Chapter 40 – The Wardens

Ahead, spires of smoke drifted into the air. This time, the smoke came from places it should. Cooking fires, makeshift chimneys, and smoking racks.

Not death. Not decay. Not carnage.

Tove bit down on his lip, the anger from those memories resurfacing. Anger that he was determined to find retribution for.

Shaking himself, he looked ahead. He could just make out the tops of dozens of earth-made structures. Roofs and crude chimney stacks poked out of the cliffside ahead, slowly built up from decades of exile. Even after all that time, the eastern tribes preferred more natural domiciles. Living with nature, as opposed to against it, they tended to be built into large oaks or against cliff sides serving as foundations.

In time, they’d added onto that foundation with structures made of mud, wood, and stone. Every time Tove came here, it felt at odds with the rest of the realm.

His caravan was just cresting the main trail when a squad of warriors slid out from the trees. One second there was an open path, the entrance to the village in sight. The next, six rangers stood in their way.

“Hold! Hold!” ordered their leader.

Something’s wrong.

The group obeyed, Tove at their head.

“Woodsman. State your business.”

“We are traders from the west,” replied Tove, half in surprise. Scouts never waited out here. And their faces…

This is… unexpected. Been here a dozen times, and never has anyone asked for my ‘business’.

Seeing the group didn’t seem satisfied, he bowed, rucksack jingling. “I am Tove, clan of none. We wish to enter the village. To trade and share important news.”

A second ranger stepped forward, putting their palm on the shoulder of the first. “Easy, Bensin. Let’s hear them out.”

The first ignored him. “What news?” he snapped.

Tove looked between the two, uncertain of what was going on.

I don’t like where this is going. If there’s any chance they don’t let us through… The thought of being turned away here, or even delayed, sunk in his stomach like a stone. He couldn’t let those bastards’ slaughter of an entire clan go unshared. Not to mention whatever sickness they were tainting the forest with. The wardens were the only people Tove knew of that could possibly do something about it.

How can I get through this pass without having to risk them not believing us, or worse… Then he caught the wooden talisman around the second ranger’s neck. So, he took another strategy.

One palm raised upwards. “We carry the names of twenty. Maren, and her clan.”

Bensin’s eyes darkened. He nodded shortly, raising one palm in return. “We accept the twenty—”

“No!” Tove shouted, stepping forward and tugging the cloaked hand down.

“Tove… careful,” warned Gray from behind.

The ranger tightened, free hand reaching for the dagger at his waist. His second’s quick hold from behind was the only thing that kept it from drawing.

Taking a deep breath, he continued. “No,” Tove repeated, more gently this time. His expression firmed, staring at the second man behind him. “These twenty must be given in calling.”

Around, the rangers reeled. Once a calling was invoked, the elders were bound by ancestral rite to gather the tribes and hear the caller’s words. But it came at a cost.

“I—” began the first ranger, only to be cut off by the second.

“No. Clansman Tove. You understand that if the elders judge your calling frivolous, you will be exiled.”

“I do.”

“And, you understand that if the clan’s people themselves judge your calling to be unwarranted, your life is forfeit.”

He bit his lip, thinking back one last time to those dead bodies. I have to. To share this. I must.

“I do.”

“Ves! You can’t seriously be considering allowing this! This—”

Ves gave his comrade a hard look. “With everything going on, they might know something the elders should hear. And they’ve made a calling. Do you wish to forsake our ancestors’ sacred rites and rituals, now of all times?”

Bensin stared, gripping the bow slung around his back. “Fine. But if this goes poorly, it’s on your head.”

Ves grunted and turned, looking at his compatriots. “A calling has been made. Alert the others.”

The four other rangers’ eyes widened, but they obeyed, scurrying off up the trail.

Minutes later a horn blew in the distance. A long, somber note. Then others joined it.

One of the newest traders edged up behind, getting Gray’s attention. “What’s all that? I’ve never heard it before.”

“The calling.”

***

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Tove was almost second-guessing his actions. All he could hear was the roaring. More than five hundred tribes people, each competing to be heard.

The amphitheater was carved from the hillside itself. Ten natural tiers of dirt, pressed and molded into crude steps, descended to a wooden stage at the bottom. One side opened to cliff, showing The Spines in the distance. A reminder of where they all came from. The rest was entirely surrounded by dirt and clan.

And all of it was chaos.

Pulling his cloak protectively around his body, the trader strode briskly down the steps. They were little more than crude notches, carved ages past into the hillside. Behind, his crew followed in tow. Gray said something, but Tove had no idea what. It was far too loud.

Wooden mugs were shoved from hand to hand. More than one scuffle had already broken out. The lower the tier, the higher the standing, and every clan wanted to be closer to the stage.

His eyes stayed down, lest he trip and meet the clan elders face first. The staircase was steep. It had to be, to accommodate the incline.