Chapter 2

A gentle touch woke her. She curled against her pillow a little tighter, before opening her eyes and looking up. Framed against the entrance to her tiny tent stood Juren, swathed in an old, threadbare traveling cloak, as black as night. In the meager light his lantern provided, it seemed his wan face had aged ten years since that afternoon. Pella sat up.

“Grandpa, what is it?”

“It’s time. Get your bag.” Pella rubbed some of the haze from her eyes. She’d been deep into a dream where she had stood, in awe, as the tribe as a whole sang and greeted a new morning. The sudden shift from a loud, blessed morning to a dark, silent night made her feel off-balance as she stood. She blinked into the darkness behind her grandfather’s illuminated silhouette.

She gave her head a quick, clearing shake, her curly locks standing askew from the embrace of the pillow, and managed to find her small travel pack in the corner of the tent. Shouldering the bag, she stood before Juren, who suddenly seemed unable to meet her gaze.

After an awkward moment where neither seemed to have anything to say, he reached in under his old cloak. Pella caught a glimpse of a brace of gleaming knives strapped across his chest, a set of unfamiliar weapons arrayed like metal teeth, before Juren’s hand emerged holding a small leather pouch. He tossed it to her, and she felt the click of metal and stone within the bag.

“Pella, I am sorry that you’re part of this. I hope you will forgive me when it’s over.”

“Grandpa, I–“

”I also need to know that, if we become separated, you will continue on without me. That you won’t return to our camp until you’ve done what we’re setting out to do.”

“Grandpa, I don’t even–“ Juren’s face tightened, an impassive mask. An icy chill settled in the pit of her stomach, and she clasped the bag to her chest. A moment later, she looked down at the pouch. “What is it?”

“A few things you’ll need for the trip.” He turned and ducked out of the tent flap, and she saw his head turn as he scanned the campsite. “Meet us by the corral in ten minutes.”

“Us?” she asked, but he was already gone. She bit her lip, turning the heavy pouch a few times, over and over, in her hands. Eventually curiosity overcame trepidation, and she unknotted the small bag and upended its contents onto her bedroll. One by one, she examined each of the little trinkets.

The first was a string of beads, a sort she’d never seen before. Most of the tribe’s adults wore seashells, gull feathers and polished stones. Some of the elders sported a silver earring or two. These marbles were a deep, mottled blue and seemed to shine from within, catching every tiny mote of light and sending it back in a sparkle of colors. Without knowing why, she slipped the beads back into the leather bag, knotted it tightly, and placed it carefully at the very bottom of her belt pouch.

Next was a small knife, carved from a single serrated spike of flint. Its handle was wrapped in leather, and fit her tiny hand perfectly. She tested the edge and found it true, then slipped the blade back into its sheath.

She could make no sense of the third object. It was a perfectly round ring of metal, something heavy and rusted, about the size of her palm. Through its middle ran a crossbar with a tiny hole in the center. She turned this alien object over and over, trying to divine its purpose. Even the method of construction escaped her. She placed it in her travel bag, reminding herself to look at it again in the light of day.

The last was a large, polished seashell on a short leather thong. A line of tiny script was etched around its fluted rim. She had seen some of the tribe’s outriders carry them, but this was the first time she’d ever been close enough to read the cramped lettering.

All songs find end in silence,

In time all tides run dry,

For day is e’er consumed by night,

And even stars shall die.

It was a short verse she had heard mercifully few times in her life. With a sort of detached numbness, Pella realized why those who traveled alone and far from the tribe’s borders carried such a shell. To die without music was unthinkable. With unsteady hands, she tied the string around her neck and tucked the broad shell into her tunic.

Drawing a slow breath of the scented night air, she strode into the darkness, the tribe’s funeral dirge resting just over the beat of her heart.

Pella slipped silently between the tents, her senses reaching out to pierce the midnight gloom over the camp. The forest of tents were only visible as peaks of darkness against the curtain of stars, and she was careful to only brush the canvas surfaces with her fingertips to keep from tripping over the network of tent poles. From around her came the uneven rumble of snoring, underscored by the softer roar of the ocean to her left and the occasional grumble of distant thunder far, far to her right. The wind was soft and cool, and the scent of horses tingled as she made her way to the corral, where a single lantern was swaying from a pole.

As Pella drew closer to the lone light source, she could see other figures already lingering by the corral’s rope fence. A handful of her fellow tribesmen sat on the ground in a rough circle, the taut set of their shoulders and backs clear even by the meager light. Pella picked out the broad shadow that was her grandfather, and headed over to him even as he beckoned her with a hand. Juren had been murmuring something – instructions, perhaps? – to the rest of the circle, but trailed off abruptly as Pella approached.

Drawing into the flickering light of the lantern, Pella looked about at the rest of the assembly. There were four of the older boys, practically men by the tribe’s standard. Each clutched a spear and rucksack. The usual aura of strutting bravery and noisy one-upmanship that surrounded them was gone, replaced by a sort of mute determination. She felt like she was looking at strangers, and not a handful of boys she had known all her short life. She shuddered a moment as she saw the same feeling reflected in their eyes as they regarded her by the lamplight.

At a loss for anything else to say, she politely greeted each in turn.

