by J. Thorn
Chapter 40
The massive trunk of the felled tree wavered for a moment, straining on the ropes that held it in place. Jonah watched from a safe distance as the men moved away along the edge of the breach. His heart thumped in his chest, just as it had done with all three logs that had been dropped into place so far.
The noise was tremendous each time, and this was no different. As the fourth log hit the ground there was a loud bang that echoed through the deep canyon below. Dust spewed into the air, causing a cloud that obscured all vision over the breach for a hundred yards in either direction, though this time, no birds flew from the trees, panicking to escape whatever otherworldly disaster they thought had fallen upon them. They had all left after the first trunk was put in place.
Jonah was relieved when the dust settled and he could see all the logs were still there, and the ground had not collapsed and swallowed them. Although they were quite a distance apart, they lay neatly across the breach. He turned to Ghafir, who stood just a few feet away, peering down into the darkness. “That should be enough for us to build a basic footbridge,” he said.
“Yes,” Ghafir replied, nodding. The man glanced over the other side of the breach, scratched his chin, and pointed at the trees on the other side. “Of course, because our hunter friends are nowhere to be seen, we now need one of us to go across, so that we can roll the logs together.”
Jonah peered at the darkness below. “I guess that will be me,” he said. “I’m not forcing anyone risk to falling into that in my stead.”
Ghafir laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Jonah looked up to the man and frowned. “Why not?”
“Jonah,” Ghafir said, placing his hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “You are my friend, and I like you, but sometimes you say foolish things. You are leader of the Elk, and for all intents, leader of the Six Clans. Hell, add the other ten that now follow the clans as well, and even more that one day will follow you. If you were to fall into that damn hole, and break your neck, where would that leave us? Who would they blame? Me, for being here with you. Oh no, that must not be. You have to let someone else do this.”
Jonah smiled. Ghafir was right, but it didn’t make giving the command for another to risk his life any easier.
“I am, of course, the best choice for this particular job,” said Ghafir.
“Oh, I see,” said Jonah, his smile widening. “I must not go, but you must.”
“Yes,” said Ghafir. “My kind are not as clumsy as you forest people. We are more agile, and less likely to lumber over there and fall to our deaths, and I am the most agile of my kind. It is obvious.”
“You’re as stubborn as I am,” said Jonah.
“Yes, but I have the freedom to take such risk, where you do not. Come, help tie a rope to me so that if there is an accident, you heavy lumps can stop me from falling.” He walked a few steps toward the largest of the fallen trunks. “Of course, it will not be needed, but I’m sure it will satisfy all of your concerns.”
After Jonah tied the rope to Ghafir’s waist, checking and double checking it before handing it off to half a dozen of the stronger Elk warriors who were waiting nearby, he stood next to Ghafir at the foot of the thickest fallen tree. He had gained an admiration for this man over the months since they had first met on the way to Eliz. The man had once, not long ago, been the leader of the clan that his father had cursed as gray—banished, never to be named, and never to set roots in one place. Now, Ghafir was comfortable enough in Jonah’s presence to even argue and hurl smart remarks at him. Others may frown upon such behavior, as an insult to a leader such as Jonah, but it was one of the things he liked about the man.
Ghafir knelt and peered across the breach, following the line of the tree, checking that it was level. It had taken a day, and many men, to find and cut down the largest trees in the forest and then haul them to the breach with ropes before standing them on end and letting them fall. It was a feat that Jonah had not thought possible, and it had seemed like chaos at the time, but when each log fell as planned, he had been surprised.
Jonah looked across the breach to the forest, toward where they had heard screaming the night before. Whoever went across first was risking much. They would not only have to help roll the logs into place but watch their own back at the same time.
“Maybe more than one of us needs to go across,” Jonah said.
“No, it’s fine,” said Ghafir. “So long as your men keep the trunks still at this end, it will not take long for me to roll the other end into place. Then both ends can be lashed and we will have a walkway.” He stepped up onto the log, held his arms out, and tested his balance. He was about to cross when Jonah noticed movement on the other side, among the trees.
