Chapter 9: Find Them!

The sniveling whine grated even on the Master’s ears, “But we do know the direction in which they travel, Excellence.” The acolyte, scarcely less repulsive than the one before whom he knelt in submission, dared not look up. “All we need now, is to...”

G’hoad hissed, “Is to die, worthless slug!” He placed his foot on the back of the poor wretch’s head, and bore down, relishing the muffled, short-lived shriek, and the satisfying crunch that ended it. “You should not have returned without them!”

He called out for another of his servants, and there immediately appeared an identical copy of the lifeless thing on the floor. G’hoad simply pointed at the carrion, then waited until it had been dragged to the chamber entrance. He held up his hand, and the servant halted. “When you have disposed of that, return here with the one-eared one.” The servant did not respond, and simply resumed dragging the lifeless thing from the room, while G’hoad turned back to the wheels and gears of the machine before him, “And we shall see just how much longer he wishes to stay alive.”

Additions,
and a destination.

“I think someone is watching us, Seth, but I think they’re afraid of us.”

“I feel it too, Leana.” Seth pointed at the hillside ahead, “Call to the others, and tell them to meet us there, by the clump of hardnut trees. It’s early, but perhaps there will be some ready for harvest.”

The small band had come through the swampy lowlands with no further close calls, and were now nearing the top of the first plateau. The horizon now appeared to be well over a day’s travel away, and their surroundings much more open and inviting; differing from the menacing closeness they’d come through in the past few moon cycles. But they must still be wary. There had been enough known hazards in their world before. Now their world had grown, and with it, unknown dangers had presented themselves. And though they still looked at it as a boon, even this mind-speak presented its own set of questions.

Tia, of course, was having no difficulty with this new form of communication. Aard and Dann were adjusting to it as well, while Toll was still torn between wonder, fear, and suspicion. And one or another of those reactions came to the forefront at any given time, sometimes all of them at once.

Doe was tickled. Literally. Leana had told her about the gifts after Toll had started showing some comprehension of what was happening. She was understandably apprehensive about trying it, but if Toll would sit beside her the first time...

When told what she was about to experience, she squeezed her eyes shut, and put her hands over her ears, as if afraid the sound would be too loud. And then she jumped, and squealed, when Leana tried to “speak” to her, and she screamed, “It tickles!” Then she burst into hysterical, nervous, giggling, startling the birds in the immediate area into flight, and the ‘patches went up the nearest tree. And for the rest of that day, and into the next, every time any of them had tried to mind-speak to her, she broke into fits of giggling.

But now she was coming around, and could actually “reply” in this new form of communication. And she, even more than the others, quickly grasped the idea of “blocking”, or “shielding”, or “hiding” her thoughts from others.

And now the need for such blocking was apparent; someone was watching them, and had been, for more than a day. “I don’t think they can hear our mind-speak, Seth,” said Tia. “I get no sense that they understand anything about us. Certainly they are not talking between themselves as we do.”

She watched as Dann came into the small grove of trees and automatically looked at the ground around them. “No, no ripe ones to gather yet, perhaps another week.” The hardnut, most probably the descendant of the ancient hickory, was prized for the sweet meat of the nuts it bore. It was an excellent source of protein and fat, and as such was a prized ingredient in the pemmican that made up a significant part of their diet. But it was relished by more than just the roving bands of humans, and those who sought after it did so with vigilance, or they went without.

Seth raised his hand to signal silence, then looked around at his small group, signaling them to be ready. Then he called out aloud, apparently to no one in particular, “Come, friends, join us. We wish you no harm.” They watched and waited a moment, and he repeated his invitation, “We mean you no harm, and there is more safety if we can band together. We have food, and we have, I think, a common cause with you. Come and join us.”

They watched a moment longer, then tensed at a furtive movement at the edge of the trees. A face appeared, then another, then a child, an older man, then there were over two dozens all together, clustering around them, reaching hungrily for the pieces of pemmican and dried meat that Toll and Doe held out to them. Aard darted into the bushes where they had been hiding, and returned carrying the wizened husk of a very old man, who stiffened and died even as he was carried into the group.

It was a sorry, emaciated group of humans indeed, that Seth and the others tried to bring back to life. This was the remnants of a much larger group that had been driven from their Home by the drogs, and had been fleeing before them. Their pursuers had been afraid to follow them into the wetlands though, and they had at first thought they had escaped. Then the nightmares of the swamp had overcome them, and had claimed over half their number. Now, as helpless children, they looked to Seth and his small band as saviors.

Two more of them died the first night, as Leana, Tia, and Doe tried to nourish them with broth they made from the rabbit and grouse that Toll and Dann brought back. Aard filled and refilled the water skins, and built up the fires as they tried to keep the rest of them alive. They cut and roughly wove grasses to keep them warm, and to keep the dew at bay. They used up nearly all of Leana’s store of powdered medicine tree bark, and Dann went back to the edge of the wetland, to find more of the willows, so they could harvest more. It was not as potent this late in the season, but it would have to do. Fortunately, there were no serious lacerations, nor were there any broken bones to deal with. “Mog died from a torn arm,” said the oldest, “he tried to pull his child from the jaws of an eater, and could not.”