Standing nearest her grandfather was Halleck, the only one of the group who seemed comfortable holding the tall bamboo spear. In the lantern’s light, his tawny hair glowed, and his green eyes looked startlingly calm as he returned the greeting with a nod.

Bray was leaning against one of the corral posts that held the rope walls, and he had to shake his long mop of black hair out of his face to see Pella. With his long face and quiet demeanor, she could never decide if Bray was thoughtful or just shy. She often saw him hunting around the perimeter of the camp, gathering strange roots and berries.

Next to Bray sat Larr, a round-faced boy in an ill-fitted tunic who, at the moment, seemed to be trying rather ineffectually to hide behind his spear. She knew his parents tended the tribe’s corral and livestock, and were trying to teach Larr to follow in their footsteps. She had memories of poor Larr running frantically from a horse that bit at his heels with every step, or being pursued by a pack of chickens and being too terrorized to drop the corn they were actually after. She wondered if he was undergoing this journey just to get away from the dangers of the family farm.

On the edge of the circle was the youngest of the boys, a rangy teen only a couple summers older than Pella. Scrawny and sunburned, he had a vaguely malnourished look, and occasionally seemed to jump at noises that no-one else heard. Besides the spear, he had a small set of skinning knives in his belt. She couldn’t remember his real name -- everyone simply called him Pup.

Juren stood up, dusting off his cloak as he rose, and scanned the young faces around him.

“I’m glad you all decided to show.”

“You didn’t leave us much of a choice, Elder,” said Halleck, clearly choosing his words carefully. He glanced a moment at Pella. “When you said the entire tribe was at stake, was that just to spur us forward?

“Will you tell us now, Grandpa?” Pella looked from Halleck to Juren and back. The elder sighed, and turned his gaze away from the youths, his eyes scanning over the forest of tests and their soothing darkness, then over to the flash of lightning to the distant east. In the corral, a few horses stamped and muttered in discomfort, possibly startled to wakefulness by their midnight meeting.

“Not here. Not until we are well outside the camp.” whispered Juren. Pup grunted, and Larr seemed to shrink into the ground. Bray simply leaned to see what Juren was gazing at, while Halleck looked down at his feet, looking like he had swallowed something distasteful. Pella felt suddenly cold as she examined the tents around them, and drew her cloak a little closer.

“All right.” she said, and she saw the line of her grandfather’s back ease, like a burden had been lifted. Without turning, he spoke.

“The rest of you?”

“All right.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Elder. Show us the way.”

Juren nodded, clearing his throat, still facing east. Without another word, he began walking into the inky darkness around the small lamp, and after a moment of silent conferring, his five followers followed them. None of the camp’s hounds stirred as they picked their way past the perimeter, and began walking eastward in a solemn single file.

The camp lay behind them, rumpled and warm like a familiar blanket. In the darkness, none of them turned to look back. If they had, they might have seen another figure rise up from the darkness of the corral and make its way to the western side of the tents. A boy, no older than those who left, hastened through the alleys between the tents, anxiousness spurring him to near-carelessness as he tripped and stumbled through the course of ropes and pegs.

Finally, he came to the edge of the camp and the slope of the beach, where he turned south and began a full out run away from the camp. Chest heaving as he stumbled through the darkness, he almost collided blindly with his goal. A large man in a heavy animal skin managed to catch the youth by the shoulders, and even managed to put a broad, gloved hand over the boy’s mouth to stifle the scream of shock. A moment later, when the youth realized he had found his contact, he quit struggling as was let go, gasping anew for breath.

The man snorted, throwing the heavy hood back and turning to the sea, jaw set with a mild, patient smirk. Taking out a large, strange metal tool of some kind, he began idly polishing it as he waited for the boy to regain his wind. Tope settled to his knees, concentrating on drawing slow breaths until his heart calmed down, then he looked up at the stranger.

“Pretty nice to have around, this ocean,” said the stranger. His voice was a raspy baritone, and Tope wondered what sort of place would inspire the odd, sing-song way the man spoke. He sat up, puzzling over the comment a moment. His eyes fell to the tool that seemed to take all the man’s attention. In the bare starlight, it looked oddly like a scepter he once saw in a book: a heavy, square club that was topped by something that, in silhouette, looked vaguely like a monstrous grin in profile, complete with interlocking teeth. Tope studied the odd implement for a few heartbeats, before deciding to come to business.

“He left. Juren left just now. On foot. He’s got a few of the tribe’s children with him, including his granddaughter.”

The man paused, an eyebrow raised.

“Did he? Did you see what they were carrying?” Tope blinked.

“Uh... cloaks, spears... looked like some food and such.”

“What of instruments?”

“What?”

“What of instruments, boy? Was Juren carrying a fiddle? A guitar?”

“A what? Fiddle? No, nothing like that, I think. I didn’t see.”

The man turned with a sudden fierceness. White teeth gleamed from a dirty face as he shouted.

“Horns? Pipes? A damned set of drums?”

“I didn’t see! I didn’t see! You didn’t say anything about that before!”

The man grew impassive, arms crossed in an almost child-like sulk. Tope licked his lips, waiting for the palpable tension to pass before venturing a new offer.

“I could find out. I’m good at being quiet. No one saw me leave the camp, I could sneak up behind them.”

“Hm.”

