Fall
Chapter 52

Atlas

Day one through four were repeating nightmares. The tribes were barely civil when their property wandered from one group to the next. Fera and unbonded dogs were crucial fixtures during this time, helping set boundaries in the midst of movement. The tension burned in the back of their throats like bile, and rest fled from them.

By day five, a system had been set in place as the group waited to leave one at a time through breakfast. This made sure the sand cows would stay with their owners, and lessen the chance of theft accusation.

Atlas looked over his shoulder to the towns snaking behind them. They were nearly a mile long in total. He wondered if anything like this had been attempted before. There were no written documents to tell him otherwise, and the Southern maps had lacked stable places.

He looked ahead, and there were still more people. The men dragged lightweight sleds with their family belongings while women and children wore backpacks. Those who were bonded to pack animals—which was a popular choice—gave even more of their burden to fera.

A boy raced past Atlas on his mule. Waterskins and saddlebags jostled on the fera, acting like tassels flapping in the wind. It reminded Atlas of the finery Flint wore when Kane was crowned.

“Atlas!” Skye yelped.

He spun quickly, senses alert. “Yes?”

Milla’s granddaughter was riding June up the line. She had cried out when the donkey had slipped in the sand. Madoc flapped above her, ever watching. “You have to move to the back. Milla wants me in the middle.”

Atlas nodded. He had been waiting for this order. “Are you sure you’re ready? There are more people here. If a fight breaks out, you’ll have to run back to us.”

“Relax,” Skye said. “I have two fera with me. Technically,” she patted June, “Milla’s right here.”

“Okay then.” Squaring his shoulders, he trudged past June and Skye. Hudson was ahead, eager to get to the end.

Thorn will be there. And shade, he said.

Atlas grunted. Skye better not try any heroics. She’s getting more comfortable around the Chestic.

She’s picking up their language as well. Must be the parrot in her, Hudson chuckled. By the end of this trip, she may know more than us.

I’m not here to become Chestic. I’m here to get support for the North, and end this war.

Why learn the culture? It’s not as if we’re ambassadors, Hudson said.

We’re well-rounded. And that’s sufficient for this task. I’m a cartographer, not a linguist for all of Eden.

Between the crowd moving past them and their steady pace, they reached the end of the line sooner than they thought. Thorn was under a tarp propped on poles stretched across four camels. His portable shade made the space highly desirable.

Atlas and Hudson slipped into the coolness. “How is everything?”

“No fights. We’re doing well.” Thorn’s fera cocked its head on his shoulder. “And the middling quarters?”

“Hard to keep track of them all. But peaceful.”

“You have a brave apprentice going out there.” Thorn smiled.

“She’s not mine. She’s Milla’s.” Atlas grimaced back.

“I see.” Thorn patted the mule he was on, urging it to go faster. “Have you heard word from the front?”

“Not since the morning.” Atlas had Hudson help him with the Chestic, recalling their past lessons. “She… is focused on getting to the West as soon as possible, and informed me before that we may not hear from her until tonight.”

“Why are you not there, mapmaker?” Thorn asked. He knew that much about him.

“I’ve given her the route, rest assured. Anyone can follow a straight line, and your people can navigate through the desert better than I.” Atlas didn’t mention how Milla could break up a fight with words, but not fists. Skye would warn authorities quickly if one arose, and he could get involved if need be, but his old mentor was best where she would be respected.

“I see,” Thorn repeated.

Do you see? Hudson chuckled.

Atlas scowled. Careful. His falcon could blind us both.

He can’t hear me, but he can see your reaction.

“You are upset. Milla appears to be the leader of this ambassador mission, but that is not so? I imagine some frustration could stem from that.” The Wisp leader nodded.

Atlas decided not to correct Thorn. “Milla was once my teacher. I continue to honor her choices. She has more experience than I… with the Chestic culture, the language.”

“So you will regain control once we enter the West?”

Atlas was slightly surprised at the question. “We work as a free-flowing unit, my friend, giving and taking advice. Much like your Southern towns. We are each our own town.”

Thorn made a little hm sound. Even his falcon closed its eyes in thought. “That is good to know.”

“I’m glad—“ Atlas was cut short by a scream. Then another.

Danger, Hudson said.

Thorn’s fera shot out of their mini-pavilion, soaring above the trickle of towns. Arrows began to streak across the sky.

“Raiders. It’s okay,” Thorn said.

Atlas watched the arrows thunk into the canvas over them. “Okay?”

The line didn’t even stop as a band of dark runners came over the dunes. Their fera slithered, skid, and bounded towards them at an alarming rate. Atlas tensed. They would be attacked without defense.

Hudson came closer to Atlas, ready to protect and fight, when Thorn’s fera gave a screech. At the signal, warriors peeled away from the main group.

Archers began to shoot the raiders, sending volley after volley out. Behind them, in the center of the line, Atlas could see something stirring. It was…

Alive? Hudson questioned.

