“By the ancestors,” James said as his head tilted back to take in the gargantuan stone spectacles that surrounded them. “How does rock pile up so high? Do the Mountain Spirits get bored as the pass the centuries and roll them together at night, trying to see which of them can get a taller stack?”
“I do not know James,” Mal said, his head tipped back in awe as well. “But if anything could pile so many stones that high, it’d be the great titans.” Mal and James spoke of the rare and magnificent creatures known as Mountain Spirits. To the eyes of those that had seen the creatures, they seemed to be upright hills that resembled animals or even people sometimes, each the size of the biggest building in Daris or larger. Composed of trees for limbs, vines for veins, boulders for joints. They were so rare as to be mythical, lifetimes between sightings, but Malwynn had seen drawings of them in the books Dram had him read, and they had been spotted many times before. He hoped now would not be a time they chose to reappear.
“Not much in the way of escape routes out of here is there?” Chelsea asked as she looked up and down the length of the train, where the ground was flattest. “Two ways in, two ways out from here. One way in and out from the village I’d imagine.” The terrain had a strange effect on her eyes, crossing them for a moment as the world narrowed to the horizon. It gave the feeling that they swam at the bottom of an abyss.
“Weston found a way to escape Alisanne,” Mal said with some positivity. No one seemed cheered by his point.
“That’s good news,” Chelsea said, forcing a worried smile.
“What an odd place,” Umaryn muttered looking about as she tightened her armor until she had it snug against her body. She looked formidable in the crimson armor, her hammer hanging off her belt, even without the intimidating helm on.
“Hey!” a familiar woman’s voice called out. The group turned and saw Naomi on foot, walking down the length of her train to them. A gentle curl of white steam rose from the smokestack of the distant locomotive, making tiny clouds that dissipated into the warm summer breeze.
“This is it eh?” Umaryn asked her fellow Artificer as she approached.
“It sure is,” Naomi said, stopping at the base of the slowly eroding loading dock. “See that sort of void there in between the trees? Where the grass grows funny?” she asked as she pointed to the line of forest. Sure enough when they looked over, a space could be barely seen, forming what looked to be an ominous and dark tunnel into the forest bowels of the mountains. Very little light came from deep in. The place did not feel welcoming. It felt sylvan and wild, threatening, reclaimed by the things that could not be tamed, the things that waited until darkness. Shivers came from looking at it.
“Yeah,” Umaryn said with furrowed brows and a look of worry. “Charming. Is that the path to New Falun?”
“Ha, path. Do it justice Umaryn, the spirits deserve it. That overgrowth used to be a rail line. Built and used for a few years as I understand it to get the copper out. Or whatever else they got out of the ground back there. I ain’t never been all the way to the back, but I heard a rumor that an old pre-Fall locomotive is still buried somewhere back there, rusting away. If the story is true the Guild has abandoned it. Too far gone for repair they say, but I say bullshit. If enough of us prayed hard enough, talked sweet enough to it, we could get her running again.”
“Why would they just leave a locomotive?” Umaryn said, perplexed and offended. “They’re priceless. It takes the Guild a decade or more to build a new one and the new ones are crap when compared against the pre-Fall engines we’ve refurbished with The Way. It has to be a rumor.”
Naomi sighed. “I hope so. If you find it abandoned and alone somewhere in there, and you make it back to civilization, you talk them into fetching it, or sending people out here to fix it up. You’ll have more pull than me getting that done by a long shot. I’ve never made an artifact before.”
Umaryn chuckled. “Deal. I won’t rest until someone brings it back to proper condition. Thank you again Naomi Moritz, Fabricator of the rails, friend of mine. You’ve done my friends and family here a great favor. It won’t be forgotten.”
She nodded. “I sped a bit more than I should have. Got you here an hour ahead of when we planned. Figured you needed all the daylight you could get. Be safe in there. This is a very dangerous area to be alone in, no matter how skilled you are, or who you have with you. You are a long way from anything that looks like home, and bad things happen to people out here and they are never heard from again. Keep your Apostle in one piece. I gotta go. Get this load delivered. Day’s a-wasting.”