“I could, I could! Look, just, you know, for a few more pearls...”

The man flung a hand out, and a small rain of silvery pearls danced against Tope’s legs, before getting lost in the darkness. Tope cried out, and immediately dropped back to his knees, fingers combing through the sands of the beach. The heavy tool came down with a crunch. Tope stiffened once, silently, as the brutal swing took the back of his skull. His body sprawled awkwardly in the sands, and a few pearls spilled from its grasp.

The man drew aside the filthy hide cloak to get to the array of pouches underneath. From one, he drew a fresh cloth and began cleaning the droplets of blood from his wrench. He looked out over the ocean, and mused.

“Yup, pretty nice to have this around.”

Come the morning, when the rest of the tribe would find the body — if the ocean deigned to send it back — there would be no tracks in the tide-swept sand. Nothing to hint a stranger had been here. Just a dead boy missing a piece of his head, and a handful of trinkets in the sand for consolation.

Pella had been keeping her gaze firmly locked to the south as her little band of travelers made their way through the night. The tip of the Fisherman’s pole had just grazed the mountains when they first left, and now the constellation stood almost directly above, casting his celestial line back to the coast. By her best guess, they had traveled in stoic silence for the better part of three hours when Halleck sidled up next to her and gave her a nudge.

She looked at him, and he jerked his chin towards Juren, in the lead. She understood his meaning immediately, but turned away, unsure how to begin the conversation that barely started back at the corral. Halleck kept pace with her, his shadowed face neither pushing her ahead nor condemning her inaction. After a few hundred awkward steps, she let out a slow breath and began to work her way to her grandfather.

On the way, she passed Larr, who gave her a look of almost complete blankness, and Bray, who simply nodded. She’d lost Pup in the darkness behind them. She came up along side Juren, who, without looking around, patted her head gently. She thought through all the questions she had burning in her mind, and decided on the one most likely to get an answer.

“Grandpa, will we stop to make camp soon?”

The elder sighed, and drew a distracted hand through his wispy beard. Slowly, his pace slackened, until the will to go forward seemed to dissipate entirely. Without turning, he nodded and spoke just loud enough for the rest to hear.

“All right. Go start a fire, a small one, and get breakfast ready.”

The boys immediately set out to try and find some wild game, while Pella prepared a small cookfire. Within minutes, Halleck and Pup returned with a couple of mangy rabbits they had tracked down in the reedy prairie grasses, while Bray scrounged up some roots and mushrooms from a dry riverbed no-one else had even noticed. Larr came back last with an armful of dry brush, which he fed to the fire as Pella sang and prepared the meal.

The smell of cooking meat, and the traditional song for serving breakfast seemed to ease the youths’ nervous spirits, and all but Halleck and Juren joined in for the final verses. After, they ate in silence, watching the sky overhead slowly turn pink. Outside the bustle of camp, the rumble of thunder was a distant, but constant, presence. It was only when the fire was out and the cookware re-packed when Pella decided to ask her next question.

“Grandpa, why are we here?”

“That’s a rather philosophical question for you, isn’t it?”

“No, I mean. Why did we leave home? What’s all this about the tribe being in trouble?”

The boys, still seated, turned slightly to watch the elder. They had picked up their spears again. Juren nodded, and spread his empty hands. Underneath his cloak, metal clinked.

“All right. Now is as good as time as any. Children, we are headed east. What do you see in that direction?”

“The thunderstorm,” said Halleck, immediately. The others nodded.

“Correct. Now, how long has it been there?”

The youths looked at each other, searchingly, for a moment, before Halleck ventured a response.

“Forever?”

Juren smiled, and shook his head slowly.

“I’m sure it must seem that way to you, for it has been there all your lives. But the endless storm has only raged for fifty summers, my children. There are those of us in the tribe — not as many as there used to be, I admit! — who remember when the eastern horizon was as clear as the others.” He paused to let that sink in. Pella was wide-eyed, the wheels of her imagination spinning. The others looked stunned as well, and Larr had leaned back to squint at the storm clouds, as if trying to envision what lay under their shadows. Juren continued.

“Some of us remember when the storm first started, and because we have been watching it for years and years, we also know that it’s been growing. A few feet a day, maybe less, but spreading endlessly.”

”You see, leagues and league to the east lies a fabulous, monstrous city. Not like the little towns we trade with to the south, no, my children. This is an ancient city, with millions of people. And hundreds of years ago, this city could control the very clouds and rains themselves.”

A burst of disbelieving laughter from Halleck.

“Elder, one of your legends?”

The youth’s smile died on his face as Juren turned to regard him. When he spoke, the elder’s voice was icy.

“The city is real. I lived there. More people than you could meet in a lifetime, living in cramped buildings under a sunless sky. Do not mock that which you do not understand, Halleck!”

Halleck held his hands up and bowed his head slightly, a look of shame flashing across his features. Pella was trying to imagine her grandfather, a core member of the tribe, actually living somewhere else. Next to her, Bray looked thoughtful, as he usually did.

“Elder, you said they could control the clouds?”

“Ah, someone who listens. Yes, my child, they did. But a long time ago, before even the old man who sits before you was born, they lost control. The vast power that controlled the rains that fed their crops had—” he paused, pursing his lips as he tried to find a phrase the youths would understand, “—gone mad. Like a horse that never gets a saddle taken off.”

