Of Limited Loyalty

Chapter Twenty-nine

16 May 1767 Happy Valley Postsylvania, Mystria

Nathaniel watched after the Prince for as long as he could. The black fog had lifted, so he could see stars and the dragon silhouetted against them as he flew. He took great delight in being able to see the stars, but wished the dragon would be around to protect them. He didn’t know what the things were that they fought, but Mugwump didn’t seem to like them, and took great delight in dispatching them.

Kamiskwa ran in from the shadows. “It’s too dark to track Rufus. He crawled a ways, but I lost him.”

“I reckon he’s gonna lay up, rest up. He used a powerful lot of magick.”

Owen handed Nathaniel his rifle. “How about us? Do we wait until light to move out?”

“My druthers is to be shed of this place, but the Steward’s in serious need of rest, too.” Nathaniel pointed off toward one of the many bubbling grey puddles that used to be a demon. “I am thinking we needs to find us some pots or something and scoop up some of that stuff. Smells bad, but might keep them at bay. Take some bones, too, if you can find any.”

“Will do.” Owen nodded toward the nearest house. “We can barricade it up until daybreak, take one last look, then head out.”

“’Bout what I was thinking.”

Rummaging around in houses they found a number of pots, pans, and bowls into which they collected the partially digested demon soup. They set them around the small cabin’s perimeter. Makepeace dabbed some on the doorpost, citing Scripture, then they closed the door and moved a small chest to block it. Two men stayed on watch and two slept-they let the Steward sleep throughout.

Nathaniel had the first watch along with Makepeace, but didn’t strike up a conversation. He and Makepeace silently agreed it was so the others would have quiet, but both knew the truth. They didn’t want to be discussing what they’d seen. The less it got talked about, the faster the memories would fade and that was fine as far as the both of them were concerned.

Goosebumps rose on Nathaniel’s arms as he ripped a dress into strips and tended to his wounds. He’d been torn up worse running through thorny bushes a time or two-or so he told himself-and none of the wounds ran very deep. The demons had attacked in swarms and seemed bent on just smothering their prey. He’d been hit from all sides and when they got dragging on his legs, he couldn’t move fast, then he tripped and banged down against the workshop.

Iffen Mugwump hadn’t come along, that woulda been the end of me.

The thought of dying wasn’t what sent a shiver through him. It was the memory of being unable to move, of being smothered by the demons. They clawed and bit and tore at him. They just overwhelmed him and yet left him in a position where he could watch Owen and Kamiskwa and Makepeace going down as well. That might not have been deliberate, but if they were acting at Rufus’ command, it would have been. He would have known how much that would pain Nathaniel.

The scout snorted.

Makepeace looked over. “You found something by way of amusement?”

“Just hope that we got at least a piece of Rufus in one of them buckets outside. Tain’t a bad thing that being true.”

“Bit of a silver lining, that is.” Makepeace nodded. “Iffen I was a writing man like Owen, I’d be using up a whole page just for that.”

They both chuckled, then fell silent again. Their watch remained uneventful. When Owen and Kamiskwa took over, Nathaniel fell asleep quickly. He woke with the dawn, not particularly feeling rested, but he couldn’t remember any nightmares. Owen had boiled up some root tea in the hearth and Fire served it out. It warmed Nathaniel’s insides and slowly sharpened his focus.

Kamiskwa came in and accepted a cup from the Steward. “Fire’s died down. No tracks. No one survived. I cut Rufus’ trail again. You’ll want to see this.”

The expedition followed Kamiskwa back outside. In daylight they picked up Rufus’ trail easily enough. He’d gone down and crawled away. The chain had slipped off him a dozen yards to the workshop’s north side. A bit further along they found one of the golden tablets glinting in the sun. Makepeace gathered it up. Their course took them to another of the small houses and Kamiskwa pushed the door open with his musket.

The floorboards had been torn up with enough force that the wood around the nails had splintered. Beneath lay bare earth, but it had been freshly turned. One of the iron nails had snagged a piece of the robe they’d last seen Rufus wearing.

Nathaniel crouched at the hole’s edge, but didn’t reach down into it. “Ain’t no shovels hereabouts. He tunneled using magick?”

