The Burning Ground

2. Crossing the mountains

Wintshikan watched Luca and Wann come loping along the Round, got to her feet, and made her way down the mountainside to wait for the rest of the Remnant to come from hiding.

Under the thick foliage of the trees the night was dark and quiet; the moon wasn’t up yet and a drift of thin clouds muted the starlight. Wintshikan found that darkness oppressive and walked ahead a short distance to a place where a windstorm two years ago had blown down a huge old, tree and opened out the forest. She sat down on the crumbling trunk, pulled her Shawl more tightly about her; the cold that gripped her had little to do with the night and a lot to do with the decision she’d taken up there on the mountainside.

Xaca came silently into the open patch, the children holding her hands, pressed close against her, their eyes huge, their faces old with the strain from being afraid. Arms hugged tight across her chest, Nyen followed them with Hidan close behind.

Wintshikan felt in her belt pouch and took out the box with the Tale Cards. She sat with the box on her thigh, her two hands clasped loosely about it. “We have thinking to do,” she said. “Questions to ask. We will bespeak the cards and consult our hearts. It is a hard way that lies ahead, and we must get ourselves ready to bear it.”

As she opened the box and took out the cards wrapped in their silk scarf, she murmured the words of the Prophet. “Bless the unfolding, O God. Guide the mix and the draw, O God. Speak to our hearts, O God. Guide our days, O God.”

She lifted the cards clear of the silk, held them out, the pile resting on her two hands. One by one, the Remnant passed by, touching the pile with fingers of the left hand, the heart hand. Luca was the last of them. Her eyes were laughing as she set her fingertips on the top card and before she walked on, she murmured, “In this I do believe.”

Wintshikan gave the silk to Zell who spread it on the log, then she shuffled the cards and began to lay them out, two in the top row, three in the middle and one last below them.

“Come round and see,” she said, and when the Remnant was kneeling by the downed tree, she touched the base card. “Death it is. Death is the gate to the change from which there is no returning. This defines us. We are dead to the Round and born anew as hohekil.”

She touched the cards in the middle row, one after the other. “These are the determinants that mark the days to come. The Gate that, looks forward and back. The Broken Twig, peril to the body or the mind. The Spring from which comes wisdom. There is more danger ahead of us and a choice, perhaps many choices. It is necessary to make them wisely.”

She touched the cards in the top row. “These are the guides to direct us to the Right Path. The Spiral which embraces all. It is God Himself who speaks to us, who will be our Light through the darkness of our unknowing. If we walk the Right Path, we will pass through the dark and the dangers unharmed. Think, Oh, Remnant of Shishim, on the double meaning of Path. And the last card, the Fire upon the Altar. What we do, though it may not seem so, we do in the service of God.”

With slow deliberation she took up the cards, set them back in the pack, and squared it. She gave the silk and the pack to Zell, straightened, pulled the Shawl closer about her body, and spoke as Heka. “The Tale of the Cards has echoed the thoughts that came to my heart when I lay in terror and listened to the obscenities of the Impix phela walking that Round that was once ours to keep and bless. As the Twig is broken, so must we break our lives. We must leave the Round. Now. So much sooner than I’d hoped. We must leave behind all we know, cross the mountains and walk the lowlands if we wish to live long enough to see Linojin. The Peddler’s Trace is half a day’s walk to the north of us. Can anything be more of an omen than that?” Slowly, deliberately, she removed the Shawl from her shoulders, folded it and placed it on her lap, rested her clasped hands on it. “Oh, Remnant of Shishim, if there are those with another course to offer, or anything to add to what the Heka has said, this is the time to speak.”

She moved her eyes from face to face.

Luca and Wann held hands and smiled at her. Nyen was grim faced, though she nodded as Wintshikan looked at her. Xaca bit her lip but nodded her agreement. Kanilli and Zaro leaned against Xaca’s knees, eyes wide with fear and excitement. Hidan nodded. As anya, xe had more to fear than any fern or mal.

“No one has spoken. Thus let it be.” She got to her feet. “Omylya Creek lies ahead another hour. It’ll be late when we reach it, but we’ll camp there for the night. We’ll speak the Praises as we walk and pray God’s blessing on our choice.”

In the morning the Remnant-even Luca, this time-gathered on the Round and sang the Blessing of the Absent, blessing themselves by it, for they would absent from the Pixa Rounds perhaps for the rest of their lives. Then they moved quickly, warily, along the Path, going hungry because they were afraid to slow for foraging.

As day slipped into night, night into day again, they wound through the mountains, clinging together the more closely because now all they had were themselves. Everything they’d known had vanished from under their feet. Even the land was different now, harder and even more ungiving.

Luca and Wann moved more deeply into their bond and farther from God’s Path.

Xaca no longer dreamed horrors. It was as if her fears had been purged from her with the other losses. She sang as she walked and foraged for food, the tunes were old ones, the words new.

Hidan was quiet, anxious, never far from Nyen, as if xe couldn’t forget that xe was food to any phela that came across the Remnant. That was truth. They were hohekil and cursed of God in the eyes of those who still pressed for war. Whatever was done to them was just, for they were traitors to the Cause.

