“Ignore him, mate,” Rush appeased. “He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.” Neither Cyrus, nor Ren spoke though.
“Doubt anyone would be able to get a rise out of him without an apothecary’s help,” Floyd said. “That’s probably why she’s sleeping with every man around her. Fickle things, girls are. I’ll be sure to tell her how much you love her when I’m bedding her for all she’s—”
Gnochi launched himself on Floyd’s seated form. He felt his fists pummel into the Luddite’s head and he saw, between punches, thin streaks of blood leak from Floyd’s nose and pour over his lips.
Floyd looked up at him, his eyes already bruising. “That all you got?” He spat out a globule of blood and saliva.
Gnochi stood back, surveying his damage from afar. A throb in his knuckles brought his gaze to their split, bruised surface.
“I took you for a wuss. They’re wrong. You didn’t kill Providence. I could be pissing on the girl’s warm corpse and you’d offer to blow.”
Gnochi fell on the man’s neck, his hands squeezing the thin branch. In the space of a moment, he felt a surge of adrenaline course through his muscles. Under the grip of his palms came the faintest pulsations of an artery as it struggled to push vital blood up to the Luddite’s brain. The cords and veins vibrated in a feeble attempt to clear space for air and blood to flow. It reminded him of The Royal Lyre, the guitar that he had used to kill Providence.
Gnochi smiled as he squeezed tighter, though he did not even feel Floyd’s hands attempting to pry him off his neck. He was sure he could feel the luddite’s life ebb out from beneath his grasp.
“Aren’t you going to bloody stop him? He’s going to kill him!”
Gnochi heard the voice, though the it sounded far away.
“I’d be in his shoes right now if the Ludder said that about my daughter. And the last thing I’d want is someone stopping me,” a second voice, thick and brutish, answered.
Just as he felt sure that the Luddite’s last heartbeat was close, an unnatural force thrust him off. He flew through the air, his head banging into the far wall. After picking himself up, he heard the muffled curses of all the prisoners as they eased the pain from their arms where the force had pulled against their chains.
On his way to the window, he stepped over Floyd who, between heavy breaths, managed to smile with a bloodied mouth. Peering out the window, the first thing he noticed was that the boat had stopped moving. The abandoned landscape no longer rushed past.
◆◆◆
Jean rushed into the store out of breath after sprinting from Mirr’s square. She shut the door quickly behind her.
“Jean? Is that you?” Oslow hobbled into the storefront, keeping his quarterstaff raised at a defensive angle.
She finally managed to catch her breath, though her voice sounded fatigued. “Oo, you need to hear this.”
“Tell me.”
“There is a bulletin posted in front of the trading post,” she said. “All men of fighting age are conscripted to the king’s royal army and should make their way to the front lines.”
“I’m a little out of fight age and shape,” Oslow said, snickering and patting his belly.
“That’s not all it said. It also requires that all craftspeople make their way south as well. Tailors, smiths, bakers, smiths. Basically, everyone, save the pregnant and weaning. People are to forfeit their steeds upon arrival.”
“My God. Dorothea plans to wage war against the easterners?”
“And you got a message from your contact in Blue Haven.”
Oslow stood straight, looking at Jean as if he could see her face. “What happened?”
“It affirms most of what the postage already told us. The army is mobilizing. Only subsidiary guards are remaining. He wrote that Dorothea is taking him with them. The king is traveling to the front lines.”
“Why would they take him? He’s not exactly a soldier. Or a strategist, for that matter.”
“He seemed to expect you to be summoned as well, because of your vocation,” Jean said. “He said he looks forward to seeing you there.”
“I guess we are going south,” Oslow said. “Does the bulletin give a location to meet?”
“South. Immediately to the south. On the other side of the Lymar River,” she said, horror edging her voice.
“That sounds familiar.”
“It’s the path that Cleo and her group are taking.”
“You don’t think—”
“They’re going to run straight into a mass exodus trying to cross that bridge?” Jean asked. “If they don’t get picked up by an army beforehand, that is.”
