Shards of History

by Rebecca Roland

  Anger tightened and coiled in Malia’s chest. “How dare you speak of me in such a way.” She pulled off her necklace and held it high so the torchlight would catch it. “Do you see this feather?” she asked, raising the old one. “I earned it. It says that the councils of my village thought I was capable enough to be the next clan mother. And this one,” she said, now raising Tuvin’s, “was given to me in friendship and trust by a Jegudun.” She lowered her arm and pointed at Dalibor. “The same Jegudun that he killed, a Jegudun that was injured and incapable of flying to safety and defending himself and me, although I’m sure his tales weaved a different story about a ferocious, mindless beast. And he says I’m the one given to daydreams.”

  Grumbling rose among the men. A few looked anew at Dalibor, this time with their brows drawing down.

  The muscles in Dalibor’s jaw twitched. The fingers of his good hand formed a fist, and then relaxed.

  “She was ill just last year,” he said. “Feverish. She nearly died. The council had appointed her before her illness. How could they have known how the fever would affect her mind?” He shook his head sadly. “How could I have known?”

  Malia took a step forward. “I could recite my village’s lineages right now, and then the ones for the surrounding villages, and then the ones for the outer villages.” Her gaze flickered to the men standing behind Dalibor. “If I were so ill, and my mind impaired by fever, would the councils have let me continue my training? No.” A few men nodded in agreement. Good. “Dalibor is angry with me. He threatened me, and so I put his things outside my home. And when I took him back, it was only because my clan mother told me I had to. He calls me wife, but I am not his wife anymore.”

  More men were nodding, and they were talking amongst themselves in hushed tones.

  Dalibor’s face contorted in anger. “The Jeguduns are the ones who dammed the river. She’s trying to distract us or delay us, just like she tried to distract me from the Jegudun that attacked me. Some of you have seen my wounds. Does it look like some helpless beast caused those?” He shook his head. “We need to send her to Posalo with a few men to guard her and continue on our way.” He gestured towards the sky. “Look, the day is dawning. Perhaps she stalls us so the Jeguduns will be ready to sweep down on us.”

  Malia thought of the Taakwa that Vacir had shown her, brutally killed and covering the valley’s plains, their blood soaking the earth. Dalibor was the one distracting and delaying the Taakwa from their true purpose. The fool was going to get them all killed.

  She was about to speak again when one of the men in the crowd said, “Clan mother have mercy on us, what is that?” He pointed towards the falls.

  The sky around the cliffs held a sickly green-blue glow, distorted and discolored like a bruise. The strange sky bulged. The barrier. If Malia could see the barrier, it had to mean the Maddion were coming. They’d found a way to destroy the barrier and enter the valley. Blood, fire, death. Her dreams and the memories Vacir showed her came rushing back and pressed against her until she could hardly breathe. Stay calm.

  “That,” she said, “is what’s keeping the Maddion out. And it looks like it’s about to fail.”

  As if in response, a ragged line began where the falls plunged off the cliffs, and then spread through the sky like a crack in poorly made pottery. Branches spread from the line and shot off.

  Dalibor stepped forward. “This is some Jegudun weapon.”

  Roktin put a hand on Dalibor’s chest and stopped him, keeping his eyes on Malia the entire time. “Is that a Jegudun weapon? Or are there truly Outsiders just beyond our valley? And how do we know they aren’t allies with the Jeguduns?”

  She hadn’t wanted to involve Vacir, but she’d run out of options. She turned towards the cliffs where the Jeguduns had begun to amass. As Rasmus had done the night before, she let out one long whistle, then two short ones, then one long one.

  “She calls them to attack us,” Dalibor said.

  “No,” Malia said. “I call them to show us the truth.”

  Some of the men nocked arrows and kept them pointed up as they scanned the sky all around them. Some of them begged for the clan mother’s protection. The cracks in the sky spread. Malia couldn’t tell how much longer the barrier would hold. Vacir, please come.

  Finally, one Jegudun separated himself from the others and began flying her direction. The sickly cast of the sky dulled the sheen of his dark brown feathers, but it was undoubtedly Vacir. Hurry, hurry, hurry, Malia thought.

