by Rhett DeVane
A small living space held benefits. Easy to warm. Easy to keep tidy, except for someone like Sim.
Sim.
Elsbeth’s monkey mind scrambled again, wild and unruly. She sat up.
“I can’t stay here.” Elsbeth slipped on a pair of boots and left to face the others.
She walked fast, then broke into a jog past the necessary rooms and the unusually quiet rooms of her spirit-daughters. She didn’t allow her eyes to glance at Jondu’s and Jen’s doorways. When Elsbeth reached the Common Hall, she skidded to a halt at the threshold. Five sets of eyes looked her way.
Mari pushed aside a jumble of cloth, jumped up, and crossed the room. “Oh, Elsbeth! What a relief!” She smashed Elsbeth into her arms. The others joined in a group hug that comforted Elsbeth more than a hundred hearth fires.
“I know you all want to know what’s going on,” Elsbeth started.
“We’ve plenty of time for that.” Mari herded her to a cushioned sitting stone.
“But . . .” Elsbeth took the steaming cup Taka-Herb offered. “I need to . . .”
Slate sat down next to her. “We know it’s dire.”
Of course. Slate’s visions. “Can you tell where they are?” she asked him.
Slate shook his head. “Nothing clear. Some sort of cage. Dark flashes.” He held up one finger. “I do feel all four spirits. One fades in and out. But it is still on this side of the Light.”
Elsbeth’s insides stopped quivering. Sim, Grant, Jen, Jondu—they were alive! Though, the fading in and out part concerned her.
As if she had read Elsbeth’s last thought, Taka-Herb said, “As soon as we have them back, I can heal that one.”
A fresh ball of worry bubbled up, spilling over. Elsbeth covered her face and sobbed. The one-spirits gathered around her, cooing and patting, until her cries calmed to hiccupping sniffles.
“It’s my fault!” Elsbeth said. “This is all on me.”
Brick leaned down. His green eyes fixed on hers. “In any fable I pen, many factors mix into the drama. Events happen; other events follow. No one thing, no one person, is the root of all. In every story, there may be hundreds of outcomes.” The scribe paused. “Life is so random.”
“True in music too,” Gabby added. He picked up one of his stringed instruments and played a chord. “Listen.” He moved one finger and strummed again. The tone went from light to sorrowful. One more move, another flick of his fingers, and the sound came out cheerful.
“So we just hope for a good outcome?” Elsbeth dabbed her tears.
Mari’s expression clouded. “Actually, we are all to blame for recent events.”
Everyone turned her way.
“I don’t see how—” Taka-Herb started.
Mari held up a hand. “Think about it for a moment. What makes Sim happier than anything?”
“Rocks?” Brick offered.
“Whittling,” Gabby said.
“Dump-diving,” Elsbeth said, rising to her feet.
“Right on all counts.” Mari paced in front of the hearth, talking as she stepped. “Haven’t you noticed how pleased it makes Sim when he finds material and thread for me?” She motioned to the others in turn. “Or pencils for you.” Brick nodded. “Or storage jars for you?” Taka-Herb pursed her lips. “And anything you could possibly fashion into a musical instrument?” Gabby shrugged. “Mystical baubles for you?” Slate nodded. “And chocolate you, Elsbeth.” Mari threw up her hands. “Admit it. Weren’t we all thinking about what Sim would bring us when we found out he and Grant had left for the landfill?”
Mari paused for a moment, then continued to stride back and forth. “He thinks of Grant, too, and Jondu, and Jen. Especially Jen, since she loves that dump more than he does.” She faced Elsbeth. “Yes, you went along with Jen and Jondu’s plan to search for Grant and Sim. We all did, but this started because Sim knows how much we desire things. For the past few years, he has left earlier in the spring and stayed later in the fall . . . all to please our wants. It’s a wonder something horrible hasn’t happened before.”
The clan remained silent.
“Do we really need all of this stuff?” Mari held her arms wide. “Beyond basic food and shelter and some clothing, don’t we have enough?”
“We’ve become greedy.” Elsbeth backed up and sat down on a cushioned stone. “Just like the lowlanders.”
“Wow.” Gabby settled down beside her.
