Algonquin Park, Ontario (Photo: All Ontario)
On Tarryoh
1 In the Forest
“The nomads are coming.” Bernee
intoned gravely, then grinned, excitement on his face.
“Don’t say that.” Saleesha
elbowed him.
Ashleen caught Darby’s
eye. She patted his leg with a slender hand
and took a sip of wine from her cup. “The guardian units 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 was a chance to discover his brother’s fate. Was
he dead, or, as some said, a traitor who had changed sides? His hand closed
over Ashleen’s. Around them in the cobbled town square people danced to the
music of fiddles, guitars, flutes and drums. Others sat at long tables like
theirs, laden with food in celebration of the bounty of the harvest.
Bernee guzzled the last
of the mug of beer he grasped in his meaty fist and turned to Saleesha. “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.”
Saleesha laughed. “You
two sneak off there so often lately you’d think you were never going to see
each other again.” Her broad brown face was topped with thick black hair, tied
up in a coil on the top of her head, in the traditional Tarryoh style. “Don’t
break that fine twig of yours Darby.” She winked at him.
Darby’s face reddened.
He glanced quickly at Ashleen to see if she registered the implied familiarity.
His short life had been filled with an embarrassing array of mistakes but one
act 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 Saleesha.
She had invited him in for a drink, ‘To get to know you better.’ she said, then
offered some food and more drink. She had kissed him, pressed his hand to her ample
chest, and then...
He shook his head. He
wished upon Earth&Sky that Ashleen
would never find out. But he knew he would be a fool to trust Saleesha. She
didn’t keep her men around for long. And he doubted she would keep a secret forever
either.
Ashleen showed no sign that
she sensed anything. She punched him on the arm grinning. “Look at the
expression on your face!”
His skin burned hotter
still.
“Oh, and I’d be careful
you two.” Saleesha 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 teasing. I’ve been getting medicine from the Lady doc. Nothing will
happen,” 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.
****
Ashleen looked up
through the leaves of the forest canopy of maple, red oak, paper birch and pine
at sky above. Grey clouds scudded across the blue pushed by a northerly 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.
“I love it here. Wouldn’t it be great to be able to stay forever?”
“Not by the look of
those clouds.” Beside her, propped up on one elbow, Darby smiled and drank in
her full red lips, dark freckled face, long brown hair splayed loosely over the
blanket beneath them.
She waved a hand at a
whining insect above her head. “Darn moskeetahs.” They were more than 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. Ashleen wore a short
forest green woollen skirt over her leather trousers 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, shorter than her sisters but long enough for a
full coil. She inserted a wooden comb to hold it on 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 maximum.
Eventually the climate 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. And
you.” Darby whispered.
“Work camp is only six
weeks.” Ashleen squeezed his hand tight. “It will go quickly. Roads don’t build
themselves you know.” she said, echoing the slogan of the gummint’s volunteer
labour corps.
“I know, I know. And
it’s better than dredging canals like last year. I got sick of being wet.”
“And 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 Tarryoh. Darby
had no idea how it worked, something to do with things called valves crafted from
glass and metal. The Preserver Society had found a way to make them, and the
electric 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.
He nodded. But it wasn’t
just about the work camp. Next spring she would go to the capital to complete
her military training. Six months. She would come home on leave for a short while
and then who knew where she would be posted. The western border here was
potentially the most dangerous, the nomads roamed the plains with their cattle
and horses, but nothing much had happened in 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,
lay endless miles of poisoned water and soil which grew only spindly brown
blades of grass. Beyond that, desert.
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 brown clad figure 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 leather trouser leg stained with blood. Darby crept up behind the tree,
eyes searching for weapons. The man groaned again.
“Who are you?” Ashleen demanded.
The man raised his head
and looked at her. “Help me.” He tried to sit up but winced in pain.
Ashleen stepped closer.
“Who are you?” She recognised the clothes now, and the beard. Nomad.
“I am one of you. My
name is Arden Royd.”