“Goodbye Naomi,” Umaryn said.
“Goodbye Naomi,” Chelsea said with a wave.
“Goodbye Naomi, thank you again,” Malwynn said as he tightened the straps of his set of Umaryn-made armor.
“Goodbye Naomi. May the spirit inside your engine bear you swiftly and safely to your destination, and may the spirits of the ancestors of Elmoryn guard your progress,” James said.
Naomi seemed pleased with his blessing. “And may the spirits of all your companion tools and weapons shine bright on your fortunes this day and forever more. Make sure the car’s door is shut securely before you leave the platform please. I wish you well.” Her voice had a hint of despair to it. She waved, turned, and started the long walk through the thick grass back to the head of the idling engine.
“I like her. She was good to us,” Chelsea said.
“Yeah, she was,” Umaryn replied in agreement. “We should move. If we’re going to survive the night we need to get James to a place he can consecrate for us. Hopefully there’s something still standing in the village that’ll work.”
“I can be creative with the ritual. Just get to me where we need to set up camp,” James said with resolve.
“Let’s get the mounts before she gets the train moving then. And for the record James, I still wish we got you some armor when we were in Acton. Having you unprotected out here makes my skin crawl,” Mal said, and they all returned to fetch their animals from the steel cocoon of the train. James lectured the Everwalk brother about the armor of faith as they went.
The dark and overgrown path leading to the hidden village of New Falun turned out to be rather treacherous for travel on horse and Gvornback. Naomi hadn’t been lying when she said the path began life originally as a rail line. Buried underneath the thick green grass in the open area of the main rail artery they’d found the thin voids caused by the iron strips below. The grass and weather had eaten away the wooden ties, but it could only grow around the steel for now. Years would be needed for Elmoryn to claim all the evidence of the travel of trains. The four had to ride their horses and lone Gvorn carefully to ensure that the hooves did not catch on the ebb and flow of the remnants of the railroad ties or the red and rusty iron rails themselves. A horse tripping this far out could be a catastrophic turn of affairs for their chances of returning alive. Returning dead or starving would be almost a virtual certainty.
They rode two by two, spread wide with the hidden rails creating a gulf between them. Not far into the tunnel dug out of the trees the grass’ height diminished, overtaken by fallen birch trees, old logs, and dense overgrowth that slowed riding to a snail’s pace. Every step had to be measured before the animals could move forward.
“I think we need to dismount. It’s too dangerous to ride in here,” Mal said thirty yards deep into the darkening forest. Insects and birds chirped maniacally, seemingly at them, shouting for them to get out, and leave now. He patted Bramwell on the neck, and the giant beast ruffled in agreement. The massive horned creature seemed more nervous with every step deeper into the forest they went.
Everyone reached agreement, and with the humans guiding the mounts by lead on foot, they were able to make better progress. The advantage of the human foot over the hoof. The forest appeared awash with patches of darkness and light that played tricks on the eyes. Blue and yellow streams shot through gaps in the leaves above, spilling into pools of radian
ce that lit small areas of the dense forest like warm islands. Where the light hit the trees and stopped it could’ve been nighttime below. The voids were cold, and smelled of old moss, and rotting wood. It wasn’t a pleasant smell.
“It feels dead here,” Chelsea said. “Like the trees are fighting against something rotten in the ground to stay alive. Like the sun is the only thing keeping them from decaying away like these stumps have,” she said as she kicked a sickly green corpse of a fallen giant. The stump broke apart with a wet crunch and fell apart to the ground. Black insects burst out and scattered into the ground covering, and she stepped away, making a vomiting noise. A long centipede the length of her forearm slithered up and around the base of the stump and seemed to give her a dirty look. After lingering for a breath, the thing slithered out of sight. She hated bugs. Too many of them were poisonous, or had enough smarts about them to be a true threat.
