The Silver Claw

by Erik Williamson

  “Don’t wanna forget,” Emmie mumbled as she drifted off. “Thank you, Lixy. Love you.”

  Alixa stroked Emmie’s soft, sandy hair, picking out tangled bits of sticks and grass. She was struck by how this girl she pushed hard, and at times cruelly, kept persevering as well as her bigger, older companions, yet in this moment seemed so small and frail.

  A tough and tougher-minded girl. Yet beset by fearful weaknesses. That didn’t diminish Alixa’s feelings for Emmie one bit. In fact, being able to wear the weakness only made her seem more worthy of respect. Alixa would need to consider that. Not tonight, though, she thought. We’ve had enough for tonight. She returned to brushing the bloody debris out of Emmie’s hair, content to lay still and feel the warm rhythmic breathing of the sleeping girl sprawled all over her.

  “But you will not be calling me Lixy. No way,” Alixa said dryly. Then, after making sure Emmie was sound asleep and that nobody else could hear, she whispered, “I love you too, little Sheep.”

  XLIX - The Eastern Longarvale Frontier

  Jes drifted amongst the Drennich marchers making conversation, gushing with gratitude, attempting to radiate warmth. Anything to keep people engaged. The initial surge of emotion and guilt was wearing thin, and they hadn’t even left Longarvale yet. The border outpost would be the telling moment. If even a few lost heart and decided to return home, that contagion could cascade. She would go alone if it came to that, but Brie had inexplicably asked for people in numbers. So Jes exhausted herself playing the benevolent hostess.

  Her knees and heart aching, Jes watched the sun dance on the eastern border lakes, sparkling away as though there wasn’t a care in the world. A team of Khuulie fishermen pulled in the day’s catch from their boats. Longarvale allowed the Khuulies fishing rights on this chain of lakes. It was far beyond the scope of Longar fishermen and the cost-free magnanimity helped ensure ongoing good will and trade.

  The brusque laughter and sharp Khuulie diction posed a stark contrast to the solemnity of the Drennichers. Jes found herself wondering if Ben ever fished here. If Emmie tagged along when she was little. She could picture the young honey-blonde girl, in oversized lake-gear, stumbling through flopping fish, calling cheerily for her dad when she found something that piqued her interest. What Jes knew of Ben, he’d consider her find the most fascinating thing to come out of the lake. Emmie’s round, red cheeks would light up with delight.

  Where could Emmie be now? Were they even alive? Jes shook off the sights and sounds of the fisherman and kept trudging forward.

  The Drennich procession, though, was a source of amusement to the Khuulies.

  “This a parade?” one fisherman quipped. “Just for us?”

  “Must be Drennich’s finest, I reckon.”

  The Drennichers ignored the 18 Khuulies, who kept calling, fishing for a response. The rag-tag Drennich ‘army’ was a humorous sight. If they could con somebody into giving them details, surely the story would be equally amusing. Finally, the team’s foreman, Chargrish, a sharp-eyed man with a neck and face speckled with greying stubble, made up a name and called to one of those lagging.

  “You in the green hat and brown nickers. Drelkas, that you? Used to buy beets from you at market, just south of here.”

  The brown-nickered man turned and scratched his head. “Not Drelkas. Largon. Wouldn’t sold you no beets either. Goats maybe?”

  “Yeah, goats, of course,” Chargrish lied. His men snickered. “Largon, my man. What’re you fine folk doing way out here? On holiday?”

  “No. . .” Largon searched for a plausible explanation. “Seems a couple of our kids got lost up north. Duped by some slick city lout. Thought it’d be a hoot to ship them over the border unawares. Seems they’re in a bit of trouble, I guess.”

  “You don’t say?” Chargrish suppressed a grin and continued to play the plodding fellow. “What sort of trouble? And how does that concern a good man like yourself?”

  “Well, Brie—she’s town advocate and almost never wrong—says somebody up there’s bent on killing ‘em. I used to tend goats for the boy’s father. Reckon I owe it to him. So it’s this boy—Rennwinn—and some girl new to town. Amidone? Emmilon?” He shrugged. “Wheat-headed girl. Moved here with her pa a few months back.”

  “Blonde girl.” Chargrish swirled his tongue around his suddenly dry mouth. “Name wasn’t Emmidawn, was it?”

