The Unfinished Land

The Delay of an End

AT DUSK, Kaiholo found them cover under a decaying, mildewy canopy of branches and leaves. Green moss draped like old lace between three wide trunks—two dead oaks and a kind of maple showing only a few broad green leaves.

For some time now, Reynard had observed the growth overlying the leaf litter like a great carpet—a dark red fuzziness unlike any he had seen in England. He pushed his foot into the softness, finding it more alive and springy than he had expected, given the sad aspect of the trees. Furthermore, when the dusk light was right, he could see wide whorls and other patterns in the moss, and now these were outlined by a slanting shaft of sun and sparkling rubies of rain.

He wondered how long it would be until evidence arrived of the King of Troy’s activities… Bones and sticks wrapped in ghostly illusion. Strangely, he was looking forward to something changing—something that might bring back Widsith and Valdis. He wondered if the King of Troy knew where they were, and perhaps had helped them after the flood from the Ravine.

Kern towered over him. On the other side, leaning against a moldy gray trunk, the Sea Traveler sighed. He patted the trunk. “These trees look to make a station on the ancient trod. They have sheltered Land Travelers for thousands of years. The ones we are waiting for could sense and find us here.”

Kern squinted up and out at the dead branches. “Live ones, I hope,” he grumbled.

Reynard now paid attention to another aspect of the woods they had seen since leaving the quarry, and in fact since they had survived the flood from the Ravine—silence. No animals called, nothing flew or buzzed. Other than a dry rustling, nothing here seemed interested in making itself known.

He could feel a pressure, what seemed like a breeze blowing, but between the wide trunks of the trees, likely it was no movement of air but a draft that passed through flesh and bone like water through a net and caught only thoughts, spirits—soul. That strange waft made him feel like he was dying. He had felt that way on the hoy for days before being rescued.

The path spread ahead of them, winding dirt and leaves, wide enough for two horses and no more.

“Is this still a trod, then?” Reynard asked.

“Not to my knowing,” Kaiholo said. “But it may be all we will be allowed to see, until our whole company arrives.”

Then horns blew. The horns seemed to carry their sound on the same breezes that tugged at Reynard’s spirits, and made him feel like he was about to throw up.

“Land Travelers,” Kern said.

“No!” Kaiholo said. “Much more. Hide!”

They did their best to obscure their presence, and even the horses stepped back into the shadows of the three trees. From the southwest came another chill breeze. They saw three figures walking along the ancient trod. First came the scout Anutha, shuffling along as if half asleep, her leather garments torn, and face bruised and swollen. She clutched an arm to her chest in a leather sling. Behind her followed Widsith, and Reynard stifled an urge to cry out for him… and then came Valdis, at which his heart seemed to freeze in his chest.

For she was followed by a figure Reynard had seen only once before—

Not much larger than any man, and dark upon dark, with the same mirror-glints in his eyes as Valdis, but an invisible aura of tremendous power and time, and a manner of weary boredom…

The Afrique, Calybo. The high Eater who had restored Widsith on the beach walked close behind the Pilgrim, looking not just bored but wary, as if this entire situation threatened all he valued, not that he had a soul to value anything but his duty, and perhaps not even that, now.

Kern rose. “I will greet them,” the giant said. “Nobody else break cover.”

He walked through the gathering shadows of dusk to the edge of the trod and waited there until the four had come close enough to hail.

At his call, Calybo moved to the front of their line, saying nothing but inspecting the giant as if he might be a tiger. Then the Afrique bowed his head and allowed Anutha to step closer. She looked up and widened her eyes, as if waking from a bad dream.

“Art thou alone?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

Kern did not answer this, but said, “Where have ye all been?”

The high Eater looked directly at the sheltering triplet of trees as if they covered nothing and concealed no one and said, “Valdis, be these the ones Guldreth assigned to thy care?”

Valdis, herself little more than another shadow in the dusk, answered, “All are here. The others fear you.”

“Well they should,” Calybo said. “For I am angry. I have been called back from the coast and have lost any hope of escape.”

Widsith said, “Fox-boy! Come forward.”

