We arrived in familiar territory. Our ranks were down due to pre-arranged defections, but remained a sufficient force to accomplish what I intended. The sperza, still under construction, was well on its way to completion. It had grown since Brilna, Izzy, and I last visited a few weeks ago. I observed from a high kakkata as residents went about their morning rituals. People strolled down the main avenue. Farmers displayed their produce in a central marketplace and merchants offered their wares from shops lining the dirt street. Slaves toiled in the early morning sun.
I searched out a priest, a fat redhead in a blue robe. This was the man who had murdered my fellow Sakitans, who had dared threaten me with the grottis. I would find him and gut him. It was that simple in my mind. I was becoming hardened to killing and now sought justice by way of the rik-ta. Pilkin and Satu demanded it. Kalor, too. Even Barkor.
I would burn this sperza to the ground. The Spood had no right to be here. They had murdered four people during my short stay in this place. They had whipped a slave to death and crushed a little girl’s head. Dwelve, the rancer, died with metal in his heart, and the man who once tried to escape at the oasis failed here too.
The Creet forces were minimal. Soldiers, once numerous, had apparently deployed elsewhere, for all that remained were slave guards. The sperza’s defenses were now nonexistent, and that error the Spood would soon regret.
The rest of the sperza population consisted of everyday Spood and ubiquitous priests. The one I sought eluded me. Another priest appeared to be in command here, a thin, bony, tall man with a shock of blond curls and a slight crook in his back. He was inspecting the fruit on display in the marketplace, trailed by an entourage of four blue-robed others. His air of pompous authority matched every other example I had witnessed in my time in Spood country. Even now he was berating a slave over the arrangement of the produce.
I retreated down the tree and back to our encampment located in the interior of the forest. The morning sky showed no obstructions, a perfect day for burning. Our company wasted little time. We marched our drooves down the main street and up to the man in charge. Shocked pedestrians gawked at the temerity, but showed only slight fear, probably expecting the Creet who were currently rushing toward us to subdue and disarm these rebellious slaves in short order. The civilians must have believed the propaganda that we were inferiors and expected their Creet protectors to have little trouble with us. Many became irate when we ignored Creet demands to halt.
I rode the advance droove, aware of the shouts and curses of the half-wits who still believed they were in control. Overconfident Creet overseers attacked, and in short order we had disarmed or killed the overmatched guards. I pushed my mount straight into the tall priest, knocking him backwards. The fiery rage in his eyes made me only more determined to accomplish my mission here. The priest soon regained his balance and I sensed the blustering outrage to come.
“Who do you think—” he began.
“Shut up!” I commanded. “You will speak only to answer my questions. Do you understand?”
“You cannot tell me—”
Whack! Izzy struck the top of the man’s blond curls with the flat side of her stirka.
“Sanyel told you to shut up and speak only to answer her questions. Did you not understand?”
Incredibly, the dense follower of Gor-jar appeared inclined to challenge me again, but then thought better of it as Izzy raised her blade to discourage him.
“Where is the fat, redheaded priest?” I demanded.
The man stared sullenly. He was daring me to make him talk.
“Cut off his head,” I told Izzy.
The priest’s eyes widened. His determined and intractable posture dissolved. Izzy had raised her blade to comply and the man was suddenly the very model of cooperation.
“Borsar went to the mountains,” the now eager-to-please priest offered. “He went to supervise the mining operations and to prepare the fields for crops.”
“What mountains?”
“The circle mountains, where the big river flows.”
I knew what he meant. The Kodor Mountains, the river Raso. So the bastard had returned to cause more hurt to my homeland. That would not do.
In a raised voice I addressed all within hearing range.
“Listen to me. You will all be returning to Grell.”
Rumblings of disbelief drifted to my ears. A few notes of defiance mingled in.
“You will do as I say. You have no choice. This is not your land. You do not belong here. I intend to burn this place to the ground.”
The rumblings evolved into cries of angry protest.
“Silence!” I shouted.
The protests continued, so I gave Javen a sign. He grabbed a man from the crowd and put a knife to his neck.
“If you do not comply with my demands, I will have this man killed, and then another and another until there is no one left. It is a choice. Death, or return to Grell. Make your decision.”