  She held her hands out to the restless group of men. “Don’t shoot him,” she said. “He’s only one Jegudun. He wouldn’t be attacking you by himself. Give him a chance.” Give us a chance.

  The heavy beat of wings filled the air as Vacir approached, slowed, and landed a ways beyond Malia, putting plenty of distance between himself and the Taakwa, many of whom had their arrows aimed at him despite her plea. Malia hurried to greet him.

  “The barrier is about to come down, isn’t it,” she said when she stood before him.

  He nodded wearily.

  “I’ve been trying to convince them that the Maddion are their true enemies, not the Jeguduns. I wanted to take them to the cave with the paintings, but there’s no time. If we can show them this magic that exists between Jeguduns and Taakwa, I think they’ll believe me. Can you help? Can you show them?”

  He glanced beyond her, then turned towards the cliffs, probably weighing the choice. Should he risk his life here, or return to his people and help lead them against the Maddion? He met her gaze and nodded.

  “Clan mother be praised.” She led him towards the men, stopping several paces from the clan father. Vacir looked up at Roktin, his head tilted to one side, looking even more like a child this close to the large man. Dalibor hovered just beyond Roktin, one hand on his dagger. Malia remained between Vacir and the others. She would not let him get hurt if she could help it.

  Now that the sun, wan as it was, started over the horizon, Malia could see that some of the men in the army were young, their hair newly braided, and others were old, perhaps too old to fight, and there were many in between. Most held similar expressions of distrust or even outright hate. A few inclined their heads in curiosity. Malia focused on Roktin. He alone wore an impartial expression. He was the one she had to convince. Without his acceptance, the others were lost.

  “What do we do,” she muttered to Vacir.

  He took both her hands in his, and something tugged at her mind. Malia took a deep breath and let it out, trying to relax and let the Jegudun do what he must. At first the tug felt the same as when he or Tuvin had shared memories with her, but it quickly changed.

  Her body hummed with power. She had never known it was there, but now that Vacir drew from it, she realized she’d carried it with her all along. It resonated through her like the excited energy she felt when working on pottery and achieving something near perfection, like the deer bowl.

  The power flowed to her arms, making them buzz and tingle as if she’d spent too long laying on them and had just gotten up. It flowed to her fingers and then to Vacir. Sparks popped from their joined hands. Someone in the crowd gasped. The hairs along Malia’s arms stood on end. The air smelled of lightning.

  The flow of power from her to Vacir stopped. The air grew heavy as it did in the moments before a storm. Then clods of dirt beside them exploded in all directions. Something unseen cut a swath through the grass between them and the men, and the ground rumbled beneath Malia’s feet.

  Dalibor leaped back, crying out. The men shouted. Some took a few steps back while others hurried forward to study the disturbed ground. One man put a hand to the earth. “It’s warm,” he said in awe.

  The clan father alone stood as he had.

  Malia’s thoughts grew fuzzy and thick, and something went pop. Dalibor was going to ruin everything. She reached for the feathers around her neck, meaning to hold them up and convince the crowd that the Jeguduns were their allies, but Dalibor no longer stood bef
ore her. Vacir stood beside her, and Dalibor was in front of the crowd.

  The world began to spin, and she put a hand on Vacir’s shoulder to steady herself. She struggled to recall how he’d gotten there and why. She’d been arguing with Dalibor. He’d ranted about her daydreams. And then … what? She came up with nothing in a place she knew should have held something.

  She took in the newly formed trench and the men gazing at her and Vacir with something akin to respect tinged with a hint of fear. She and Vacir had done this. And now that he’d tapped into her power, she could feel it coursing through her. There was much, much more where that little bit had come from, and if the Jeguduns could tap into all the power that the Taakwa held, then they could put up a good fight against the Maddion, even with their dragons. She was sure of it. If only the Taakwa believed her.

  Roktin walked towards them, hands out in supplication. “Part of me believes what I’ve always believed—that the Jeguduns are our enemies. But after watching that,” he shook his head, “I believe there is a connection between Taakwa and Jeguduns.”