Larr visibly shuddered, and Pup scratched his shaggy head.

“Sir,” he offered tentatively, “what’s so bad about rain?”

“Ah, of course. We have rain once in a while, right? A day, maybe two of rain. A little cold and wet, but then the sun comes out and the rain dries up.” A few of the children nodded. “Where we are going, the rain hasn’t let up in months. The earth itself is quicksand, where no plants can take root. The air is freezing and wet, and whatever animals that could not be kept inside died a long, long time ago.”

“But no-one could live in such a place!” burst Larr. Juren merely smiled, gently.

“There are those in the city who would think the same about our little wandering camp, Tarr. But no matter, that’s not what’s important. What is important is that, slowly but surely, those rains are coming closer, and when they do, everyone we know and love is going to be lost.”

“But, can’t we go anywhere else?” This was from Pup, who had turned to watch the clouds as if they were set to pounce on them at any moment.

“There’s no where else, Pup. We’re at the edge of the land already. Even if we tried to cross the ocean, it would be a dangerous journey few would survive.”

“So,” Pella mused, aloud, “what did we come out here to do?”

Juren leaned back a bit, his hands on his knees, and smiled, though Pella felt no warmth come from that grin.

“We are going,” the elder pronounced, “because I can fix the rains. If I can get to the heart of the city, that is. And,” he continued, holding up a single, weather-worn finger, “if I can’t, then Pella can.”

There were several heartbeats of cold silence, punctuated only by a rumble of thunder. Pella’s face grew hot, and she suddenly became aware that attention had shifted from her grandfather to her. She wished someone would speak. Finally, Halleck broke the silence.

“How?”

Juren could only shrug.

“I’m not trying to be enigmatic, understand,” the elder said, sadly. “But I can no more tell her how to do it than you could teach Larr the proper way to handle a spear. Sure, you could lead him through a few steps, but only a lifetime of actually using the weapon gives you the knowledge to wield it.”

“So why in the world am I carrying this damn thing?” muttered Larr, looking forlornly at the bamboo spear in his hand.

“Grandpa,” Pella said, softly, “I have no idea what you mean.”

“I know, dear child,” Juren murmured as he stood up, dusting off his old, tattered cloak. “But if the time comes, I know you’ll do fine.” The rest of the traveling party stood up, turning as one to face the dark, angry clouds.

“How can we make it through that?” asked Pup. Juren smiled, as he began walking forward, his wispy beard blowing over one shoulder.

“The same way we do everything, child. We ask for help. Come now, we have a couple appointments to keep, and it won’t do to be late.”

As a whole, the travelers set out once more. The sun had climbed over the thunderclouds while they had ate and talked, and Pella found herself squinting against the harsh white light of the morning. When her eyes adjusted, she was surprised to find Halleck and Bray on either side of her, spears at the ready as they walked.

She sighed, for the boys looked as unsure of themselves as she felt. Deciding she had had enough conversation for one morning, she began singing one of the tribe’s summer migration songs. It seemed an appropriate choice for their trek, and by the end of the first lilting verse, everyone except Halleck had joined in, matching her in both tone and step as they walked.

She was pleased to see even her grandfather had joined in.

The days of travel fell into a steady rhythm. With the ancestral songs marking the start, middle and end of each day, Pella felt like they were bringing the tribe with them, rather than leaving it behind. The soothing roar of the ocean was long silenced by distance, and the dark, rolling clouds — despite Juren’s tale — seemed no closer. The plains were a lonely, sprawling wasteland on either side, but the boys had turned their daily food-gathering into a sort of contest, and the quiet was often punctuated by a cry of triumph or grunt of frustration.

One such grunt came now from Larr, who had thrown his spear with such force he almost toppled over onto his face. The throw fell just short, and the long-tailed hare bounded off in a crazed zig-zag pattern. It managed to get a full ten feet away before Halleck’s spear caught it through the middle and pinned it to the spot. Larr grimaced as Halleck jabbed him in the shoulder, before heading over to retrieve the rabbit.

“Ah, aren’t there anything but rabbits out here?” Larr sulked.

“I saw a rabbit the size of a horse, before,” mused Halleck, with a carefully arranged expression of wonder, “I bet you could hit one of those.”

Pella stifled a giggle as Larr grunted again. Pup shook his head.

“It’s a big prairie. Stands to reason there are big animals.” Halleck continued.

“Like wolves.” said Pup. Pella and Larr turned to him.

“Really?”

Pup nodded, and gestured vaguely with his spear.

“Every morning, there’s several wolf tracks. They circle our camp, but are long gone by morning.”

It was Halleck’s turn to grunt in disgust.

“C’mon Pup, we’re not children jumping at shadows.” Pup merely shrugged.

“Ask Juren.”

“I will!”

Halleck pulled his spear from the crusted earth and pulled the rabbit from the blood-soaked tip. Giving Pup an appraising glance as he passed, Halleck made a direct line to Juren, who sat with Bray around a cookfire they had just managed to start. Pella looked at Pup and Larr, then the three of them hurried after the older boy, in time to catch the trailing end of Juren’s admission.

“—at least four or five. They seem to pick up another straggler every few nights.”

