Of Limited Loyalty: The Second Book of the Crown Colonies Page 10

  The look of puzzlement on Bumble’s face revealed much to Vlad. The man knew he was trapped, but not quite how he had been trapped. For him to refuse to organize when the Prince did would leave Bumble in an inferior position. Just as he had laid the groundwork for the court ecclesiastic to elevate himself, now he found himself with another opportunity to raise himself in the esteem of others. He couldn’t pass it up, but he also couldn’t shake the knowledge that he’d been manipulated for his own gain.

  He also won’t like that I was able to quote both his sermons and the Good Book back to him. It was a sin Vlad was certain he’d pay for, but that mattered little at the moment. “Please tell me you understand, Bishop.”

  “I do, Highness. Of course I shall do my utmost to help in these dire times.”

  “Good. And you will send me the Postsylvania manuscript.”

  “Yes, Highness.” Bumble bowed his head. “I shall do God’s bidding for the exaltation of His family here on Earth.”

  Chapter Twelve

  30 April 1767

  Westridge Mountains, Mystria

  Nathaniel looked back at the others following behind him along the game trail. “Another turn around and we should have a pretty good vantage point.”

  The others grumbled and laughed in equal measure, since he’d been making that promise for most of the morning. Since the earthquake, they had moved slowly onward and upward along the eastern ridgeline. What they had taken from the distance to be a single mountain chain actually had multiple rows of saw-toothed ridges running in parallel. They could see two over to what was the tallest, but had no idea how many rows stood on the western side of the tall peaks. They also could see no obvious passes through to the west.

  When the earthquake hit, their natural inclination had been to descend to the lake, but Kamiskwa stopped them. He pointed to the great eruptions of bubbles across the lake, which churned the placid waters into a turgid gray-green sludge. Having a source of fresh water so clearly fouled was enough to slow them, but when an eagle dove to pluck a dead fish from the surface, and plunged into the water without appearing again, they stopped cold.

  Count von Metternin produced a spyglass and studied the lake. “This is not unknown in some swamps and lakes. Yearly sediment covers over decaying plants and animals. It traps gasses which suffocate the unsuspecting.”

  Kamiskwa nodded. “Our people are told that when the ground shakes, or a lake bubbles, we should seek high ground. In the wake will come the dark wind.”

  “But a dark wind? It is so primitive.” Rathfield stood tall, his arms folded across his chest. “This land is sorely lacking civilization, and would be better for it.”

  Nathaniel had stood at that point. “I might be taking exception to the notion that my brother is lying, or that his story ain’t as good as the Count’s on account of his telling it.”

  Rathfield looked down his nose at Nathaniel. “I think even you would agree that the considered opinion of a noble from Auropa carries more weight than a tale of fancy from an uneducated savage.”

  “I might agree iffen we was talking things all noble and Auropy, but this here is Mystria and ain’t nobody gonna be knowing more about it than the Shedashee.” He raised a hand. “Hold on up, now, I ain’t done my piece. I been out here on this land for thirty years. I felt a tremble or two, but ain’t never I felt nothing like we just did. And I ain’t never seed a lake bubble like that, or an eagle die like that. Now, iffen you’re of a mind to go down there and bring some of your civilization to that lake, I ain’t gonna stop you. I jes want you to know you’ll be walking alone.”

  Owen looked up from where he’d been writing in a notebook. “What do you think we ought to do?”

  Nathaniel looked at Kamiskwa, then pointed further up into the mountains. “We ain’t exactly at the highest point around here. I reckon we get there, then we figure out what else to do.”

  Kamiskwa led the way and Nathaniel remained at the rear. He wasn’t concerned with anyone coming up on them; he just didn’t want to be leading. The ground shaking the way it had wasn’t right. The ground had always been solid, then it just turned into jelly. He wasn’t sure how long it had been shaking, but how ever much time it was, it was more than he wanted to experience.

