by J. Thorn
“My father is chief of the Elk.”
“We ain’t hunting Elk. We’re buck hunting.”
Gideon paused, unsure if the men even knew about the last of the great clans.
“You a boy, and we ain’t out for no boys.”
The man on the left lowered his blowpipe and the other did the same. They stood there, waiting for Gideon’s response.
“I’m lost.”
“That’s a weird name. I’m Ferk, and this here’s Ranky. We live over yonder.”
Ferk was the hunter on Gideon’s left. He pointed past Ranky and into the forest. Ranky did not speak.
“My name is Gideon. I belong to the—”
“The Elk,” said Ranky. “Yeah, we heard you the first time. Why you so far from the bridge? That’s where they all is.”
Gideon sighed. They’re not as dumb as you think they are. “I’ve been scouting the breach.”
“The what? What did he call that, Ranky? You mean this here hole?”
“Yes. From the grumble.”
Ranky nodded and spat and shrugged his shoulders at Ferk.
“Whatever,” said Ferk. “Long as you don’t pinch our buck runs, we got no gripe with you, your father, or your clan. Y’all just stay near the bridge.”
“We don’t want to stay here. We’re trying to find a way across that doesn’t involve fighting the Cygoa.”
“Da who? Damn, boy. Life ain’t that complicated. If you spend all your time fighting, you got nothing left for the hunting, the eating…and time with the girls, if you know what I mean.”
Ranky guffawed at Ferk’s insinuation.
“You think the breach can be crossed over there?”
Ferk and Ranky looked at the section of the breach shaped like an hourglass.
“As long as she don’t shake again, I reckon you could build a plank walk to get you and your clan across. You agree, Ranky?”
Ranky shook his head.
“Your clan. Would you wage war on the Elk if we came through here to cross the breach? To get home?”
“Clan? Ain’t been no big clan for us for a long time, kid. Me and Ranky got a few chitlins running around the fire and those of us left are Greyrook.”
“So yeah, we’ll help. But it’ll cost ya,” said Ranky.
Gideon smiled. His heartbeat had returned to normal, and the longer he talked to the two hunters, the better he felt about his chances of getting out of there alive. And if they knew the forest, they could help the Elk.
“How much?”
Ferk held his hand out to quiet his friend. He turned to face Gideon. “Five bucks. At least four with eight points or more.”
Gideon’s face twisted and he shifted his weight to one foot.
“He don’t know what you’re sayin’.”
Ferk glared at Ranky and continued. “Five deer. Male. With eight antler points or more.” Ferk added a head tilt and eyebrow raise to the end of his comment.
“Yeah, okay. I know my father would approve of that deal.”
“Helluva deal,” Ranky said, hopping from one leg to the next. “You did good, Ferk.”
The two hunters nodded and turned to leave. Gideon took a step toward them. “Wait.”
“Lemme guess. You want us to hold your hand back to the camp.”
Ranky giggled again, and Gideon gave him an icy snarl.
“I’m kinda lost.”
“’Kinda’?” Ferk asked. “I’d say you’re more than ‘kinda’ lost. You been hiding behind that trunk and your flask be empty.”
“How did you…”
As Gideon’s question trailed off, Ranky thrust a hand into his hide poncho. He pulled out a thin strip of worn red fabric and tied it around his forehead. He giggled again, showing off his new headband to Ferk and Gideon.
“Finders keepers, losers weepers.”
This time it was Ferk who bust out with a deep, guttural laugh. Gideon felt the blood rush to his face.
“You took my breadcrumbs?”
“Don’t know what they are. But we did take the headbands once you passed us a few hours ago. Why would you leave perfectly good stuff tied to trees? We’ll never understand you western folk.”
Gideon smiled. “I thought I was losing my mind.”
“Just yerself. In our forest,” said Ferk.
“We’ll git you back. Me and Ferk’ll help you find your way to the camp.”
“But it’s gonna cost you five bucks. Don’t forget it,” said Ferk.
“That seems like a lot, but you’ve got a deal.”
Gideon reached out and shook the hands of both hunters.
“Then let’s go. We can get you back before sundown if we hurry.”
Gideon’s mind flashed back to the Valk, the beasts that came for the bodies of dead warriors.
“Please. Let’s go right now.”
Chapter 32
“Bring him to me.”
The Cygoa warrior bowed before Morlan and scurried down the steps.
Morlan sighed before taking a sip from his cup. The hot tea burned his tongue but left a sweet aftertaste in his mouth. He would have to make sure the old crone who had mixed it was still alive. Wytheville had always been a place of exotic treats, so Morlan had heard. It would be a true shame if he had to burn it to the ground.
The soldier returned. “My lord.”
Morlan spun away from the window. The man with the black cape stood before him, the scar on his neck almost glistening in the rays of the setting sun.
“Come here.”
The soldier nudged Gaston with the butt end of his spear before turning and disappearing down the stairs again. Gaston took two steps toward Morlan and stopped.
“I’m not going to push you out of the goddamn window. Get over here.”
Gaston smiled at him and tipped his head down. He walked over and stood next to Morlan, peering out of the open window and into the streets of Wytheville.
