by JD Byrne
With each footstep that brought them closer, the snow crunched underfoot. Antrey’s heart raced the closer they came. It was calmed only somewhat when the one across the stream stood up, wiped the bloody blade of his knife on the elk’s carcass, and returned it to its sheath. When she heard a voice behind her, she nearly exploded.
She turned her head to see the young man standing no more than a few feet from her, leaning closer to inspect this strange creature. The words he spoke were short and clipped and sounded not at all familiar to Antrey. From the low pitch and rising inflection at the end of a phrase, she assumed he was asking questions. Not of her, but of his companions.
The one across the stream answered. Antrey turned to face him. His words were forceful, precise, and showed no hint of uncertainty. The pitch skipped through several notes on the scale, different for each word. At one point, he gestured towards Antrey, reinforcing her conclusion that she was the topic of discussion. He ended the phrase with what sounded like another question.
Over her shoulder, Antrey saw the young one shake his head from side to side. Then the one across the stream said something, probably derisive, and laughed. The others laughed too, although the one behind Antrey did not. It must have been a joke made at his expense.
The leader of the group then said something else, this time looking Antrey directly in the eyes. It was a dizzying series of words, pitch swooping up and down, that sounded like a kind of brutal music. But they meant nothing to Antrey. Clearly, he was trying to tell her something. She decided to try and find some common ground.
“I don’t understand,” Antrey said.
The Neldathi all wore looks of surprise on their faces. It was clear they understood her about as well as she understood them. They recognized she was speaking a language quite different from their own. If they had any contact with Sentinels or other Altrerians, they would at least know where she had come from.
Antrey pushed on, regardless of the barrier between them. “Kohar?” she asked, making a gesture behind her head as if she was wearing a long braid herself. Then she pointed to herself and said, “Kohar.”
“Kohar?” the one across the stream said, then laughed. Again, there was a rapid-fire barrage of words, the general gist of which was that he and his companions were certainly not part of such a pathetic clan. When he was finished, he grasped his braid and held it in front of him, showing off the red, black, and white stripes. “Dost,” he said. “Dost.”
That was something, at least. Antrey knew that the Dost was one of the smaller clans and that its circuit was in the mountains south of the Water Road but just west of the coast. She had not made it very far up the river before turning south, it seemed. How much more information could she get out of them? “Antrey,” she said, pointing to herself again. “I am called Antrey.”
One of the others cocked his head in confusion. “Kohar?” he asked, then turned to the one across the stream and said something in lilting tones that must have been a question.
The one across the stream appeared, to Antrey, to roll his eyes at his underling’s question. He shook his head and pointed at her. “Antrey,” he said, then something that must have been either “and” or “but,” then said, “Kohar.” He pointed to himself and said, “Hirrek,” the same conjunction, then “Dost.”
“Yes,” Antrey said, nodding vigorously. “Antrey.” She smiled a bit, relishing the small breakthrough. But her happiness was short lived, as Hirrek bounded across the stream and came within just a few feet of her. The others closed in around her in similar fashion. From behind her, she could feel the cold breath of the young one on the top of her head.
Before Antrey could ponder a next move, she was knocked off the rock on which she had been sitting, landing face first in the pool. The water was still, shallow, and bitterly cold. She gasped as she rose to her knees in the middle of the water.
Hirrek said something that made the others laugh, again, but this time in a more menacing way. Antrey was completely at their mercy and, regardless of language, they knew it. She tried to stand, but before she rose to her feet, she felt a crack at the back of her head. The last thing she remembered was the freezing water rushing towards her again.
~~~~~
When she awoke, the back of Antrey’s head felt as if it had been cracked open and then jammed shut again, over and over. She could not tell how much time had passed, whether it was hours or days. She opened her eyes and tried to make sense of her surroundings. She was lying on the ground, but not directly on the snow or damp earth. There were layers of soft material piled up underneath her, a bed of animal skins and who knows what else. It was firm, but infinitely more comfortable than the beds she had made for herself since fleeing Tolenor. And it was huge, swallowing the length and width of her body with ease.
The room was small and rectangular. The walls were barely visible, but appeared to have the texture of animal hide. After a few moments, her nose confirmed it. The hides stretched over rough but solid wooden posts and beams. She was lying in one corner of the tent. Along the opposite wall, the other short side of the rectangle, there was a flap in the wall that acted like a doorway. By the door stood a tall Neldathi warrior, an overlong rifle propped up at his side. He said nothing to her and appeared to take no notice, so long as she did not move. Along the long wall across from her she could see the flickering of candlelight and what appeared to be a person seated on a low bench, back to her, working at a long table.
Antrey tried to move, but only got far enough to make her head hurt even more. She moaned and flopped back on the bed. She heard movement from across the room.
“You are awake,” said a slow, measured, thin voice. She watched as a Neldathi man, middle-aged and short for his kind, shuffled over to her and leaned down over the bed. “I had entertained thoughts that you may not awaken. I am pleased to be proven wrong.”
She looked at him, puzzled. “Wait, you’re speaking common Altrerian,” she said.
The man nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I am. So pleased am I to have someone else with which to use it.”
