Shards of History

by Rebecca Roland

  “What now, father?” Okpairo asked as they left the healer’s tent behind.

  Torches, scattered throughout the camp, burned low, providing scant light. Kushtrim led them to the outer edges of camp, letting the stars and the setting moon light their way. The snores of a few men emanated from the tents. Set well north and separate from the camp stood the large tent that housed the unmentionables. A pair of dragons lay in front of the tent’s opening, guarding the women inside. Torches burned bright around it. In the torchlight, the fabric was pink, like the mountain’s granite face at sunset.

  Kushtrim sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t look well.”

  His next step faltered. Did Okpairo suspect he had the illness?

  “This is too much for one man to take on by himself,” Okpairo continued. “Perhaps you could let me take some of the burden for you.”

  He worried about Kushtrim’s burden as leader, not for his health then. “Every man in this camp is strained nearly to the breaking point.”

  They fell silent for a while. Then Okpairo said, “It was a brilliant idea. If it had worked—”

  “But it didn’t. And now I have to come up with another idea.” Kushtrim paused. “I am tempted to send another Jegudun into the valley. Maybe a second one could succeed where the first did not.”

  “What would we use to lever against the last one, then, if another Jegudun didn’t return?”

  “I didn’t say I was going to do it. I said only that I was tempted to do so.” They passed a fir tree. Kushtrim reached out and snapped off a branch. He began breaking it into little pieces, flinging them into the darkness as they walked. “Time is running out. Our choices are running out.”

  Kushtrim needed one Jegudun in order to take down the barrier. He wanted to hold onto both of the ones he had now, in case something happened to one. What did that leave him with? His thoughts chased one another, leaving him with nothing. He ripped apart the last little bit of the branch.

  Forcing a solution never brought one, so Kushtrim decided to distract himself from one problem by focusing on another. He stopped and turned to Gerwyn. “Give us a moment.”

  Gerwyn nodded and melted into the darkness beneath the fir trees.

  Quietly, Kushtrim said to Okpairo, “What have you heard about plots to move against me?” He searched for any hint of betrayal in his son’s face.

  Okpairo, his expression unreadable, said, “I am still gathering information. I want to be sure.”

  “Could someone be setting him up, distracting me from the real person who wants to move against me?” Someone like you?

  “Who else could it be? Who else could gather enough support?”

  “Any of the Peerless could do so. That’s two dozen men right there. And there is always a handful of warriors who feel slighted because they haven’t progressed to Peerless yet, or because they thought themselves better than someone who progressed ahead of them.”

  “That doesn’t narrow it down.”

  “What, you think none of these men aspire to greater status in life? To be Most Worthy is every man’s ultimate desire.”

  Okpairo remained silent.

  “Why do you focus only on Gerwyn?”

  “He’s one of the few who could physically best you in a fight.”

  The words stung. If only Okpairo knew that a few more weeks, or possibly even days, of this illness would render Kushtrim vulnerable to every man in camp.

  “He knows you almost better than anyone else. Your strengths. Your weaknesses.”

  Even Gerwyn didn’t know everything. The words knotted in Kushtrim’s throat as the urge to share news of his illness overcame him. The weight of the knowledge nearly buckled his knees.

  No, he could tell no one. Even if he didn’t suspect Okpairo, he didn’t want to burden him with this, not so soon after he lost his infant son. And he couldn’t tell Gerwyn on the slight chance that he would use the information against him. Surrounded by all these people, Kushtrim couldn’t help the isolation that overcame him. His chest tightened.

  He would see that his people got into the valley. Then, if it was too late for the healing waters to work on him, he would tell Okpairo that he had the illness. His last days would be spent ensuring that Okpairo had the support he needed to become Most Worthy. At that point it wouldn’t matter if Okpairo had been plotting against him. It would be his gift to his son.

  “Most of the men look up to Gerwyn,” Okpairo continued. “They equate him with you in their minds. He’s been your guard since the beginning of your rule. It wouldn’t be such a stretch for them to answer to him in your place.”

