Earth Called, page 32
Dawn touched Bard’s forehead and asked Ralina, “Has Bard told you how Clayton and the rest of the Herd were killed?”
Ralina had to swallow several times before she could answer the Mare Rider. She placed her hand on Bard’s neck. “All he would tell me is that they weren’t killed. They chose to die. When I asked more, he said it is something he must bear alone.”
Dawn’s breath hitched as tears tracked down her smooth brown cheeks. The striking white mare moved up so that she stood beside Bard, so close that their shoulders touched. She nuzzled him with her muzzle and nickered softly as Dawn took Bard’s head in her hands and pressed her forehead against his. “Brave Bard, do you trust me?”
Bard’s response resonated in Ralina’s mind. I do, Rider of Echo.
“Bard says he trusts you,” repeated Ralina through her own tears.
“Then listen to me, Stallion of Herd Magenti. This is not your burden to bear alone. The weight of it is too great. You must share it with your Rider and your Herd so that you may begin to heal. I beseech you, show Ralina and our Companions what happened.”
Bard went very still. He breathed in a long breath—as if readying himself to plunge underwater—and then Ralina’s mind was filled with images.
First she saw Herd Ebony in the mountains, surrounded by Thaddeus and the mutated, twisted Warriors and Hunters. They sprang on the Herd when they were in a low part of the path that flanked the main trail, raining arrows on them—wounding several of the horses and Riders, though not fatally. Then Death revealed Himself to them and Bard showed Ralina that was the moment Clayton finally realized the gravity of his mistake. It was in the chaos of Herd Ebony being captured that Clayton sent Bard away, begging him to return to Rand—to carry Ralina to the Valley of Vapors—and to forgive him.
Then there was nothing except visions from Bard’s escape as he raced to do his Rider’s bidding. Bard’s body began to tremble again as Ralina’s point of view went from seeing through Bard’s eyes to a far different view from Clayton.
Ralina gasped and began to tremble with her stallion.
Dawn’s voice was a lifeline of calm authority. “Bard was not physically present when Herd Ebony died. He will only be able to show you what happened through the memory of what Clayton witnessed.”
“T-that’s where we are. With Death and H-his army.” Ralina’s teeth chattered and her voice broke.
“Yes, I know. Our Companions watch with you and send the images to us. You can do this. You must witness this. We all must witness this—for Bard. He must share this great sadness with his Herd so that we might bear it with him,” said Dawn, who was still holding the stallion’s head between her hands. Though the Lead Mare Rider’s voice remained steady, her tears fell from her cheeks onto the stallion’s face to mix with his tears.
Ralina nodded and closed her eyes. She leaned against Bard and opened herself fully to the visions he sent her.
She watched Death rail at Clayton. First He told the Rider that the arrows that had wounded so many of Herd Ebony had been tipped in blood from those infected with the skin-sloughing sickness. Death spewed lies about how wonderful the cure was—how magnificent it would be for the Riders to be joined with their Companions on an even deeper level. She saw through Clayton’s gaze as he looked from Death to the twisted beings who used to be tall, proud members of the Tribe of the Trees, but who were now hunched, malignant versions of themselves. Not human and not canine, but something less than either. She watched Clayton rejoin his Herd. She heard him whisper to them to forgive him, but that they must not allow Death to use them and their Companions to destroy their world.
Tears washed Ralina’s face as she felt, with Bard, Clayton make his decision. As Death paced and spoke untrue platitudes about His magnificence and how Herd Ebony would be more than any of the other Riders on their plains—how they would be by Death’s side as He subjugated the Wind Riders—Clayton, followed by his Herd, rushed forward to hurl themselves from the side of the mountain. The Warriors and Hunters tried to stop them. Death tried to stop them, but the Riders had chosen, and the rain of arrows did nothing but propel them from the trail. Through Clayton’s eyes Ralina watched the Wind Riders fall to their deaths. Some wrapped their arms around their beloved Companions’ necks so that they fell together. Some held the hand of the Rider falling beside them. Clayton was the last to go. He stood on the lip of the pass, witnessing the death of his Herd, until Death took a spear and drove it into his back, sending him over the edge to fall with Herd Ebony.
