to discover between its pages.”
Chapter Ten
Dusty Yen
“BY THE TALONS OF ELON… that is the Rip, is it? To think that man could once make things so vast.” Brook spoke to the others from the confines of the small rowboat they had bought for ten silvers upstream in Dune Town, a small settlement on the shores of the Esopus. Tim the wagon-man had parted ways with them, unsure if he was heading back north to cut his losses with the River Tribes or try his luck out east with Dusty Yen. He had grunted a good-bye and said to look out for his flayed hide in the rebel camp, for who knew what a restless group of mercenaries would do to a poor old wagon-man.
They had passed beyond the mouth of the Esopus into the choppier waters of the Hud an hour or so ago. Brook and Jompers huddled close together under a large black blanket, their teeth chattering in the wet and chill of the night air, while Mercer and Solloway rowed against the current, slowly making their way towards the colossal silhouette that spanned the river ahead.
“It’s been years since I’ve seen it,” Jompers said, caressing Rory’s white and gray feathers with his trembling fingers. “Still, it takes my breath away.”
“Don’t stop breathing on me now, Jed.” Solloway’s voice was strained from the rowing. “We might need you to provide us with some more of those pyrix spheres for when we’re up there. Do you see the lights all along the bridge? It’s making me think that Dusty Yen has got his men from here all the way to whatever swampy hole he’s hiding in. It might be even harder to get to him than I thought.”
“So what do you propose?” Mercer asked. “We’ll have to sneak in.”
“That’s probably going to be the way of it. I just have to get close enough to see how this whole operation is set up. We might have to sneak up on some of his men and knock them out, then take whatever badge or tag they’re wearing saying they’re a part of Dusty’s army. But then, hey, it’s also very possible that they’re a bunch of rabble with no order to speak of, in which case we can move pretty deep into camp without bother.”
“As long as you take your uniform off, Sergeant. Wouldn’t want them to see you’re an axe man from the Fort.”
“No, Jed. Wouldn’t want that at all.” Solloway spit off the side of the boat, then pulled his oar in. “Looks to be some sand right over there on the other side of the river. I say we pull in and go the rest of the way on foot. Another minute in a boat and that slop from dinner is likely to be frothing right out my mouth.”
The boat grated to a halt as its hull caught on the sandbar close to shore. Leo was the first to jump from the boat, Mercer close behind him. While the pit bull rolled around in the grass and mud, the young swordsman grabbed the boat’s bow and dragged it up on the beach.
“Take off anything that would give you away as something other than a mercenary in Dusty’s army,” Solloway whispered as they all unloaded their packs and weapons from the small rowboat. He began to unbutton and take off his ornate shirt, revealing a barrel ch
est covered in scars and the same coarse brick-brown hair spouting from his chin. He produced a cotton shirt from his pack and pulled it over his head as he mumbled, “That includes your wings, Brook, and your coat, Jed.”
“But they will see all of my tattoos. The formulas, the taxonomic trees… They will surely be a giveaway.”
Solloway thought about this for a moment then reached into his pack. He pulled out a mesh wool sweater and threw it to Jompers. “Just put that on. Bury your things under the boat. Don’t want anyone finding our belongings and then being on to us. Oh, and Jed, hate to break it to you, but your little owl friend has to stay.”
“Of course. A rebel camp is no place for one so dignified as Rory.” Jompers shook his arm, what had hitherto been Rory’s perch; the owl flapped away, in search of its evening meal.
Solloway was anxious, had been anticipating this night for at least the last month, but even he grinned when he saw how Mercer looked at Brook. She was digging a hole for her cloak, breathing hard as her hands made small mounds of sand around her knees. Her shoulders were gleaming in the starlight, two soft white orbs, like the moon’s reflection being split by ripples in the water. She looked up, now cloak-less, and Solloway could instantly see that he had a problem on his hands.
“You need to wrap yourself in something, Brook, or else… I’ll be honest, you’ll just attract way too much attention. Dig your cape back up and put it around your entire body, as though it were a hooded robe. There you are.”
