Dream Drive Ch. 09

"I'm slowing us down," Katran said.

"We'll be fine!" Vuntha shouted. "Keep shooting!"

"Vuntha! They are going to kill us!"

Vuntha urged the horse onward, but it was starting to tire. The cavalry was closing in.

"Hey," Vuntha called. "You used my name!"

"Ah," Katran said. "You're no pebble." The sound of hooves rumbled in Vuntha's ears, almost cutting out Katran's voice as it turned quiet. "I shouldn't have complained about my wedding. Now I'll never be wed." He lowered his face, drooping on the horse. "Tell Malaki I'm sorry."

"Katran!"

Katran let himself fall from the horse, tucking in his arms and legs. Vuntha had only tried that move a few times in his life, and never at a full gallop. He would never have dared doing it while injured.

But Katran was the best of the Windseekers.

Vuntha kept his gaze over his shoulder, watching as the warrior hit the ground. Katran let his momentum play out, rolling over the plains like a human ball. And then he was up, stopped on a knee. He raised his bow and fired as fast as he could draw arrows.

The horsemen behind them dropped like flies. Katran took them down as easily as targets, one after another, striking his marks despite the near-darkness. Some of his shots flew wide, but he made up for it with his rate of fire.

And then his quiver was empty.

Katran raised his knife, his final defense against an oncoming horseman. At the last moment, he threw it – but his torso buckled from his wound, and he missed. Vuntha turned away as Katran was run down.

Vuntha steered his horse away from the flanking group, escaping into the hole Katran had opened. Without a second rider, his horse ran with renewed speed. The cavalrymen were clad in heavy armor, and their horses had to be tired from a long journey. He quickly made up the lost ground.

Vuntha blinked hard against the wind. His hands were white on the horse's reins. He had to make it back.

"...and then we lost him in the dark."

Hale rapped his knuckles on his saddle and sighed through his nose. Things were not going well, and it hadn't even started.

His newest acquisition was barely worth the collar; far too unstable to be trusted with anything out of sight. On top of that, the scout the dog failed to kill had managed to escape. More frustrating still – somehow, after more than two decades under his control, Kaid Tell'Andran had scraped up his will like moldy jam from the bottom of a broken jar, resisting him just long enough to ensure Rachel's escape.

He was sure Kaid didn't remember anything. Hale had pushed those memories out with pain. And yet there Kaid was, denying Hale in almost the exact same way as before, like it was some sort of instinct that had been bred into him. Animals, his whole damn family. They would have seen Steroth burn before bowing to the emperor.

"Your orders, my lord?" the man asked.

Hale looked at him. "The scout is lost, but we can still hit them before they organize. Roe, Hildan!"

The two mages rode to him, clad in their rune-marked black robes. Ren lowered his hood respectfully. "My lord?"

"Take the full cavalry. Use your Lightning matrices. One charge."

"Just one, my lord?"

Hale thought for a moment. "Take a second only if an opportunity presents itself. Avoid casualties and keep them under pressure until we arrive."

"Yes, my lord," he said. "What of their own mages?"

"Their spirit women are busy with some ritual inside the mountain," Hale said. "Even with the scout giving them warning – no. No, this is a good thing. You'll arrive before they have a proper defense." He started to smile. "Ride hard, but don't attack outright; give the horses a chance to rest and let the barbarians form up. Let them think they've just barely beaten our surprise. Then, you strike. They have nothing to counter you with."

"As you say," Ren said. He looked into the distance. Even in the dark, laid thick by the clouds, one could see the mountain. It was blacker than black, looming over them like a spike driven into the earth. "What is it, my lord?"

Hale eyed the mountain. He'd felt it several days earlier, but this close, all his mages could sense it. Some power within it was stirring, like a beast scratching at the inside of its cocoon.

"We'll find out soon enough," Hale said.

Chaki didn't bother wasting time trying to get back to sleep. She wandered through the camp in an attempt to bleed off her frustration. Her wandering became a forced stride, and her stride transformed into a march that involved stamping her feet into the dirt as hard as possible.

After doing several circuits, she made it back to the tent in which Rachel was once again sleeping. Hanta was keeping a fire lit outside in vigil while waiting for the return of his son. He slid a sharpening stone along one of his knives, working it to a razor edge with fine, evenhanded strokes. She stood there a moment, watching him, getting her breath back.