“And we’ve been sleeping through this!? We’ve... we’ve got to keep watch!” Halleck sputtered. The elder held his hands up in placation, and turned to Larr, who started in surprise.

“Larr, do you know why the wolves have kept their respectful distance?”

Larr furrowed his brow, clearly searching through some personal history, before his face brightened in cautious victory.

“Because... because they’ve learned to fear people?” Juren nodded emphatically, and Pella saw Larr beam.

“Indeed. You see, children, there are other tribes out in the plains, following the animals like our ancestors used to, before they reached the ocean.”

“We know about the other tribes, Grandpa.” Pella began, but Juren held up a silencing finger.

“What you don’t know, my dear granddaughter, is that those tribes – and their animals – are slowly heading further west with each passing year. The storms are steadily eating the land those people and animals hunted their food on, and so the wolves have become braver. They’ve attacked the tribes before, and learned to fear us... but they also know we can be taken down if they have the numbers. Until they have a far superior numbers, we are safe.”

“Unless they’re bigger,” spat Pup, eyes scanning the horizon. The children turned to look at him, mouths agape, while Juren grew still, his hands half-lowered. Bray shook his unruly hair from his face, then spoke.

“What’d you see, Pup?” Pup shrugged, without looking back.

“Outside the ring of those wolves’ tracks every morning... there’s another track. An even bigger circle, with bigger prints.” Halleck cleared his throat in the ensuing silence, before prompting Pup gently.

“How bigger?”

Pup tensed, and looked over at the older boy. He raised a steady hand, and spread the fingers, indicating the distance between the tips of an outstretched thumb and pinky. Pella gulped audibly.

“So... so... we should be keeping watch at night, right?” she offered. The other children swung their gazes from Pup to Juren, who sat frowning at the fire. The elder shook his head.

“No. We’ll travel at night from now on, with a few good light sources, and sleep during the day.” He sighed, poking needlessly at the small fire, before looking up at the rabbit still dangling from Halleck’s hand. “Let’s eat, and take a nap. The sun will be down in a few hours, and we’d best keep on the move.

Pella felt groggy and uneven after a rest that gave her little comfort. Even with her head under the fold of her bedroll, the light of day was too insistent, and her mind raced with thoughts of what was stalking them from a distance too far to be seen. Now, in the deepest dark of the night, she willed her legs forward, step by step, as she huddled in the shell of light from Juren’s torch. The light was weak, but it was enough to illuminate the various spawl of reeds and grasses, and she thought they were making as good time in the night as they did during the day.

On the elder’s other side was Larr, and even by the unsteady torchlight she could see the pale cast of his face matched the white-knuckled grip he had on his spear. Pella peered over her shoulder frequently as they traveled. Halleck stood in the middle, his spear in one hand and a torch held high in the other. To his left, Bray strode with an almost casual gait, his expression shadowed and unreadable under the mop of hair. Pup was on Halleck’s right. At some point during the night, he’d given up his spear and was walking with both hands behind his back.

It was during one of these glances back when a loud, gibbering howl burst from the darkness to the south, causing the entire group of travelers to draw back as one, torchlights flickering wildly. The next few heartbeats were a blur, and Pella found her little flint knife in her hand without remembering having drawn it. Juren’s free hand had darted under his cloak and emerged with one of the many curving, silver knives. Larr and Halleck had lowered their spears, but in different directions, and were frantically trying to scan the darkness for the attacker. It was only Bray who made a sound, desperate and thin in the dry darkness.

“Pup, stop!”

Pella whirled around and saw Bray reaching out towards the edge of the torchlight, but Pup was nowhere in sight. Halleck looked around and saw Bray’s outstretched hand, and for a moment he teetered on the balls of his feet, as if about to plunge into the darkness in that direction. With a look of helpless anger, he drew back, and Bray moved to cover his flank. Pella’s line of sight was suddenly obscured by the swing of a cloak, and she found herself between Larr and Juren, who surrounded her facing opposite directions.

Another moment passed, and Pella felt a cold bead of sweat slip down her neck. The rest stood around her, taut like bowstrings before the unmoving shadows. She drew in a slow breath through clenched teeth, trying to draw up the courage to call out for Pup, but she choked on the air as a second raging howl split the night around them. Immediately, it was followed by a third howl, higher-pitched and much closer, from the other side of their little circle of light. A rumble of the distant thunder lingered after.

She and Larr jumped and almost collided together at a sudden darting shadow, barely caught in their peripheral vision. The dark, humped shape coughed once, then again, before slinking back. The wind picked up slightly and she caught the acrid scent of wet, matted fur.

Over her head, Juren looked back and caught Halleck’s eyes. Some unspoken agreement was reached, and the two lowered their torches. They had just begun to probe the night to the south when another howl sounded, short and sharp, followed by a wet gurgle. Juren tensed to lunge forward, torch and knife held out before him, when Pup stumbled back into the light. Pella barely held back a shriek, nearly dropping her knife, and Larr backpedaled so frantically he had to cartwheel his arms to keep his balance. From the arms down, Pup was covered in dark, red blood.

Pup froze and looked down at himself, turning his hands up in the torchlight. In each hand, he held one of the short, sharp skinning tools from his belt. Turning to Juren, he spoke quickly.

“It’s okay. It’s not my blood.”