“You don’t fear me.”
“Of course I do. You are the leader of the Cygoa. All the northern clans fear you. I am merely practiced at keeping my emotions under control.”
Morlan chuckled and took another sip from his cup. He sighed with satisfaction and licked the sugary residue from his lips. “Tell me about White Citadel.”
It was Gaston’s turn to chuckle. He folded his arms beneath his cape. “What do you want to know?”
“If I snap my fingers, you will be dead before your head bounces off the concrete floor. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then stop mind fucking me. Quit pretending I called you up here because I want to have tea with you. Tell me about White Citadel, Gaston. Tell me right now.”
Gaston nodded. He stared out over the city, where the sun’s rays illuminated the ruins in brilliant shades of pink and purple. Merchants meandered through the town square while people pushed carts around their tables.
“Anyone who goes there dies.”
Morlan waited.
“I took a split of the Elk. We walked. Miles and miles. People dropped on the way because the blight is powerful. Far reaching. By the time we stood beneath the two towers, most of my people had been tainted.”
“And yet here you stand?”
Gaston paused, ignoring Morlan’s question. “The book. It is the book that has been my salvation. It will continue to be so.”
“Blah.” Morlan spat on the ground. “Now you sound like the Coven, spouting their fucking superstitious bullshit. Your book is worthless. The words inside are nothing but the fading thoughts of dying men.”
“As you say.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“My lord.” The soldier who had escorted Gaston to Morlan’s chamber came through the doorway, huffing and winded from running up the steps.
“What is it?”
“The two men. The Elk we captured. The old women gave them medicine, tended to their needs. But they both passed. They’re dead.”
Morlan waved his
hand and the soldier left him alone with Gaston again.
“They’ll all die. Maybe even your men who apprehended us on the road. They were far enough south.”
“The blight. It’s contagious?”
Gaston shook his head. He reached over and took the cup of tea from Morlan’s hand. Gaston put his lips on the cup and drew a sip before handing the cup back.
“Go on, my lord. See for yourself. The taint isn’t passed from the lips of one man to another. It comes from the blighted lands and afflicts those who traverse them.”
Morlan looked down and his eyes flashed back to Gaston. The hardened nomad appeared harmless, but Morlan knew it would be dangerous to underestimate the man’s powers of persuasion. If he did not sip, Morlan would show fear and a lack of faith in Gaston. And if he wanted control of the Coven, he would need this man. But if he did sip the tea, was it not possible that Gaston had assassinated him in his private chamber, with just his words?
“Take your time, my lord. Tis not an easy decision. That I know.”
Morlan grimaced, his eyes flittering from Gaston’s face to the city below. Maybe he should just toss this man off the top of the tower and let his brains paint the road. Morlan could deal with the Coven in his own manner. He didn’t need this lying devil.
“My throat is a bit scratchy. I think I’d like the rest of that tea, should you like to share it with me.”
Gaston put his hand on the cup. The men stared at each other, each with a hand on the cup of tea. Morlan looked into Gaston’s eyes. The man did not blink.
“Yes, my lord. I believe I need the rest of this.”
Morlan released his grip on the cup and watched as Gaston drank the rest of the tea. He wiped his mouth on his cape and tossed the cup into the corner of the chamber, where it shattered into a dozen pieces.
“Ah, yes. Now my throat feels…”
A rancid and hacking cough cut off Gaston’s words. Morlan took a step back as the man doubled over, coughing and spitting wads of phlegm onto the floor. But as Gaston continued coughing, his barks became bouts of laughter. By the time he stood back up, Gaston had both hands on his belly—tears running from his eyes. “I am not sick. Look at me, my lord. I’m immune. The blight can’t hurt me.”
“But you are sick. You were coughing. Your men— “
“Yes. My men are dead, but I’ve got nothing but a small touch of the woodland flu. I’m sure your tea will help cure my cough.”
Morlan shook his head. He opened his mouth, to call in the guard, then shut it. Did he really want them to hear the rest of this conversation?
“I want to know how. I want your power.”
Gaston stopped laughing. He wiped a few tears from his eyes before walking to the edge of the window and peering out over Wytheville, his back to Morlan. “Why?”
“Why do I want to know?”
“No, my lord. Why have you not pushed me out of this window to my death?”
Morlan inhaled sharply and turned his eyes to the ceiling, where the hanging bats would soon be awake. The Coven. He wanted the Coven.
“Because I trust you more than I trust the Coven.”
“Yes,” Gaston said, turning to face Morlan. “And now I believe that. You did not when I gave you back your tea. But now you do. You understand my power. Whether you believe it comes from the book, or a charm, or some mystery of the universe—that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you believe. You have faith. Do you have faith, Morlan?”
Morlan’s face twisted into a snarl at the sound of Gaston calling him by his name rather than his title. Morlan’s sharp fingernails cut into the flesh of his palms as he turned his hands into balled fists. And then he took another deep breath and responded to Gaston.
“I do.”
“Good. Then we shall be able to work together. If you choose that path.”