Darby slid his knife in
front of the man’s throat. “Liar. He’s dead.” His brother and Royd were ambitious
scouts in the militia. They had volunteered for a mission into the nomad territory
to spy on their military strength and find out if they had plans to attack
Tarryoh. They were never heard from again. That was 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 nomad band. Locke is still alive.”
“Tell me everything.”
The man shook his head.
“First you must warn the guardians. The nomads are close.”
Ashleen set down her bow
and examined the festering wound in the man’s leg. “You need a doc.” she said.
The man nodded.
“I’m Ashleen Linnoy.”
He nodded again and
mouthed a formal Tarryoh 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,
like Tronnoh, Skonsin, Eeree.
Darby knelt down beside
her. “I think he’ll be all right. The Preserver doc can give him ‘cillin. Go to
town and get the guardian captain to radio the generals. I’ll bring him in on
my horse.”
Ashleen nodded, picked up
her bow and began to run down the path to the horses. 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 nomads have guns.”
2 Into the West
Ranks of guardians lined the town square
and surrounded the stage. They stood stiffly to attention. Ashleen was amongst
them in her full uniform and helmet.
Darby smiled at her in
the distance but she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. All boys and girls
received martial arts training. It was said no Tarryoh woman would submit to an
attacker without a fight, or, as the joke went among the men, several cups 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 Tarryoh could afford to
maintain.
The militia, on the
other hand, were local units consisting of all the able bodied men in the
district. They received enough training to be able to defend their village or
town if Tarryoh was threatened. The founders considered this a suitable and
necessary channel for their strength and propensity for violence. At other
times these traits were directed into hard work and at weeks end, a variety of
vigorous and entertaining sports, many involving the pursuit of various pigskin
covered balls.
The leader rose and
stood in the centre of the platform. 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 one could serve. Like many things in Tarryoh, the customs
were designed to avoid a repetition of the mistakes of the past, and prevent
new ones occurring.
“People of Tarryoh, brave
guardians, 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 nomads are
decedents of the fencers who divided up the south lands and ran their cattle
until the soil was gone, who exploited the air, the land, the water, 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 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 safety of the Tarryoh and the balance of nature.”
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 Tarryoh.”
She raised her arms, the scar on her face flushed bright red. “On Tarryoh!”
“On Tarryoh!” the crowd roared
back in unison and fists punched the air.
Darby shouted and raised
his arm. His chest swelled with pride. He was going with them. He grew up in a
house inside the earth and wood palisade walls that surrounded the town. But he
and his brother, like their classmates, had spent many days tracking and
hunting in the forest. He was going as a scout.
Just two days before Darby
had ridden slowly with the injured Arden Royd into Waldeen town, past 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, 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.
As they rode Royd had
told him some of his brother’s story. Several years ago, a small group of
militia leaders argued in the consultative chambers and outside it that Tarryoh
needed a bigger army to defend itself, and ensure sufficient resources. There
were often shortages of something or other. With the strength to enforce trade
with those territories that had what they needed Tarryoh would be wealthier and
more secure. They were opposed in the district chambers and in the six monthly
debates by the representatives in the capital. Growth and expansion were the
sins of the old times. The guardians and the Preservers together made sure that
nothing too radical or dangerous was allowed to happen.
The militiamen’s plan
was defeated but their determination was not dimmed. Royd had said that he and Locke
were initially sympathetic to the militiamen’s plans. Their scouting mission
had been a front to ingratiate themselves with the nomads and plan attacks to permanently
mobilise the militia.
Darby had recoiled at
the idea that his brother would have been part of such a plot. Royd had told him
they only wanted what was best for the countree. But their plans changed when
they learned that the militia officers’ aim was merely to seize wealth and
power for themselves, as warlords dividing Tarryoh among them. As time went on it
had become clear that the nomads too were untrustworthy and would kill the militia
rebels once they had taken control. Locke and Royd stayed with them and feigned
allegiance, while they schemed ways to ensure they did not succeed. They told
them enough about Tarryoh to earn their trust. Hence the invaders knew about
the autumn work camps and planned their invasion for the time when many able
bodied men would be away from the border.