Her black cape made a good makeshift robe, and did the job of concealing the shape of her body. Still, Solloway couldn’t help but hear Tim’s parting words echoing around in his head: who knew what a restless mercenary would do, not just with an old wagon-man, but with a young, very beautiful woman? He pushed the thought from his mind, hoping it didn’t come to that.
Satisfied and seeing that they were all ready, Solloway put his finger to his lips then pointed into the trees just past the muddy shore, in the direction of Dusty Yen’s camp. They followed each other closely, the shadows of shadows, but Solloway was setting such a breakneck pace that Jompers was panting heavily before long. Several times they had to stop so the cosmologist could catch his breath, Solloway fidgeting with his axe and scowling until Jompers would give him a nod and allow them to continue.
Leo remained close to Brook, his blue eyes focused on the path ahead, his ears pricked and alert. It was strange, but ever since the dream from the days before, when she and Mercer were in the Blight, the mind-link Brook shared with Leo had grown incredibly strong. She could understand the pup’s every thought, could interpret his every intention and desire. What had once been a swirl of formless color had now taken shape and dimension; what had once been noise now had melody, rhythm and tone. The timing for the mind-link’s development couldn’t have been better: their clandestine entry into Dusty Yen’s camp was tantamount to their success, and Leo wandering off or acting out would surely compromise that.
Suddenly, Solloway stopped, his fist held aloft. Everyone halted, but as Mercer did, his foot came down on a twig which snapped loudly in the silence. Solloway glared at him but said nothing. There were voices ahead, men’s voices, but if they had heard the twig snap, they gave no indication.
“Sorry about that,” Mercer whispered.
“It’s alright. From here on out, we’re splitting up. It’ll seem suspicious if four people who no one in camp has seen before suddenly walk in together.” The men’s voices sounded louder, closer, so Solloway spoke quicker. “Jed, you and I will go left, while Mercer, you, Brook and the dog go right. Don’t stray too far though. If we lose sight of each other, that could be trouble. We still need to be able to help each other if anything goes wrong. Follow my lead, as I’m going to be making my way for the center of camp. Let’s go.” Jompers let out an audible sigh before following as swiftly and soundlessly as he could after Solloway.
“Come on,” Brook whispered to Mercer, waving for him to follow. Mercer complied, keeping one eye on the robed Black Wing ahead of him, the other on Solloway and Jompers through the trees. It was hard to keep them in sight, the dark under the tree boughs as thick as syrup. He thought he lost them, until he saw a flash of movement, like a fish’s scales catching the moonshine, and knew it was Jompers stumbling after Solloway through the briars and brambles. Though relieved that he had a sight on the cosmologist, Mercer was worried that if he could spot the learned man so easily, one of Dusty Yen’s men would be able to as well. If they were caught this far out from the camp, they were sure to be labeled as the intruders they were and dealt with accordingly.
“Well, if Solloway thinks we’ll be able to sneak in without a problem, then I should too,” Mercer thought to himself. He took a deep breath and focused on keeping quiet, as the men’s voices were so close that he could audibly discern them.
“Dunno what we doin’ all the way out here, Clem,” one of the voices said. “‘Cept missin’ out on what’s goin’ on back at camp. Harmon sez some slavers just brought in a whole wagon full of girls from the mountains. Young ones, too. And here I is, walkin’ through the woods with your swampy ass, on the lookout for Elon’s ghost!”
The other voice coughed, then spoke, his simple voice addled by a cold. “We’re supposed to watch for anyone who looks out of the ordinary, Remy. That’s what Dusty said. ‘Keep your eyes peeled for any suspicious types, Clem.’ That’s what Dusty said to me, he did.”
“He sez that to you? Just like that?”
“Aye, he did, Remy.”
“What sort of suspicious types you think he be meanin’?”