  His friends tuned out the conversation as the humor faded.

  “That’s it!” Largon snapped his fingers. “Emmidawn.”

  Chargrish rubbed his temples.

  ‘You pilot better than any 12-year old I’ve seen. But you’re not getting away from me.’

  “Her dad up there, I imagine?” He peered ahead.

  “Died a couple months back. Some sort of poison. Tough blow for the girl, they say.”

  ‘That’s enough! I hate to have to be the one to say this but. . . your dad’ll die if you don’t leave the Khuul. Doc said so himself.’

  “She’s in trouble?”

  “Brie’s practically prophetic when it comes to this sort of thing, so. . .” Largon shrugged sheepishly.

  ‘Pull me back in?’ Her defiance had shattered into such a broken, confused despair. Chargrish would never forget the look on her face, the most heartbroken eyes he had ever seen or ever would see. ‘Of course, little girl. I’ll pull you back.’

  “Yeah, Emmie, I’ll pull you back,” the old fisherman mumbled. “Men! Pack up.” He pounded his big halberd into the ground. “Quick, now!”

  His edict was met with incredulity but Chargrish was having none of it.

  “That’s Ben’s daughter!” Chargrish stalked towards his men. “I fished by his side for years. The girl too—she’s one of us! We ARE going.”

  “Are you nuts, Chas?” One man spoke for the rest. “For some wheat-haired girl, off who knows where?”

  “Don’t you jaw back at me. Whatever else you may think, she’s all Khuul.” He turned fiercely, the staid Largon backing away as he did. “And I won’t abide anyone saying a Khuulie abandons one of his own.”

  The Longar captain paced the wall of the oaken border gate along the old north road, contemplating the report from a scout, which in itself was irregular. He had drastically reduced his scouting runs on the Longar side of the border. Scouting their own territory was procedure for procedure’s sake, a practice Captain Loselle found distasteful. The men knew it was pointless. Unnecessary drain on morale and resources.

  However, life in the sleepy outpost had grown too interesting of late. On a hunch, Loselle had shifted his patrols north into the frontier. Here and there, they detected evidence of unexplained activity, but it was impossible to identify who it was or what they were doing. Loselle intensified his efforts. Only to be countermanded by his superiors. And now this. A group of townsfolk seemingly armed and prepared for a march. He’d ordered his scouts to keep an eye on them, but not to interfere. Yet.

  Loselle paced the aged stockade wall. Perhaps a localized rebellion of disaffected peasants? End-times fanatics? He’d heard of such phenomena in the south, but in the Vale? He locked his fingers behind his back, studying one of his pickets. He would not initiate a show of force. If they wanted trouble, they could come get it.

  “Captain?” a young soldier said. “They’ve arrived—91 total. Three leaders, such as they are, are at the gate asking to speak with you.”

  “Grant it, soldier,” Loselle replied. “If they’re citizens of Longarvale, they’ve every right to request an audience.”

  As Loselle stalked towards the gate, his hands still locked behind his back, he sized up the rag-tag bunch before his eyes. A short woman with bushy auburn hair stood at the center. Her small oval face looked naturally gentle, but she had a haggard look about her, and her fiery dark eyes looked almost grey in the sunlight. Must be the grey dress, Loselle puzzled. Two grizzled-looking men flanked her. One of them, Devlin, he recognized as the woefully miscast Drennich militia captain. The other was a rath
er fierce-looking Khuulie fisherman.

  “We request, Captain, passage, please, across the border,” the woman strained to sound diplomatic. She shot him a weak smile. “My apologies, sir. Jesticka, from Drennich. Most of us are from Drennich—like Captain Devlin here.” She patted Devlin on the shoulder. Nice touch, Loselle thought; try to lend an air of legitimacy. “And this is Chargrish, he and his fishing crew are with us.”

  Chargrish’s eyes flared. Jes clicked her tongue and he stood down. Again, Loselle thought, a nice touch.

  “A pleasure, Ma’am. This is most unusual. Care to explain yourself?”

  Jes’s body sagged and her eyes went distinctively grey and downcast.

  “I have not said no, nor decided anything.” Loselle raised a hand at the over-emotional reaction. “Yet I must know your intent.”