“Wait,” said Jonah.
Ghafir looked up and dropped down to the ground next to the tree, reaching for the bow slung over his shoulder. The man had an arrow notched in less than two seconds.
Half a dozen shadows moved out from the cover of the trees and swiftly ran toward where the logs had fallen.
Cygoa, Jonah thought. They are going to ruin our plan. But then he recognized Briar’s grinning face and relaxed as the man waved to him.
Chapter 41
A heavy stench hung on the air inside the chamber. The darkened room reeked of rotting animal flesh and burnt hair. Morlan passed through the open doorway, gagging as he tasted the acidic burn of vomit in his mouth. His eyes watered. Morlan spat and turned to the dais where Genris sat upon his high throne.
“You missed our ceremony.”
“Not all of it.” Morlan waved at the lingering smoke. “Seems like you were kind enough to keep the vapors inside.”
“Why are you here, Morlan?”
“Because I can be wherever I choose. You may lead the Coven, but I lead the Cygoa.”
Genris nodded his head once. He stood and walked down the three steps until he stood before Morlan. “I can have the torches refilled, should you prefer more light in the chamber.”
“Don’t bother. I won’t be here long. Did you hear what happened?”
Genris shook his head left to right but his eyes never left Morlan’s. The witch doctor wore a smile that appeared as cold as the icy waters of the north.
“Andmar is dead.”
Genris shrugged.
“And the bridge over the breach? It’s gone,” Morlan continued. “One of my fastest scouts returned this morning with the news.”
Two servants appeared from the dark recesses of the room. One put a red robe around Genris’ shoulders, the fabric stained with long, dark streaks. The other servant handed him a pipe with an orange glow at the tip.
“Smoke?”
“Did you hear me? Andmar is dead, and the bridge is gone. You said we had to go south.”
He waited as Genris took a drag from the pipe, held the smoke in his lungs and then pushed it out into Morlan’s face. Although the leaf smelled rank, it was an improvement from whatever foul ceremony had polluted the air.
“And we will. We shall. The signs point to it.”
“Fuck you and your signs.”
A gasp came from the corners of the chamber, and the sound of running feet slapped the cold stone.
“We don’t need to resort to such barbaric language, now, do we?”
“I’m done with your omens and rituals. Your superstitious bullshit isn’t any more valid than the tales of the dark stranger.”
“Gaston.” Genris spoke the man’s name as if doing so caused him as much pain as a rotten tooth. “The man with the book.’”
“I’m not here to play politics with you. And I’m not submitting to him, either. It’s time we do it my way. The warrior’s path.”
Although the words came out as a forceful bark, Morlan felt something shift inside his head. He swayed and blinked, the image of the witch doctor wavering before him as though standing behind a waterfall. The sound of his own heart filled his ears, and Morlan stumbled one step backward. A servant put out hi
s hands to keep Morlan from falling to the ground.
“I really think you should have a smoke.”
Morlan screamed at the man, tossing vile profanities at Genris. But his mouth had not opened, and so the words pounded the inside of his skull before settling into a dull throb at the back of his neck.
“Okay.”
Genris’ smile crept further up his face. He motioned at the servants and they took several steps back—out of sight but close enough to be near the witch doctor should anything unexpected occur.
Morlan watched as his hand, without command from his brain, reached for the pipe. He brought the tip to his lips and inhaled. At first, the herb burned. The smoke seared his tongue and would ruin his love of venison for days. But the vapors moved down his windpipe and filled his lungs with a warm, relaxing feeling, much like burning pine on a cold winter’s morning. He held the smoke in, counted to three, and then exhaled.
“Now. You were saying that Gaston needs to be punished for his transgressions against the Coven?”
“Yes.” Morlan laughed as the word came out. His brain screamed “no,” and yet he had affirmed Genris’ ludicrous proposition. “Gaston must pay.”