In the ensuing silence, Pella’s straining senses only heard the rumble of the stormclouds, and the heavy beat of her heart echoing dully in her ears.

“What happened?” said Juren. Pup had been looking around futilely for something with which to clean himself up. At the question, he shrugged modestly.

“You said the little wolves feared people. Well, now the big ones do too.”

The next few days passed, measured only by the dull plodding of boots across dry prairie. The land behind them sprawled the same as the lands to their north and south. The ocean was long gone, and even the shifting winds no longer held the tang of salt. Neither Pup or Halleck saw any tracks crossing their path as they walked, and the thought had calmed them, Pella and Larr considerably. Juren wore a perpetual scowl regardless of the situation. Bray was the only one who expressed concern, which he did every time he came back from his daily foraging.

“It’s not natural, I tell you.” He was pawing through the roots and tubers he had dug up from the bare earth. Pella sighed, and Halleck smirked.

“They look perfectly edible to me, Bray.”

Bray looked up, shaking the fringe of hair from his face.

“You know what I mean, Hall. No wolf tracks is well and good, but no tracks at all? There should be a lot more signs of life in this prairie. And yet, I see nothing around the plants. Not even around that stream we passed.” Halleck nodded, drawing a serious face.

“Glad we found that stream when we did. No offense, Pup, but that cloud of flies didn’t really suit you.”

“Yeah, I’ll miss those guys.” Pup mused. “I didn’t hear you complaining about ‘signs of life’ when I had my blood-hungry followers, Bray.” Larr chuckled, and Bray scowled. Pella pointed to the clouded horizon.

“What about the gulls?”

Halleck squinted towards the east.

“Ocean’s behind us, Pella. No gulls out that way.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

The boys grew quiet, each straining their eyes in the direction she was pointing. After a moment, Pup gasped.

“I see it!”

“Where?”

“Circling that… that spire of clouds over there.”

Halleck shaded his eyes. Pella saw the distant shape flit before the clouds Pup had indicated. It flashed the sunlight back as it banked steeply, and she heard Halleck draw a slow breath.

“I don’t know what that is, but it’s no gull.”

“How can you tell?” muttered Larr, who was still scanning the wrong section of clouds.

“It’s too big. It’s gotta be like… the size of a horse. Bigger.”

“He’s right,” said Bray, “otherwise we couldn’t see it from this far away.”

“It’s so graceful,” murmured Pella. She was entranced by the creature’s lazy rolls in the air. She could just make out its silhouette. Broad angled wings that barely moved as it banked, and a long, graceful neck that was rather more swan-like than her first impression of a gull. “This is so exciting, getting to travel away from the ocean, and—whoa!”

With a sudden lunge, the creature folded its wings and dove at the ground. Pella winced as the beast hit the ground, but rather than sending up a plume of earth, it simply disappeared without a trace. The children looked at one another.

“Was it… was it a trick of the light?” offered Bray. Halleck shook his head.

“I don’t think so.”

“I didn’t get to see it.” Larr sulked.

“Well,” mused Pella, “we’re going that way. Maybe we’ll get to see it up close.”

That new realization stunned the boys into silence. The storm rumbled, far in the distance. The five of them sat mutely, watching the horizon, then jumped in unison at a loud spark from behind them. Juren was holding a strange torch over the fire, and it had begun to emit a plume thick, green smoke.

“Grandpa?”

“You’ll recall that some nights ago I said we had a few appointments to keep. Well, we’ll be keeping the first one today. He’s an old friend of mine, from before I was part of the tribe, so I want you all to be on your best behavior.”

The elder strode off, and the rest picked up their gear and followed along, tried to stay further upwind from the noxious torch. Its green smoke curled thickly over them, and Pella wondered how far away thew could be seen. Halleck walked by Pella on the way to his usual position at the front. As he did, he leaned in to whisper.

“I didn’t know your grandfather was from outside the tribe.”

Without looking back, he walked ahead, keeping some distance between himself and Juren. Pella bit her lip, then muttered.

“I didn’t know, either.”

They continued in the shadow of the torch for the better part of the day, when Halleck, in the lead, suddenly shouted and pointed.

“Someone’s coming this way!”

A figure was drawing out of the haze of sunlight to their south. A lone figure, tall and gaunt, ambling directly towards them through the low prairie grasses. Halleck squinted, trying to make out the details of the man.

“He’s tall, and… he’s wearing blue robes. That’s all I can see from here.” he whispered to Pella and Pup.

Juren stretched his back with a series of soft crackles, then sat on the ground.

“Let’s make camp here. He’ll want to rest up, and almost certainly chat a bit.”

They made a fire and cooked a light lunch, sparing occasional nervous glances in the direction of their approaching guest. Pella tried to peer at her grandfather’s face, but he was stoic and unreadable. She picked at her lunch, not really feeling hungry despite the miles travelled, and tried to content herself with watching the smoky torch fade out. The cookfire had died down by the time the stranger made his way into their sparse camp. Pella and the boys nodded politely, trying not to look like they were scrutinizing the man as they looked him over.