“Dunno, but I know that some high-ups from one of the western cities are here to talk to Dusty and I think they told ol’ Dusty that there be a man coming to try and kill him. That’s what I heard, anyways.”
“Where you hear that sort of nonsense, Clem? You’d be a damn fool to walk into this here camp and try somethin’ like that. You’d be dead ‘fore you even did a jig. ‘Member what happened to that blue-skinned coot from the marshes?”
“I remember, alright,” Clem nodded before hocking up some deep phlegm. “But you know, Harmon said_”
“You always listenin’ to that damn fool! He nothin’ but a old beachy man with a head full of sea shells. Everybody knows not to trust a word that comes out of a beachy man’s mouth ‘cept you it seems.”
“But you just said that Harmon told you there was a whole wagon full of young girls who came into camp_”
“Well, that’s different Clem! For Peek’s sake, if I have to explain that then there really be no hope at all in the world for you…”
And so Clem and Remy went on, so caught up in their talking that they failed to see Solloway and Jompers passing through the trees a mere ten steps away. Mercer saw, however, his heart beating madly in his chest. These mercenaries may have been as sharp as a pair of river stones but they were heavily armed, each with a polished rifle and various blades on their person. All it would take was for one of them to notice something out the corner of his eye, a shaking tree limb, a rustling bush, and then Solloway’s entire mission would be for naught.
Solloway and Jompers passed safely by though, Remy and Clem none the wiser. Mercer relaxed a little, but knew that he, Brook and Leo had yet to do the same. He knew he could walk without a sound, had been able to do so since he was a child and his father had taught him the secrets of the forest. As a Black Wing, Brook also tread feather-light, as did Leo with his padded paws, so they were able to slink by Remy and Clem without so much as a raised eyebrow or suspicious snort.
Once they had made it a good way past the two soldiers, Mercer got to thinking about what the men had been saying. Some high-ups from the west had told ol’ Dusty that there was a man coming to kill him. It seemed like someone had alerted Dusty Yen to Solloway’s mission, someone who hailed from the western cities. But who would be trying to compromise Solloway’s mission? Was he not here on behalf of the western cities in the first place?
Th
ings were making less and less sense, and Mercer felt caught in a fog of dread that would not dissipate. He was convinced that Solloway was hiding something from him, or worse, wholly lying to him about his intentions. This man had been his father’s best friend once, but men changed, grew worn out, like wagon wheels and paper lanterns. Who knew what the old sergeant’s real purpose was in coming to Dusty Yen’s camp?
Despite this, Mercer knew he had come too far to turn back. Even if he did, where was there to go back to? This camp was where he had been headed since his nineteenth birthday, when the maniacal moon had urged him to join with Dusty Yen, to swear fealty to the warlord in exchange for riches, land and power. So many things had changed in the half-moon since then, so many things exhumed from places he had thought would remain interred until the end of time. Hope, honor, possibility, it had all returned, blazing white hot like it had when he was a boy at school in Ithaca, learning the ways of a cosmologist, excited for the future and humanity’s salvation. It was a white hot torch that pushed back at the darkness of war, a fire that urged him to fight not for power but for peace.
And it was all because of her, the girl who had never left his side since their meeting, the Black Wing named Brook. She had helped him find himself again; the least he could do was help her get her brother back. He felt her anxiety, her unease. He knew all she could think about was the moment in the near future when she would be walking back over the Rip with Crow by her side, on her way back to the Broke Tooth Hills and the Black Wing camp nestled safely within them.
That was a lie, though, for nothing was safe in the Green Lands. Not anymore. Not with his father, the Undead King, and his army on the march.
Brook suddenly stopped and crouched low, motioning for Mercer to do the same. “There is a road ahead,” she whispered. Mercer looked through the brush and saw what she did, a road of cracked black stone on whose adjacent side were the crumbled remains of old houses. There were several torches lining the road, the only effect made by their crackling flames the accentuation of the darkness surrounding their small orange globes of light.
The Undead King: The Saga of Jai Lin: Book One Page 19