Genris raised his hands and the servants came back to remove his ceremonial robe. They floated into the darkness while Genris climbed back up onto the dais and took his seat on the throne. The animal bones and hide continued to burn in the brass urn at his feet. Genris leaned over the smoke and brushed it into his face, his mouth open and his eyes closed.
“Should he die, Morlan? I think it is an inevitability. The signs have shown it.”
That word. The man and his fucking signs.
“The signs,” said Morlan. “Yes.”
“I am so glad you and I had this lovely chat over a pipe. It’s amazing how much progress can be made when one has faith in the wisdom of the Coven’s ways.”
“Yes.” Morlan felt a lump in his throat, something that the smoke could not push down. “Yes.”
Genris turned his head to the side, his eyebrows lifting. “You have more you’d like to say but your mouth seems to be…stuck?”
“Yes,” Morlan said again. Tears filled his eyes and the veins on his neck stood out. “No. Fucking no.”
Genris sat back and the smile dropped from his face. The flames at his feet flashed and the dried bone rattled in the fire like a poisonous snake. “What did you say?”
“I said fucking no. Fucking no, you evil son of a bitch.” Morlan felt a tingling in his lips and the warm, safe sensation in his lungs disappeared. Every breath felt like daggers of ice puncturing his chest. His tongue swelled and stuck to the side of his mouth.
“I’m so disappointed in you.”
Morlan abandoned his attempt at a verbal joust and instead reached for his sword. He unsheathed the long dagger and leapt up onto the dais in one motion. Before the servants could rush to Genris’ side, Morlan had a sharp, cold blade at the witch doctor’s neck.
“You no longer have power over me or my people. The Coven’s influence is gone. I will expose you and your man-servants for the fake, corrupt bastards you are.”
“Trading one enemy for another. I’m sure you believe Gaston won’t betray you. He’ll lead you to the promised land.”
“My dealings with Gaston are not of your concern.” Morlan felt his head clear. Although his vision sharpened, and he could now form words to be spoken, a headache blossomed behind his forehead that he was sure would become a wretched monster by sundown.
“Will you remove this blade from my neck? You’re frightening the priests, and I don’t see how you think this will benefit our people.”
“Our people? I lead the Cygoa. Not you. They are not our people.”
Genris tried to smile, but it appeared weak, a trembling dark line on his face about to spill sadness into the room.
“And yes, dear Genris. I know you love to hear that word. Yes, I will remove the blade from your neck. Whether it bruises your neck or empties your life blood will be up to you.”
Chapter 42
Jonah was the first across the makeshift bridge. The initial few steps were nerve-wracking, and Jonah could feel his stomach turning as he tried to avoid looking down into the void below, expecting the logs to break at any moment. But nothing happened and, after only a few steps, he was out into the middle of the bridge, the rope firmly attached to his waist.
The bridge barely moved under his weight.
He took a side step to check the outmost log, and found it to be just as sturdy.
We build entire buildings out of logs like these, he thought, and you’re nearly pissing in your pants.
Ghafir stood on the other side of the bridge, waiting patiently. Jonah could tell the man was concerned, even though he was hiding it.
Can’t have that, now, can we? he thought, and even though it felt immature, Jonah stopped in the middle and bounced, grinning at his friend, whose eyes went wide. Then Jonah paced the remaining distance and hopped off the other side, untying the rope and waving back at the gathering of Elk warriors at the other side.
“It’ll be more than strong enough,” said Jonah. “Well, once we have another dozen or so more logs next to those and they are all lashed together securely.”
“Yes,” Ghafir said, his relief evident. “Though the carts are quite a bit heavier than one man.”
Jonah frowned and looked at the logs. “You think we should double them up? Another layer?”
Ghafir nodded. “Many more logs,” he said, and then turned to head up the hill.
Jonah looked toward the tree line as they walked side by side. The hunters, he noticed, had gone.
