On Tareeoh

My entry in the After Oil 4 anthology short story competition. 7500 words.

On Tareeoh

by

 

Matthew Griffiths

 

“The drifters are coming.” Bernee intoned gravely, then grinned, his face flushed with excitement, and beer.

“Don’t say that.” Maleena elbowed him.

Ashleen caught Darby’s eye. She patted his leg with a slender brown hand and took a sip of wine from her cup. “The guardians are doing extra training but hopefully these rumours will all come to nothing.”

Darby nodded but part of him wished it was true. Maybe it would be a chance to discover his brother’s fate. Was he dead, or, as some said, a traitor who had changed sides? It was almost three years ago to the day that his brother had gone on a scouting mission to the drifter territory in the west. And nothing had been of him heard since. Darby’s ink-stained hand closed over Ashleen’s. Around them on the cobbles and lawns of the town plaza people danced to the music of fiddles, guitars, flutes and drums. Others sat at long tables like theirs, laden with food from field and forest in celebration of the bounty of the harvest, in the shade of towering trees.

Bernee grasped his mug in a meaty fist, guzzled the last of the beer and turned to Maleena. “Enough of all that. Let’s dance.”

She rose with him and eyed Ashleen. “Will you join us sister?”

Ashleen glanced at Darby and shook her head. “No, we’re going for a walk in the forest.”

Maleena laughed. “You two sneak off there so often lately you’d think you were never going to see each other again.” Her broad face was topped with thick black hair, tied up in a coil on the top of her head, in the traditional Tareeoh style. “Don’t break that fine twig of yours Darby.” She winked at him.

Darby’s face reddened. He shot a look at Ashleen to see if she registered the implied familiarity. His short life had been filled with many mistakes but one in particular was his greatest regret. When he had begun to see Ashleen regularly, more than just the usual sapling fling, he’d ridden out to see her at her family’s farm. When he arrived Ashleen was not here, nor were her parents. Only Maleena. She had invited him in for a drink, ‘To get to know you better.’ she said, then offered food and more drink. She had kissed him, pressed his hand to her ample chest, and then...

He shook his head. It was a classic example of the transgression most often warned against in Tareeoh; short term relief in exchange for long term grief. He wished upon Earth&Sky that Ashleen would never find out, but he knew he would be a fool to trust Maleena. She didn’t keep her men around for long. And he doubted she would keep a secret forever either.

Ashleen punched him on the arm and laughed. “Look at the expression on your face!”

His cheeks burned hotter still.

“Oh, and I’d be careful you two.” Maleena continued. “You know what they say about the fertility of the forest.” Her cackle carried back to them as her hips, half as wide again as Ashleen’s, swung from side to side as she and Bernee walked away.

Ashleen grinned. “Ignore her. The medicine from the Lady doc will stop anything happening,” she said emphatically, then paused and gave him a sideways glance, “until we want it to.”

He nodded and tried to give her a grin, but it came out more as a grimace. “Touch wood.” He shouldered his backpack and they picked their way through the boisterous throng and along the winding tree-lined streets of Waldeen town, then rode out through the gates. They passed fields nestled in the valleys between expanses of forest, some with corn stalks standing bare after the harvest, others grazing sheep, cattle and horses after their crops of beans, potatoes, and oats had been laid into storage or transported to the capital. Some fields lay fallow, one in four left to restore its life giving properties as the Interpreters of Earth&Sky decreed was the way of nature. Finally they turned up a path into the forest.

****

Ashleen looked up through the forest canopy of maple, red oak, paper birch and pine at the sky above. Grey clouds scudded across the blue pushed by a quickening breeze. She lay on her back, one arm folded under her head, the other at her side. A butternut orange homespun woollen blanket protected her nakedness from a slight autumn chill. “Wouldn’t it be great to stay here forever?”

Darby looked up. “Not by the look of those clouds.” He smiled and drank in her full red lips, dark freckled face, and long hair splayed loosely over the blanket beneath them.

She waved a hand at a whining insect above her head. “Darn moskeetahs.” More than just a nuisance, they carried diseases for which the Preservers still struggled to find cures. She met Darby’s eyes. “One last look at the waterfall?”

He nodded. They stood and pulled on their clothes of linen, wool and leather. Over her leather trousers Ashleen wore a short forest green woollen skirt that marked her as a member of the guardians. The skirt did not yet carry the light brown stripe that indicated a fully trained guardian, or the dark brown and black stripes of more advanced ranks and specialists. She slung her bow and quiver over her shoulder and tied up her hair. She inserted a wooden comb to hold it in place.