Of course, I would not have followed through. I am not a callous murderer. It was a bluff I felt would work because the Spood would believe I was serious. It was something they would do.
My only desire was to get the Spood out of here. I did not have the time or resources to rid the entire world of Spood, but this one place had special meaning. I was not above the pursuit of righteous vengeance. The little girl they murdered deserved a better end. I would take away their bloodstained homes, built with the sweat and sacrifice of slaves. I would let them keep their lives. It was less than they deserved, but destroying their community would cause pain, and I would not begrudge the Spood more of that.
With the sperza emptied and the populace on its way toward Grell, we torched the buildings. The wooden ones were eager for the flames; the others needed persuasion. Drooves and chains helped drag the stone structures down until the sperza was nothing but smoke and rubble.
As we resumed our journey, I did not look back. The freed slaves, grateful for their release, joined us as we continued our way north. I did not see the plump man among them, the one recaptured during our earlier escape from this sperza. Perhaps he too had succumbed to the cruelties of this evil place.
In the days that followed, our party dwindled through planned departures. By the time the first sands of the Desert of Bones appeared, we were down to only Sakita and Raab. We twenty secured enough food and water for the trip across and then freed any extra drooves we would not need. From the burned sperza we had liberated a supply of robes for the desert and other decent clothes to replace our slave garb. My sense of direction as to the exact route that would lead us to the fracture was iffy at best. I thought about heading for the oasis, but reasoned we had enough supplies to get us to our homeland without that diversion—as long as we didn’t become lost.
Three days in, I knew we were on the right track. This portion of the rugged mountain range had a familiar look. Well before reaching the peaks, Lillatta began scouting east along the line and Javen west, searching for sight of the elusive cut in the Kodor bowl. After no results, I reasoned we would have to get closer, perhaps even right next to the fissure to detect it. We had traveled day and night, sleeping little. We had taken brief respites to eat, drink, and stretch, and now our destination lay somewhere nearby, hidden behind a facade of rock.
We had no idea how close we were to the crack in the mountain, but each of us sensed we were in the right place. As night made its third appearance, I determined we had to search by darkness, too. We had reached the outcroppings of the low foothills in late afternoon and we now scoured them beneath the starlight. I carried the ceiling torch from the white room, which still gave off a glow, though more faintly. I felt the risk of discovery by Creet forces was worth the gamble.
There were no moons this night, so visibility was minimal. Heat from the day’s sun radiated off the rocky surfaces as Izzy and I headed east. Javen and Lillatta were scouring the slopes to
the west and would have a more laborious task without a lamp. I remembered the entrance to the fracture was invisible to anyone facing it directly, because it had a slight turn at the end that made it appear as a solid rock face. It was going to be difficult to find.
Then, Ra-ta intervened. From my droove perch I spotted a glint from an object on the ground. Instructing the droove to kneel, I dismounted, walked over, and picked up a metal spearhead. Attached to the head was a short, broken-off piece of a wooden shaft. It was Sakitan.
I lifted my light and found the opening, the fracture leading into the land of my birth. A white, painted symbol showed on the corrugated rock—a grottis. Anger flared in me. The Spood had marked the entrance, advertising their ownership. Izzy joined me and we decided to walk in without the light. It was a time-consuming foray in the dark, but necessary to assess the potential danger. I felt along the rough walls and moved my feet carefully to avoid tripping over any rocks that might occupy the path. The Spood had placed no guards at the entrance, so I hoped that meant there were none at the other end.
I was correct—and relieved. There was no one here. What need to guard anything? The Spood controlled all, so what was there for them to fear?
“When we get back, go find the others and bring them here,” I told Izzy. “I’ll remain at the entrance so you can relocate it.”
Brilna and the remainder of our group had set up camp in the desert, and two hours later we reunited at the desert side of the fracture. I told everyone to get a good night’s sleep. In the morning, we would proceed through the fissure and into whatever awaited.
The desert morning dawned, cloudless as usual, as it had for every day I had walked the sands beneath it. We readied our drooves and set out, single file, to follow the narrow rift through the mountains. An hour later, as we neared the northern exit, a cool breeze refreshed us. On this side of the mountains, banks of dark-gray clouds drifted over the western peaks. They would not reach us, as they were too far north, but the familiar sight exhilarated.