The stranger was indeed gaunt. His long face was lined, making him look far older than the thirty years or so Pella placed him at. His dark hair was unbound, a messy tangle barely half-tamed. He wore faded blue robes, patched and torn, but of some wonderfully shiny and soft material Pella had never seen before. A single curved sword sat in a scabbard tucked into his belt. When he moved to accept the plate of food from Juren, she caught a glimpse of tattoos running up his scrawny arm, a series of barbed, interlocking circles that spiraled up to his elbow.

The stranger ate his food in silence – they had yet to hear him make a sound. When he was done, he set the plate on the ground, cleared his throat, and finally spoke.

“You’re being hunted.”

Pella and Halleck exchanged glances, and Larr looked suddenly pale. It wasn’t the greeting they expected.

Bray spoke up, indignantly.

“We haven’t seen any tracks. And we check all the time.”

The stranger regarded Bray with calm, dark eyes, and Bray seemed to shrink slightly from the attention. “It’s true.” he added lamely. Juren frowned, scanning the horizon.

“From which direction?”

The stranger shrugged elaborately, his arms encompassing the whole of their campsite.

“Everywhere but the East.”

“That’s impossible!” Bray sputtered. “We’d have seen their tracks by now!”

The stranger shrugged again, and offered a gentle smile that didn’t seem quite right on his face.

“They’re much further away than you think.”

“Then how can they see us?” Bray demanded.

“They have their methods. It’s not important. What is important, is: I wounded three of them to get to you today, so they will most likely strike tonight, just before it gets dark.”

“How do you know this?” Halleck asked, straining to keep his tone polite.

“I know their ways.” the stranger said simply. Halleck turned to Juren, who nodded with a maddening calmness. Bray threw up his hands in exasperation, and Larr looked like he merely wanted to throw up. Pella turned to the stranger, and spoke quietly.

“Should we keep going?”

The stranger put down the water skin and tilted his head in consideration, as though it was the first worthy question he’d been asked.

“Right now, they’re pushing us east, to their waiting allies. Were we to continue that way, the noose would close shut about us. So, we go north.”

Pup broke the stunned silence, murmuring uncertainly.

“We make them adapt to us. Keep them guessing.”

“Smart lad.” said the stranger, raising his water skin in a casual toast. Pup smiled, abashed.

They had been travelling north for two days when Bray found the strange tracks. A cluster of boot-prints, with a strange tread pattern he’d never seen before, sat in the lee of a desiccated prairie shrub.

“They’re covering their tracks, or trying to.” he mused aloud, and Halleck nodded in assent. The stranger barely paid the tracks any attention as he ambled past, idly chewing on one of the plentiful reeds that dotted the plains. Bray scowled at the distracted gesture, then sighed, falling in step next to Juren.

Pella didn’t know what to make of the stranger. He didn’t join in when they sang their songs of morning, evening, dining or travelling, but he listened with admiring attentiveness. Though he strode with easy confidence through the prairie grasses, he didn’t have the tan, weathered look of a native. Whenever he was asked a direct question -- like his name -- he would dig enthusiastically in one ear with his pinky, feigning a sudden, debilitating deafness.

“I wish we knew who we were running from. Or to, as it seems to be.” Bray sulked. He had been making poultices from the strange herbs and roots he had dug up that morning, but now he threw one of the mossy pads down in disgust. The stranger raised an eyebrow, slowly lowering the reed from his lips.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes. Yes, of course! All these questions are driving me mad.”

“Very well.” said the stranger, and idly pointed his thumb back the way they had come. Together, Pella, Halleck, Larr and Bray stopped in their tracks and turned. Pella’s eyes skimmed the southern horizon, seeing no-one. Judging by their frowns, neither did the others.

“There’s no one there.” said Larr.

“What do you see?” called the stranger, already some distance away.

“Grasses. Dirt. A few bushes.” Larr said, with mild exasperation.

The stranger was suddenly behind them, and Pella jumped. She hadn’t heard him close in. His callous hand emerged from a ratty sleeve and pointed into the middle distance.

“Bushes. A line of bushes, right there.”

“Right, a line of bushes.” Halleck said, impatiently. He was about to follow with a ill-advised retort, when Pella cut him off with a squeak.

“A line of bushes we didn’t pass by.” she gasped. Bray squinted again, holding the mop of his hair up to shade his vision.

“Kinda… big for bushes, now that I see’m.”

“From here, we’ll head northeast,” said the stranger, ”and force them to overtake us. With any luck, it’ll tire them out by the time they reach us, and either they won’t attack tonight, or…”

“Or?” yelped Larr. The stranger shrugged.

“…or they’ll be too tired to chase us far when we run.”

Juren had them stop early for their supper. An hour before sundown, he called for Pella and Halleck to make a cookfire, then swiftly berated Larr and Bray for setting down their gear.

“Keep those on you! Haven’t you noticed we’re expecting company?” Larr shifted uneasily as he returned his rucksack to his shoulder, and his eyes darted to the line of bushes. Over the past few hours, they had closed the distance, both to the travelers and to one another.

Pella quietly sang the cooking song, pleased that her voice didn’t falter even though her knees felt watery and weak. She tried putting thoughts of fleeing through the tall grasses out of her mind as she set the last strips of their meat rations on the cook fire’s spit. The wafting smell had just awoken her hunger when the stranger’s sudden bellow made her jump to her feet.

“Weapons out! Weapons out! Guard yourself!”