They threaded their way between the trees and undergrowth back to the path and then up toward a rocky bluff in the distance. The forest chirped and buzzed with life. The forest; healer of the air, restorer of soils, conserver of the waters. People in the old times cut the forests and drove out the animals and birds. It had taken many generations for the trees to regrow and the animals to return. Drought, freak winds, wild fires, snow storms, rain for weeks and months at a time; all had come and gone over the thousand years following the old time carbon max. Eventually the weather had settled and people, the lucky ones who survived the wars, epidemics and famine, had found places to start again.

After a short climb they reached the waterfall. Water cascaded from a crack high up in the rock face into a crystal clear pebble lined pool, sending ripples speeding across the surface to where they stood. A rainbow hung suspended in the fine mist which shrouded the clearing.

“I will miss this.” Darby whispered. “And you.”

“Work camp is only six weeks.” Ashleen squeezed his hand tight. “It will go quickly. Roads don’t fix themselves you know.” she said, echoing the slogan of the Leadership’s community labour corps.

“I know, I know. And it’s better than dredging canals like last year. I got sick of being wet.”

“You’ll be back in plenty of time for the solstice Santa Fest. And we will talk on the radio every Sunday, right?”

He nodded. “Of course.” Sunday was public use day for the radio call station. At other times the radio was for government and military use, plus the distribution of news across Tareeoh. Darby had no idea how it worked, something to do with gadjits called valves crafted from glass and metal. The Preserver Society had found a way to make them, and the electrick they used, from their study of the old time books.

“If there’s a polar storm maybe they’ll send you home early. I can stay with you in your room at the co-op and we can keep each other warm. Make sure your fire place is well stocked with wood.” One advantage of being a senior apprentice now was he got his own room, cramped though it was. The bed was narrow and the matrass thin, but it was comfortable enough when Ashleen came to visit.

Darby nodded. But it wasn’t just about the work camp. Next spring Ashleen would go to the capital for six months to complete her military training, and then who knew where she would be posted. The western border here was potentially the most dangerous, the unpredictable drifters roamed the prairie with their cattle and horses, but nothing much had happened in recent years. Far to the north the Inuit still hunted seals and traded furs. The polar bears were gone but their brown and white cousins still roamed the tundra. To the east the Kibbiks kept to themselves and the Irrakoy maintained friendly relations with most neighbours. And south, across the grey lakes where sailing boats criss-crossed the broad waters, but no-one dared eat the fish, lay endless miles of poisoned water and soil which grew only spindly brown weeds.

A low noise sounded to their left. Silently Darby unsheathed his knife and bent low. Ashleen smoothly notched an arrow to her bow and followed him around the pond. A figure clad in dark brown leather lay against a tree trunk a dozen feet back from the water. Darby darted through the trees behind the stranger. Ashleen stepped closer, bow at the ready. It was a man, one leg bandaged and stained with blood. Darby crept up behind him, eyes searching for weapons and accomplices. The man groaned again.

“Who are you?” Ashleen demanded.  

The man raised his head and looked at her. “Help me.” He tried to straighten up but his face twisted in pain.

Ashleen stepped closer. “Who are you?” She recognised the clothes now, and the beard. Drifter.

“I am one of you. My name is Arden Royd.”

Darby slipped from behind the tree and slid his knife against the man’s throat. “Liar. He’s dead.”  It was Royd who had accompanied his brother three years ago.

The man lifted his eyes to Darby’s face. “Darby Madsin?”

Darby flinched, the knife very nearly slicing the man’s skin open. “How do you know my name?”

“You look just like him. Your brother and I were taken in by a drifter company. Locke is still alive.”

“Tell me everything.”

The man shook his head. “First you must warn the Leadership. The drifters are close.”

Ashleen set down her bow and examined the wound in the man’s leg. “I’m Ashleen Linnoy. You need a doc.” she said. The man nodded and mouthed a formal Tareeoh greeting. Hers was one of many names derived from the places the survivors had left many centuries ago. Place names that were now only found in the old books kept by the Preserver Society in their libraries.

Darby knelt down beside her. “I think he’ll be all right. The Preserver doc can give him antibugs. Go to town and get the guardian captain to radio the capital. I’ll bring him in on my horse.”