Ralina sobbed into Bard’s neck. Around her she heard the sounds of the other Riders, crying brokenly, and of their Companions, who moaned and made desperate, whining noises as they pressed even closer to Bard as if trying to physically take his pain from him.
“Great Mother Mare, hear our plea.” Dawn straightened, though she kept one hand pressed against Bard’s forehead. “Though Clayton made many errors, he freely gave his life, and that of his Herd, to protect us. We shall not forget. Please take the burden of this awful grief from Herd Magenti’s brave stallion, Bard, and his new Rider, Ralina. Allow Herd Magenti to share their grief so that it is bearable for all of us. It has been said.”
“It has been said,” spoke every Wind Rider together.
Then, miraculously, Ralina felt a lessening of the suffocating grief in which she and Bard had been wrapped. Her stallion lifted his head, turned, and pressed his forehead against her. She held him and sent waves of love to him while the Wind Riders and their Companions remained close, sharing their burden—and together, Rider and stallion, began to heal.
* * *
Thaddeus watched three more Milks misstep in the darkness and silently fall from the pass down the side of the mountain. He sighed and dropped to all fours so that he could move more quickly, though when he caught up with Death he stood, not wanting to provoke the God, Who always sneered at him when he walked on all fours.
“My Lord.”
Death stopped and turned to face Thaddeus. The glowing spirit of the bison bull who stood in front of the God illuminated His body, which had grown to massive proportions and was covered with hunks of wooly dark fur. The black horns had completely replaced the rack of antlers that had grown from Death’s head. They were hooked—their tips glistened malevolently—sharp as a blade.
“What, Thaddeus? I have no time to discuss banal things with you. We must rid ourselves of these mountains. There will be more members of Herd Ebony waiting for their brethren to join them, and this time we shall shackle them so that they cannot escape us.” The God’s voice blasted Thaddeus.
Thaddeus bowed and nodded. “I understand and, of course, agree with You, my Lord, but I know how much You do not like to lose Your Milks and in this darkness they have begun to stumble from the pass and fall. I am afraid if we do not halt for the rest of the night that You will lose several scores of them.”
Death sighed heavily. “Torches. We should have torches. First we shall slaughter several more bison. We will not need them much longer as the pass at this altitude is not so snowbound.”
“Yet,” Thaddeus muttered.
Death turned on him. “What did you say?”
“I said yes. I agreed with You, my Lord,” Thaddeus lied. “And we can, indeed, make torches so that we may continue to march into the night tomorrow. But this night You will lose many more Milks should we continue.”
“Yes, yes, I hear you. At least the Goddess-be-damned snow has stopped. We shall halt, too. Tell your Hunters to slaughter several bulls—fat ones. Have the Warriors climb up into the mountains for firewood, mindful to chop long, straight branches from the trees. We shall use them as torches tomorrow, and in doing so I am confident that with one more day of travel we will be free of these mountains,” commanded the God.
It is always us, Odysseus. Always my Warriors and Hunters who do His bidding while He blusters and boasts. That will change after we defeat the Wind Riders.
“My Lord, in this darkness it is too dangerous for the Warriors to climb into the mountains for fuel, which is why we loaded firewood on the backs of the Milks. Perhaps there will be some torch-worthy boughs with them. If not, at dawn the Warriors will be able to see well enough to climb from the pass,” said Thaddeus as he squinted up at the mountains that hulked above them.
His cheek stung when Death backhanded him, throwing him against the rocky mountainside.
“Do not tell Me no!” the God roared.
Carefully, Thaddeus picked himself up and wiped blood from his mouth as he sucked in the air that had been knocked from his body.
And the Hunter froze.
He sniffed again, lifting his face like a true Terrier to taste the scents on the cold night wind. Thaddeus’s sense of smell had intensified during their journey as the change that was happening in his body made him ever more like his beloved Odysseus than human.
Thaddeus knew what he had scented. He was sure of it. He had spent the past many months smelling her stench.