“You might be right,” Mal said, looking around with narrowed eyes, searching into the alcoves of darkness for threats unseen. “Do you guys feel it? There’s something in the air here. Something wrong. Like the flow in The Way here is off.”
James and Umaryn were breathless, but unable to say something valuable, but agreeing with him through their silence.
“Look, it’s getting lighter ahead, there’s a clearing,” Chelsea said as she drew her sword. She’d had enough of feeling vulnerable for the day.
Umaryn produced Chael’s Hammer off her belt with a twist of her wrist and let the heavy polished steel head dangle low. She whispered softly to it, low enough so that no one could hear what she said, but everyone knew what she had done. The hammer would swing harder and truer now because it wanted to please her.
James slowed his gait and allowed the three warriors to take the lead as they walked slowly into the thinning trees, and eventually into the skeletal carcass of what was left of New Falun.
If the concrete train platform could be considered abandoned and falling apart, then the village remains had to have been willfully desiccated and destroyed by a malicious entity. No amount of simple human neglect could wreak the havoc on the village they saw when they stepped fully out of the stifling and oppressive forest. What they laid eyes on could only have come from wanton, intentional destruction.
New Falun had never been a large village. When Weston told his tale of treachery he’d described it as no more than four score of homes, and perhaps a quarter of that number remained in any possible condition that you could identify them as a place where humans had slept and ate, and lived their lives. Dozens of shallow crawlspaces and root cellar foundations were scattered across an oval shaped clearing perhaps two hundred feet wide at its thickest, and no more than three hundred feet from the closest end to the furthest where it narrowed and headed to the supposed mine beyond. To the right of the village running along its side trickled a stream that widened into a fat slug of an ugly pond. On both sides of the running water were still neatly organized rows of corn, and vegetables that had managed to stay alive after their human tenders had disappeared on them. The rail line split the village, dividing it neatly in half. On the left you could see the jagged, rotting walls of a large town hall or church, complete with a collapsed bell tower at its center, sticking up like an ancient graveyard tombstone for the important building on whose roof it had once sat. Beside the destroyed church, the spines of an old fence told them the town’s largest animal pen had once existed there. Surrounding all of it and disappearing into the sky above were the cliffs and steep slopes of the ever present mountains. It felt like the entire hamlet sat deep inside a bowl made of stone, and buried in the dying forest they’d just walked through. Even the animals had gone silent here, and no breeze rustled the leaves. It gave the group a collective feeling of immense solitude, and neglect.
“I have never felt more alone,” Mal said. “James, can you hear the spirits talking? Moving at all? Is there anything that happened here?”
James opened his mouth but said nothing for a few seconds. “Mal, I’ve never been well enough attuned to the spirits of the dead that I could hear them as they are even in the densest places. Others have that gift, but not me. I can tell you this; I know exactly what you mean. There’s a stillness here. A stoppage of… time. Of something.”
“Umaryn can you hear anything? Can you hear the spirits inside the things?” Chelsea asked the red armored woman, now with her helm on her head.
Her voice muffled by the helm, she spoke with concern, “It’s like everything here was smothered, Chelsea. Everything living, everything dead. I hear nothing. Not even cries of pain.”
They group went as silent as the mournful village they looked at.
“James, do you think that large building was their church?” Mal asked him.
He nodded apprehensively after some thought. “Yes, most likely. If it is, there’s enough wall remaining I think that I can consecrate it. If it was the church, then likely some of the original consecration remains still. It would speed up my process.”
“Excellent. That’s good news. Do you think you can do the spell on your own?” Mal inquired.
“Technically yes,” James said. “But if I am disturbed after the rite has begun I’ll need to start again anew. It would be wise to protect me. The armor of faith I wear would appreciate a pair of watchful eyes.”