Ashleen nodded, picked up her bow and ran down the path to the horses. Darby fetched water for Royd then retrieved his horse. As they made their way slowly to town Royd recounted his brother’s story. “Several years ago, a small group of militia leaders argued that Tareeoh should settle the border lands. They believed we needed more land and a bigger army.”

Darby vaguely remembered of the discussions. The border lands were left untouched by agreement as buffers between Tareeoh and her neighbours, and only used for grazing and hunting in times of need.

“They were tired of the shortages and all the restrictions of the Interpreters. With more land and more people Tareeoh would be wealthier and stronger. They were opposed in the district chambers and in the six monthly debates by the representatives in the capital.”

Darby nodded. Growth and expansion were the downfall of the old times. He remembered his brother joking that the Preservers and the Interpreters together made sure that nothing too new or different was allowed to happen.

Royd shook his head slowly. “I agreed with them then. And so did your brother.”

“No. That cannot be.” Darby raised his voice.

Arden Royd waved his objection away. “We only wanted what was best for the countree.” He eyed Darby. “The militiamen’s plan was defeated but their determination was not. They bided their time then proposed to send scouts to infiltrate the drifters. Their real intent was to encourage attacks on Tareeoh to permanently mobilise the militia and justify the settlement of the border lands to defend ourselves.”

“Locke and I volunteered. But we soon found our patriotism was misguided. The militia officers’ aim was to use the drifter threat to seize power, as warlords dividing Tareeoh amongst themselves.” He shook his head again. “As time went on it became clear that the drifters too were untrustworthy and would kill the militia rebels once they had taken control but we had no choice to stay with them and feign allegiance. The drifters followed the rains further west for two years and their herds increased, but this past year the drought on the prairie was severe, so they finally decided to come east, to Tareeoh.”

Royd winced as he adjusted his injured leg. “We told them enough about Tareeoh to earn their trust. That is why they are coming now, when the men will be away from the border at the autumn work camps. I decided we must warn Tareeoh. Your brother and I argued. I was shot as I escaped the drifter’s camp. I barely managed to outride them and hide in the forest before my horse went lame.”

Darby looked at the man’s leg again. It was like no other wound he had ever seen. “What made this?”

The man lifted his eyes, liquid with pain and dread. “The drifters have new guns.”

*****

Ranks of guardians lined the town plaza and surrounded the stage. They stood stiffly to attention. Ashleen was among them in her full uniform and helmet.

Darby smiled at her but she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. All boys and girls received martial arts training. It was said no Tareeoh woman would submit to an attacker without a fight, or, as the joke went among the men, several glasses of elderberry wine. Those girls who showed an aptitude for archery, horse riding or hand to hand combat, and a suitable temperament, were offered a position in the guardians. It was a small permanent army, the most Tareeoh could afford to maintain.

The militia, on the other hand, were local units consisting of all the able bodied men in each district. They received enough training to be able to defend their village or town if Tareeoh was threatened. The founders considered them reliable enough when defending hearth and home, less so if allowed to roam freely with weapons and nothing to do. At other times the men’s energy and martial spirit was directed into hard work and at week’s end, a variety of vigorous and entertaining sports, many involving the pursuit of various pigskin covered balls.

The leader rose and stood at the front of the stage. Her grey-streaked black hair was coiled up and decorated with blue stones. The left side of her face was scarred with a crimson sulfur burn. She had once worked in a guardian weapons factree. Darby had heard about her scar but had not seen this leader in person before. The leaders, generals, and other formal positions of power were regularly rotated and had limits on how long they could serve. Like many things in Tareeoh, the customs were designed to avoid the mistakes of the old times.

“Greetings people of Tareeoh, brave Guardians and Militiamen, Preservers, and Interpreters of Earth&Sky. Since the time of our founders, history has taught us this lesson: to enjoy peace we must be willing to fight. The drifters are decendents of the fencers who divided up the south lands and ran their cattle until the soil was gone; who exploited the air, the water, the land, and the minerals beneath and left the earth a wasteland. We fear their desire is to find a new promised land just as their ancestors did, so they can do it over again.”

“No! No!” shouted the crowd.

“We do not seek to expand our territory, to take over what is not ours, not if that means others must move or perish. But like the black bear of the forest we will defend the forests and lands that sustain us. Our town walls, our guardians and militia, our knowledge of the forests, all of these we use to maintain the wellbeing of Tareeoh and the sacred balance of Earth&Sky.”