  “I know how this is going to sound, I really do.” She shifted on her feet. “But, please, hear me out.”

  Jes’s winding narrative took Renn and Emmie from home to disappearing over the border, to Brie’s plea to follow her map north. As Jes relayed the story, she reddened, knowing how farcical it sounded. And how unlikely they’d be allowed to continue.

  “Please, Captain. I don’t know if they’re even alive. But I must go.”

  Captain Loselle considered it all wordlessly. He took a step back, and whispered to his aide, “Fetch Lieutenant Leiven. Call up his platoon, double time. We may have a situation here.”

  The aide saluted and scurried off. Loselle gave Jes a tight nod, trying to measure the moxie of the unassuming-looking woman. Jes stood up tall, attempting to appear defiant. The captain’s emotionless expression was impossible to read. She could only assume he thought she as a lunatic.

  Within the hour, after turning over temporary command of the post to Lieutenant Leiven, Loselle led Leiven’s platoon north, walking alongside Jes at the convoy’s vanguard.

  “I can’t believe, Captain, you’re allowing us passage. Even accompanying us,” Jes pelted him with gushing gratitude. “I can’t fathom that you believed me. Or do. Do, I hope.”

  “As counter-intuitive as your tale is. . .” The stern captain kept his eye on the road ahead. He could scarcely believe it himself. The story was outlandish. The woman did seem fanatical. But Loselle had been itching for an excuse to resume his northern patrols. With a rumored threat, townsfolk he was supposedly obligated to protect; it was the excuse he needed. “There’s been too much unorthodox passing through my command to write something off because it sounds outlandish. So here we are.”

  “I’m grateful, sir. You and your men, maybe, maybe give me some cause to hope.”

  “I didn’t join the military to sit on my ass in a stockade day after day,” Loselle replied dryly. “Nothing would make me happier than locating a couple lost Vale kids.”

  L - The Wandering Prairies

  Fingers of sunlight clawed through the drooping leaves of the big Du-Banyon tree. One thin ray squeezed through a slit of foliage, shining into Emmie’s face. Still sprawled atop Alixa, she groggily lifted her head to reveal a large and embarrassing drool stain on Alixa’s leggings. Emmie rubbed her eyes, flecking off crusted tears and dried blood. Her aching body begged her to snuggle back down into Alixa. Emmie had surmised that cuddling with the lean muscular girl would be like spooning a statue, but she’d proved an exceptionally comfortable pillow. Emmie would curl up again on Alixa any chance she got, but not today. She carefully disengaged herself and stretched her stiff joints. Today was going to be different. Linguists hadn’t designed adequate words to express her gratitude for Alixa and Renn’s actions of the previous day. But she felt acutely her lack of contribution. That perception did not sit well.

  Emmie propped her cloak between Alixa and the sunlight, preserving some much-deserved rest for her sleeping friend. She shimmied down the tree and made straight for Renn, still lying unconscious next to the glowing embers of the fire. His left arm was strapped tightly to his chest and half his face was swathed in bandaging. He looked clean and peaceful, though, more like the Renn she knew.

  “I can’t believe you did that,” Emmie whispered as she gently brushed his floppy hair out of his face.

  “Emmidawn.”

  Emmie startled, just now noticing Corbiern sitting quiet and cross-legged, studying her from across the fire.

  “It is Emmidawn, correct? We weren’t properly introduced.”

  “Right, Emmidawn.” Emmie tried to brush down her Alixa-bedhead and returned Corbiern’s disarming smile. “I can’t thank you enough. Renn would’ve died without you.”

  “Group effort.” Corbiern inclined his head, then gestured towards Emmie. “You did keep him alive.”

  “Right. Doing absolutely nothing while he was slowly dying.”

  “Hope is potent medicine. Without you, does he make it till we arrive?”

  “Some contribution. Everyone else’s risking their life for me.” Emmie looked away sulkily. “All I do is gibber all night like a chickadee.”

  “You did plenty. Now let me take a look.” He waved her closer. “I wasn’t able to treat either your wounds or Alixa’s last night and didn’t have the heart to wake you. You’re covered in blood. Must’ve been doing something worthwhile.”

  “Renn’s blood. Remember, the guy who was mauled so I wouldn’t get hurt? Probably some of Lixa’s blood, too.” Emmie stood, but made no move to comply. “I’m making myself useful today.”