Both Kamiskwa and the Steward nodded.

He stood up, then sighted back toward the workshop. “The Colonel done hurt him. He weren’t thinking straight. Probably didn’t notice he’d dropped a tablet. Like a wild animal, he gets in here, burrows away.”

“Yes, but a wild animal capable of using magick.” Owen frowned. “I made notes while on watch, trying to get every detail down. Rufus, there toward the end, was saying things that didn’t really sound like him saying them.”

“It was the demons in him.”

Nathaniel looked the Steward up and down. “How is you meaning that remark?”

“Mr. Woods, I know you did not like Rufus Branch, and had good reasons not to. When he came here, he was a man consumed by fear. Having spent time with you, I understand why. But you must understand that here, he accepted our Lord as his savior. He worked hard within the community. I spent many hours with him, teaching him to read. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is for a grown man to have children who read better than he can?”

“I just might have an inkling in that regard, yes, sir.”

“Rufus did learn to read. He studied Scripture. He became an upstanding and valuable member of our community here. As you saw, he was a deacon. And in tracking us from the ruins, you know that he and I spent a great deal of time together out in the wilderness. This was by my choice.” The Steward opened his hands. “You may think me foolish, but I liked the man, and trusted him. What I forgot, however, is that he was but an infant in things spiritual, and that made him vulnerable.”

Owen shook his head. “I’m not certain I follow you.”

“It should be obvious. The devil laid those tablets on that altar in the Temple. He did so to tempt men. Most would have taken the tablets for their material wealth. But for men who are favored of God, their spiritual value cannot be calculated. Though I could not translate them, I knew they held the secret of magicks older than man. I can see now that these were temptations to lead men to ruin. So it did here.”

Nathaniel frowned. “That don’t explain what happened in Piety. We know it was these demons what acted there, but there weren’t no Rufus. No one from Piety was here, saw the tablets, and got back home, was there?”

“No.” The Steward shook his head. “I cannot explain that, nor do I know the moment Rufus surrendered himself to the demons. It is my vain hope it was after we started for Piety, elsewise I shall have to live with knowing that I missed the signs and consequently consigned Happy Valley to death.”

The man’s shoulder’s slumped. “I accept this is God’s plan but I…” The Steward covered his face with his hands and his shoulder shook with silent sobs.

Nathaniel looked over at Makepeace. “You’ll tell me there’s Scriptures what agree that demons could make magick like that?”

The large man nodded. “Revelations 16:14, clear as day. ‘For they are the spirits of devils, working miracles, who go forth unto the kings of the earth and of the whole world.’”

“I could have started the day with better news.” Nathaniel sighed. “And I ain’t much pleased with Rufus’ being able to pluck a bullet out the air.”

“Yes, but he didn’t stop the chain. It’s being iron might have been the cause of that.” Owen’s eyes narrowed. “Or it could be that Rathfield surprised him. He knew you would shoot, so he was ready for you.”

“So, iffen he was possessed, leastways part of him is still in there.” Nathaniel shifted his shoulders uneasily. “I reckon we want to be quitting this place as fast as we can. Sooner we get back to Temperance, sooner someone might be able to make sense of all this.”

They returned to their cabin and discovered that some of the vessels had rotted during the night, specifically a wooden bowl and an iron pot. A copper-bottomed pot appeared in the best shape, and a crock gave it strong competition. Because the pot would not travel well when full, they found a number of small pottery urns and divided the soup among them. They sealed them and packed them in a layer of wet clay. They bound that up in leather and each man added one to his baggage.

They took as much food as they could from Happy Valley and left notes in several houses for anyone traveling there from the Green River settlement. While Ezekiel Fire wanted to visit Green River, he agreed that they couldn’t afford the time and that even a warning might not save the settlement. They all hoped the people of Green River would escape destruction, but there wasn’t a one of them that didn’t believe that it had already suffered the fate of Piety.

It took them a week to reach Dire Wolf Draw. They didn’t see any recent signs of wolf activity in the area, but that surprised no one. The wolves would follow herds during their migration. The few tracks they did find indicated the beasts had headed southwest along the spine of the mountains, which would bring them to the point where the great northern migration started. Nathaniel had never seen it, and had only heard of it in tales told by Msitazi of the Altashee.