She paused and surveyed the hushed crowd. “We will meet the visitors from afar and determine whether their intentions are friendly or not. If they are then we can deal with them in peace. If not, then your courage and skill may be tested. May Earth&Sky protect you and all of Tareeoh.” She raised her arms, the scar on her face flushed bright red. “On Tareeoh!”

“Tareeoh!” the crowd roared back in unison and fists punched the air. Darby shouted and raised his arm. His chest swelled with pride for he was going with them as a scout.

After the leader’s speech Ashleen joined Darby. Her face was impassive but she grasped his hand and whispered. “Don’t go.”

He shook his head. “It’s an envoy mission. There won’t be any trouble.”

“That’s not what I am worried about.”

He pretended not to understand her meaning. “I can be useful.” He smiled at her. “And anyway, I have this. He lifted his arm to display the bracelet of coloured leather strips she had braided for him. “This will keep me safe. You said so.”

Maleena and Bernee stood nearby. Maleena’s eyes were red. The militia call up had begun and more Guardian units were arriving by the hour. “I want you to stay too Bernee. It’s too dangerous.”

He sucked in his gut and puffed out his chest. “It is my duty. When I come back I will be a hero and you will love me even more.”

Darby raised an eyebrow at Ashleen. Hardly likely, but then again, Maleena did seem more attached to him than any of the previous ones. Ashleen looked down and suppressed a grin but when she raised her eyes to his again he saw the worry there.

Maleena turned to him. “I’m surprised they let you go since your brother is a traitor.”

“I don’t believe that.” said Darby.

“That’s what I heard. Who knows, maybe you are too?”

Ashleen bristled. “Maleena. Stop it. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

Darby cast a sideways glance at Maleena as he bent and kissed Ashleen on the cheek. “I have to go and get ready.”

Maleena watched him go, then turned to Ashleen. “I think he means to find his brother.” She crossed her arms over her billowing linen blouse and smirked. “And I know for sure that there’s something else he hasn’t told you.”

Later Ashleen searched out Darby at the militia compound. Her face was flushed. “Darby…I know you want to find your brother but…” She looked him square in the eye. “Please stay. For me.”

He squirmed under her gaze. “Ash. There is nothing I want more than to be with you. But my brother is alive. I have to find him.” He reached out to hold her but she pushed him away.

“Go then.” she said and spun on her heel.

He watched her walk across the compound. Maybe she was right. He knew the forest well and enjoyed hunting but he was not much of a fighter. It was only his insistence that he should be allowed to at least try and identify his brother, and Royd’s support, that had persuaded them to let him accompany the envoys.

He was just a printer’s apprentice. He had completed elementree school and then the three years of high school simply because he loved the stories he was able to read, like the famous tale of the Gecko of Wall Stream. The greedy gecko gorged himself on insects and stole food from his neighbours until he was too fat to move when the birds came pecking. It was so he could make more of the books he so enjoyed that he decided to join the paper making and printing co-operative.

Making paper from wood was a difficult and smelly process, with its boiling chemicals and creaking water wheels to power machines that pounded the fibres. Now after two years of that he was a senior apprentice and had finally started to learn the printing trade. His mentor had introduced him to some of the old philosophers, the Gaians who were the forerunners of the Interpreters, and some crazies who were obsessed with space and aliens. One even insisted men and woman were from different planets.

But all that was no use now. He was venturing into an entirely different neck of the woods.

 

****

At dawn the group of envoys, guardians and militia galloped out through the heavy town gate at full pace with spare horses running behind them. Several packhorses also followed. One held a portable radio and battree, others carried tents and a small quantity of supplies. They aimed to make contact with the drifters as far from the town as possible to delay them and allow time to prepare the defences. The main group of guardians and militia planned to stop a day’s march from the town in a valley where an ambush could be mounted. Scouts had already fanned out into neighbouring valleys to ensure the force would not be outflanked.

Darby carried a bag over his shoulders and his small crossbow, lighter and easier to use in the forest. At mid-afternoon they topped a rise and the forest opened up below them into a broad meadow, part of the border zone. A few hundred yards away stood a group of tents, the largest flying a blue flag with a double Z and a white star on top, symbol of one of the drifter warlords. In the distance cattle grazed and another clump of tents stood amongst the green. Mounted guards appeared from either side, crossbows loaded and aimed at them.

They halted and waved the green and yellow flag of Tareeoh slowly to indicate their peaceful intent. The envoy called out to the men. “You have entered Tareeoh countree. We have come to greet your leader.”