By nightfall on their fifth day on the Peddler’s Trace they’d reached the end of the winding vale that was Kakotin Pass and had moved a short distance down the western slopes, the silver grass of the savannah intermittently visible as the Trace twisted about.

“Po po po, didna expect to see Pixies on t’ Trace.” The mal who stepped from the shadows under the trees lifted his free hand as Luca came to her feet, her knife out. “No no, young fern, no trouble am I.” He bowed. “Just old Bukha the Needle Mal with his pack and his faithful yuzz.”

Peddler Bukha was a short wizened mal with a face more wrinkled than a shirt slept in for weeks. The bits of his crest visible under the hard peddler’s hat were patchy with gray, his small shrewd eyes were the yellow of old cream. His voice was a comfortable growl, oddly pleasant despite its lack of harmony. He gave a tug on the lead rope and a small shaggy yuzz almost obscured by a covered pack came ti-tupping into the firelight. It shook its head at Kanilli, drawing a giggle from her as its long ears flopped about.

Wintshikan got to her feet. “We are Pilgrims,” she said. “On the road to Linojin to pray at the Grave of the Prophet for the souls of our dead. We have nothing to tempt a peddler to bargain.”

“You discount the pleasures of your company, Heka. The Peddler’s Trace is a lonely road.” He canted his head, looked sideways at her, a yellow-eyed bird spreading his plumage to please. “I see you’re about to make supper. I could add a pinch of shlah tea to the pot and some rounds of waybread.”

Though Zell pinched her and Luca looked sour, Wintshikan smiled at him. “Be welcome, Bukha. Though if you stay, you should understand that we are sworn to keep ourselves apart and will not offer dalliance.”

“Most gracious Heka, I’ll abide by your rules while I’m in your company.”

In the shadow beyond the reach of the campfire, Wintshikan stood with Zell and Luca, watching the peddler doing his finger magic for the children. “Say your say,” she murmured.

“Heka, why did you ask him to stay? I don’t like anything about him.”

“Nor do I, Luca meami. But isn’t it better to have him by the fire where you can see him than to leave him prowling about us in the dark?”

Zell touched her arm. +Peddlers don’t give things away, not for the pleasure of anyone’s company.+

“Yes. He’s not as clever as he thinks or as charming. Luca, you and Wann are the best we have at woodcraft, you’ve scouted for us all day, could you do more?”

“Yes. What are you thinking?”

“There’s not much moon, but the road is open here, the soil is pale, could you track that yuzz, see where he and the peddler came into the Trace?”

“Easy enough. You think…”

“I believe nothing about him, not even the direction he came from. Don’t leave until we say Praise and tuck the children into their blankets. I’ll show you where Zell and I will be sleeping.” Her laugh had edges on it. “Pretending to sleep, that is. Come to us and tell us what you found.”

Luca slid into the thicket where Wintshikan waited, sitting cross-legged on her blankets, her back against the trunk of a small tree, Zell crouching beside her. “Where is he?”

“Back by the stream with his yuzz. Hidan is watching him. Xe’ll let Zell know if he moves.”

“He’s a spy. Didn’t even bother trying to cover his trail. He circled round to come from the east, but he started west. There’s a camp about half an hour down-road. Five mals, armed. Not a phela, sneak thieves and bandits, making more of themselves than is there. Sitting round the fire drinking stilled phuz and boasting what they’re going to do to us.” Luca closed her eyes and shuddered. “Ferns ‘11 be dead when they’re fmished, but they’ll keep the femlits and the anyas to sell. There’s a roaring market for healthy anyas. And the Freetowns are always looking for new, clean whores.” Her voice shook. “Seems like the ones they have don’t live very long.”

“Good work, Luca. Did they say when they’re coming for us?”

“Tomorrow night. The spy’s going to stay with us, make sure that all the arms we have are a few knives.”

“Yes. How drunk are that lot?”

“They’re celebrating pretty hard. In another hour or so, you could kick them in the face and they wouldn’t know it.”

“Do you think it would be worthwhile to rob the thieves?”

“Ahhhh.” Luca pressed her hand across her mouth to keep in the laughter. Eyes dancing, she nodded.

Wintshikan rose to her feet, took the Shawl Zell handed her, flung it round her shoulders, and spoke in formal mode as Heka of the Shishim ixis. “For the crimes of planned murder and enslavement, I declare Bukha the Needle Mal neither Pixa or Impix but beast, and I require of that beast its life.” Sighing, she dropped the Shawl on the blankets. “All very well, these grand pronouncements. Now I have to decide how to do it.”

“Leave it to Wann and me. We can cut the bhasit’s throat while he sleeps.”

“No, Luca. This must be execution, not murder. And he must have his chance to make peace with God.”

“Why? Would he give us a chance?”

“This isn’t about him, it’s about us. Do you really want to use that lot as your standard?”

Luca scowled, then stalked off.