Halleck appeared suddenly to Pella’s left and Juren to her right. The youth clutched his spear in a white-knuckled grip while the Elder’s gnarled hands slipped under his cloak, each hand emerging with a dagger. Shaking, she drew the flint knife Juren had given her.

The stranger had taken up a sentry position between the camp and the bushes, and with sudden agility he had leapt to his feet. One hand closed about the grip of his sheathed sword as he sped down the prairie, meeting the men who had emerged from their failed camouflage.

Pella felt a jolt of terror as she finally saw the men who had been chasing them. They were broad, looming figures, moving toward the stranger with the easy lope of a predator. They wore matted, shaggy hides across their shoulders and each held an odd metal club, flat and square and ending in a toothy claw. Pella barely stifled a whimper – they looked like the barbarians from the stories used to keep the camp’s children from wandering off at night.

The one closest to the stranger lifted his metal club and brought it down in a heavy, overhand swing. The stranger turned and sidestepped, and the wrench sank into the ground, kicking up a plume of dirt. The stranger moved with unexpected grace, evading a follow-up kick from the barbarian, spinning as his sword leapt from its scabbard. With a sidelong attack under the barbarian’s outstretching chin, the sword struck the man’s neck. Pella winced, excepting to see the barbarian’s head tumble from his shoulders, but the man merely clutched his shattered neck and crumpled to his knees. With further surprise, Pella saw the stranger wasn’t wielding a sword at all, but a rather ugly, square piece of unpolished metal, like an elongated tent peg with a hilt and leather grip.

The other barbarians had surrounded the stranger in a tight semicircle, brandishing their wrenches and baring white, gritted teeth that gleamed from their dirty faces. Three of them struck at the stranger, who deflected two of the blows with a single cross-body sweep of his baton and ignoring the unconvincing feint from the third. The baton twisted and came down, and the two barbarians who had been parried suddenly found their wrenches wrenched from their hands. One of them sneered with fury as he backpedalled, and spat at the stranger.

“You edgeless scum.”

The other eight barbarians had managed to skirt around the range of the stranger’s weapon, and begun advancing towards Pella and the rest. Ten paces away, they suddenly charged, bellowing as their steel clubs whipped in a fury before them. This close, Pella saw that under the fur, they wore bulky metal helmets and strange, tinted goggles over their eyes. The closest barbarian had raised his arm for a mighty backswing that would have knocked her off her feet, when suddenly he grunted and stopped mid-stride with a violent quake. A spear had buried itself just below his breastbone, and the man slewed to one side and collapsed. Pella caught a glimpse of Halleck, eyes wide and jaw clenched, as he pulled the spear from the barbarian’s chest in time to catch the lunging strike from the next man in the row. The force drove him back, and the spear’s shaft splintered under the wrench.

Juren had inserted himself between Pella and the two closest barbarians, and was just barely defending himself with quick parries from his glinting knives. With a roar of frustration, a barbarian lifted his wrench with both hands and brought in across in an attack meant to crush the Elder’s ribs. With blurring speed, Juren flipped the dagger in his hand and lunged, letting the enormous man impale the pit of his elbow on the dagger point and causing the barbarian to fumble his attack.

“Grandpa?” stammered Pella, incredulously, then shouted again in warning. “Grandpa!”

The barbarian to Juren’s left pounced as Juren’s daggers were occupied in the parry, but the savage suddenly screamed and stumbled backward. Pup appeared over the man’s broad shoulder, his daggers sunk deep in the barbarian’s back. Pup managed a slash down the man’s side before the barbarian reeled, flinging a massive arm back and sending the scrawny child flying. Wide-eyed in unconcealed terror, Larr leapt to defend Pup as he dizzily scrambled to his feet, but the barbarian’s next lunge snapped his spear cleanly in half. The two boys stepped back as the bleeding barbarian’s wide sweeps of his wrench drove them back.

Pella felt a giant hand close around her upper arm and she screamed.

“C’mere, you squealing brat.” growled the barbarian in a strange, sing-song voice as he pulled at her. Pella screamed again, then snarled, bringing the point of her little blade into the soft cords of the man’s wrist. The man bellowed a howl of pain and his fingers spasmed and went limp as Pella twisted free. Bray stepped in before her brandishing a spear, but the barbarian simply shoved the boy aside with his uninjured hand.

Pella took a step back, and another, keeping the bloodied knife held before her. Her heart pounded in her chest and her ears, and her arm felt bruised by the barbarian’s careless grip. She heard the sound of metal striking flesh, accompanied by a painful grunt, and Juren fell to the ground beside her, clutching his ribs with one arm. The barbarian grinned as his comrade sidled closer, slapping the broad, flat nose of his wrench into a calloused palm. He opened his mouth in a smirk to speak, but then staggered with a wail of pain as Juren fling his dagger at point blank range into the man’s thigh. Juren rolled to his feet with a wince, another knife appearing in his hand as though by magic. Without taking his eyes from the barbarians, Juren shouted over the din.

“Get Pella out of here!”

Fingers closed on Pella’s shoulder and she leapt in shock, almost lunging with her knife to strike the hand as she had done before. Instead, the stranger’s face darted in front of hers and she stopped, blinking tears back apologetically.

The stranger took her hand, and his narrow eyebrows raised.

“And now we run.”

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