One of the men nodded. The guards formed up alongside the party and they trotted slowly down the slope toward the tents. A bugle sounded and several men, dressed in black leather and sporting long beards in the drifter style, came out of the tent as they approached. The party halted twenty paces away and dismounted.

The formal speeches of introduction began. Darby eyed the cattle and more tents in the distance. He handed his reins to another man and stepped behind the deputy envoy, keeping his head bent and his hat low over his face. “When you go in to talk I will investigate their camp.” The woman nodded almost imperceptibly, then returned her attention to the drifter’s words.

After the speeches they tethered their horses by a stream at the edge of the forest near the road back to the town. All people of Tareeoh felt more comfortable with the forest close at hand. It would also allow Darby to slip away unnoticed. When the pack horses arrived they unloaded the equipment and set up the tents. Two drifter guards watched from a distance. When the work was completed Darby melted into the trees.

Soon after he lay on his belly in the undergrowth at the edge of the forest. He gripped a small telescope in his hands and scanned the second encampment. Cattle grazed over the meadow. A small band of stock drovers kept a wary eye for wolves and other predators. Darby counted the men, a dozen at most, and the cattle, perhaps a few hundred. Where were the vast herds he had expected, the families, the wagons? This did not look like a seasonal migration or a trading expedition. This was a maple leaf desperately trying to cover someone’s bare behind.

He returned to the Tareeoh camp, refilled his water skin and drank. A short time later the envoys emerged from the tent, strode over to the camp and sat down. The envoy told them that the drifter leader had not yet spelled out the full nature of their plans. The envoys had been invited to a feast of grilled meat in the evening, accompanied no doubt by copious amounts of drink. Two large militia officers had been chosen to join the group for that very eventuality.

Finally the deputy envoy spoke to Darby. “What did you find on your little ramble in the forest young Madsin?” 

“Ma’am. I went closer to the tents over there,” he pointed to the pale specks in the distance. “and the cattle grazing nearby. There are a few hundred cattle at most, in fair condition. I saw no women and children with them, just a small group of men to watch the stock.”

The deputy nodded. “Thank you for your report.” She turned to the chief envoy. “I suggest that Madsin and another scout do another reccee tonight.”

A militiamen laughed and slapped Darby on the shoulder. “Have fun. We’ll save you some scorched beef!” 

****

Darby and the militia scout skirted the first herd of cattle. They continued on and finally saw lights in the distance. Fires. As they crept closer voices reached them. Loud singing and shouting wafted on the breeze accompanied by the sound of music from ukes and fiddles. They stayed in the safety of the forest. How many do you think.” Darby whispered.

“Five hundred at least.”

“Let’s keep going around.” They moved silently through the trees, eyes peeled for sentries and dogs. More men, campfires, tents, and wagons of supplies. They spotted some sentries who had not succumbed to the revelry. They carried short barrelled guns with a strange curved appendage on the bottom. Nothing like the special guardian weapons.

Finally a patch of dark in the camp provided the opportunity Darby was looking for. “Let’s go closer.”

“No. It’s too dangerous. We’ve seen enough.” said the scout.

Darby shook his head. “My brother is here. I must find him.”

“You’re out of your tree.” He reached for Darby’s shoulder. “And I have orders to keep you with me.”

Darby slipped the man’s grip and raced into the darkness, darting between the tents and out of sight. He kept to the shadows, listening every few steps for any movement, human or animal, that would lead to his detection. He pulled the telescope from his bag and scanned the faces around each of the fires in turn. He paused at a dark haired man with a shorter beard. His mouth gaped open. It was his brother.

As Darby stared through the telescope Locke sat talking and laughing with the drifters like he was one of them. He even seemed to imitate their drawl.

Darby felt around on the ground for a pebble. He weighed it in his hand and lofted it over the ring of men at his brother. He heard the faint noise as it landed near him and saw Locke’s head rise. He stared at him from the shadows, willing him to sense his presence. Locke laughed at another bad joke, then put down his mug and stood up. Several drifters laughed and jeered. He strode at an angle to Darby behind a nearby tent. Darby silently crept back behind the tent and waited. He heard the sound of a stream of water hitting the grass and a low whistle, an old song people sang at Tareeoh festivals. The song stopped and he heard a belt being buckled. He took a step forward. “Locke.” he hissed.

Locke spun round and stared. “Darby?” He strode over, grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the shadows, his voice a low whisper. “What are you doing here?”

“I came for you.”

“It’s too dangerous. You must go back.”

“Come with me. Royd told them what you are doing. You don’t need to stay.”