  More than that, the lake bothered him. He couldn’t count the number of similar lakes he’d crossed or camped beside in his life. Had the party been making camp on the shore, he’d have had them set up right where the outlet stream had been trickling to the north. By the time the earth had stopped shaking, the wave would have washed them all away without warning. If someone survived, the dark wind would have taken him.

  They stopped on a shelf overlooking the lake, but not high enough to see to the next valley. They supposed there was a lake up there, too, since a stream spilled down a rock face, and a ruin of trees showed where some water had pitched giant stones from above down to the lake and forest below. It didn’t look to Nathaniel that a great volume of water had flowed down—a sentiment that Owen and von Metternin agreed with when he mentioned it.

  None of them slept very well that night and, with dawn, they gathered their things to move on. They did so sluggishly, as the lake below them still burped here and there, and the water still possessed the appearance of a rancid pea soup. They debated whether or not to make a fire and cook breakfast, and Nathaniel helped the debate rage by advocating sloth simply because Rathfield wanted to get going.

  Then, just after dawn, the dark wind came. Hodge noticed it in the way that the trees at the edge of the upper valley started rustling, then how the trees below bent as if being hit with an invisible river. More trees shook, then the lake’s surface rippled. Clearly wind was moving over it, but the explorers felt nothing. They smelled nothing unusual, either. It was as if a ghost stalked the valley.

  And that ghost killed. Birds that had nested high enough to avoid the effects of the lake gasses had descended to feed on dead fish. As the dark wind passed, they keeled over. One tried to get airborne, but in mid-flight simply folded its wings and crashed onto a small stretch of beach. The dark wind killed everything, including their debate on whether to stay or go.

  They all agreed to move on, wanting to be well shed of the place. They began working up along the ridge and aiming to go further up. This course of action made sense in a couple of ways. The dark wind appeared to be heavier than air, and moved along quickly. Kamiskwa pointed out that it had not shaken boughs in the upper third of the forest, so as long as they stayed higher than that, they should be fine. If they came to a place where safety was questionable, they’d put a rope on a man, let him go, and pull him back if there was any trouble.

  To his credit, Rathfield volunteered to be that man, overruling Hodge Dunsby. Hodge had advanced himself because he was the smallest, lowest to the ground, and the lightest for pulling back. Rathfield countered that this was his expedition and would accept no counter to that argument. With him leading them through the most dangerous places, it took another week to get past two higher mountain valleys and reach the overlook.

  The valley had once been home to a large lake. It normally drained to the east, but the earthquake had shattered that edge of its basin, creating a giant rupture. The draining water had carved a deep channel through the sediments and the lake itself had been reduced to a small pond. To the southwest, another higher valley poured water into it through a spectacular, slender waterfall which appeared to have been born of the quake.

  Owen had produced a map and annotated it. He showed it to Nathaniel and shook his head. “I hope I am wrong, but I think this lake was the headwater of the Snake River. It probably flooded every spring after snow melted, but nothing like this.”

  Flesh tightened on Nathaniel’s arms. He didn’t know how to do the math that Owen and Count von Metternin would do to determine the volume of water pouring down from the mountain. He didn’t need to. He just knew it was a lot. And down there in Plentiful, they built a lot on the banks of that river.
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br />   He looked at Owen. “Reckon there’s anything left of Plentiful?”

  Owen flipped back several pages in his notebook. He’d mapped the village accurately. He looked up at the muddy expanse that marked the lake’s original shore. “Not much of it. Nor of many other places along the Snake. Kingstown might even be in trouble.”

  Rathfield came over and glanced at the map. “Spot of bad luck for Shepherd Faith and his flock.”

  Owen frowned. “That’s cold blooded.”

  “Hardly, Strake.”

  “It’s hardly charitable.”

  “Neither does it lack charity.” Rathfield pointed off along the unseen river. “Standing here we can do absolutely nothing for them. Whatever fate overtook them did so a week ago. I fervently believe that because of their faith, God will call them to Him. In fact, calling them to Him may have been the reason this all happened.”

  Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. “You’re ’specting me to believe your God would cause all this destruction for to harvest nine dozen folks what see Him as their salvation?”

  “I am not a theologian, Woods, just a man who believes what he is told. I am not wise enough to figure out the mind of God.”

  “But you’re willing to suggest He’s sloppy when it comes to doing a job.”

  Before Rathfield could respond, Hodge Dunsby came running over from the west. “Captain Strake, you’ll want to see what Count von Metternin has found.”

  The rest of the party followed Dunsby around what had once been the shore and off into a small canyon to the west. Water seeped down from the higher walls and drained through the middle. It created a lush grassland with a few wide trails through the shoulder-height growth.

  Count von Metternin crouched over the body of a creature roughly the size of a dairy cow. It had a shaggy grey coat, though the coat was thinning in patches as the beast lost its winter fur. Its skull had a high crown and featured a pair of ivory tusks about as long as a man’s forearm. It had a long snakelike nose, and something—a crow most likely—had taken the upward-facing eye.

  Nathaniel dropped to a knee. “Looks like one of them mastodons what will be migrating north soon.”

  Owen pulled a piece of paper from his notebook and unfolded it. “Pygmy mastodon. It’s on the Prince’s list. He said they might be in an island in the sky.”

  Owen and the others fanned out through the grasses to look for more bodies. They took to counting and measuring the carcasses. As they went to work, Nathaniel grabbed Kamiskwa and headed down to the pond to refill canteens and waterskins. The water had cleared and the presence of wading birds hunting on the new shore suggested the water was safe for drinking.

  “Did you know these was up here?”

  Kamiskwa sank a bubbling canteen into the water. “The Altashee do not hunt in these lands.”

  “Doesn’t answer my question.”

  “I do not believe every story I hear.”

  Nathaniel caught an odd note in his voice. “Are you a-scared?”

  Kamiskwa’s hand dropped to the hilt of his obsidian knife. “I am a Prince of the Altashee.”

  “Then you’re damned lucky, on account of I am terrified.” Nathaniel sat and sighed. “Ain’t enough we’s out here visiting villages where all these people professing to believe in the same Good Book use it to justify all manner of different things. You’ve been acting queer since we climbed into the mountains, and more so since the ground shook. I ain’t been no great shakes since then, neither. And now you not telling me the truth.”

  The Altashee grunted, then sat. “I do not know what the truth is. We have stories, Nathaniel, many old stories. Some told of creatures like Mugwump, and I did not believe them until I saw him. But those were good stories, for the most part. But here, do you know what we call these mountains? Nesgagoquina.”

  Nathaniel scratched at the back of his neck. “Wall of the other men?”

  “More fortress. They are monsters, Nathaniel, like the wendigo, but many, many times worse. There were once many stories of them, horrible stories. Not even my father knows many of them. He says his grandfather refused to tell him all he knew, because his grandfather had refused to tell all he knew, and so on. They come and kill silently—and an earthquake presages their arrival.”

  Nathaniel frowned. Kamiskwa wasn’t given to panic, but something about the mountains was clearly getting under his skin. He figured that these other men could just be a story made up to explain the dark wind, but if that were true, why would there be anything called the dark wind in the first place? Just because he’d never seen one of these other men didn’t mean they didn’t exist. Nathaniel believed in the Queen of Norisle, even though he’d never clapped eyes on her.

  “Well now, what has Msitazi told you ’bout them?”

  “Nothing good. He says the spirits of the winding path bow before them. It’s why none of the Shedashee hunt in these mountains.”

  Nathaniel ran a hand over his jaw. “I reckon I hain’t never been steered wrong listening to Shedashee wisdom. I also reckon that if Prince Vlad knew about these other men, he’d have them on his list. And if they’s as nasty as you’re letting on that they are, we’re going to need to learn a mite more about them. In the stories, can they die?”