  “And if he challenged me and won? What would you do? Would you accept him as Most Worthy? Or would you challenge him yourself?”

  Okpairo raised his chin. “I would challenge him, but it would be to take revenge upon the man who killed my father.”

  “You wouldn’t challenge him because you believe yourself a better leader?”

  “Of course, that too.”

  Had Okpairo not been paying attention these last few years? Kushtrim had pushed him hard so he could become Most Worthy. It didn’t matter who defeated Kushtrim so long as Okpairo challenged that man and won.

  “If you take the position of Most Worthy one day,” Kushtrim said, “take it decisively. Leave no doubts that it belongs to you. An uncertain leader spreads dissent and doubt like poison through the ranks.”

  Shivers ran down Kushtrim’s spine. Something he’d just said had started a cascade of ideas. They fell into place with precision like a formation of Peerless on dragonback.

  “Father—”

  Kushtrim cut him off with a wave of his hand. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and relaxed, letting his mind travel to where it willed.

  The Taakwa weren’t the only ones who used the river as their main source of water. The Jeguduns used it too, although most of their water flowed directly to their homes through aqueducts which were fed by the river. It was a set-up similar to how their ancestors had built the Maddions’ homes. Those two captive Jeguduns might sacrifice themselves by refusing to cooperate. After all, what are two lives compared to thousands? But they wouldn’t let thousands of Jeguduns and Taakwa die if they could help it. Poisoning the river could force them to action.

  Kushtrim opened his eyes. He raced back to camp. Gerwyn’s sure footsteps pounded the ground behind him, catching up quickly.

  Okpairo fell in beside him. “Father, what’s wrong?”

  “Not a thing.” Kushtrim’s lungs burned. He risked a coughing spell, but this could not wait. He led Okpairo and Gerwyn through the sleeping camp to the prisoners’ tent.

  He burst into the tent, tossing the flaps aside. A lantern hung from the roof, casting a wide circle of light on the packed earth. The two guards sprang from where they sat when Kushtrim entered, hands reaching for their weapons. When they saw who had come in, they hastened to their knees, pressing their foreheads to the ground and saying, “Most Worthy.”

  “Rise,” Kushtrim said.

  As the two guards did so, one of them tried to surreptitiously push dice beneath the folds of a blanket. They had been playing games when they should have been paying attention to their prisoners.

  Kushtrim strode forward, his hands curled into fists. He pointed to the lump in the blanket that hid the dice. “Jeguduns are surprisingly cunning creatures. I have two guards in here at all times to watch them because they are absolutely vital to our getting into the valley and instead I find you gambling.” His voice rose to a roar by the end.

  Both men paled. One of them said, “N-no, Most Worthy. We were … we weren’t …”

  “Both of you are relieved of guard duty. Report to the dragon keeper tomorrow for your new tasks.” A few days of cleaning dragon dung should give them plenty of time to reconsider the seriousness of their duties.

  They scrambled to collect their weapons and fled the tent, keeping their faces averted.

  Kushtri
m turned his attention to the two remaining Jeguduns. They huddled together in the center of the tent, glaring at him. The cool night air helped dispel some of their stench, but it still hung thick in the tent, that combination of beast and bird. The one on the right, a brown creature with white spots along his belly, glared at him. He laid back his ears and snorted, nostrils flaring.

  “I’m releasing both of you, tonight,” Kushtrim said to them.

  Both Jeguduns stirred, rattling their chains. The brown one’s ears swiveled forward, and he cocked his head to one side, anger apparently replaced with confusion.

  Okpairo said, “What?”

  Kushtrim held up a hand to stop him. “I’m also taking down the dam. The river will flow again, unimpeded by me.”

  The Jeguduns shuffled back as far as their chains allowed, their eyes narrowing. Okpairo’s mouth worked, but no words came out. He turned away, both hands on top of his head. His fingers dug into his hair and his knuckles whitened.