When the plan was set in
motion Royd decided it was time to warn Tarryoh. He was shot as he escaped and
barely managed to outride the nomad fighters and hide in the forest. His horse went
lame and he walked for several days before arriving at the waterfall, weak and exhausted
from his wound.
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 know the forest and I can be useful as a scout.” He smiled
at her. “And anyway, I have this. He lifted his arm to display the braided
leather bracelet made of coloured leather strips she had made for him. “This
will keep me safe. You said so.”
Saleesha and Bernee stood
nearby. Saleesha’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 stomach
and puffed out his chest. “It is my duty. When I come back I will be hero and
you will love me even more.”
Darby raised an eyebrow
at Ashleen. Hardly likely. But then again, Saleesha did seem to like him more
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.
Saleesha 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. “Saleesha.
Stop it. You are barking up the wrong tree.”
Darby cast a sideways glance
at Saleesha as he bent and kissed Ashleen on the cheek. “I have to go and get
ready.”
Saleesha watched him go.
She 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’s not telling 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 was not much of a fighter. It was only his
insistence that he should be allowed to at least try and identify his brother if he was there, and Royd’s support,
that had persuaded them to let him accompany the envoys. He was just an
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 stole food from his
neighbours and gorged himself on insects until he was too fat to move when the
birds came pecking. It was so he could make more of the books that 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 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 of Earth&Sky,
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 heading into an entirely different neck of the woods.
3 A Foot in Two Camps
At dawn the group of envoys
and attendants galloped out through the heavy town gate at full pace with spare
horses running behind them. Several packhorses also followed behind them. One held
a portable radio and battree, others carried tents and a small quantity of supplies.
They aimed to make contact with the nomads as far from the town as possible and
allow the arriving guardian units and militiamen of Tarryoh time to prepare her
defence.
The main group of
guardians and militia planned to stop a day’s march from the town in a valley
where a defence ambush be mounted. Scouts fanned out into neighbouring valleys to
ensure the force would not be outflanked.
Darby’s 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, used in dry years for extra grazing. 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 nomad warlords. In the distance cattle grazed
and another clump of tents stood amongst the green. Mounted guards appeared
from either side, crossbows loaded.
They halted and waved
the flag of Tarryoh from side to side to indicate their purpose. The envoy called
out to the men. “You have entered the countree of Tarryoh. We have come to greet
your leader.”
One of the men nodded. They
formed up alongside the party and they trotted slowly down the slope toward the
large tent. A bugle sounded and several men, dressed in leather and sporting
long beards in the nomad style, came out of the tent as they approached. The
party halted twenty yards away and dismounted.
The formal speeches of
introduction began. Darby eyed the tents and cattle 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 and returned her attention
to the nomad leader.
They tethered their
horses by a stream at the edge of the forest near the road back to the town. All
people of Tarryoh 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 nomad guards watched from a distance. When
an opportunity arose Darby slipped 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. He
was no farmer but they didn’t seem to be in poor condition. Where were the vast
herds he had been told of, the families, the wagons? This did not look like a
seasonal migration. This was a maple leaf desperately trying to cover someone’s
bare behind.
He returned to the Tarryoh
camp, refilled his water skin and drank. Two militiamen sat chatting, keeping
an eye on the horses grazing nearby.
A short time later the
envoys emerged from the tent, strode over to the camp and sat down. The nomad
leader had not yet spelled out the full nature of his plans. The envoys were
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, and in good
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 some more reconnaissance tonight.”
A militiamen laughed and
punched Darby on the shoulder. “Have fun. We’ll save you some scorched beef!”
****
Several hours after dark
the envoys emerged from the nomad leader’s tent. The envoy was tense. “The
nomads claim they have permission from the Irrakoy to graze their cattle this
winter by the lake but offer no evidence. 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 Tarryoh forests and then south, but they refused.”
Her deputy nodded. “It
seems they are determined to pass through Tarryoh.”
One of the militia
officers laughed. “By the time they get to the other side they will have eaten all
the winter grass and it will be time to come back again.”