Suddenly, all Life broke loose.

Barrels were rolled past the archers, smashing into the raiders and knocking them off their feet. They split in the middle, and flattened to release Chestic warriors and their fera. The warriors gave battle cries, and chased after the raiders. Most of them carried heavy, intimidating objects. Maces, bats, a flower pot, crowbars.

It was enough to send the enemy back up the sand dunes. Atlas watched in awe as a cleanup crew ran to collect the barrels. “What…”

“We repel raiders in rotation. This is one of our methods.” Thorn’s fera returned to his shoulder.

“You use a different method each time,” Atlas said. They continued walking at their shifting pace.

“More or less.” Thorn waved ahead. “Now, they are preparing for the next attack.”

Atlas saw a group pouring pitch into hand-sized barrels. They reminded him of Cooper’s vitrum incarnate that had won the last battle; portable death. “Impressive.”

“All while moving the town, too.” Thorn’s voice had pride in it. “It has taken generations to get to this point, my friend.”

“You are experts at travelling. We could learn from you.” Atlas dipped his head.

“It is common sense put into play. Just as we are expanding our knowledge, and our loyalties.” Thorn’s smile was sly. “We hope to make the South a stronger power. Our children and grandchildren will hold weight in the world, and their favor will be sought.”

“Your favor is already sought. Why do you think Milla, Skye and I are here?”

“To save your home, and end a war. And we will help with that, but if we are to see the next year, there will be changes. Improvements. You will see,” Thorn said.

Atlas saw the man’s starry coat ripple like a flag. Thorn seemed like a man of impossibilities, of importance. He brought a piece of the night wherever he went, lived in a home without roots, and saw with eyes that were not his own. After the war, Atlas would be interested to see what his plans were for the Chestic.

For the time, the North’s plans would take center stage.

Kane

Kane couldn’t imagine living in the West. It was as flat as a monotone voice. There were no trees, no mountains at its heart. To survive, one had to build from the ground up.

And what do you think our forefathers did? Flint asked.

Kane was at the edge of tents, looking as far as possible. Miles of unbroken land was all he could replace, a sea of fire in the sunset. They had more resources.

This land is called the cornucopia of Eden. Flint scuffed the dirt with his hoof. We are on the best soil in the world. Anything can grow here.

Except vitrum, Kane added.

Flint gave him that much. It’s a land for the daring and hopeful.

Kane crossed his arms. He couldn’t imagine a world without vitrum, but now they were passing a place where it had never grown. Some Kinnish had never heard of it.

He thought of Cooper, throwing his colorful death from the Northern Mountains. Of Nora, clinging to their goal in hate. Of King Asher, turning gray from the stress of counteracting and planning attacks. Of King Kayden and Queen Celia, somewhere in the territory around and ahead of them.

And of their current goal to face the heads of this East-West hydra. It seemed foolish, to leave their territory under siege while spreading thin across unfamiliar land. Besides the enemy scouts, they hadn’t seen a hair of the West. They were being watched. It unnerved Kane.

It’s like they want us to keep going. But if we go back, King Asher will send us back, because we have no proof. What if there’s something ahead?

There is something ahead. Flint’s head bobbed. Our enemy—our standoff and resolution.

Why not stop us now? Kane wondered.

I think the East-West want a battle.

By bringing it to their doorstep, as they did to us? Kane narrowed his eyes. That doesn’t make strategical sense.

Hm. Perhaps… there is a homefield advantage. Flint stiffened as a gust of wind burst upon them. With it, came new scents.

Kane’s eyes widened as he saw something streaking towards them, dark in the growing dusk. It was a bird. No, a glider—

Flint plowed into him as it clipped the air over their heads. Kane hit the ground hard, and gave a shout. What is that?

A fera. I think. Flint scrambled to his hooves, brandishing his antlers to the aerial threat.

“Archers!” Kane cried. “Help!”

Three of his guard already had their bows ready, and let their arrows soar toward the flapping blur. The nine remaining soldiers formed a protective wall between it and Kane.

“Take it down!” one of the archers barked. The commotion caught the attention of nearby tents, and more archers appeared next to the original three. They worked in sync, as one archer reloaded his bow, another took his place to shoot.

The shadowy creature was not able to dodge the sudden volley of arrows, and went down in the grass. Soldiers closed in around it, with Kane and Flint following.

“We’re bringing this to Donovan,” one soldier said. The badges stitched on his shoulder showed him of higher rank than the rest.

Kane pushed past the others. “Is it…”

“Dead, yes. And its human gone mad somewhere far away.” The soldier lifted the fera gingerly, and Kane now saw its identity.

It was a bat the color of smudged charcoal. Open, beady eyes stared past the arrow in its chest. On its feet, black metal sharpened to a point glinted darkly. It had been armed to kill.

Kane was aware that a certain degree of assassination attempts plagued his title. However, being attacked solely by an armed fera was new.

“Y-yes,” Kane said. “Donovan should see this.”