“No. I can’t go yet. The drifters will get even more suspicious and it will all be for nothing. They still trust me and I have convinced them they will meet no real resistance until they reach the capital.”

Locke felt the braided leather at Darby’s wrist. He pulled up his sleeve. “You have someone who cares about you?”

Darby nodded. “I did. I’m not so sure now.”

“You have grown up since I left.” Locke’s teeth flashed white in the moonlight. He drew back his own sleeve. “I wear one too. But I think it’s too late for me. Who would wait three years for a dead man to return?

“People think you are a traitor.”

He sighed. “Even worse. Still, a tree is known by its fruit, there may be hope for me yet.” He looked around warily. “Go now. Tell our parents I am alive and I will be home soon. The court can decide my fate.” He let go Darby’s wrist. “And don’t ruin something good because of a fool’s errand like I did.”

“Brother...” Darby hugged Locke then watched him saunter back into the light of the fire. Locke sat down, picked up his mug and held it out for a refill. Darby silently retreated toward the forest, his mind buzzing. Locke was alive!

‘Woof woof.’ A deep bark shattered his thoughts. He ran. The dog strained at the leash and barked harder. A drifter rounded the corner of the tent. “Hey, you!” He heard the dog go quiet for moment and then the barking started again, accompanied by pounding footsteps.

The dog caught up with him in seconds. Darby stumbled as he tried to dodge it, landing in a heap on the ground. The dog stood over him, teeth bared. Three men ran up. One grabbed the dog by the collar, the others removed Darby’s knife, grabbed one arm each and hauled him back toward a nearby campfire. “Lookee what we found. A Tareeoh thief. What shall we do with him?”

A heavy set man looked him over and stroked his beard. “Throw him in the cooler. We’ll deal with him tomorrow.”

He was dragged to a heavy wagon with a barred enclosure. A man unlocked the door with a large key. The two men threw him inside. The third dumped his bag and crossbow under the wagon. The dog continued to growl menacingly. “Don’t y’all get any ideas about escapin’ or my dog will git you good.”

Darby rattled the bars and looked for way out. Finally he sat and stared vacantly at the flickering of the firelights and fingered his bracelet.

 

****

Several hours after dark the envoys emerged from the drifter leader’s tent. The envoy was tense. “The drifters claim they have arranged to trade with the Irrakoy this winter but offer no evidence. Have we received any word from the envoys that went east?”

The guardian in charge of the radio shook her head.

“We offered to provide them with guides to take them south to the lake and then east to Kibbik and the Irrakoy nation, or north east, around the Tareeoh forests and then south, but they refused.”

Her deputy nodded. “It seems they are determined to pass through Tareeoh.”

One of the militia officers laughed. “By the time they get to the other side they will have eaten all the winter grass.”

The other disagreed. “I say let them through. We have plenty of grazing this year, and they usually have useful things to trade. Are we not proud of our reputation as friends to all who come in peace?”

The envoy decided they must notify the capital at once and seek advice. Just before she turned on the radio she paused. “Are the scouts back?”

“Not yet.”

 

Near midnight the scout ran up to the campfire. The envoys, militia officers and the guardians sat drinking Kentuckee tree coffee. “Ma’am.” He stood stiffly and waited for a response.

The envoy waved for him to sit. “Where is Madsin?”

The scout grimaced. “We found another drifter camp several miles further back, with about five hundred armed men, and lots of supplies. Madsin said he wanted to find his brother. I ordered him to stay but he ran off. I waited an hour but he did not return.”

The envoy glanced at her deputy. “It seems he has made his choice.”

One of the militia officers snorted. “Just like his brother. From such crooked wood…”

 

****

Darby started awake from a dark dream. A grey stripe hugged the horizon beneath the black sky. He heard a key turn in the lock. “Quickly. Take your things and get out of here.” Locke whispered. He shoved Darby’s bag and crossbow into his arms. Darby shouldered the bag. Locke held out a folded piece of paper. “Give this to the general.” Darby stuffed it in the pocket of his jerkin. Locke pointed. “That way. And be careful.”

Darby reached the forest and circled back to the envoy camp. A guardian sentry watched over the horses. He looked at the Tareeoh tents, touched the letter in his jerkin and made his decision. He stayed in the forest until, a mile away, he decided it was safe to use the road. Then he ran all day, ready to hide in the trees at the slightest sound from in front or behind. As night fell he heard horses approaching. From the cover of the forest he saw the envoys and the rest of the Tareeoh party galloping toward home. It seemed that the negotiations were over. Did that mean peace, or war? 