The other disagreed. “I
say let them through. We have plenty of grass this year, and we may find that
they have useful things to trade. Are we not proud of our reputation as friends
to all countrees 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.”
****
Darby and the militia scout
skirted the first herd of cattle. Nothing had changed from his earlier inspection.
It was not a big herd and there were few nomads there. They continued on for
two hours and finally saw lights in the distance. Fires. As they crept closer
voices reached them. Loud singing and shouting wafted on the breeze from around
the campfires over the sound of music from ukes and fiddles. They stayed in the
shadows 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, 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 guardians’
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 help him.”
“You’re out of your tree.
And I have orders to keep you with me.” He reached for Darby’s shoulder. He slipped the man’s grip and raced into the
darkness, darting between the tents and out of sight.
He passed a wagon with a
strange contraption upon it, steaming and bubbling. The smell of alcohol tickled
his nostrils. This must be the source of the drink that made the nomads so
raucous around their fires.
He kept to the shadows, listening
every few steps for any movement, human or animal that would lead to his
detection. He pulled out the telescope
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.
4 Out of the Frying Pan
As Darby stared through
the telescope Locke sat talking and laughing with the nomads like he was one of
them. He even seemed to imitate their drawl.
Darby felt around on the
ground for 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 cup and stood, telling
the others he needed to pee. Several nomads 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 Tarryoh festivals. The song stopped and he heard
a belt being buckled. He took a step forward half out of the shadow. “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
nomads 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 is 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 nomad
rounded the corner of the tent. “Hey, you there!” He heard the dog go quiet for
moment and then the barking started again, accompanied by pounding footsteps.
The dog caught him in
seconds and leapt at his arm. 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 campfire. “Lookee what we found. A
Tarryoh 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 with get you good.”
Darby rattled the bars
and looked for way out. Finally he sat and stared vacantly at the flickering of
the firelights. He lay down but the hard floor of the wagon would not allow him
to sleep. He sat up and kicked at the bars with his boots but it was built strong,
designed to hold men bigger and tougher than him. He gazed up at the lonely moon
and fingered his bracelet.
****
The scout ran up to the
campfire. The envoys, militia officers and the guardians sat drinking Kentucky tree
coffee. “Ma’am.” He stood stiffly and waited for a response.
The envoy waved for him
to sit. “Where is Madsin?”
“We found another nomad 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 went
anyway. 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 strip was grew along 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 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 sentry stood guard over the horses so he
kept going 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 Tarryoh party galloping toward home. He
allowed himself another rest. It seemed that the negotiations were over. Did
that mean peace, or war?
5 The Die is Cast
Another grey dawn hung
above the trees. Darby heard a small scouting party chatting on the road and
crept through the forest to avoid them. He stopped for a moment beside an
enormous oak tree. The guardian and militia camp must be close. He took a deep
breath, adjusted his backpack on his shoulders and stepped forward. Two hands
grabbed his arm. In a blinding whirl he was lifted off his feet and thrown to
the ground. He landed heavily on his back. Before he could react the helmeted assailant
twisted is arm and rolled him onto his belly. His arm was pulled up his back
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 and a voice hissed in his ear. “Tell me why I
shouldn’t kill you right now, traitor.”
Darby blinked and let
out a breath. Every nerve in his body burned 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 Tarryoh.”
“I don’t not believe
you,” Ashleen snapped, “on either count.”
“I found my brother. He…”
“He is a suspected
traitor, you are not helping your case.” Ashleen wrenched his arm further up his
back.
He gasped. “Ash, please.
I have a letter for the general. She must read it before the nomads arrive. My
brother’s life depends on it.”
“We have orders for any
Tarryoh traitors riding with the nomads to be shot on sight. Including you.”
“Then we must go now. The
nomads captured me and my brother helped me escape. That is not the work of a
traitor.”
“Maybe he sent you to
trick us. 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. His shame gripped his heart once
more. More painful than any injury. “Saleesha told you.” he said quietly.
She shoved him forward.
“Move. If you want to help your brother we have no time to waste on useless talk.”