  “Let’s make you useful then.” Corbiern dusted his hands off, surmising he’d get nowhere with the stubborn girl. “Rummage up some breakfast. There’re nests in these trees and Du-Banyon fruits are bitter but edible. They look, and basically taste, like pinecones but if we roast ‘em, we can pretend they’re apples. After you’re done being useful, you let me clean and dress your wounds. Deal?”

  “Yes, sir.” With a good-humored salute, she made for the nearest tree.

  Waking nose-to-nose to an exuberant Emmie, morning came all too early for Alixa.

  “Morning, Lixy!” the chipper girl greeted her. “Guess what I found! Eggs—bunches of ‘em.” She motioned upward, bubbling with excitement. “Been up and down this tree four times already.”

  “No. No Lixy.” Not surprisingly, Alixa woke up grumpy. This was entirely too much cheerfulness first thing. “What’s gotten into you, Sheep? Where’s the blubbering, beaten girl from last night?” Alixa winced. “Low blow. You’d every right to that.”

  Emmie’s grin spread across her filthy face. As much as she loved their new Alixa, she was somehow more pleased to have woken the old surly one.

  “But. . .” Alixa sat up, rubbing her eyes. “That doesn’t mean I want you waking me like a jabbering nutball.”

  Emmie scurried down the tree. Freed from the overdose of morning happy, Alixa flopped back down and was out again

  She re-awoke to the sizzle of eggs and what smelled like burnt pinecones. Once she stiffly lowered her sore body to the ground, Alixa was confounded to see Corbiern had wrapped close to half of the upper portion of Emmie’s head. Turns out Emmie’s injuries were more extensive than she’d realized, including a broad gash just below her hairline. She knew her face and hair were matted with blood, obviously, but she’d assumed it was mostly Renn’s.

  “What’s with her?” Alixa grunted, checking out the frying eggs.

  “Lots of nasty cuts. Don’t worry, head’s not as bad as it looks, though she’ll need stitches once I have better lighting. She wanted to match her friend.”

  Emmie, apparently proud of herself, grinned at Alixa.

  “Looks are deceiving. Emmie’s a headcase with or without stitching. You are so weird, Sheep.” Alixa bent over Renn, assessing his shoulder. “How’s Renn? You check on him?”

  “Check on him?” Corbiern asked. “Had to send her looking for breakfast five times, and wrap half her head up, she was so busy ‘checking on him’.”

  Emmie scrunched her face and shrugged sheepishly.

  “So,” Alixa addressed C
orbiern. “How is the patient?”

  “In tough shape. The shoulder’s a mess. Had to sedate him so strongly, he may be out for days. When he does come to, he’ll be in a world of hurt, unsure on his legs, mind bleary. Normally, I’d say we shouldn’t move him today but. . . Polidan?”

  The wispy man materialized from the bushes. “I was looking over the prairies. Heard. . . something. A few somethings. Calling. Miles off, but. . .” Polidan licked his lips. “Something’s out there and it ain’t happy.”

  Alixa bit her thumb. Emmie froze with a bite of eggs hovering inches from her open mouth. From what he’d seen of Alixa—and even Emmie—Corbiern judged their fear to be a cause for real alarm.

  “I suggest we eat fast and disappear.”

  Omlos constructed a makeshift stretcher to carry Renn, and in short order the six trooped out along the ‘trail’ Alixa had blazed her way in and out on the night before. With two men carrying the unconscious Renn—big cheery Omlos usually on the heavy end—progress was slow. Even so, Emmie struggled to keep up as she insisted on carrying Renn’s packs as well as her own. Corbiern tried to dissuade her, but she was having none of it.

  “Let her,” Alixa huffed with an exasperation Emmie deemed more endeared then annoyed. Alixa, now bandaged like a half-dressed mummy herself, leaned on her bow. “I’ve dealt with this stubborn piece of work over a month now. She knows what she wants.”

  Emmie got her way. However, exhausted from the previous night, the extra weight quickly drained what stamina she had left. Corbiern drifted back to walk with her.

  “No shame in asking for help.”

  “Yah, thanks. I’m good.” Emmie took a big gasp of air. “Why’s Renn still out?”