  Malia’s legs went weak, and she realized they’d been trembling for a while.

  “What do we need to do to create power like you and this Jegudun?” he asked.

  “We need only to do what you just saw us do. We need to get Jeguduns and Taakwa together.” To Vacir she said, “Bring Jeguduns. Maybe we can stop the Maddion before the barrier breaks down altogether.”

  He straightened, his ears tilted forward, and bared his teeth in a grin as he let out a trill. He took to the air, the beat of his wings pulling tendrils of hair loose from Malia’s bun and whipping them around her face, and raced towards the cliffs. His excited whistles preceded his arrival.

  I did it, Malia thought.

  Footsteps pounded the ground behind her. As she turned, someone ran into her, knocking her to the ground. She groaned and tried to move, but Dalibor sat on her, pinning her down. He held his dagger high, ready to strike, his face twisted in a snarl. The sky’s strange light paled his skin but heightened the fury in his eyes.

  A white hot ball of rage exploded within Malia and poured through her entire body. She gouged at Dalibor’s eyes, pressing her thumbs deep.

  He howled and dropped the dagger as his hands went to his face. Malia shoved him off, rolled away, and sprang to her feet, pulling her dagger free. Her breathing came hard and fast, and her head buzzed as blood rushed through her veins. The man who had been her husband had nearly killed her. And the way he looked at her as he took his hands from his face, he meant to follow through.

  Several men started forward, ready to step between her and Dalibor. She waved them off. “Get to the Jeguduns.”

  “She’s tricking you all to your deaths,” Dalibor cried out without taking his gaze from her. He crouched, shifting his weight side to side. Madness filled his eyes as if he were a rabid beast. And maybe he was. Maybe when Tuvin bit him, he’d driven Dalibor mad. Or maybe Malia just didn’t want to admit to herself, even now, that she’d been married to such a monster and hadn’t known it.

  Dalibor was stronger than her and outweighed her. The only chance she had was to take him by surprise. Now, before she had time to think about it. She ran forward, at the same time pulling off her travel bag. She threw it at his face. His arms went up to knock it aside.

  Malia had a clear shot at his belly. She hesitated a moment. Was she really about to kill a man?

  Her hesitation was all Dalibor needed. He struck Malia’s arm, knocking her dagger loose. It landed somewhere behind her. She silently cursed that moment of doubt. Dalibor had the upper hand now. He wouldn’t hesitate before killing her. Just as he didn’t hesitate before killing Tuvin.

  She backpedaled as his dagger whistled through the air where she’d just been standing. Without a weapon to match his, she had to find another way to strike, and this time, she could not vacillate.

  “You’re so brave,” she said, letting sarcasm drip into her voice as they circled one another, hoping he didn’t pick up on the slight tremble. “First you fight an injured Jegudun, one who can’t even fly away. Now you fight someone who isn’t as strong as you and who doesn’t have a weapon.”

  Dalibor snarled but didn’t make a move. Malia had to goad him into doing something stupid. It was the only advantage she could gain over him.

  From the cliffs, Vacir led a multitude of Jeguduns towards them. The cracks in the barrier had thickened and spread. It couldn’t possibly hold much longer. Malia had to finish this now, before the Jeguduns arrived, so that they and the Taakwa could work together and not be distracted by Dalibor.

  “You’re a traitor to your people,” Dalibor said. “What are you getting out of this? Power? A guarantee you’ll live when the rest of us die?”

  She cast her mind back to the night she’d set Dalibor’s things outside her home. “Yes, you’ve figured it out,” she said, low enough that only he could hear. “I’m doing all this for power. It’s not enough to be clan mother for one village. I want to be clan mother to the entire valley. And I didn’t want a weak, pathetic man like you clinging to me and bringing me down.” She choked on the words but continued, “I need a strong man beside me, not a weakling like you. You were right. There was someone else all along.”

  His eyes narrowed, and his grip tightened on the dagger so that his knuckles whitened. “I knew it,” he hissed. “Who is it?”