◆◆◆
Harvey and Aarez toiled over the snow-melting operation. They looked up at Cleo and Roy, who returned with empty buckets.
“What gives?” Aarez asked.
“The stream was buried,” Cleo answered.
“Yeah, and even after we dug it out, the mud was dry,” Roy said. “Dirt. And it didn’t look like it had water run through it for a while. What does that mean?”
“It’s a good indication that the larger rivers are running dry,” Harvey replied. “Could be because the glacier isn’t melting in this cold of a climate. Or the waters have frozen somewhere upstream, damming them.”
“So, any water we get from now on needs to come from snow,” Cleo said. “We’re only traveling further from the source of the rivers, so any chance of finding a moving stream is slim to none.”
“What about the lake?” Aarez asked. “You think it will be dried or simply frozen over?”
“Probably frozen over,” Harvey answered. “A big lake like that would take years to dry out.”
Chapter 23
An hour after the boat ran aground, the first of the sailors came below deck to check on the prisoners. The moment he appeared on the stairs, Ren and Rush peppered him with questions.
“What happened?” Ren asked.
“We know we ran aground,” Rush said. “Are we stuck?”
“How far rutted in are we?”
“All right, hold on,” the guard said. His eyes scanned over the prisoners, widening when they roved over Floyd. “What happened to him?”
“Must’ve gotten banged up when we ran aground,” Rush said.
“That what happened?” He knelt before Floyd, pulling up one of the Luddite’s eyelids.
“Yeah,” Floyd managed to say. “I got messed up bad.”
“Well, you guys are going to have to sit tight,” he said, locking Gnochi into his shackles. His eyes widened when they saw his split knuckles. “We’re pretty far fucked in the mud. But the thing is, we’re in the center of the river.”
“What’re you saying?” Rush asked.
“The river’s run dry.”
“So, we’re stuck for good?” Ren asked. “Are you going to let us go?”
“What? And start a diplomatic war with Lyrinth? Not a chance. We can walk the rest of the way to the prison if we have to. We’ll know soon enough if that’ll be the case.”
“That’s what you get for trusting in the first age.” Floyd spat. “Demons live in the technology and they’ve doomed us all to a slow, cold death!”
“He always like that?” The guard asked.
“Now you know why he got roughed up when we ran aground,” Rush said, chuckling.
The guard suppressed a smirk. “Sit tight, gentlemen.” He shoveled a load of coal into the furnace, then climbed above deck.
Gnochi rested his head down against the wood and tried to sleep, but he felt a sense of vertigo at the lack of rocking. He had acclimated quickly to the river beneath their boat. For the first time since Blue Haven, he found himself missing the poncho bunched under his head and the hat resting on his chest. He yearned to feel the wisp of a forest’s gentle breeze tickle his beard. If he heard them now, would he even recognize the chatter of squirrels as they raced atop the canopy branches? His mind lulled in its focus on these thoughts.
The dry air must
have lulled Gnochi to sleep because the sound of loud shuffling on the deck above startled him awake. He massaged his wrist where the shackle chafed at his skin. A rogue yawn escaped from his mouth. A minute later, two of the sailors came below deck bearing bundles in their hands. The first was the leader of the sailors, a man named Duke, and the other was the man who the prisoners had taken to naming ‘Hope,’ though his true name remained unknown.
“All right, listen up.” Duke lobbed a bundle to each prisoner.
Tearing at the hemp knot, Gnochi found wool and fur clothing, all of it thick and designed for keeping warmth in. His pack also bore a sturdy pair of boots, yet unbroken. They too, were lined on the inside with a plush fur. He shivered, thinking of the cold outside.
“The Sewer of Souls is stuck. She’s out of order. We’re so entrenched in the mud that a flood might not even dislodge us. Inside your bundles, you’ll find warm clothing that we estimated would fit you. Seeing as your own Lyrintian benefactors couldn’t be bothered to dress you for the weather, we’ve appropriated these clothes from the village.”