Kern waved his arm, calling on Reynard to break cover like a fawn and join the group. Anutha’s face was a mess of clotted blood, bruises, one eye swollen half shut. Though her step was uneven and her color poor, she still had a presence that belied any evidence of defeat; she still fought, this time against the pain of her injuries.

“Who treated ye so?” Kaiholo asked. “We saw scourers… All dead.”

Anutha touched her bleeding cheek as if to close it up again and said, “The same roving bands that killed most of our scouts and many blunters. Calybo caught and reduced them before they could kill us. He found us in what was left of the village and took us around the Ravine, over the high ledge, and through the dying woods. Long have I feared meeting him… but now he hath saved so many!”

“What happened in Zodiako?” Reynard asked, again feeling that winter wind in his chest.

“The Spaniard,” Anutha said. “He found another army, or it found him. The army of Annwyn and the Sister Queens. All left in the town fought, and I saw many die. The rest have been gathered up by scourers and taken on great rafts out to sea, possibly to the eastern shore.”

“There is no shame in facing disaster and living,” Kaiholo said.

“We fled Zodiako,” Anutha continued, “over the ridge, along the ledge, and past what was left of the Ravine.”

“What about the drakes?” Reynard asked.

“Many dead, the rest… I know not. Dana seems to have escaped and taken her blunters with her.” She held up her pack and removed a heavy, clinking sack. “Maggie gave me these before we last saw each other. She said they were from the last of this year’s nymphs.” She reached into the sack and removed a small glass vial, stoppered and waxed. Reaching in again, she withdrew a second. “She did not believe any in the village would be left to fight, and I had the best chance of escape.” Anutha made a face that betrayed her sorrow and self-recrimination. “The King of Troy came out of his woods and joined the fray with all his powers, dozens of his tricks that deluded, chivvied, and fought well… but they could do little to defeat the armies of the Sister Queens. I did not see what became of him.”

“There was a candle on the trail,” Reynard said.

Kaiholo and Kern looked at him doubtfully. “We saw nothing,” Kaiholo said. Kern agreed.

“Troy might have left a message for the boy alone,” Widsith said. “Or… it was a wish, a fancy. There was nothing more?”

Reynard shook his head.

“Troy out here is far from his piles of bones and wood,” Widsith mused. “We are a sad lot if we rely on his help alone.”

“I did not see Dana and her blunters after we parted ways,” Anutha said. “But as we fled, hiding all the way, we passed thousands of troops from Annwyn arriving from three directions—south around the coast in ships, west along the radiant ridge on th’other side of the Ravine, and from the north around the great icy plain.”

“Who can survive there?” Kern asked.

Anutha shook her head. “Still, hundreds made that journey. Zodiako’s defenses, already weak, were routed. Our town is done, for now.”

“Why target the town?” Kern asked.

“Anger. Ambition,” Anutha said. “The Queens have both in abundance. Long have they felt abandoned on the other side of this isle whilst we are favored by the Travelers and protected by them and, we thought, by the Crafters who value our Pilgrims and their stories.”

“The Queens do not send out explorers or fishermen?” Reynard asked.

“Not ever, to my knowledge,” Kaiholo said.

“Whence came their new army?” Kern asked.

“The Sister Queens made treaty with the Spaniard,” Anutha said. “Cardoza leads many of their troops now.” She lifted a vial and clinked the sack and said, through gritted teeth, “We will dispense these vials to those who can use them best. In a few days, there will be plenty of new drakes to avenge our town. As well, the mountains and forests are now haunted. Forces flee the krater lands. I doubt the Sister Queens will succeed pushing through the island’s center.”

“What sort of forces?” Kern asked.

“The southwest coast could not have held them all,” Calybo said. Valdis, in the shadows, made a small sound.

“Primal,” Anutha said, “I could not see them, merely feel their passage through me. The Forces that shape nature and the beasts of the field. The Forces that make the weather and winds and roil the seas.”

“The fingers and muscles of the Crafters,” Kern said. “I have felt them on occasion as well. If they desert the Tir Na Nog, then the Crafters truly are finished.”

“Annwyn and the Queens can frighten such powers?” Reynard asked.

“Something hath frightened them,” Anutha said. “That is all I can speak to.”