  They had circled once again. A lone figure trotted towards them from the cliffs. The shorn head and loose clothes told Malia it was Rasmus. He was supposed to wait at the caves, but perhaps he’d heard her whistle to Vacir and had come to check on her himself.

  “Here he comes now,” she said.

  Dalibor spared a brief glance over his shoulder. “I’ll kill you.” He howled with rage and raced at her.

  Malia ran to meet him. At the last moment she fell to the ground and rolled into his legs, sending him sprawling. Her knee protested at meeting the hard ground, but she bit back her cry.

  She sprang to her feet. Dalibor was on his back and ready to leap up. His bandaged hand was closest to her, and the one with the dagger farther away. Malia stomped on his injured hand, bearing down with all her weight.

  Dalibor threw back his head and howled with pain. Tuvin’s talon slid from where it lay against his chest to the space between his neck and shoulder. Malia crouched, grasped the cold, hard talon, and yanked it free from his neck.

  Dalibor’s other hand began to come around, the dagger aimed for her.

  For Tuvin. Malia plunged the talon into Dalibor’s neck. It dug into the soft flesh more easily than she’d expected.

  His eyes went wide, and he dropped the dagger. His hand went to the talon embedded in his flesh and grasped it.

  Malia scrambled back and crouched on hands and knees. Bile rose to her mouth. Her stomach heaved, and she turned her head and retched. Her entire body trembled. Somebody was moaning. She realized the sound came from her.

  Her pulse drummed in her ears. The metallic tang of blood filled the air. She could even taste it. Dalibor’s blood. She gagged, but her stomach had no more to offer up.

  Cool, gentle hands fell on her shoulders. “Are you hurt?” Enuwal asked. “I was at the rear of the group. Then somebody came running and said there was a fight and I might be needed. I had no idea it was you. Are you hurt?” he asked again.

  Malia could only shake her head. “I thought I wanted to kill him for what he did to Tuvin. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to kill him. I don’t want to kill anybody. I want all of this to stop.”

  Enuwal pulled her close. “I had no idea he had gone with the group. I thought he stayed behind. If I’d known—”

  “You’re lucky he didn’t kill you. I shouldn’t have left you behind to deal with him.” Her hands clenched Enuwal’s arms and held tight.

  The men around them took up a new cry. They were pointing up.

  The barrier hung high above them, cracked like an eggshell, the pieces floating do
wn slowly. Flying among the remains of the barrier, sending the shattered pieces swirling like snow, were hoards of dragons carrying people on their backs. The Maddion had entered the valley.

  Chapter 23

  After the first cracks in the barrier appeared, Kushtrim stood as close to it as he dared. It pushed against him as it always did, but as the barrier gave way, the force pushing back against him weakened. Our moment is here.

  When the cracks had nearly spread across the valley, Kushtrim returned to his dragon and climbed into the saddle. The leather creaked at his weight. The dragon snorted and raised her head, her muscles quivering beneath his legs. She knew battle was imminent. Kushtrim fixed his legs to the saddle and made sure his battle axe, long blade, and crossbow hung securely from it. He squeezed his knees together, and his dragon rose into the air.

  His men waited beside their dragons. Kushtrim flew low over them, his arm upraised and outlining a circle in the air, the signal for them to mount.

  Most of their camp had been taken down as preparation for moving into the valley once they had secured it. The only tents left standing were the prisoners’ tent, the unmentionables’, and the cooks’. The women and food would follow quickly after the victory. Kushtrim allowed himself a smile at the thought of his men spending the night in the valley, singing, eating, fucking. Perhaps he could celebrate from one of the springs, a woman on either side of him, and let the water work on him.

  As if in reply to his thoughts, the pain in his shoulders surged. He drew in a sharp breath. By tonight, he would be all right. He repeated it to himself until the pain abated. Then he squeezed his left knee against his dragon’s side. She banked until they faced the valley again.

  In front of the men waited Gerwyn and Mortat, both mounted and ready to follow Kushtrim. Mortat might even be the one who intended to take position as Most Worthy himself. He could have been using Okpairo all this time. He considered dismissing the man, but if he was truly Kushtrim’s enemy, he’d rather keep Mortat where he could see him.