“You stole them?”
“That so much of a surprise, thief?” the guard asked Cyrus. “Suddenly you have a conscience?”
Hope spoke up in a blatant attempt to diffuse tensions. “According to our maps,” he said, “we’re just over a hundred miles from the swamp. Then another twenty or so in to reach the prison. We’ll be walking from here to the prison, where we’ll all get to relax in warmth with solid meals every day.”
“Oh no,” Floyd moaned. “Why not just kill us? It’d be more merciful.”
“You keep up that act and I’ll leave you for the winter,” Duke threatened.
“During the day’s march, your wrist shackles will remain secured,” Hope explained. “More slack will be given. Ankle shackles will be put in place upon camping for the evening.”
“Can’t we have our hands free?” Ren asked. “What if wolves or snow monsters attack us?”
“You don’t believe that hogwash, do you?” Rush laughed. “Snow monsters? What are you, a child? And wolves wouldn’t attack humans, let alone a group of this size.”
Gnochi shook his head, knowing that wolves in the winteryear behaved differently than any other time.
“Monsters might not be in the form of a beast, but I know that there are some savage cannibals that live in the swamp,” Ren said. “We’re going to be walking into their territory unarmed and bound. We might as well invite them over for dinner.”
“All of my people are armed, so we can take care of any external threats, should they arise,” Duke said, pulling from his belt, an object that Gnochi recognized immediately. He had been staring down one when it erupted, gifting him with permanent leg pain. He shifted his gaze to Ren, but the pirate made no visible response to the gun. Floyd also recognized the weapon for its first age ties. He hissed.
“And should any of you get it in your thin skulls to escape,” Duke said, “you’ll also be dealt with. Enough of you know this for what it is. Try running and I’ll tack a bullet in your back. Try fighting, and I’ll make first-age art out of your brains in the snow.”
“Message understood,” Rush said.
“Also,” Hope said. “We are going to give each of you a few packs to carry. You’ll be hauling anything from food or supplies to water or blankets. Everyone has to pull his weight, even Duke, myself, and the others. So, no complaints.”
“We leave at first light,” Duke said. “Be ready.”
After Duke left for a higher deck, Hope handed out meals and allowed each man to exit and relieve himself. With his belly full and warm clothes hinting at a wild journey ahead, Gnochi allowed the lull of sleep to overtake his mind.
◆◆◆
Cleo stretched atop Perogie’s back, yawning as though she had physically extended herself during the day. She had been able to spend the afternoon in silent thought since Aarez volunteered to take Kiren with him. Cleo watched them ride. They often leaned closer together, smiling at some whispered joke.
Harvey and Roy had kept to themselves during the afternoon ride. From time to time, Cleo heard the jovial sound of Roy whistling, but as soon as she concentrated on its light tone, it dropped below her ears. Harvey kept his gaze on the forest ahead and made no effort to create conversation.
Cleo was considering urging Perogie forward, level with Fester and Harvey when he halted the party’s march. Light chatter between Aarez and Kiren ceased, and the whistling from the back quieted. Roy urged Debs forward. Fevered whispers sounded between the pair.
Not wanting to miss out, Cleo nudged Perogie up to the two young men. She cleared her throat, announcing her presence. They both seemed startled, though only Roy jumped in shock.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Why’d we stop?”
“I think I heard something up ahead. I’m going to check it out,” Harvey said.
“I’ll go with you,” she decided.
“No, I don’t need—”
“If anyone is going with him to scout, it’ll be me,” Roy interrupted.
“Oh, and no one will hear that raucous whistling from your mouth,” Cleo joked. “My mistake. You would be the better scout.”
“I can scout by myself,” Harvey said.
“Nonsense, I’m going. There’s no need to debate,” Cleo said, her expression challenging either of the two to speak to the contrary.
“Fine,” he grumbled, stepping from Fester’s saddle. Once she joined him on the ground, he allowed his eyes to linger on her for a minute. Eventually, he cleared his throat.
“Yes?” She asked.