I was on my home ground. Beyond the rocky outcroppings, I saw green. The grass of one’s homeland has an appeal that is hard to explain. People might say grass is grass, but there is a difference when it is your own. It is as if you sprouted alongside its blades, came up from the same soil. There is a deep, personal feeling associated with all things connected to one’s home country. When the wind blows here, it is your wind; and when the water gurgles among the rocks, it speaks only to you. The mountain stands so only your eyes can view its glory, and the hill for only your legs to challenge its upward slope. Upon this land you took your first steps, and upon it you swear to take your last. It is always to this place you feel compelled to return—home.
We discarded our drab desert robes and switched to colorful Spood wear, then traveled a straight course north, midway between the eastern and western slopes. We headed for the last encampment of the Sakita, with Lillatta our guide. I wanted to see for myself what the Spood had done. The encampment was some distance south of the Raso, but it would still take a few days to reach. In the meantime, I prepared a new bracelet of bones.
The droove fragment Lillatta had found for me in the can-rak pen was all I had at present, so I strung it on a leather strand through a hole I had labored to cut into it. Other animal bones I would gather later, but for now I had something with which to control the one beast I knew every Spood owned. I studied the shape of the bone so that when I added others I would remember what fragment matched what animal. I looped the leather string around my wrist and Lillatta tied it.
“There, now all I need are a dozen more,” I said.
Later that day, as we passed through a grove of kansers, I thought about the possibility we might eventually encounter Bratar. Why in the world would the Spood make that coward and traitor a soldier in their forces? The Spood normally did not make any such allowances for inferiors, usually designating them as slaves when captured. Then again, what about the rancers? They were not Spood either, and yet they had free rein to abduct people under Spood authority.
Perhaps the Spood used outsiders if their skills fulfilled functions the Spood could not perform themselves. From what I understood, the rancers had been the only ones gathering slaves for the Spood for many years, until the Spood felt strong enough to conquer and acquire the slaves themselves. To me, that meant a death knell for the rancers. Their usefulness would soon end, if it hadn’t already.
As for Bratar and those like him, perhaps the Spood needed someone familiar with a particular tribe to act as an information source after being conquered. A turncoat would know the personnel, the quirks and personalities of the tribal members, as well as who and who not to trust. On the other hand, maybe they just liked to rub it in. Let a traitor be your master. Who knew how the sick Spood mind worked.
“Sanyel, look.” It was early afternoon a few days later when Lillatta pointed to an expanse of level grassland cut by a narrow stream ahead and below us. We had just traversed a series of low hills and now, cresting the last, a sight of devastation opened up before us. Skeletons of Sakitan tents dotted the plain. This was once a community where over two thousand tents proudly stood. Now, many appeared reduced to ash and the rest stood naked, nothing but fragile wooden bones blackened by fire.
Uninvited guests stood out in stark contrast to the ravaged tents; they were structures formed from wood and evil. A human skeleton dangled from each, and we could not wrench our eyes away as we solemnly made our way to the site. I dismounted and walked up to the first grottis. The clean-picked bones that remained hung loose, barely secured by weathered ropes. Other bones had fallen and now lay scattered below the wooden stake. I stared at the still mounted skull, struggling to picture the face with flesh and detail.
“Pilkin,” Lillatta informed me. I had already guessed it might be the late shaman. And yet it wasn’t, could not possibly be. How can a man’s life come to this, reduced to such insignificance that all that remain are bones and fading memories of what he once looked like.
I walked over to another grottis and emptiness grew inside me. I could not ally these dry bones to the liquid, living beings who had once motivated them. There were ten of them in all, ten sacrifices to a god that no longer lived. I passed another and paused. I knew who this was. He was a mere boy, a boy who couldn’t hunt, and who had sabotaged his chance to become shaman. He once had a razok . . . I wondered what became of it. I saw the twisted bone of his bad leg and wanted to cry.
Other, more recently broken bones, grabbed my attention. Breaks caused by stones and spears and knives. My anger rose. Satu deserved better than this, better than an agonizing death at the hands of the lowest creatures ever to walk this land.
Bratar and Borsar. That is what Lil had said, the traitor and the fat priest. They did this, and for this they would pay.