Elsbeth remembered how New Haven City’s residents sucked the life from everything they touched. Bigger, better, more!
The others found seats near the hearth. No one spoke for a few moments. The fire crackled and snapped.
“I’ll make some tea,” Mari said in a soft voice.
Ah, yes, the cure for every ill. Elsbeth’s lips lifted in spite of her sadness.
“What do we do now?” Slate asked.
“We do the one thing we’re better at than greed,” Mari said. “Keep faith.”
“He’s waking up!” Sim hunkered down next to Grant’s bedding.
Grant’s eyes flicked open, then shut. He moaned and pawed at the bandages binding his injured leg.
“He’s in pain. Do something!” Sim pleaded. If only he had his supplies, he could use some of Taka-Herb’s numbing twitchweed salve. Then again, how would he possibly find one section of Grant’s damaged leg not covered by bandages?
Stitch left the storage room, returning shortly with a small glass vile. “It’s a big risk. I had to guess how much anesthesia to use when I did the surgery. Wasn’t sure how his small body would react. Could’ve easily killed him.”
“What is that?” Sim pointed to the vial.
“It’s the heavy-duty med I use for post-operative pain. I have no clue how much, or how little, it will take.”
Grant thrashed on the bedding, clawing at the stump. Fresh red seeped through the bandages.
“Can’t let him go on like this. The strain could hurt him even more.” Stitch pulled the clear liquid into an eyedropper. He handed a snippet of gauze to Sim. “Do your best to pry this between his teeth.”
The next time Grant moaned, Sim poked the gauze into one side. A line of ropy spit hung from the corner of Grant’s quivering lips. Stitch managed one drop of the liquid into Grant’s mouth. Grant coughed and sputtered. The gauze slipped out. He writhed for a minute. Then his eyes rolled back in his head until the whites showed.
“What—?” Sim grabbed Grant’s hand.
“Wait.” Stitch recapped the vial. “He’s calming.”
Grant’s eyes closed. His chest rose and fell.
“Guess one drop is all it takes.” Stitch said. “He’ll need it every four hours. This is the smallest dropper I have. You’ll have to brace it against your body to squeeze the bulb. I have to tend to my patients, at least until the others return.”
The others. Sim felt a sense of urgency. Had to get away from here before the base filled with soldiers again. But how, when Grant couldn’t walk?
“You do know how to tell time, right?” Stitch asked.
“Sure . . . I mean, I used to know.” It had been over fifty years since Sim had seen a timepiece.
When Stitch smiled, his lips went all lopsided and a dimple formed on one cheek. “Suppose they don’t make a watch in your size.”
Sim held out his palms and shrugged.
“I have an extra. Let me go make rounds, and I’ll come back and give you a refresher course.”
Stitch left. The door shut behind him with a soft snick. Too bad all lowlanders, all soldiers, weren’t like him. Sim might learn to like them.
Chapter Fourteen
Jondu and Jen had camped overnight, traveling as soon as the first sun rays streaked the eastern skies. Jondu spotted the dead ash tree, her second landmark, and headed toward it. Even with the help of the pine bough shoes, walking proved tough and exhausting. Every time she stopped, her muscles twitched and complained.
“How much farther?” Jen asked.
“One more hill
.” Jondu had said the same thing three hills past. Could be three more hills, or six, before they reached the army base valley. A few minutes later when she stepped next to the woodpecker-pocked ash, Jondu noted a slight clearing, then a wider trail. Should they go that way? The trail headed in the proper direction. Why not? She turned onto the new passageway.
“This is a lot easier,” Jen commented.
“Yep.”
In a few switchbacks, they stood at the entrance to a high pass edged on either side by steep inclines. Jondu’s weary spirit crashed. All Fool’s Way. She had heard stern warnings about this deathtrap from Taproot. Spring rains brought mud and rock slides. In winter, ice cracked and fell in razor-sharp sheets. Even in summer and fall, the route proved treacherous and unpredictable, as if it waited. Now thick snow blanketed the jagged rocks.
Looked peaceful. Enough to deceive anyone brazen enough to attempt passage.
“Why are we stopping?” Jen asked.