Hanta glanced up when she sat down opposite him, then returned to his knife without a greeting. He understood the reason for her wakefulness. Even if he hadn't been assigned to guard Rachel, he'd probably be doing the same with Vuntha out scouting in the dark.

Chaki folded her legs beneath her and watched the fire. Her thoughts swirled like the flames, flickering between worry for Jackson and a seething, riotous hatred for Boonta.

Boonta. Chaki realized her hands were clenched up where they rested on her knees. She forced them to relax.

She wafted between punishments in her head. Exile was too good for him. Maybe she'd rig him to the top of his own tent, upside down, and see how long it took for him to die from the blood pooling in his head. Maybe something less complicated - dig his heart out and throw it into the nearest fire.

She took another breath. Those were not the thoughts of a spirit guide. She wasn't a child any longer. Yet, for that very same reason, Boonta deserved a grave sentence for his crimes.

Her fingers had balled up again. She shook her hands loose and sighed.

"You sound like Jackson," Hanta said. Chaki looked up, watched him work on his knife for a moment. The better the edge, the more easily it would puncture iron armor.

"What makes me sound like him?" Chaki said. "Sighing?"

Hanta nodded. "That boy is like iron that's been fired, cooled, fired again, cooled again. Very hard, but brittle. His sighs...they're like this." He slid his whetstone across the knife, applying soft pressure, and the sound that slipped from the knife was almost like a sigh. "Each one sharpens him. But if you work the edge too hard, it becomes vulnerable. It chips, cracks. In battle, the whole blade might snap."

Chaki put her head in her hands. "I know. But what does –"

Something thumped on the ground next to her. "Oil that," Hanta said.

Chaki picked up the two objects. One was a leather sheath, for the knife he was sharpening, and the other was a small leather container with a cloth stuffed in the mouth. The container held a mix of seed oil and rendered bison fat.

She glanced at Hanta. He hadn't bothered looking up. But she knew that his brusque request was not rude; he simply trusted her to take care of it without further instruction.

She withdrew the cloth, wiping the excess oil on the inside of the lip of the container. She rubbed it onto the outside of the sheath, then worked the oil into the hide with her bare fingers, almost as if she was massaging a muscle. It was simple, straightforward work.

When oiling leather, a little would go a long way, but it needed frequent care and attention. Every bit had to be well coated to protect it from drying out. If that happened, it would begin to crack and tear. Leather was too difficult to produce to waste it so casually.

Her father taught her this, when Palla was too young and he needed a spare hand. How to maintain the tent. Care for a horse. Sharpen a knife or an arrow.

And the bison – he taught her everything about that animal. How to cut the animal to preserve the largest portion of the hide and the fur. Which parts to butcher, and which parts to leave for the scavengers. How to make containers from the organs of the bison – bladder, stomach, heart. How to separate the sinew into string, and weave the string into thread or bowstring. How to grind the hooves into powder and use it to create glue. How to thank mother earth, and give prayer to the soul of the bison in exchange for everything it had given.

And when he died, she went to Hanta, and Hanta kept teaching her. How to use that bow. How to fight with a spear.

Finished with the sheath, she set it aside, a bit away from the fire. Fire would dry it too quickly; the leather needed time to absorb the oils.

"Feeling better?" Hanta asked. He checked his knife against the firelight, then set the tools aside.

"A little," Chaki said.

"People are like leather," Hanta said. "A little care, more than –"

"- a little often," Chaki said, finishing the sentence with him.

Hanta smiled. "You always were a quick learner. But it's true. Don't try to hold it all in, Chaki. You'll tear, crumble at the seams. A little oil now and then – everyone needs some. Even Shaka, if you can believe it."

"I don't know if I can."

Hanta's smile turned into a grin. "That leathery old woman has absorbed her fair share of oil. But don't tell her I said that."

"The part about her leathery skin, or her being old?"

"Both."

A little smile wormed across Chaki's lips. "Hmm. I think...she appreciates Jackson."

"More than you know."

Chaki looked at Hanta; he wasn't looking at her, but out into the dark. His eyes were distant.

Chaki thought about her teacher and mentor. Her second mother, Shaka. She had no children. Her husband died before Chaki was born. Shaka's past was a thing that was not spoken of in the tribe, but Chaki could make educated guesses. Jackson might be filling a hole that Shaka had quietly carried for a long, long time.