Mal smirked. “Alright. I’ll protect James while he does the consecration rite. We need to ensure nothing dangerous is still here inside the clearing. Chelsea and Umaryn, what do you say about checking every building and cellar together while we wait for the spell to finish?”
The two women looked at each other, and were in agreement. “Let’s get James set up. Mal, keep your bow handy if we call for help.”
“Give its spirit a rousing prayer first, and you got it Sister.”
The four led their frightened mounts into the graveyard of New Falun with hands that betrayed their own shaking fears.
—Chapter Nine—
DEALS AND PLANS
Marcus had instructed the carpenters who labored day and night to build the walls that protected the village of Ockham’s Fringe. With great care he had given them plans to build the gates that obstructed passing train travel to open silently, or at the very least, have a way to them that would allow for a near silent opening. One of the laborers had some smarts, and built the north gate with fake wooden hinges. From the outside the thick, halved tree trunks they used as gate material appeared to sit on and swing on a simple peg contraption common all across Elmoryn. Of course those are painfully loud and creaky when opened, so on the inside, behind where they had hand-carved the fake looking hinges, the door was actually able to swing on three thick leather straps, wide as a man’s thigh, and as thick as a wrist. The leather wasn’t cow hide, it was Plainswalker hide. Strong as steel but pliable and workable like leather. They’d lucked into enough of the exotic material for the hinges when the village tanner said a traveler passing through had left him some as payment for curing the whole beast. He’d revealed the scraps as if they were precious Relics of a bygone era. The workers praised their good fortune, and thanked the traveler for their gift.
Marcus had a strong suspicion of the identity of the traveler.
When the two riders dispatched by Oberyn Dunwood on the Knight Major’s command exited the stealthy gate, they were able to open one door wide enough for the passage of two horses and their riders, and close the gate again without a creak or a groan from the wood. When the door closed behind them, the soldiers barred it with heavy beams across its width, and propped up against it from the inside. They rode north along the side of the rails for two miles, and then cut around to the west beyond the circle of Empire camps holding guard. It was easy work from that point on under the light of the rising moons Lune and Hestia for them to stay far out of sight of the Purple Queen’s legion. After all, the invaders were looking at the walls of Ockham’s Fringe, not at the sea of sweet green summer grass that surrounded it.
Pr
ivate Inger Bwold and her skilled rider friend Adam Klein were the crafty soldiers sent out to ride first north, then south that night. Both Inger and Adam had joined the Darisian 2nd fresh that spring, and they had something to prove to the unit veterans. Both soldiers were up for promotion to Corporal soon, and all initial Darisian 2nd soldiers fight for the respect of their new peers. From seconds at meals to a five minute break after a run, nothing is given in the 2nd, everything must be earned. Both had grown up on ranches in the flat southern plains of Varrland, near the foothills of the Akeels, and both had ridden horses since the time they could walk. When the call came out for two experienced night riders, they raised their hands and knew this was their chance to show their fellow soldiers what they were made of. No one would doubt them belonging.
The fast moving summer night air rushing into their faces made their eyes run with cold tears, but they kept their horses moving with the iron rails in sight, and at their side. Their thighs burned, their backs ached, and head to toe they took punishment as they rode nervously south. The riders kept their eyes peeled ahead for the Varrland national trains from Daris that should’ve borne their reinforcements to them already, and their ears peeled for the sounds of movement at their heels. They must elude the enemy at all costs. They couldn’t be killed or captured on this mission. Marcus had been very clear.
“You will outrun them and head straight to Daris if you have to. That failing, you will kill any Empire soldiers who follow you, or die trying. They cannot know anything about the inside of the village, or our plans to defend it. Ensure that our reinforcements are on the way. Make it clear that we are at war with The Empire. Is that clear?” Marcus had said to them as they gathered near the empty Guild rail platform at Ockham’s Fringe. The secret gate was just to Marcus’ rear.
The Echoes of Sin (The Kinless Trilogy Book 3) Page 10