“That is something I want to see before I die.” Nathaniel tossed a stick of wood on their campsite’s fire. “To hear your father tell it, Kamiskwa, just an ocean of brown beasts heading north. Mastodons, wooly rhinoceri, bison. Ain’t nothing like it in this here whole world.”

Kamiskwa unrolled one of the bundles of wolf furs and spread them out for airing. “I think then, my friend, it will need to be next spring. It will be our last chance.”

Makepeace laughed. “Ain’t nothing gonna be making the migration go away, Kamiskwa.”

Nathaniel grunted. “I reckon he’s saying we ain’t going to be around come summer a year hence.”

Makepeace thought for a moment, then nodded. “I reckon that’s something worth considering.”

Owen sighed heavily. “You know, three years ago I wasn’t thinking we’d see the end of summer, and then we were just fighting a Ryngian Laureate and a legion of the undead.”

“Hearing you put it that way, Owen, does make it sound kind of ordinary.” Nathaniel scratched at the back of his neck. “This is a little bit different, I reckon.”

Ezekiel Fire poked a stick deep into the coals. “It’s the End of Days. It’s the Judgment time.”

Owen looked up from his journal. “It’s a bit premature to believe that, isn’t it?”

Kamiskwa shook his head. “The Shedashee would agree. We have stories, stories that have been forgotten, stories of which I have only heard a phrase or two. They talk of these things coming. I don’t know more, but what I do know frightens me. Just as the herds migrate north, imagine a grey mold working east, spreading over the mountains, down to the sea. Imagine Temperance being reduced like Piety.”

“Do these things have names among your people?”

“They do, but I do not know them. I do not know if anyone does.” Kamiskwa’s amber eyes narrowed, reflecting a tiny sliver of firelight. “In magick, to know a name is to have power. As you address a letter to Prince Vlad, so a sorcerer can make a target of your name. Not the name that everyone knows, but your true name.”

“My true name?” Owen raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe I have one.”

“You do, but you do not know it. This can be good because it means others cannot know you.” Kamiskwa shrugged. “It is bad because you cannot use it to make magick, strong magick. And, friend Makepeace, you shake your head, but among your people, do you not get a special name when you are confirmed in your faith?”

“I reckon that’s different.”

“No, it just means there is a second way to find you.”

Nathaniel shivered, seeing a grey mold spreading over Temperance, catching up those he loved. “Well, now, I reckon I’ll not be sleeping much after this discussion, so I’ll take the first watch. After two hours, I’ll wake the next man.”

Ezekiel raised a hand. “I will take a watch.”

“No need for that, Steward.” Nathaniel half-smiled. “But if you find yourself awake and want to send a prayer or two off for our benefit, I’d be much obliged.”

“God would be pleased to hear from you directly, Mr. Woods.”

“Might could be, Steward, but I think we’re much better off with you speaking for us.”

In the morning they repacked the wolfskins and continued their climb into the mountains. In two more days they reached the Antediluvian ruins. Not much had changed, save that a family of beavers had begun to dam up the outflow, so water had begun to fill the lowest spots. It didn’t appear as if anything had changed. The Temple doors still stood open and water lapped at the Temple steps, indicating that the dome which had kept the Temple dry had not reappeared.

“I don’t like the idea of going in there but…” Nathaniel shrugged. “We have to know, I reckon.”

Ezekiel Fire cocked his head. “Know what?”

“Steward, we entered the Temple after you and Rufus removed the tablets. We found evidence, near the Altar, that part of the floor might provide entry to subterranean chambers.” Owen started up the steps. “With Rufus having magicked his way under the ground to get away…”

“I understand. But given what we know, don’t you think this place could be a trap?”

Nathaniel, who had reached the top of the steps before the others, held up a hand to stop them. “I do believe that is a distinct possibility, Steward.”

There, in the distance, a bent golden tablet glittered from within the tabernacle.

“’Pears Rufus done got here before us, and don’t seem to mind our knowing it.”