  “I’m releasing both of you because you’re going to bring me a Taakwa by tomorrow when the sun sets. And I’m releasing the river because, if you don’t bring me a Taakwa by then, I am poisoning the water. Most of the Taakwa will die, as will your kind. Unless, of course, you all choose to fly away and leave the Taakwa to their fate. But at least then the Maddion will not be the only ones to mourn the death of their people.”

  Kushtrim crouched to look at the creatures eye-to-eye, propping his arms on his thighs. “And if you refuse, then I will poison the river right now, tonight, before you can warn your kind. So will you do this? Will you bring me a Taakwa, alive?”

  They both bowed their heads. Kushtrim waited, his hands clenching and unclenching. His shoulders and back ached. It felt as though a coughing spell would take him any moment. Maybe he shouldn’t have run here.

  He shifted his attention back to the Jeguduns. If this ploy didn’t work, he doubted he would live to see victory for the Maddion. Come on, come on.

  Then both creatures nodded. Kushtrim let his hands fall open as he stood.

  “Set them loose,” he told Gerwyn.

  Gerwyn’s face remained impassive. He loosened the Jeguduns from the post that held them, then led them outside, chains clinking all the way. A few moments later came the sound of large wings beating the air, then fading.

  Okpairo kept his back to Kushtrim. He let his arms fall to his sides, and his head bowed forward slightly.

  Kushtrim laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. Beneath the thick wool tunic, Okpairo’s muscles were as tense as a knotted trunk. “If you are to lead the Maddion one day, know that you do not show your doubts before your enemies.”

  The muscles beneath Kushtrim’s hand bunched and then relaxed. “Never again, father.”

  Kushtrim patted his shoulder. “Good. Let us see to young Minkturo, then, before his body is prepared for the journey home.”

  Chapter 13

  The pain in Malia’s leg woke her as faint morning light crept along the ground, reminding her of the arrow hitting her, the fire, Rasmus, Tuvin’s death, her flight from Selu. She groaned as the weight of it all hit her anew.

  She hesitated before inspecting the wound, wondering if it would look better than it had the night before. A few summers ago, there had been a boy who’d had a cut on his hand. It had quickly grown red and swollen, and after only a few hours, red streaks had marched up his arm. Soon after those red streaks reached his chest, he had died. She took a deep breath before taking a look at her wound. No red streaks, but the ragged edge took on the appearance of crimson teeth, bared and ready to strike.

  The skin around it was red and swollen and tender to her probing fingers. Angry red flesh filled the inside of the wound. Was it worse than the night before? She couldn’t tell, but she had a feeling it should have felt and looked better than it did. She needed Rasmus’s help.

  She crawled from the hollow and stood. Her injured leg held her weight, but new pain awoke in it and she winced. She shouldered her bag and scanned the area. The sun, peeping over the horizon, was just beginning to chase the chill from the air. There were no signs of Rasmus, but the damp ground showed his footsteps leading around the uprooted pine tree and disappearing around the slope to her right. He’d checked on her during the night. The thought comforted Malia, but she hated that he had spent the night in the cold and rain while she’d been in relative comfort.

  “Malia, up here.”

  She turned and craned her neck. Rasmus stood on a ledge that jutted above her, his face in shadow.

  “Would you take a look at my leg?” she said.

  He scrabbled down the slope, sending little rocks and clumps of dirt before him. In the daylight, up close, the lines on his face were deeper. He had puffy skin beneath his eyes, though whether that was normal or a result of the previous night’s adventures Malia couldn’t tell.

  Rasmus knelt beside her as she pulled her skirt out of the way. His large callused fingers probed the area around the wound much deeper than she had. A hiss of breath escaped her as pain shot through her leg.

  “Does it hurt more than it did last night?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But it doesn’t feel any better.”

  “Hmm.” He sat back on his heels and rested his forearms on his thighs. “You need a poultice to draw out the heat and pain.”

  She thought again of the boy who’d died from blood poisoning. Something must have shown on her face because Rasmus quickly added, “You’ll be fine. I just …”

  “Just what?”