“All within the krater lands appears upended,” Widsith said.

“And yet that is where we are going!” Kaiholo said.

Valdis drew up her cloak. “Travelers are close,” she said, looking upward.

“Watch,” Widsith told Reynard, and pointed. The path ahead grew like an uncoiling snake and pushed aside bushes and trees as if they were stitches on a cloth.

“From the coast?” Reynard asked.

Both men shook their heads. Anutha said, “I think they serve their kind in the krater lands.”

“Are they the ones who collect your tales?” Kern asked Widsith, and the Pilgrim nodded. “I know some of them,” the giant said. “There is one called Nikolias, and a woman called Yuchil—”

“Shhh,” the tattooed man warned. “Trods are temperamental.” Kaiholo lowered his chin as if staring into the bright sun, then raised his arm, and a line of tall men dressed in dark brown and purple appeared at the far end of the road, leading and surrounding the great wagon Reynard and Widsith had seen earlier.

The wagon and its company slowly closed the distance, a mile or more through the divided woods. The party they could see consisted of three men on horseback, wearing voluminous black pants and high leather boots, purple or red shirts, and wide, sun-shielding hats. One small girl broke into a dance, her long red hair swirling like a banner. Strange arcs of light seemed to intersect them all.

The procession stopped, and a tall, thin man in a checkered robe, with a reddish-purple Scythian hat draped on his long head, climbed down from the wagon. A silver-haired woman with young features peered through a rug-like cover behind the driver’s bench.

“I am Nikolias,” the tall Traveler said. He was almost a match for Kern—half a head shorter and no less. “We are here to escort you to the krater lands. She who rules the wagons is Yuchil.” The silver-haired woman nodded and looked off to the far end of their road. “These she treats as her grandchildren.” The girl growled like a cat and swished a claw-hand. “But for Calafi,” he added with a wry smile, “who admits to no parentage.” This seemed a sort of joke among the Travelers. Nikolias waved a staff. From no clear distance behind arrived two additional wagons, each magnificent. Reynard could not see that they had either drivers or occupants.

The trod rippled along its distance, and the trees rustled in no wind whatsoever—but two more wagons rolled up behind the last.

“I hear a familiar voice,” Nikolias said.

Widsith rode forward and touched his forehead. The young armed men stood glowering between him and Yuchil. They all cast uncertain glances at Valdis and especially at Calybo.

“How often have we conveyed thy tales to the servants in the krater lands?” the tall man asked, smiling.

“Beyond count,” Widsith said.

“The time before may have been our last,” Nikolias said. “All the Islands of the Blessed are in turmoil. But we can only try to perform our duty.”

“I am grateful for thy company,” Widsith said.

Nikolias’s troop gathered around him. He introduced the young warriors. “This is Andalo, with two swords and three knives. He believeth in being prepared!”

Andalo gave them the merest nod, then positioned his horse between Calybo and the wagons.

“In training are Sany and Bela. They protect our trods.”

“You brought many soldiers to Zodiako,” Sany said.

“Indeed. You did not arrive alone,” Bela said.

“There were Spanish soldiers on the ship,” Widsith agreed. “Many died on the beach, in the lively woods, and in Zodiako. I know not where the survivors have fled, though we hear that they have gone over to the Sister Queens.”

“We hear that also,” Nikolias said. “Causing much trouble, though not the only cause.”

“But this lad… I found him and brought him as well.”

“And his name is?”

“Fox,” Widsith said.

“Reynard!” the boy corrected.

“Reynard it is. Welcome to all of you.”

Calafi kept her eyes on Reynard, no longer smiling.

“Rest now, and food,” Yuchil proclaimed. “We shall all need our strength.” Anutha came forward, supported by Kaiholo. “Your scout needs our attention as well.”

“I can travel,” Anutha insisted.

“Mayhaps, but let me look at thee in the wagon.”

Kaiholo helped Anutha climb up into the back of the first wagon, and Bela guided her behind a curtain.

“We begin in the morning,” Nikolias said. “Calybo, Valdis, ye art welcome to travel with us.”

“That we will,” the high Eater said. “For as long as we can.”