Turn around or take a chance? Jondu glanced back over her shoulder. Retracing steps meant hours wasted, time they could use to find Sim and Grant.
“When we walk through there,” Jondu said in a low voice. “Be quiet. No loud voices. Nothing sudden. Get it?”
“Why—?”
Jondu stopped Jen’s question with a stern expression. The quiet rule was a fallacy, according to the lowlander’s magazine articles Brick read to the clan, but Jondu didn’t want to take any chances. The glazed slopes loomed over them, waiting like the jaws of a hungry wolf. If they could slip past without gaining notice . . . Jondu pressed her eyelids shut for a moment and sent out a silent plea to the Light.
“We should stop for a few minutes. Rest. Drink. Have a bite to eat.” Jondu unclipped her pack. “Then we’ll press on.” That will give me time to get up my nerve, she thought.
Lulled by tea, honey cakes, and the company of her clan, Elsbeth finally returned to her burrow well after dawn and fell into the soft down bedding. Welcome sleep.
Princess, a voice called not long after she closed her eyes. Princess!
Elsbeth turned over and pulled the cover over her head.
PRINCESS!
She sat up and blinked to clear her vision. That voice was not a dream whisper. She pulled on her boots and over-robe and snatched up her pack on the way out.
Elsbeth scurried through the narrow passageway connecting the clangrounds and Taproot’s haven and found the old man stuffing provisions into his backpack.
“Genevieve is topside. She has word of the others.” He paused. “Figured you’d want to come along.”
“Yes. Of course.”
Taproot led the way up the angled, packed-dirt tunnel. When they popped from the hollow stump protecting the entranceway, the owl waited on a nearby limb.
“What have you learned?” Taproot asked.
“I found Kenneth Pensworthy at a watch tree near the base. He said Sim disappeared into one of the buildings. Kenneth hasn’t seen him for two days.” Genevieve blinked, rotated her head to survey the area before continuing. “Sim was searching for the other small one and he didn’t come back out.”
“No word of Jen or Jondu?” Elsbeth asked.
The owl ruffled her wings. “No.”
“At least we know where to start.” Taproot pulled on his pack and signaled for Elsbeth to climb aboard.
“Won’t be able to take the main path,” the great owl said. “Ice slide has covered one of the high sections just north of the first hill.”
Taproot tugged his beard. “Only other way is to take the side path parallel to All Fool’s Way. Won’t go near that treacherous stretch, for sure. But it should bring us in above the ice slide. Then we’ll cut back and rejoin the main trail.”
“All good.” The great owl leaned forward. “I’ll fly ahead, check for any hindrances. I’ll keep a keen eye for the other one-spirits.” Genevieve lifted off.
“Too bad we can’t hitch a ride,” Taproot said. “Ah, well. At least the weather’s improved.”
Taproot took the main game trail toward the base, then veered onto a narrow path Elsbeth had never noticed. He stopped long enough to lace on his snowshoes. “Best you slip down into the pack. This way has a number of low branches. I’ll do my best not to jostle you or the pack.”
Elsbeth did as Taproot asked, but peeked out through a tiny tear in the material. A good while passed before Taproot’s pace slowed. He stopped and flipped open the flap above Elsbeth’s head.
“Send that square black pouch my way, will you?” Taproot said. Elsbeth dove to the bottom of the pack and shoved up on the pouch until she felt it lift away from her. She climbed out and stood on Taproot’s shoulder.
“One of the best things Sim ever found for me,” Taproot commented. He slipped a leather strap around his neck and held the pair of field glasses to his eyes, scanning the clearing before them.
Two steep slopes coated with snow and ice rose on either side, blocking the sun. Other than Genevieve passing through the clear blue sky above, nothing moved. The wind held captive by the cliffs sang a low mournful song. Elsbeth shivered. This place gave her a sinking feeling.
Taproot’s head jerked. He spun a tiny focus wheel next to one eyepiece and zeroed in on something. “There!”
He pulled the field glasses away from his face and lowered them to Elsbeth’s level. “Take a gander through here. Isn’t that Jondu and Jen across the way?”
Elsbeth positioned her head and looked though one lens. Tiny toothpick evergreens now appeared five times their sizes. “Wow.”