“Where are Briar and his cronies?” Jonah asked.
Ghafir pointed ahead. “In the clearing, up there. Just as the Greyrook clan promised, it flattens out into an open area. They’re marking out the area for us to build our camp upon, big enough for for all the clans, I think.”
“We need to concern ourselves with defense,” said Jonah, “and I’m not sure camping this close to the breach is a good idea.”
“You’ll see. It’s a huge clearing, and flat. It will take the numbers, and if we want to build a camp on flat ground it’s another two miles up the hill before it starts to level off.”
“Hmm,” Jonah mumbled. “Way too far to keep control of the bridge, at least while we’re still camped here. We’ll move on soon enough, but I want control of the bridge while we are still here.”
“Yes. Those were my thoughts, too.”
“Good call, my friend. This clearing will have to be it. We will make it work. Hopefully it’ll only be temporary anyway, just to gather everyone this side of the breach before we move west.”
“Ah, yes. I have some news for you on that matter,” said Ghafir.
Jonah’s eyebrows rose at this. “Something good, I hope?”
“Depends on your view. I spoke to my kin before I left them to come here, and we have considered all that is happening in Eliz. Even though some would prefer to stay, they all agree that now the area is in too much turmoil. For now, and if your offer still stands, we would choose to travel with you and your clans. To the west.”
Jonah stopped as the ground leveled off, and he gazed through the trees at the clearing that Ghafir had spoken of. The area was, as Ghafir had noted, more than big enough for their needs, and Jonah was surprised that such a plateau could be hidden among the trees on the slope. “Well, that’s the best news I’ve had all day. I would be honored if your clan would travel with us.”
The two men stood silently for a few minutes. Jonah didn’t know what was on Ghafir’s mind, but he was busy calculating their next move.
“We will need to send scout groups out before we can move on from here, so we can expect to be here for a few days. How far is the Ninety-Five road, do you think?”
Ghafir seemed to ponder this for a few seconds. “We rarely travelled this way, after the clan travelled to the east many years ago, but if my memory serves
me, maybe twenty miles. So maybe a long day’s travel for the cart pushers.”
Jonah nodded. “Then we need to finish that bridge today, set up here for a couple of days, get everyone over that bridge, and send scouts out to the Ninety-Five, then south. The most defensible area I can think of around here is Rocky Mount.”
“Good view from there.”
“Then I need to talk to the council. Try to figure out what our plan should be. We want to go back west, but only as far as we can without running into too many Cygoa. And I want to know how much of the west they have claimed before we can start taking it back and return to Wytheville.”
“That’s weeks away,” said Ghafir. “We will need another place between here and there, I think; another ruin to call home for a while.”
“How many of them could there be? If it’s an invasion, we could be looking at hundreds. Multiple warbands. If they can send this many, this far out to the east, to block us, then I can only imagine. If they’ve moved into the valley in huge numbers, maybe more than what we have… Hell, I’m not sure what we do with that.”
“And we have other concerns, I feel,” said Ghafir.
“Such as?”
“The other Eliz clans. I was listening to some of them, before we left to come here, and there is much talk among them that Eliz may not be safe to return to after the grumbles. One of the other hunters from another clan was speaking of how even the Nikkt may not return. I fear that the west may be a destination not just for us but for many.”
“Meaning?”
Ghafir turned to Jonah. “Meaning it isn’t just the Cygoa that may head for the valleys.”
“Then they will have to fight alongside us to take it back,” said Jonah.
Chapter 43
Seren approached the building cautiously, still wondering if it was even a good idea to be there in the first place. Following some disembodied voice speaking from a box on the wall seemed about the worst plan to stay alive, but she was compelled, nonetheless. Maybe it was something in the man’s voice, or the fact that he—or they—had left her alone all this time, while she wandered the city, instead of showing themselves? She didn’t know. And it didn’t matter. She was already there, standing at the crossroads, walking slowly across the road.