We removed the skeletons and tore apart the heinous structures that held them. Others of our group searched the campsite and found bones scattered everywhere. Nature had worked swiftly, taking back to itself that which had once been flesh. The Spood had slaughtered many in this place, and age and sex had not mattered. The Sakitans in our group knew most of the deceased; some of them were family members. Lillatta and I found Kalor’s remains just outside the encampment. Lillatta wept softly as she gathered what bones she could find. We carried them to join the others on a pyre. I offered to perform a shamanic service for the dead. No one objected.
I spoke the sacred words and waved the burning sargrass as the stacked bones burned upon the pyre. Their souls were at rest, their spirits safely on their way to Mimnon. I vowed, in due time, I would find the priest Borsar and send him the other way, down to drown forever in the black waters of Fuld.
We could not linger here. The pain was too great, the sorrow all-enveloping. Javen informed us that he and the other Raab were eager to discover the whereabouts of the survivors of their clan. Members of h
is group had told him there were fields on the other side of the currently shallow Raso where the Spood had put many Raab to work. They wanted to go there.
I was reluctant to let them leave. There were only seven of them, counting Javen, so what could they accomplish, except get themselves captured. We should stay together.
They were adamant, however, Javen included, and I could say nothing to dissuade them. I wished I had a can-rak to send with them, to give them a chance at least. Javen came to me and caressed my cheek with his hand.
“Don’t worry, Sanyel. We will be all right. I will do some scouting, staying out of sight. I will find their weaknesses and we will pounce when we are stronger. I promise I will return to you.”
He bent his head, gave my lips a light kiss and then turned to go.
The Raab party went northwest. Miras had said her husband Jalak and the great hunter Semral were laborers in a mining operation in the mountains to the east. It was the only known location of surviving Sakita, so that was where we would go.
There were thirteen of us. We had an abundance of weapons, but that would not matter against an overwhelming Creet force. My thoughts were on gathering up some more animal bones for my bracelet. Who knew what creature might cross our path at an opportune time to assist me in defeating the Spood.
As we made our way east toward the mountains, I kept my eyes open. I found bone fragments from a porse, a sartel, and a spartok. The struggle for life was constant across these lands, and evidence showed no scarcity of those who had lost that battle.
One day we sighted a magnificent herd of grazing porse. I wanted so much to chase one down, to cull it from the others and engage in that age-old battle of wits and wills between hunter and hunted. However, we had no time for such indulgence. Instead, I played a little game.
I summoned everyone to observe from a hill overlooking the plain the beasts grazed. The porse meandered as they fed, a living black splotch pushing slowly across the grasslands.
“Watch this,” I spoke to the gathering.
“Porse herd, start walking east,” I commanded in a normal speaking voice that was impossible for the distant herd to hear. At the same time, I touched the porse bone on my bracelet.
The entire herd turned as if a single animal and began walking toward the east.
“That’s incredible!” Izzy exclaimed.
“Unbelievable!” added Lillatta.
“Porse herd, walk faster,” I spoke.
The herd’s speed quickened.
“I cannot believe that really works,” marveled Izzy.
I gave one last command.
“Porse herd, go back to grazing, as you had been.”
At once, the scene returned to how we had found it, only with the herd slightly displaced from its original location.
“Will they just keep on eating and never stop?” Brilna asked with concern.
“No,” I assured her. “My father told me the command lasts for only about twenty minutes and then wears off.”
It had been a test to see if the power was still with me. It pleased me to find it was, for we certainly could use any advantage.
Back on the trail east, I became concerned. We had come across no sign of Spood activity in all our traveling. Where were they? I had expected patrols and even Spood settlers. Where were the sperzas and the cultivated fields? Where were all the people?
The mountains loomed large as we passed through a thick kakkata forest and came out onto a rock-strewn plain. Spotting reflected light, I motioned for everyone to retreat into the protective shadows. Metal spearheads of a mounted Creet patrol flashed a distance ahead of us across the open. They were entering another stand of kakkata opposite us. Their backs were to us as they pushed on into the grove and vanished.
We had made contact. Someone still occupied this land. Would they lead us to the others?
**
~~TWENTY-FIVE~~