Chapter 33
The area outside the underground hall was thickly overgrown with ivy and bushes. Decades of unchecked growth had led to nature spreading its tendrils and covering everything in its path. Broken walls could barely be seen through the thick mat of leaves and vines, and the ground was almost entirely covered with a dense carpet.
Seren made her way cautiously across the large open space, treading between the gaps and sometimes scrambling over the mounds of green foliage that almost completely hid what was underneath. But she could see in places that there was broken concrete under her feet and even some of the black rock that the ancient’s roads had been constructed with, but it would ever see the sun again.
She looked back at the building she had hurriedly left behind and saw that the puzzling, thin gap that had lined the bottom of the one wall—allowing the only a dim strip of light into the interior—was the bottom of a row of huge, metal doors. There were a dozen of them in a line, and each massive door was thirty feet across and of equal height. Rust covered the dull surface, and entire sections had fallen away, but the metal seemed to be thick enough that not many holes had developed. The entrances were separated by cracked and crumbling concrete pillars. Rebar jutted out where some of the pillars had started to collapse.
In the center of the huge clearing between the buildings, another of the large metal vehicles stood, but this one was in a much worse condition than those hidden away in the darkness, protected from the elements. It sat there, abandoned and forgotten, just outside one of the great doors, facing toward the building as though it was still waiting to be let in, after all these years.
Seren hadn’t been able to see the true size and shape of the vehicles while she was inside the building; it had been too dark. Now she could clearly make out the shape, though it wasn’t like any type of rusted cart she had ever seen. She carefully picked her way through the undergrowth, making her way over to it, and found that it was on unobstructed ground. She walked around it, then walked around it again, puzzled at its shape.
The large, metal monstrosity had many wheels, it seemed. Dozens of them lined both sides and yet none of them touched the ground. Both rows of wheels were wrapped in a metal cover that was constructed of many interlocking pieces, although quite a number had fallen away. A large dome rose from the flat top of the vehicle’s body, out of which poked a barrel of metal not unlike the ones on the Remington that she carried, except this one was vast in comparison. Twenty feet or more of metal pipe jutted out from the head of the vehicle, pointing toward the main building but angled toward the sky.
Some sort of massive weapon, Seren thought, trying not to think what damage such a thing could do if a handheld one could take a man’s head off.
Surrounding the clearing were other buildings all facing in toward the flat expanse of ground. Some were single story, but others rose toward the sky, several floors high. In the distance, behind a row of cylindrical towers, stood the crumbling shapes of even taller buildings, like those she had seen in the ruins of large towns, except these were even bigger.
A lost city, she thought, hidden here, among the mountains and forest, all forgotten.
Sorcha returned from investigating the clearing and stopped beside her, growling quietly.
“Yeah,” said Seren. “We should probably leave.” But curiosity was easily beating her fear of whatever she had fled from in the darkness of the hall. Whatever that had been had also fled, after all.
Maybe it was an animal, more frightened of me than I was of it. She thought it had been footsteps heading away, but had it been? She wasn’t so sure, now. But if it was human, or something worse, then it could come back. The daylight was fading, and within an hour or two, she knew it would get dark. She didn’t want to risk being out there if it came back, even more so if it wasn’t alone.
She took a few steps forward, heading further toward the center of the massive clearing.
But I can’t travel too far, she thought. Her ankle was already reminding her of that. Even if it was only sprained, it could still mean that she would be unable to cover much distance for a few days. She had twisted her ankle on
ce, maybe five years before, when jogging one morning during a hunt, and it had taken nearly eight hours—most of the remainder of the day—to get back to the village. Her ankle had swollen back then, and she remembered needing to spend nearly a week with her leg in a bandage, constantly being told by the older villagers not to go anywhere, to rest, to let it heal. She didn’t have that luxury now. She would run out of supplies soon, maybe in a couple of days, and then she would need to find food.
Seren looked down at Sorcha. “I think we need to find somewhere to hole up for a day or so.” She looked back at the row of huge doors. “But not back in that place.”
She looked around, scanning the horizon, and saw the tops of all the buildings around her. “Maybe out there. We can go for a while and see if we can find somewhere that we can hide away.”
Sorcha sniffed and trotted forward, looking back, waiting patiently with a look Seren thought said, let’s get out of here.
Chapter 34
Jonah tried to busy himself. He set about the camp, moving from one group of warriors to another, discussing the arrival of the clans and inevitable situation at the breach. Most of the men wanted to talk about the Cygoa, and Jonah indulged them. And yet, his mind kept pulling at one thing the entire day.
Gideon.
The boy was old enough to take care of himself but not old enough to know how. Jonah couldn’t stop him from exploring the forest any more than he could slow the sun’s steady descent into twilight. He remembered being that age—the willful stubbornness without good reason.
Gideon had been told to make it back to camp before sundown. He understood that Jonah would have to send a search party if he did not.
The boy is mule-headed, Jonah thought. But he is not stupid.
A few warriors grabbed their axes and quietly hustled away from the fire toward the edge of camp, where someone or something had spooked the sentry. Jonah watched as they moved through the trees like spirits, gliding with a deadly purpose. Two of the older warriors appeared at his side and nodded at Jonah. He nodded back.