  Kamiskwa thought for a moment, then nodded. “There are warriors who have slain them. They always pay a terrible price.”

  “Shoot ’em or what?”

  “It was before we had brimstone.”

  Nathaniel forced a smile on his face. “I reckon I like the sound of that.”

  The Altashee nodded, then looked over. “Nathaniel, what if my coming into the mountains awakened the other men?”

  “Somehow I don’t see that a-happening.” Nathaniel began filling a waterskin. “First, I don’t imagine you is the first Shedashee to set foot in these mountains since your grandfathers stopped telling some stories. Second, I would be thinking that the tramp of some hunter’s boot, or the sound of some preacher hollering the gospel would have gone and did wake anything in these here mountains. Lastly, Colonel Rathfield reckons it was his God what split the earth. It’s His responsibility, then, not yours.”

  Kamiskwa gathered the canteens and stood. “And you were not lying about being afraid?”

  “Just to make you feel good? Iffen I thought it would make you feel better, I still wouldn’t do it. I ain’t never going to lie to you, Kamiskwa. If a lie would make you feel better, you ain’t worth having as a friend. And if you was dumb enough to believe a lie, ain’t no sense in having you as a friend.”

  “Thank you.” The Altashee’s amber eyes tightened. “And it is not just the earth shaking that scares you, is it?”

  “Don’t reckon it is.” Nathaniel stood and slung the waterskins over his shoulder. “Even after the shaking, this land is beautiful, but the others, they don’t notice it. I love Owen and Prince Vlad, but all their measuring and taking of samples and all, it just steals the beauty. And once a man puts a number on something, another man equates it to money, then the spoiling really begins.”

  He shook his head. “What I’m afraid of, my friend, is that this land is going to be dying, and that there ain’t a damned thing I can do about it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  1 May 1767

  Westridge Mountains, Mystria

  In the highest valley, rising from the sediments of what had been a deep and forbidding lake, lay an unearthly settlement the very sight of which froze Owen’s blood in his veins. The scale of buildings mocked that of even the grandest place in Temperance, and rivaled that of palaces and Parliament back in Norisle. Though the walls surrounding the town had been largely destroyed—melted from the way they sagged between towers which resembled half-burned candles—details remained here and there to hint at great artistry.

  The expedition had taken three days at what they called Little Elephant Lake to catalogue specimens and smoke as much of the mastodon meat as they could. They hid tusks in a small cave for retrieval on their re
turn trip. Rathfield had protested at the delay, but only half-heartedly. Thousands of animals had died when the dark wind rose from that lake. The sheer magnitude of the slaughter demanded exploration.

  And then they moved on and discovered something even stranger. Owen had been in the lead when a treefall gave him a clear view of the city. Even at dusk, as they approached, its terrible majesty slowed their steps. Kamiskwa visibly hung back. Nathaniel moved up with Owen. Rathfield, who had asserted leadership in other times where enthusiasm had flagged, did not push past either of them and stripped the deerskin scabbard from his musket.

  Makepeace broke the silence. “I may not be knowing what it is, but I know it ain’t holy. And I ain’t afraid of saying this is about as close as I want to get in the dark.”

  Nathaniel agreed. “I reckon we should set up camp over yonder, up by that outcropping of rock. Me and Owen will look around a bit, then join you.”

  The Altashee grunted. “Cold camp.”

  “Much as I might be wanting fire, I ain’t thinking I want a beacon.” Nathaniel unsheathed his rifle. “Let’s go, Captain Strake. I reckon the Prince is going to want to know all there is to know about this place.”

  Owen took a deep breath, then shucked his pack. Hodge offered to carry it to their camp. Freeing his rifle, Owen fell into step with Nathaniel. As much as he didn’t want to be going any closer to the strange ruins, he took a perverse joy in the fact that Rathfield retreated to set up camp.

  Did you leave your courage behind in Rondeville, Colonel? Owen blushed the second the thought occurred to him, but didn’t find himself particularly sorry for having thought it.