“But,” Antrey said, raising a trembling hand, “you’re Neldathi.” She paused, but he did not respond to that. “Who are you?”
“I am the one called Goshen the Holy,” he said, stiffening with pride. “You may use the name Goshen, if you prefer.”
A Neldathi priest of some sort, Antrey assumed. She did not know enough about their society to know whether such positions existed in every clan or even any of them. While she was processing this information, she noticed something odd about Goshen’s appearance. “Your braid,” she said, pointing to the hair that had been pulled around to fall down his chest, “is black. No colors. No stripes. Why?”
He put a finger to her lips gently, to quiet her. “All your questions will be answered in due time. I have waited a very long time to meet someone like you, who is called Antrey. But now, if you may stand, we must see the thek.” He stood and extended a hand. She took it and pulled herself to her feet.
“How do you know my name?” Antrey asked.
“Hirrek made an educated guess,” Goshen said dismissively. “Even he thinks correctly from time to time.”
“Hirrek,” she said, “is he the one who knocked me out?”
Goshen shrugged. “I cannot say with certainty who delivered that blow. Hirrek is Dost’s master of the hunt.”
Antrey nodded. “The one with the knife,” she said.
“I beg your pardon?” Goshen asked. His formalized tone threw Antrey off her balance, given the rugged nature of the surroundings.
“Never mind,” she said. “Who is it you’re taking me to see?”
“Thek Ushan, the leader of this clan,” he said. “She and her advisors are waiting. We must not tarry, or she will be quite upset.” He turned and started to walk to the door outside, but Antrey grabbed him by the upper arm.
“Wait a second,” she said, turning him back around. “I know Hirrek doesn’t speak my language, and I don
’t speak his. What about this Ushan and the rest?”
Goshen smiled slightly. “You and I alone, Antrey, speak your language in this place. But I also speak the Dost tongue. The variations among the clan tongues are slight, compared to the difference between any one of their tongues and what you speak. I will translate for you and Thek Ushan, who you shall refer to as Great Mother,” he said. Then he made a short low-pitched noise and motioned for Antrey to repeat it. “Great Mother,” he said. “It will endear her to you.”
Antrey practiced the word a few times before Goshen was convinced she could do it passably well. “Now let us go. They are waiting.” He walked to the door of the tent and opened the flap, holding it and motioning for her to walk outside.
When Antrey walked through the door, the crisp, cold air hit her like a smack to the face, as did the darkness. She had not realized how well insulated Goshen’s tent—she assumed it was his—had been. She made a mental note to see just how it was done, given the temporary nature of the structure. Goshen’s tent was one of perhaps two dozen of similar size spread along this low ridge. In the distance, away from the direction he was leading her, Antrey could see the smaller tents and campfires where the clan had settled down. This area appeared to be set aside for the clan’s upper class, which made Antrey even more curious about Goshen and his background. From down the ridge, she could hear what sounded like a pipe of some kind, playing a syncopated tune at the urging of clapping hands.
In the midst of the rectangular tents was a large circular tent, with black smoke billowing from a hole in the roof. It was surrounded by other auxiliary tents, some smaller versions of the same design, others like Goshen’s. Armed sentries made their way around the whole of the area, in pairs and groups of three. Some held rifles, like the one the guard in Goshen’s tent had been carrying. Others had long bows slung across their backs, others long pikes or spears. There were probably thirty of them, Antrey estimated. More than enough to stop her from running if she tried, if she even knew which direction to run.
A pair of guards stood watch on either side of the entrance to the tent. Each held a more ornate version of the pikes Antrey saw some of the others carrying. They stood with them crossed across the entrance, to bar entry to anyone who had no business there. Antrey assumed it must be some kind of common hall or meeting place. As Goshen approached, with Antrey just behind, they stood aside without a word and let her and Goshen step inside.
Inside, the tent was like a great round room, reminding Antrey of the Grand Council chamber. There was a fire crackling in a pit in the center of the circle. Arrayed around the firepit was a series of low benches, with a path that circled around the pit and towards the other side of the tent. At the end of that aisle was a pair of chairs, both large but one more ornately carved and decorated than the other, flanked by another pair of benches. The legs, arms, and backs of the chairs depicted elk horns, fish, and other animals that must dwell in this territory. At the foot of the larger chair, the various depictions blended into what looked like the paw of some great beast. Trimmed with rough white fur, they were the size of Antrey’s head. Through the dancing flames, Antrey could see people seated in each of the chairs and along the benches beside them.
Goshen motioned for Antrey to follow him, then walked around the firepit and down the aisle. When he reached the area just in front of the chairs, he bowed deeply and repeated the sound that meant “Great Mother.”
Antrey did the same. The honorific, she assumed, was for the old Neldathi woman who sat in the more elaborate chair, to Antrey’s left. She had a pair of braids that ran down along her chest, the hair nearly white at the scalp, before transitioning to the clan’s colors of red, white, and black. Next to her sat a man of similarly advanced age, yet still in prime fighting form, with broad shoulders and thick, muscled arms protruding from the skins in which he was wrapped. He studied Antrey intently, surveying every inch of her in a series of slow, deliberate scans. The woman leaned over and asked something of the man sitting on the bench to the other side of her. Antrey recognized Hirrek from their confrontation at the pool.