“Do you think I jest, little man-dog?” Death loomed over him.
Thaddeus shrank back and he spoke quickly to the mercurial god. “My Lord! I smell her! Your Storyteller!”
Death’s demeanor changed immediately. “My Storyteller? Where? Where is she, Thaddeus?”
Thaddeus raised his face to the mountain again and huffed in the air. He caught the scent again. It was faint, but definitely there. Thaddeus walked along the side of the pass, moving forward past the bison spirit. The line of living bulls had pulled ahead of them as they trudged down the pass with mindless loyalty to the god who had enslaved them. Thaddeus reached a spot in the pass where there was a slender, muddy path between two huge boulders that led up into the mountains. Had her scent not been there, he would have walked past it with the rest of the army, thinking it was no more than a water runoff.
“Here. Her scent is here.” Thaddeus pointed at the path. Then he caught another trace of the Storyteller—mixed with bison shit and musk. “And here, my Lord.”
“Tell Me more,” Death said excitedly from behind him.
Thaddeus breathed in, tasting the different threads of scent that wove through the air, lifting from all around them on the pass. “She was here. With horses and…” He paused, sniffing again before he grimaced. “And the stench of Renard, Bear, and Kong. They followed this pass before going up into the mountains.”
Death scratched His thick, tenebrous beard. “They thought they would surprise us. They must have watched us from afar.”
“Before Clayton made the mistake of believing he could sneak up on us,” said Thaddeus.
Death nodded. “They underestimated the ability of My Hunters to scent them. And scent them still we shall. You can track her, can you not?”
Thaddeus had to suppress a sudden desire to wriggle with excitement. “Indeed I can, my Lord.”
Death paced back and forth while the spirit of the bison stood, watching, his illuminated form throwing horrendous shadows against the rocky wall of the pass. “And you will still be able to track her tomorrow?”
“Of course, my Lord.” Thaddeus’s response was automatic, though truthfully, if the rain returned and they did not move fast enough the Storyteller’s scent would dissipate. I shall not tell Him that, Odysseus.
“Then slaughter the bulls. Tomorrow we track My Storyteller.”
CHAPTER 28
The next day Thaddeus had to suppress his Terrier-like desire to run around in circles and yip with glee when, just before dusk, the army finally left the Rock Mountain pass and entered the valley that opened to the Plains of the Wind Riders. His exuberance was short-lived, though, when Death bellowed for him.
“Thaddeus!”
Thaddeus hurried to the God’s side. “Yes, my Lord?”
Death frowned down at him. “Why must I repeat Myself? You know I would find My Storyteller. You said you could track her. I can lose my bison guide now, but first I would know that you have her scent.”
Thaddeus looked around them. There were a couple dozen living bison bulls standing around grazing hungrily on the winter grass. Huh. Odysseus, I hadn’t even thought about the fact that since Death called the bulls to Him they haven’t eaten. The glowing spirit of the bison bull didn’t eat; the dead need no nourishment. He stood several yards from Death, staring at the God with such hatred that Thaddeus turned away from him.
“Yes, of course, my Lord. I can find her scent.” Thaddeus wasn’t actually sure he could track the Storyteller. A day had passed and it had rained since she’d passed this way, and the bison, his Warriors and Hunters, as well as the stupid Milks, were milling about, muddying scents. Thaddeus sighed and added, “But it would help me if the army would remain here and I searched ahead. They are interfering with her scent.”
“You should have let Me know that earlier!” Death blasted the admonishment at Thaddeus. “I would have forced them to remain within the pass. Go on, dog-man. We shall await you.” Death strode to the front of the army. “Remain here. Remain still. Do not wander. Thaddeus is on a mission for Me, and he does not need your interference.”