Zell touched Wintshikan’s arm. +She’s hurting and filled with rage, Wintashi, I can feel it. She’ll leave us if we push her too hard.+

+I know. Seems everything I try is wrong. Has Wann?+

+Wann will not speak to us. Xe has given pledge to Luca.+

+Why didn’t they tell us, let us bless them?+

+They will not accept a blessing. What Wann has said to us in anyabond is that it would be a blasphemy, and that they will not do.+

+It is the war, Zizi. Why was I so slow to see? I find myself standing too close to Luca’s ground, too often tempted to hurl curses at God for letting such horrors happen.+ Wintshikan rubbed the sudden rush of tears from her eyes. “So let us go, my sister, my love, and do a horror of our own.”

Bukha came awake fast and fighting, but Wintshilcan cast herself across his middle, pinning him to the ground, Luca and Wann got ropes on his wrists, Nyen and Hidan caught his ankles, first one, then the other, and tied them together.

Wintshikan levered herself up and stepped away from him. “We tracked you to your friends and listened to them boast, Bukha the Needle Mal. Out of their mouths you are condemned.”

“What is this? What right…?”

“God’s right. And by God’s Law as spoken by the Prophet, you may have a thousand heartbeats to be mindful of your transgressions against that law. Make yourself right with it before you die. Gag him, Luca. Nyen, make the rope ready. Cleanse your soul, oh, Bukha, for on this night you face your judgment.”

He did not die easily; he fought his bindings as Nyen tied the end of the rope to the yuzz’s packsaddle, made hideous sounds past the lump of waybread Luca bound in his mouth to gag him. When the beast took its first step under Nyen’s urging, his muted howl was an ugly thing.

Wintshikan walked to Kanilli and Zaro who stood with Zell, watching with wide eyes and frightened faces. “You have shared in the judgment of the Remnant. Have you questions?”

Kanilli looked down, but Zaro lifted her head with a touch of defiance and said, “I thought he was a nice little mal. I know he meant bad things for us, but why? Why would he do such a thing?”

“For gold, Zaro meami. Perhaps for the pleasure of it. Use this as a warning when we reach the lowlands. You can’t trust anyone there. They have all kinds of excuses for what they do, but mostly it’s just to pleasure themselves or fix’ the gold they worship.”

Kanilli raised her head and shied as the hanged mal groaned and twitched; she fixed her eyes on Wintshikan’s face. “Then why are we going there? Why can’t we stay in the mountains?”

Wintshikan sighed. “Death is a part of the compact with God, but it must come in its own time. To stay would be to go seeking for death and that is forbidden.”

“But…”

“We’ll talk more tomorrow, I promise you, little sister. Now you go with Zell and get things packed up so we can leave. We have to be past the bandits before the sun comes up.”

She watched them follow the anyas into the gloom under the trees, sighed heavily as they vanished. Words WORDS! Oh, God, help me. My faith is slipping from me. I don’t understand anything now. If You leave me, what have I got left?

“Heka.”

Wintshikan turned. “What is it, Luca?”

“We tied the rope to that other tree. We want to leave him hanging there as a warning.”

He was still jerking a little, not quite dead. Wintshikan twisted her mouth and turned away. “Yes. Off the Trace like this, anyone who sees him will be his own kind.” She made the avert fork with fore and middle fingers of her heart hand. “May his ghost be turned from us.”

“Xaca’s going through the pack to see what we can use: she’ll toss the rest, but we figure the 3/117.7 will be handy for carrying some of our own load. Nyen and Hidan want to come with Wann and me to see what we can lift off the bandits.”

“Luca, nothing they have is worth your lives. Remember that.”

The young fem grinned. “I’ll remember,” she said and went gliding off with that easy soundless stride she’d learned somehow since the Remnant had gone hohekil.

Wintshikan forced herself to look up at the hanged mal, sickened by the puffy blackened face and protruding tongue. “Your soul will peel away and vanish like fog on a spring morning. May it find peace.”

Zaro squealed at the crack of a shot that went echoing around the mountainsides, following by others so close together they were like the sputter of frying maphik. The yuzz jerked on the lead line and tried to run, almost pullhig Kanilli off her feet, but Xaca caught hold of the rope behind her and their combined weight was enough to hold him while Zell used xe’s thinta to soothe him.

When Wintshikan spoke, her voice was high and shaky. “Zell, are they…?”

+By thinta they are alive and well, all four. I thin death, but it isn’t ours.+

“I told her…”

+Hush, Wintashi, Luca’s no fool. Don’t judge her till you hear her reasons. It’s better if we keep moving.+

Wintshikan straightened her shoulders. She was Heka, and it was time to remember that. “Kanilli, you and Zaro go ahead now; take the yuzz and don’t look back. Xaca, go with them. Zell and I will follow. The others will come when they come.”

And come they did, Luca and Wann, Nyen and Hidan on riding jomayls, rifles strapped to their backs. Nyen and Hidan were leading three more laden with canvas-covered packs.

Wintshikan felt a coldness at the bottom of her belly.

Not yet, she thought, but soon, it’ll be time to pass the Shawl to Luca. God guide her, I cannot.