 

The next morning Darby stirred from a short and fitful sleep as another grey dawn hung above the trees. After an hour’s walk he heard a small scouting party chatting on the road and crept through the forest to avoid them. He stopped to rest beside an enormous oak tree. The guardian and militia camp must be close. He took a drink of water, adjusted his backpack on his shoulders and stepped around the tree. Two hands grabbed his arm. In a blinding whirl he was flipped off his feet and thrown to the ground. He landed heavily on his back. Before he could react the helmeted assailant twisted his arm and rolled him onto his belly. His arm was pulled up behind him and a knee, with the full weight of the body above it, thudded into the small of his back. A boot stamped down on his free arm. Then he felt the blade of a knife against his throat. A voice hissed in his ear. “Traitor. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

Darby blinked and struggled for breath. Every nerve in his body prickled with the sensation of the knife’s cold steel against his skin.

“Tell me.” the voice hissed again.

“Because I love you and would not betray you, or Tareeoh.”

“I don’t not believe you,” Ashleen snapped, “on either count.”

Darby flinched. “I found my brother. He…”

“He is a suspected traitor, you are not helping your case.” Ashleen wrenched his arm further up his back.

Darby gasped. “Ash, please. I have a letter for the general. She must read it before the drifters arrive. My brother’s life depends on it.”

“We have orders for any traitors riding with the drifters to be shot on sight. Including you.”

“Then we must go now. The drifters captured me and my brother helped me escape. That is not the work of a traitor.”

“Maybe it’s a trick. Perhaps you can’t see the forest for the trees.”

“Ashleen please. The letter is inside my jerkin.”

She released the pressure on his arm slightly. “One false move and I will bury this knife in your back,” She lifted her knee and stood up. “…with great pleasure.”

He slowly pulled himself to his feet and rubbed his throbbing shoulder. He turned to look at her face, smudged with dirt and twisted with anger. Shame gripped his heart like a vice, more painful than any injury. “Maleena told you.” he whispered.

She pushed him forward. “Move. If you want to help your brother we have no time to waste on useless talk.” Her voice cracked at the end of the sentence but she shoved him onward when he tried to turn and speak to her.

They soon reached the Tareeoh camp. As they approached a shout rang out and was repeated up and down the lines. “Take your positions. Aim for the enemy, do not harm the animals. Fire only on command.”

A row of guardians hefted bulky weapons with two long barrels and settled into camouflaged positions along the south side of the road as it passed through a narrow gully. Darby had only seen such guns once before, during a Founders Day parade, but he had heard of the damage the lead shot could do. Each guardian moved with a deadly grace. Darby had no doubt their aim would be just as lethal. He stopped, reached into his jerkin and thrust the letter into Ashleen’s hand. “Take this to the general. I have to save my brother.” He spun around and plunged back through the forest.

“Darby!”

“I’m sorry,” he shouted over his shoulder, “for everything.” He ran until he was out of sight. Over the sound of his own heaving breath he heard hooves in the distance drumming on the hard packed dirt of the road. His eyes darted around for a vantage point. He tried to remember his militia training. Past the guardians’ positions the road curved south. There, he knew, overturned wagons would block the path, defended by archers, militia, and guardian cavalry, armed and armoured for the decisive blow to turn the initial ambush into a rout. On the north side of the road, set back out of range of the guns would be more militia, ready to pounce on drifters who tried to escape the ambush by running into the trees.

Where would Locke be in the column? And how could he keep him from harm without ruining the ambush? He found a tree that would do and shinned up the trunk into a fork. It reminded him of the one he stayed in for two days during his initiation solitude test, minus the wooden platform for sleeping. There would be no peace and reflection this time. No listening to the birds and watching the animals on the forest floor. There was no time for anything, the sound of the hooves was almost upon him. He loaded his crossbow and settled himself. Behind him he saw guardian archers moving into position to attack the middle ranks of drifters. And behind them, militia units with metal shields and short, heavy thrusting spears to mop up the survivors.

The first drifter horsemen came into view and time seemed to slow, every hoof fall took an age. Darby focused on the riders. Row upon row followed. Finally, sixty paces behind the front Darby spied the blue flag with the white star, and close behind it, the drifter leader. Darby’s breath caught in his throat. Beside the leader was a familiar figure, wide brimmed hat on his head, riding high in the saddle as though he owned the earth. He looked for all the world like a warlord’s right hand man. It was Locke.