“See them?” Taproot asked.
A flick of bright red caught Elsbeth’s attention. She knew Jen’s goofy “lucky” hat, even from a mile away. “It is them.” A gush of excitement sent her heart into triple time.
The red-hatted figure turned their way, waved, and broke into a jerky run. Her mouth was open, and she was yelling something. The second figure paused, then followed.
Something sounded, a sharp crack like the shot from a soldier’s pistol. Taproot lifted the field glasses to his eyes and rotated his head upward. Pow! Pow!
“Oh, no!” Taproot dropped the glasses. They bounced against his chest with a thump.
Before Elsbeth could speak, the white layers coating the slope broke away, like an eggshell dashed against a rock. A billowing ice cloud rose up at the base of the slide, lifting high into the air. Taproot slammed one hand over Elsbeth. She jostled next to his coat as he took several thudding steps into the trees.
The mountains roared with the force of the plummeting snow and ice. Elsbeth sensed the earth’s quake noodling through Taproot’s body.
Then, eerie silence.
Elsbeth wiggled from Taproot’s grasp and stared at the scene. A large clot of snow blocked All Fool’s Way. Ice dust glittered in the sun. Neither she nor the mountain man spoke for a beat. Genevieve whooshed past, low to the ground. She flew back and forth, tilting her head, then diving talon-first into the snow. Over and over again, she stabbed the surface, coming up to repeat the process.
“What’s she doing?” Elsbeth grabbed the field glass cord and grunted with the effort.
Taproot snapped from shock and picked up the glasses. “Hunting. She’s hunting.”
He dropped the glasses against his chest and swung his head left, then right. He stepped over to a small evergreen, unsheathed his knife, and sawed off a long, skinny branch. Elsbeth hung onto his collar.
“What are—?” Elsbeth asked.
“No time to waste explaining.” The mountain man moved as quickly as his snowshoes would allow in the white chunks churned by the avalanche. Elsbeth saw Genevieve pierce the crust again. The owl hopped, jabbing and jabbing. Then she lifted off with something dangling from her talons.
“She’s got someone!” Elsbeth beat Taproot’s shoulder. “Hurry!”
Taproot picked up his pace. The owl flew toward them, swooped lower, and deposited a crumpled form in the snow. She turned back, flapped to the same area, and resumed
her hunt.
The pile of material and ice moved. Moaned. Taproot scooped it up. Jondu opened her eyes. Closed them.
“The skin around her eyes is blue,” Elsbeth stated.
Taproot brushed away as much of the ice as possible, then removed one of his layered scarves and cocooned it around Jondu. He slipped the bundle into his coat, near his heart.
The birth crystal next to Elsbeth’s skin vibrated. Profound shock settled over her. Where is Jen?
Taproot shuffled forward, until he reached the area where Genevieve continued her pouncing search. He probed the snow with the evergreen stick, paced, carefully inserted the stick again. For the next few minutes, he worked a grid back and forth.
The sun dipped lower. Genevieve landed in front of Taproot. The mountain man and the Pensworthy owl stared at each other.
“What are you doing?” Elsbeth called out. “Jen is down there somewhere!” When neither responded, Elsbeth grappled down Taproot’s jacket and pants and landed on the snow. She tore into the drift, digging, digging, until her fingers turned pink. Her labored breath formed its own ice cloud.
Taproot crouched down and gently picked up Elsbeth. “Time to stop, Princess.”
Elsbeth struggled against his grip. “NO!”
The wind whooshed through the pass, moaning low. Elsbeth’s cries added to the sorrowful serenade.
“I hear nothing.” Genevieve rotated her head toward the tree line. “There are two voles up there, cowering beneath a rock.” She faced Taproot and Elsbeth. “I sense nothing else. I am sorry, little one-spirit.”
So they would leave Jen here? Alone, beneath the snow? “We have to find her . . . body.” Saying the word made it real. Elsbeth sobbed. The birth crystal holding Jen’s spirit-daughter shifted next to her skin. She reached for it, cupping her chilled hand around its gentle heat for a moment.
“We must return to the clangrounds,” Taproot said. “We have to get Jondu somewhere dry and warm.”