“Your poncho,” he said. “While muted, it will still draw eyes from a distance. I’ll grab a pelt shrug you can put on if you want.”
“No, I don’t need anything.” Cleo pulled the poncho from her body. It tugged on her loose hair, leaving them standing awkwardly against gravity.
“You sure you don’t want—” Harvey began asking, though Cleo shook her head, then gestured for him to lead. The two inched through the knee-high snow.
In order to prevent herself from thinking of how cold she was, Cleo confirmed in her mind that Harvey was crazy for imagining that he had heard anything. The only sounds reaching her ears was the tight crunch of snow beneath their boots and the rush of air as it fled from her mouth. She imagined that she could almost hear the moisture in her breath crackle as it froze.
After leading her for several minutes, Harvey gestured for the two of them to squat. Suddenly a familiar sound tickled at her ears. She mouthed to Harvey, a menagerie? He shook his head, then continued toward the edge of a bush where he waved her forward and pointed.
What Cleo saw froze the breath in her lungs. Before her sat the frozen form of the lake. It stretched rigid for miles in either direction. The band of travelers had arrived at their half-way point. Their plan to camp along the lake, though, dissolved as she saw that another group was already set up on its far shore.
Across the frozen surface, burning campfires supplied warmth to at least a hundred people. A dozen tendrils of smoke billowed from the lake’s distant shore and the low din of conversation slid over its icy surface. Along with chatter came the clash of steel upon steel and the thump of wood upon wood. She turned back to Harvey and frowned. He led her back toward their group, where she the first thing she did was shrug back into the poncho’s warm grasp.
“Not good news,” Harvey announced to the group. They had used the stop to feed and water their horses, giving the animals a well-deserved break. “We’re at the lake.”
“That’s good. We still have an hour or so of daylight. We made good time,” Roy said.
“Not quite,” Cleo said. “There’s already another group camping on the lake. At least a hundred people.”
“So? We’ll camp over here. We don’t need to mingle,” His voice crackled as if he knew the futility of his argument.
“We heard sounds of training,” Harvey explained. “It’s an army. An ar
my that will be on the lookout for fugitives, like Roy and myself, who ran away from our posts.”
“Plus, they’re looking for Cleo,” Aarez said. “We found a poster for her in Mirr.” He pulled the paper from his bag and showed it to the group.
“Point is,” Cleo said, redirecting the discussion. “We can’t camp here. And frankly, we should try to put as much ground between us and them as possible. Who knows where they’re heading, but if we are traveling in the same direction, we could be in trouble.”
After two hours of pushing the horses at a light gallop through the thin snow, Cleo and the group finally settled down for the evening. Despite their fatigue, they could have continued, but the sun had set, and the purple glow of dusk had long since turned to night-black.
After watering and brushing down the horses, everyone huddled close to a small fire, sapping its warmth. None in the group possessed the energy to make idle chatter, so they all sat in silence within the dim glow of the fire.
Cleo felt a wave of nausea ripple through her stomach. She thought she would puke, so she excused herself to find a parcel of privacy. The further she ventured from the fire, the calmer her stomach turned. Finally, she happened upon a clearing with the perfect view of the cloudy night sky above. She sat with her head leaning against a tree, watching the wind push the upper branches. A bright pinprick of orange light flashed from somewhere behind the night clouds. She thought that it might have been the moon trying to shine, but shifting clouds suffocated what little light attempted to peek through to the ground below.
The faint crunch of snow behind her thrust Cleo from her seated position. She reached for her quarterstaff, then recoiled in horror as she realized that she had left it behind at camp. She leaned down and unsheathed the small blade she now kept tight on her leg, surveying the clearing with the knife extended from her arm like a talon.
“Guess I’m lucky you don’t have that staff on you,” a voice snickered.
Cleo spun, preparing her arm to lash out with the blade, though no one filled her field of vision. “Come out, coward,” she hissed. “I’m not afraid of you.” She heard more of the snickering.
The Harbinger of Change Page 16