Darby swallowed. What if he was wrong? What if his brother truly was a traitor? He had not read the letter. Did it contain proof of his brother’s innocence, or merely lies to deceive the guardians and allow the drifters to devour Tareeoh like the gecko gorged upon the insects?

The drifters trotted past him, chatting in loud voices. Darby couldn’t see many of the strange guns. They were unprepared. Surely that was evidence that his brother was no traitor?

Locke drew closer. Sweat beaded on Darby’s forehead. He adjusted his grip on the crossbow, took one more look at the lead horses and murmured an apology to Earth&Sky.

He stilled his breath, took aim and fired.

The bolt struck home.

Locke’s horse whinnied and reared, throwing him from the saddle. The horse crashed into the drifter leader’s mount and careered across the road, blood welling from the wound in its rump. Locke’s head hit the road, his foot caught in the stirrup. The horse dragged him towards the far trees before his foot twisted loose. A second later a shout rang out along the road and he was deafened by a volley of shots. The leading ranks of the drifters fell and their mounts bolted. The guns reloaded and began picking off survivors as they retreated. The archers behind him stood up and sent volley after volley of arrows into the side of the column.

Darby dropped to the ground, lifted himself into a crouch and strained to see his brother amongst the chaos of horses and bodies. The leader and his guards retreated, their numbers thinning by the second. He spotted Locke’s hat lying on the ground. He dropped his crossbow and darted forward. Locke lay beside the road, unconscious. Darby dodged riderless horses and crouched beside him. He tried to lift him but fell over backwards. He pulled himself up onto his knees. Around them horse hooves pounded, shots rang out and shouts filled the air. Amongst the tumult Darby recognised a voice.

“Darby, behind you!” He turned and saw a drifter bearing down on him, a dagger gleaming in his hand. He froze, his eyes fixed on the blade as the man drew close. He felt for his knife but found only the empty sheath. His stomach knotted into a ball. The man’s beard parted in a grisly sneer. Darby blinked uncontrollably. An arrow hummed through the air. The man stopped in mid-stride, then fell.

Ashleen dashed to his side. “Take his arm!” Darby snapped out of his trance. They sat Locke up and each lifted one arm over their shoulders.

Locke opened his eyes. “Darby?”

“Are you ok?” asked Darby.

He nodded. “I think so.”

“Get him up.” said Ashleen. She and Darby lifted Locke to his feet and half-carried him back to the edge to the forest.

A cry broke out as the militia spearmen charged into the melee. Bernee ran past them puffing, manic glee on his face.

Ashleen watched him go. “I hope that great stump comes back in one piece, for Maleena’s sake.” Darby walked unsteadily into the forest to retrieve his crossbow and forced his shaking hands to load a bolt. He stood guard while Ashleen went to find a doc.

She came back a few minutes later. The sounds of battle receded down the road. Darby put down his crossbow and looked at her. The shaking in his hands had stopped, but not the ache in his chest. He carefully untied the bracelet and extended his hand toward her. “This saved my life, but I don’t deserve it.”

She shook her head. “I saved your life, sap head, not the bracelet.” She attempted a smile but her face was grim. “Maleena is not very good at keeping secrets. It’s a wonder she lasted this long.” Darby looked down. He blinked his eyes shut as he felt them moisten. Ashleen sighed. “She…it’s not the first time.” She took his hand in hers.

He steeled himself not to recoil from the touch. “Ash…” he began, looking at her hand.

She shook her head. “You …” she took a breath, “You’re the only one who stayed.” Darby looked at her and his face tightened as he fought back tears. “Ashleen, I…”

She closed his fingers over the bracelet, and raised her mouth to kiss him.

Locke watched them for a few moments. “Good. Now that you’ve got that settled, go and find my horse and get your bolt out of its rear end. I will need it again soon.” He eyed them seriously. “We must be on our guard. You saw the drifters’ guns, yes?”

Darby nodded.

“They got them from traders over the ocean. The curved attachments hold many bullets and they can fire dozens in the time it takes you to reload your crossbow.”

He shifted his gaze back and forth between them.

“Somewhere there is a factree making them using old time technology. They must have been very determined to have kept such capabilities alive all this time.” Locke’s brow furrowed. “The drifters envy our green grass and in our forests they see trees to fell and grazing land for the taking. They will be difficult to defeat. I hope the leaders have stayed friendly with our neighbours in my absence. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”