“Great Mother, the outsider is awake,” Goshen said, first in Altrerian for Antrey’s benefit and then in the clan’s tongue. He gestured towards Antrey, turning to her and returning to Altrerian. “This is Thek Ushan, Great Mother of the Dost. She is joined by her husband, Kajtan, War Leader of the Dost.”
Antrey bowed again and repeated the honorific towards Ushan. She did not know how to react to Kajtan and thus did nothing while Goshen repeated his words in the local language.
Ushan clipped off a quick series of short words, all strung together with a lilting legato tone. Goshen turned to Antrey and translated. “My son tells me you are called Antrey. Is this correct, halfbreed?” At that last word, his face flashed regret.
Antrey nodded. “Yes, Great Mother.” Goshen translated and Antrey learned her first useful phrase.
Ushan responded, via Goshen. “Then that is what you shall be called, so long as you remain among us.”
Antrey responded, this time in the local tongue, “Yes, Great Mother.” Her attempt at their language brought some smirks, but across the old woman’s face only a broad smile developed.
“Are you in any pain?” Ushan asked.
“No,” Antrey said in Altrerian, before Goshen told her the correct sound and tone for the Dost dialect. Then Antrey said, “No, Great Mother,” in the local tongue. It was a lie. Antrey’s head still throbbed, although it had improved since she had been on her feet. But she saw no benefit to letting the Neldathi think either that she was weak or somehow being ungrateful.
In the same lilting tone as before, Ushan asked another question. “Hirrek says that his hunting party found you this morning by the elk pool. Is that true?”
“Yes, Great Mother,” Antrey responded.
The next question from Ushan was much shorter and more guttural in tone. “You are Kohar?” Goshen asked.
“No, Great Mother,” Antrey said in Dost, but then reverted to Altrerian. “My mother was Kohar. I lived with that clan in my youth, but I was cast out by them on my thirteenth year. I do not know my father.” Goshen translated the explanation.
Ushan asked several more quick questions in succession. Goshen looked like he at first intended to translate them one at a time, but the old woman left no pauses where he might jump in. Finally, he said, “You are still young, Antrey, but no longer in your thirteenth year. Where have you been in all the years between? Have you wandered through the territory of the Dost or the other clans?”
“No, Great Mother,” Antrey said, again in the local tongue and then switching to Altrerian. “I made my way to Tolenor. Tolenor is,” she paused for a moment, pondering the best way to explain the city. Goshen, in the meantime, translated what she had already said.
Ushan jumped in and said something, in forceful tones that sounded angry. Midway through, she leaned forward in her seat, as if she was delivering a scolding. Goshen translated it calmly. “We are aware of Tolenor, child. It is the city built in the Bay of Sins after our defeat generations ago. I can see what you were told of us while you were in that place, Antrey. We are Neldathi. We are not ignorant.”
Antrey felt ashamed and humiliated. Of course they would know what Tolenor was, if any clan did, given their proximity to it. She turned to Goshen and asked him, “Sorry? How do I say I’m sorry?” After a brief lesson, she turned back to Ushan and said, “Apologies, Great Mother.”
Ushan asked another brief question. “What did you do in the city?” asked Goshen.
“I was taken in by a kind man who worked for the Triumvirate,” Antrey said, then paused for Goshen’s translation. She wanted to measure Ushan’s reaction to that before going on. The answer did not upset her, so Antrey continued. “He took me into his home, taught me how to read, and gave me a profession. He was the clerk for the Grand Council of the Triumvirate, responsible for keeping all of its records. I was his assistant.” Antrey waited whil
e Goshen translated.
Ushan made a longer speech this time, reverting to her more calm and lilting tone, although the pitch of many of the words remained low. “This man showed you kindness above your station,” Goshen said for her. “It is my understanding that those of your kind are…” he paused for a moment, unsure how to proceed. He looked at Ushan pleadingly, swallowed hard, and continued, “That those of your kind are more often used for the carnal pleasures of others north of the Water Road.”
“Yes, Great Mother,” Antrey said.
Ushan asked another question, this one a little more emphatic than some of the others. “If that is the case, then why did you leave the city and this kind man who had shown such great pity for you?”
Antrey stood for a minute, frozen, unable to answer. She knew the time would come when she would have to tell her story, but this was not it. There were too many people here. Too many unfriendly faces. Hirrek, in particular, for all his mother’s grace and civility, seemed on the verge of rage. Before she could answer, Ushan turned to Goshen and addressed him directly. “What did she say?” Antrey asked him.
Goshen turned to her and sighed. “She asked if I had learned anything from the belongings which you carried when Hirrek and the hunters found you.”
Antrey had completely forgotten about her things. Her satchel had not been with her when she awoke, but she did not think to look for it or ask about it. Of course, her journal was in there. If Goshen could read Altrerian as well as he spoke it, he must know what had happened.
Goshen turned back to Ushan and began to engage in conversation with the old woman. Antrey grabbed him by the arm. “What are you telling her?” At nearly the same time, Ushan asked a question that Antrey thought must have been similar.