Chapter 19

Porter had a clearer idea of how the world was laid out in his head. Not a perfect map by any means, but he was able to better pinpoint direction and distance than he had ever been able to before. He did not think it was some great insight into the so-called higher physics that were probably beyond his ability, but a matter of close contact with the being on the other side of the portal.

He admitted that his trip through the portal had added new spice and unique bogeymen to his nightly nightmares. Each morning he half prayed that he would never have contact with another vidscreen again lest he have to watch flowing digital patterns.

Gilly seemed as remote on the first full day of riding as yesterday, hiding her emotions as she did so well, Porter sensed there was a bubbling anger. At first he was willing to write off the cold shoulder as his insecurity but by midday he was pretty sure that what he sensed from her was real. The rest of the afternoon was taken up with Porter trying to gain the courage to ask her what was the matter while at the same time striving to review everything that he said, trying to discover what words had aggravated her.

By the time they dismounted for evening, Porter was almost in a frenzy with fear of rejection. “What’s the matter?” he finally blurted out.

“Nothing!” she said as her façade fizzled into a look of contempt. Her entire body was seized with a rigidity of a person on the edge of attack.

Every alarm bell in his gut went off and Porter wanted to hyperventilate. His hands started to shake and finding nothing else to grab, he grabbed her arms. He was shocked as she was to stare her in the face.

He was almost panting like a dog cowering from fireworks. “It’s not ‘nothing.’”

The fire in her eyes suddenly sparked. “Take your hands off of me! Everything has gone wrong from the moment you showed up until now. How can one man so thoroughly destroy my life through his incompetence?!

“I was assistant to the High Mage in the Court of the King. Look at me, you gutless wonder: I’ve been reduced to soiled clothes, torn jackets, and a stench that would appall a gutter drunk. Because of you I had to flee Timisoara; because of you I had to run away from Sky House; because of you I was shot with an arrow; because of you, O God, you killed Alin.

“All of my life I’ve struggled to reach the top. I made it and then you come along. With one stupid act of cowardice, you rip every achievement, every success, and every advancement to shreds. You and your fat butt, your spinelessness, have brought me down to the lowest of the low. I have nothing; I am nothing.

“Why are we running to the Waste, Porter? We’re running because you are an incompetent fool. If I had been the one ‘translated’ to negotiate to this alien being, we wouldn’t be running through the forest. I would have taken care of it and the problem would have been resolved. You were so cowed by this alien that you couldn’t even make a decent argument to save our lives.

“No wonder why people have shunned you for your entire life: who likes a weakling who pees in his pants every time there is even a hint of danger?”

Porter was aghast. His body stood frozen in shock at the raw anger and contempt he never suspected lurked within her.

The tears were running down Gilly’s face. “You’ve been here maybe a year, and not only are you some kind of genius with the Blue, you find the portal, you talk to the Blue Being, and you get all the glory! You can barely stand up straight without begging my permission and half the time you’re scared of your own shadow. There were two of us and you get to be the chosen one. It should have been me that went through the portal. I was the one who was trained. I was the one who was taught and prepared to stand before the powerful. He should have chosen me at the shrine. He should have chosen me.”

Gilly thumped him on the chest with both of her fists and then twisted out of his grasp. She walked away sobbing, leaving Porter stunned and mute. He could not decide whether it was her accusation, her vehemence or both of them wrapped together in a horrid package that sickened him.

A cold wind, promising snow pulled at his hair. He stared at her retreating back for a moment longer and turned to his pack beast for a strip of jerky. He made his own bed far away from Gilly but he tossed and turned for hours making the wastecat unhappy as well.

“Lovers don’t do this,” he said to himself, moaning. Every barb was a searing pain on his body. “I loved her,” he sobbed, “I thought she loved me.” The three statements rolled around and around until he couldn’t think of anything else. The only word left echoing in his heart was ‘betrayal.’

Before the dawn, he made a decision to flee. In the darkness, he gathered his bedroll and saddled his two hamox. He placed the two maps just inside her trail bag and mounted his beast in silence. He ordered a concerned Kanji with a tether of Blue to stay with Gilly. With every detail attended to, he turned southward.

He had been betrayed by letting someone get too close for the last time, or so he vowed.

Porter drove every thought out of his head but the Blue. He cast tendrils and tethers in every direction, searching out danger before danger found him. He found the work of casting arduous and tiring by the near end of the day though. Predators and prey, large and small, he had brushed against many creatures in the teeming mountains in which he journeyed. Hunting would no longer be waiting, tracking, and shooting down prey. He knew where and what any given animal in his vicinity was doing.

He slept poorly.

He rode again the next day, toiling up now barren mountains and then down again. He wanted to fall back into his old habits, but he was alone and had to stay alert. He stretched his Blue again, pleased that it came a little easier and doubly pleased that no humans were near.