Her thoughts turned back to the present. Chaki took a breath, then spoke. "I just...I can't believe no one else called out Boonta." Chaki pointed over Hanta's shoulder. "He attacked me right in that tent. The only person that defended me was Vuntha."

"You accused him of murder," Hanta said. "Attempted murder, at least. That's a serious crime. Much more so than him showing disrespect to his elders, even to a spirit guide. You can't expect the tribe to hoist him from his leggings at your word alone."

Chaki put a hand on her chest, just below her neck. "I don't know him anymore," she said. "He tried to choke me to death, Hanta. His eyes – if you saw his eyes, you'd understand. He hates me. Hates us. Something's terribly wrong in his soul. His spirit is unbalanced."

Hanta folded his arms. "We will find the truth of this, and if Boonta is guilty of what you've claimed, then we will punish him appropriately."

"Do you believe me?"

"I do," Hanta said, "because I must. Though I hope Boonta is not beyond saving. He wasn't born selfish and petty, as he is now. He can still be the man he was meant to be. I can see it in him."

"I can't," Chaki said.

"Do not judge so quickly, Chaki. Kunaya may be arrogant, but he did make a good point. Everyone's heads were hot."

"He tried to take my innocence from me, Hanta," Chaki said. "When I was near the creek, away from camp. He tried to force me."

Hanta's face darkened. "So...that's what happened. Why didn't you say anything then?"

"Jackson stopped him," Chaki said. "And – I had no evidence. Nothing but our word. We told Shaka. She said she would speak to Yukatan. And now, nothing has happened, and I am again only with my word. Yukatan is afraid to condemn his son."

"Damn," Hanta said. "That boy...that fool of a boy."

"What are you waiting for, Hanta?" Chaki asked. "Why won't you tell Yukatan what he's like? Kunaya means to turn everyone against me because he is close with Boonta. I could hear the intent within his words."

"It's not so simple," Hanta said. "If I come out against Yukatan's heir, he'll perceive it as an attack on himself, his family and authority. I have no wish to start some kind of feud."

"If Yukatan cannot see the forest for the trees," she said, "then he isn't fit to guide us through it."

"You should be very careful with words like that," Hanta said. "Our tribe has already been pressed into the southeast hunting grounds after last year. Why do you think Boonta's situation has been allowed to fester? We can't afford disturbances in our leadership, not now."

"If we don't afford them now," Chaki said, "we'll never be able to afford them at all. I can't walk in the daylight next to that disgusting, murderous rat any longer!"

"There isn't –" Hanta paused. He rubbed two fingers across his eyebrow, then set himself. "You have your point. I will take in Boonta more closely. I will refocus him on his training until some judgement can be passed. And it will be passed. But you will keep your opinions to yourself. Inflaming people against Yukatan will not solve the problem of Boonta. Even if he is blind in this matter, he is a good leader."

Chaki wasn't happy with that pronouncement, but at least he'd met her halfway. She folded her arms and nodded. "I will do as you say. But I won't let –"

"Stop," Hanta said, raising his palm.

Chaki closed her lips and blinked. Hanta held his hand out still, his head cocked to the air.

And then she heard it. Hooves - galloping.

Vuntha burst out of the darkness, bringing his horse off the main path and to their fire. He slid off his animal and ran toward them, stumbling. He caught himself against the ground with his hands and kept going.

His shoulder had a gash; blood ran down part of his arm. An angry welt marked his forehead. More blood was dried around his eye. Bits of mud spotted his clothes.

Chaki and Hanta were on their feet in an instant. They steadied him as he reached them. Chaki reached inside and grabbed her essence, using her free hand to draw runes in the air. She shoved her power into them, and the healing spell flowed into Vuntha, sealing his cuts. The welt shrunk, then faded.

"Spirits," Hanta said. "What happened? Where are the others?!"

"Boonta," Vuntha said. He was exhausted from the ride – though not as exhausted as his horse looked. "Betrayed. He betrayed us. Katran is dead. Iron men are coming."

Hanta ran back and grabbed the horn resting on the side of Rachel's tent. He blew into it, moving his lips to form two different notes. He drew another long breath, and played the notes again.

Chaki knew the warning very well. Every man, woman, and child of the People-Under-The-Mountain knew it. Imminent danger.

The horns of other Windseekers sounded first, repeating the call; and then their neighbors, the Dust-Gatherers. The horns echoed their two-note song in the valley of the foothills under the mountain. The sprawling camp woke up like an anthill churning to life. Fires flared up, islands of light blossoming in the darkness. Chaki could hear shouting in the distance.