  “Living alone for the past few years, I haven’t had much chance to practice my healing skills. If this wound gets worse—”

  “Those are not the words I want to hear.” Malia let her skirt fall back down. She didn’t want to end up like that boy. Rasmus might doubt his healing skills, but she knew someone who could help her. “Do you know of the village Posalo? There’s a healer there named Enuwal. He helped me last summer when I was sick. He could help with this.”

  Rasmus shook his head. “I don’t know the place. And if I did, I couldn’t enter the village.”

  “Yes, but you could wait for me. Or even take news of the Taakwa army to the Jeguduns. I could catch up.”

  “Can you trust this Enuwal? How will you explain suddenly appearing in his village with an arrow wound?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll think of something. And yes, I can trust him.” Like she had trusted Dalibor once? She shoved the thought away. Enuwal was nothing like Dalibor.

  “The main road lies just east and north of us.”

  “Posalo lays off the main road.”

  “Then we’ll follow it. I’ll get you as close to the village as I dare, then I’ll have to leave you.”

  Malia nodded. “Of course.”

  She led the way around the hill’s crest, a slight hobble in her step. Just like Tuvin. She rolled his feather between her fingers. Today’s ache at his death was just as palpable as it had been yesterday, perhaps even more so because each step she put between herself and her village reminded her of what she was leaving behind.

  Had men from her village left for the cliffs already? Was Vedran among them? No doubt he’d insist on going. She hoped her abrupt disappearance—and whatever Dalibor told them about her and Tuvin—somehow caused the men’s council to insist he stay behind. She wanted her brother as far from those Maddion and their dragons as possible. Although in flight they could probably cover the entire valley in a short amount of time, making no place safe.

  Rasmus grabbed her arm. “Hold on.” He pointed east and north.

  Fog covered the plains below. It thinned in places, revealing the diminished Big River winding its way through. Gray clung to that part of the valley, the night not having completely given up its hold, the day not having yet claimed it. And through the gray moved a herd of elk.

  The fog swirled around them as they passed through it, their hooves making distant thunder. The fog hid their legs so that they appeared to
be part of it, gray spirits rising from a misty lake.

  “They seem almost unreal,” Malia said.

  “They’re very real. But they’re not what I wanted to show you. Look farther east.”

  Malia raised a hand to her brow to shield her eyes from the sun. A narrow road of packed dirt led from the east to a road that traveled along the far side of the river—the valley’s main road. A group of men, three or four dozen, walked along that road to meet up with the one running north and south. They carried bows and quivers filled with arrows, and broad wooden shields painted with clan symbols.

  “More men to fight Jeguduns,” Rasmus said. The lines around his mouth deepened as he frowned.

  Would Dalibor head north with the rest of Selu’s men? Malia hoped Tuvin had left him too injured to travel. His wounds had to be worse than hers. But a chill ran down her neck and she glanced behind her, expecting to find him standing at the crest of the hill. The fury in his voice as she’d fled had been unmistakable.

  “All these people traveling will make it more difficult for us to travel unseen.” Rasmus sighed. “We should get moving. The latter part of the day will only bring more people through here.”

  Malia nodded, ready to move on.

  They climbed down the hill, the trees hiding them from the men on the road. Towards the bottom, a stream trickled along a rocky bed. Malia filled her water pouch, noting the dark color of the clay along the stream bed. Something in the clay sparkled subtly. It would make a fine pottery piece without the need for any embellishment or paint.

  They continued down the slope and north through the forest, keeping the main road in the distance and to their right.

  The top of the cliffs rose above the tree line. A good day’s walk, if she wasn’t hurt, would have brought them to the cliffs by the day’s end. And somewhere beyond those cliffs the Maddion waited. Malia squinted, trying to catch any hint of the barrier Rasmus had said protected them from the Maddion, but saw nothing unusual. If she hadn’t experienced Tuvin’s memory she would have thought it crazy that an army waited just outside the valley. How was she ever going to convince her people of the truth?