Three days more and Porter climbed the last foothill, not realizing the fact until he reached the summit and saw the temperate forest spreading out at the horizon, the forest which held the village of Edgewood and Zeb’s stead on the other side. He had forgotten the name of the forest that Harlan had named for him so long ago. The woods looked almost inviting after the twisted forests of the northern climes, which forced a man to spend his days ducking and diving to avoid the next branch. He guessed that the forest’s was some ten kilometers from the base of the foothill. Ten kilometers where he would be visible and exposed, where, he suspected humans dwelled and pastured their herds of hamox and other domesticated beasts.

Porter was tired and he felt his command of the Blue sagging. He made a decision to retreat behind the hill, hunt fresh meat, and rest for the crossing tomorrow. A small herd of nella doe were nearby and in just a few minutes, he had dinner. In a deep hole under a small stand of trees, he roasted chunks of meat. He gorged himself as if every last cell in his body was crying out for protein. When he was done, he tied the carcass to the hamox and dragged it far enough away for the scavengers to enjoy it without disturbing his sleep.

His stomach ached all night. When he arose in the morning, the sun was already high in the morning sky. He made his toilet, got sick, and prepared to saddle up for the crossing as he imagined it. He felt slightly queasy as he crested the hill but he stood high in the saddle. Looking both ways he saw nothing moving in the chill wind, and throwing out his Blue, he felt only small rodents and insects. Feeling a bit weak, he reeled in his Blue and made his way slowly down the rocky hillside.

About a kilometer out on the pastureland, Porter’s Blue began to tingle. He swiveled around in his saddle but saw nothing. The tingle was not the danger signal but something of concern was near. He measured the distance he had to travel still and chose to retreat back to the foothills.

He turned his hamox around and they plodded back towards the mountains. He had gone no more than a few strides, when a voice rang out, “halloo!”

Porter turned towards the sound of the call and loosed a surge of Blue, only to have the wave falter and dissipate. He was sick to his stomach. Forced to acknowledge the call because he couldn’t flee fast enough and did not want to fight, he returned the greeting, “halloo!”

A squad of hamox, ten in all came into view from a low point. They were dressed as Border Patrol with their brown uniforms crossed with bow and sword scabbard. Porter turned to face them, trying to keep a neutral look on his face and his hands in their sight. As they approached, none of them drew their weapons but they did spread out in a small array.

“Greetings, stranger,” said the leader. “Have you come from the mountains?”

Porter leaned against the horn of his saddle. “I was hunting for pelts, but I ate a fresh kill last night and now I’m sick to my stomach.”

“Nella?”

“Yeah, a young doe,” Porter answered.

“A lot of them get infected from ticks this time of year. Did you purge yet?”

Porter gave him a jaundiced look. “A few more minutes and I fear you can watch me do just that.”

They did not seem dangerous to him but he could not be truly certain; his Blue was tingling but not with the clanging of true danger. At the moment he could not lift up any defense against them anyways. Porter had not been exaggerating - he was going to spew last night’s dinner and he was going to do it soon. He slid from his hamox, which had already started to graze, and ran a ways from his most unwelcome friends. On his knees, he let nature take its course with all of its obvious discomforts and odors. When nothing more wanted to come up, he staggered back to his hamox and sat down, exhausted.

“Well, that was pleasant. It was so much better to have an audience for the performance too,” Porter said.

That got a chuckle from the group. As one they dismounted their hamox and hobbled their beasts. Without any obvious order from the leader, one of the patrol un-tethered Porter’s second hamox and hobbled both beasts. Porter offered his thanks but really had no energy to get up.

The leader walked over with Porter’s trail bag and canteen and placed both at his side. While Porter took a slow draw of water, the leader took a seat opposite him.

“So where are you headed?” the man asked.

“Back to Edgewood and then on to my grandfather’s stead,” Porter answered. He felt much more confident lying these days.

“That’s a fair bit of traveling to go alone,” the leader said, which Porter thought was a peculiar response.

Porter was circumspect. “I haven’t much choice in the matter.”

He turned away from the man and watched the others setting up a small camp. He recognized the similarities from his time with the Border Patrol. He made a special effort to check their weapons.

“None of your weapons are standard issue either,” Porter said as a segue into a more comfortable subject.

“Either?”

“I rode with Captain Tyver and his squad for several weeks. They complained how the king’s issue of arms was poor.”

“You are friendly with Tyver and his second, Liviu,” the man stated.

Porter was confused. “His second is Harlan, and there is Leeza, Tilden and...”

The man raised his hand to stop him. “Pardon my slip. Many strangers claim friendship with one important person or another, but it is difficult to ascertain who is telling the truth, especially out here.”

“Apology accepted,” Porter said. He was miffed, not because he was not trusted, but because he missed the subterfuge.

The man introduced himself. “I’m Captain Liviu and this is my squad. Nicolae is my second. I can see Tyver’s influence on you: the way you carry your weapons. Your sword looks remarkable, may I see it.”