Hanta blew his horn again once the first wave of warnings had died out, indicating where it had started. Warriors flocked to him. Some of them were only half-clothed, but all of them brought their spears. A few came mounted, quivers and bows strapped to their horses. Their small campfire and Rachel's tent was surrounded by a surging crowd in less than a minute.

Yukatan shoved his way through the gathering. "Hanta! Vuntha?" His eyes darted. "Where is Boonta? Where is my son!?"

"Boonta sold us to the iron men," Vuntha said.

The crowd began to settle. Everyone exchanged glances. Yukatan's face screwed up in confusion. "I don't understand. What happened out there?"

"Katran!" came a shout. Malaki pushed in behind the elder. "Katran!" She looked around the circle, searching for her betrothed.

Drana was right behind her. The shorter girl ran past, flinging herself toward Vuntha. Vuntha grunted, hugged her, then moved her aside. "I have to tell them, Drana."

"I was afraid," she said.

Vuntha kissed her cheek, then stepped into the ring of warriors. "The iron men are coming in force, with an army. They'll be here in less than a half-finger of the sun. I think they were going to try and surprise us, kill us in our sleep."

"But what of Boonta?" one man asked.

"He betrayed us," Vuntha said. "He stabbed Katran in the back, then tried to kill me. I held him off, and Katran didn't die so easily. He fled when both of us went for him. I barely escaped their riders."

"Where is Katran?!" Malaki shrieked.

Vuntha lowered his head. "Boonta injured one of our horses. I couldn't find it before the iron men were on top of us. Katran said two riders to one mount would get us both killed." He looked up at Malaki, meeting her gaze firmly. "He died with honor, shooting them down so I could escape. He killed at least ten before he fell."

"No." Malaki fell to her knees. She cupped her face with her hands. Silence hung over them.

"My son, a traitor?" Yukatan said. "Boonta wouldn't - there must be some mistake. Vuntha, are you –"

"He screamed at me about how he'd make us all his slaves!" Vuntha said. "He tried to kill me! There was no mistake! If you hadn't had your ears stuffed with pride, this wouldn't have happened!"

"Vuntha!" Hanta said. "He is your elder!"

"He's an idiot!" Vuntha shouted. "Every single person in the tribe knew what Boonta was, except him, because he refused to acknowledge it! Because blood was more important to him than his people! And now." Vuntha patted his shoulder. His cut was healed, but the scab lingered. "Now we bleed instead. Is it enough yet, elder? Are you going to listen to Chaki now?"

"You will recant those words," Hanta said, "or you are not my son!"

"Hanta!" Yukatan said. They all turned toward the elder. The man was staring at Malaki. "Vuntha has spoken true."

"Elder..."

Yukatan's face was clenched tight. Tears fell from his eyes, sliding down his cheeks. "Once, I can look away. Twice, I should not have looked away. And now, thrice...Vuntha's words are hard, but they are true."

"Rally yourself, Yukatan," Hanta said.

"For what purpose?" he said. "I was blind. Spirits...my son. My only son has set our enemies on us, in this most sacred of places. I have no honor left."

Chaki felt the sharp and heady relief of validation as the elder admitted Vuntha was right. But now – with Katran dead, and Yukatan in this state – that feeling was stamped under a rising sense of dread. The iron men were coming.

And then she had a worse thought – the realization that she was the kind of person who would first feel satisfaction at being right, rather than pity for a man who lost his son to heartless wolves. She turned away, hiding her expression from the fire, concealing it within the dark. She couldn't bear the thought of others seeing her face.

Here it was, welcoming her with open arms – revenge. Boonta discredited, revealing himself as a traitor. And all she could see was the night. She was no spirit guide. She was just a selfish girl, daydreaming.

Something sparked at her from the darkness. The bond with Jackson. A gold line like fine, twisting fire. She could tell he was still far away, but for some reason, he seemed incredibly close.

She grasped the bond with Jackson for a moment, feeling it in her hands, using the distant warmth to firm her resolve. She was not a girl. Not anymore. She was Jackson's North Star, Polaris, the great light that guided men across oceans as vast and empty as the plains. And she had to be that light, now more than ever.

"Yukatan," she said, turning back to the fire. "We need our elder now more than ever."

"I am not fit to lead," he said. "You tried to tell me hours ago, Chaki. But I –"