They reached the Tarryoh
camp after a few minutes. 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 with old time shot guns moved
into sandbagged positions along both sides of the road as it passed through a
narrow gully. Each guardian moved with a deadly grace. Darby had no doubt their
aim would be as precise as the coiled hair under their metal helmets. He stopped,
reached into his jerkin and thrust the paper 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 his aching lungs heaved. He stopped
behind a tree out of sight of the camp. Over the sound of his own panting, 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. For an ambush, how many yards away should the enemy be before you
opened fire? Close enough for effective aim, far enough to prevent an immediate
counter attack. And where would Locke be in the column?
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. 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 heard guardian archers moving into position
to attack the nomad units behind the leading troops. And behind them, militia
units with metal shields and short, heavy thrusting spears prepared to mop up
the survivors. Back along the road he knew, waited guardian cavalry behind
movable barriers, armed and armoured for the decisive blow to turn the initial ambush
into a rout.
The first nomad horseman
came into view. Time seemed to slow, every hoof fall took an age. Darby focused
on the riders. Row upon row followed. Finally, fifty yards behind the front Darby
spied the nomad leader. Behind him a horseman carried the blue flag with the
white star. Darby caught his breath. Beside the leader was a familiar figure, wide
brimmed leather hat on his head, riding high in the saddle as though he owned the
earth. He looked for all the world like a war lord’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 note.
Did it contain proof of his brother’s innocence, or merely lies to deceive the guardians
and allow the nomads to devour the countree like a gecko gorged upon the
insects?
They trotted on past
him, chatting in loud voices. Darby couldn’t see any guns. The nomads were
unprepared. Surely that was evidence that his brother was no traitor.
He adjusted his grip on
the crossbow, took one more look at the lead horses and stilled his breath. He
murmured an apology to Earth&Sky,
took aim and fired.
6 Clouded Future
The bolt struck home. Locke’s horse
whinnied in pain and reared, throwing Locke from the saddle. The horse crashed
into the nomad leader’s mount and careered across the road, blood welling from
around the bolt lodged 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 nomads 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. He dodged riderless horses and
crouched beside him. Locke lay beside the road, his leg trapped under a fallen
horse. Darby tried to push the beast off the leg. It snorted and shook its head
but did not get to its feet. Around them horse hooves pounded, shots rang out
and screams rent the air. Amongst the tumult Darby recognised a voice.
“Darby, behind you!” He
turned and saw a nomad bearing down on him, a long knife 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. An arrow hummed past him. The man
stopped in mid-stride, then fell.
Ashleen dashed to his
side. She slapped her hand on the horse’s rump. “Push!” Darby snapped out of
his trance. They pushed against the horse again. It rolled itself upright and
struggled to its feet, limping.
“Are you ok?” asked Darby.
“I don’t think it’s
broken.”
“Get him up.” said Ashleen.
She and Darby lifted Locke to his feet. He put an arm round each of their
shoulders and they half-carried him 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 the big lump comes back in one piece, for Saleesha’s sake.” Darby
walked unsteadily to 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 several times, but I don’t deserve it.”
She shook her head. “I
saved your life, idiot, not the bracelet.” She attempted a smile but her face
was grim. “Saleesha is not very good at keeping secrets.” Darby looked down. He
blinked his eyes shut as he felt them moisten. Ashleen sighed. “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’re the only one …” she took the breath, “the only one who liked me enough
to stay.”
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 have 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 these next few years. People from across
the seas are moving into Laska and they will not stop there. You saw the nomads’
guns, yes?”
Darby nodded.
“They got them from traders
over the ocean. They are called Klishkovs. You are lucky you did not have to
face them today. The curved attachments hold many bullets and they can fire dozens
in the time it takes you to reload your crossbow.”
He grimaced as he moved
his injured leg with both hands.
“They have a factree
making them using old time technology. They must have been very determined to
have kept such capabilities alive all this time. It is a very old gun but very
effective, as Arden found out.” He shifted his gaze back and forth between
them.
“Be warned. They are
coming.”
Constructive criticism much appreciated!
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