The army instantly quieted. The Milks slumped to the damp ground in their groups, murmuring strange words to one another. Thaddeus’s Warriors and Hunters sent him curious glances. Their Companions, Shepherds and Terriers alike, curled up together separate from the rest of the army, as had become their norm. He ignored them. They were not Odysseus, so their disloyalty was only an occasionally mild irritant—the Hunters and Warriors didn’t seem to mind that their Terriers and Shepherds avoided their company, so why should he? For a moment Thaddeus considered asking for the help of his Hunters. Their senses had heightened as well as his, but Thaddeus decided he would rather not share the glory of tracking and capturing Death’s favorite.
I will use this as a way to bargain with Death. I return His Storyteller to Him, and He will gift me with my own lands.
With the army contained Thaddeus moved out in front of them. When Death didn’t follow him, he gratefully dropped to all fours as soon as he was out of sight of the God. Thaddeus moved in a serpentine path, tasting the air, testing the ground, sifting through the myriad of scents as he searched for that one particular odor that said Storyteller.
He’d almost given up and was trying to decide whether he would lie and just begin leading Death randomly to the east when he finally stumbled upon a small slash in the side of the mountain, well south of where the main pass ended. Like previously, it was not much more than a water runoff—at most a deer path. But he definitely caught the scent of Ralina, Renard, two canines, two horses, and one other Rider. Thaddeus raced back to Death.
“My Lord, I have found the Storyteller’s scent trail!” Thaddeus remembered at the last moment to stand erect as he came within sight of the God of Death.
“Excellent. Lead, Hunter. We shall follow,” said Death.
Thaddeus noted that Death didn’t release the spirit of the bison, so the creature, still staring at Him with eyes filled with hatred, followed the God.
They had marched on for quite some time when the Storyteller’s scent brought them to a cold campsite. There she and her small group had joined several other Wind Riders. They’d stopped for the night, and then their path led to the southeast.
“My Lord.” Thaddeus hurried to the God. “Your Storyteller was here. I can scent that she has joined with more Wind Riders, though I believe only a group of three or four, and another man’s scent I recognize.”
Death gave him a dismissive look. “Of course. Renard is with her.”
“No, not just Renard, my Lord. I recognize the scent of a member of the Tribe of the Trees—a young man named O’Bryan, who is cousin to the family that used to rule the Tribe.” Until I put an end to that, right, Odysseus? He added the smug thought.
Death’s heavy, bestial brow lifted. “Ah, that means the Tribe is ahead of us, with Dove and that magnificent woman I glimpsed so long ago as she brought down sunfire from the heavens and rained it on your extinct Tribe.”
“Mari.” Thaddeus said the name with disgust. “She’s an abomination—part scratcher, part Tribe of the Trees.”
“You say ‘abomination.’” Death shrugged His huge shoulders. “I say ‘interesting.’ Can you track them?”
“Easily. They head out across the plains together.”
“Excellent, Thaddeus. You have done well.” Death clapped him on the back, almost knocking him to the ground. “Wherever they lead is where we shall go. No matter that it is a rather small group. This time we will be quite sure they cannot escape us by ending their lives before we can infect and cure them. Then they will provide us the information we need about where the main Herds are camped. Cured and changed, they will join our army and help Me bring about the destruction of those arrogant Wind Riders.”
Thaddeus wanted to shout, No one is as arrogant as You! Instead, he nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly, my Lord. Excellent plan.”
“How far ahead of us would you say they are?” Death asked as he scratched his shaggy black beard.
Thaddeus decided quickly to reply truthfully. “Easily one day, if not more, and they will keep pulling ahead of us. They have horses. We cannot possibly keep up with them on foot.”
“Will you chance losing her scent should they pull too far ahead of us?” Death asked.
Thaddeus again decided he must be honest with the mercurial god. “There is always that possibility. It is weather dependent. Should it rain again I will most likely lose her scent, especially if they are more than a day ahead of us.”
“But if we were able to move more swiftly?” Death said.
“Well, the fresher the scent the easier is it for me to track, even in the rain,” said Thaddeus. “But You saw those horses. They can move unbelievably fast, even faster than our canines. That horse that escaped capture only did so because he was so swift he moved out of bowshot range before the Warriors could bring him down.” He added as almost an afterthought, “Unless You can discover a way to move this army more quickly Your Storyteller might very well escape.”
