Chapter 32

  “The Mother just sent her greeting.”

  Aquiles perked up at his brother’s voice, the first time the Thunderhead had spoken since looking into the mounds of the dead back in the pueblo. Seconds were passing like a slow dance in Aquiles’ head, harmony in the sun setting below the horizon, dissonant with the quiet of their camp. Night claimed the sundial’s ability to tell time until a new day, but he counted minutes well until the greeting came at the twenty-first hour of the day. “Gracias,” Aquiles responded. He etched the word ‘Veintiuno’ into the piece of leather.

  Twin lights flickered and marked the center of Arturo’s home in the distance. They managed to scrape together enough grass and dry wood to light the bodies and let them burn. The funeral pyres licked the sky for hours after they were lit, and still they burned. Aquiles couldn’t seem to find another use for his blessings past killing or burning. The spark had leapt from his fingers, igniting the fires of each mound in a dozen places. They decided to camp far enough to avoid the brunt of the smell, but by then that rancid odor had worked its way into even Aquiles’ fingernails.

  They sat by a fire they made with the remainder of the wood, waiting for the snap of the trap Arturo made a few paces from the fire. Aquiles found some untouched foods in the buildings of the town. His brother didn’t see him take them. Their remaining stock from the Monastery clinked in the bag as Aquiles pushed the leather back into it. “So… We wake and train as much as we can. Eat as much as we can. Grow our strength for the soldiers.” Arturo just nodded, staring into their fire. He was curled in on himself, thighs to his chest and head resting on his knees. Aquiles would normally be disgusted by a man in such a shameless position, but he understood Arturo’s feelings, maybe more than most, and he wished he was better at talking to comfort his brother. No time like the present for a little practice.

  “I’m sorry about this,” he said.

  Arturo’s voice came muffled through the still-damp robes covering his mouth. “Thank you. Again. But it doesn’t help to say it over and over.”

  “Maybe getting up and moving tomorrow will help.”

  “Maybe.”

  “At least we’ll make it through the pattern of the greetings in time to try to figure it out.”

  “Maybe.”

  Disheartened, Aquiles stopped trying to talk to his brother. He knew he would only make it worse. His expertise was in fighting, leading, not consoling others. He wished sometimes he could be better with people, and this was certainly one of those times. In his own wallowing, he had an idea.

  He squinted and closed his eyes like a pendejo, trying to beckon the dog to them in his mind like a moron, because it seemed to know what they were thinking. At least when he thought ill of it the dog seemed to know. This was stupid. Dogs wouldn’t just come when you thought of them, but he didn’t want to embarrass himself calling for the beast. His mind must be addled with all the travel.

  And yet…

  Paws padded on the earth, and a small form rustled the grass just outside of the firelight. Chico emerged, and Arturo lifted his head, the faintest pull on the corners of his mouth cast slight shadows in dimples on his cheeks. Did Aquiles have dimples? There’s absolutely no way in the Father’s green, lush land that actually worked. No. Aquiles was being foolish, as he was tending to be these last few days. All the emotions of dealing with a newfound brother and a fresh tear at scarred wounds not knowing his true parentage had ruined his capacity for critical thought. That dog was just nearby and wanted to get warm by the fire.

  Arturo stretched out a hand and patted the dog on the head. It’s eyes went droopy with each touch, and its tail thumped the ground in lazy beats. Arturo didn’t look happier, but his face was showing life for the first time that day. He had something else to focus on. If Aquiles wasn’t one to be good with people, he was happy that Chico could be.

  Ts? jong

  Those words again, honey on a sore throat, warm cacao on a cold day, soothing like the smallest things, but those things could be lifesaving if the hurt was bad enough. These were the same they’d heard many times now from the animals, but the sounds and the feeling of the syllables felt right. Aquiles wasn’t one for poetry, and he didn’t care for small beauties as much as other people, but these words were special. He found himself searching his vocabulary for clues, yet the phrase eluded him. They were the sound of the land around them, lights in the cold and in the dark.

  The dog wagged its tail then walked over to the fire. It slumped to the ground and laid on its side, content with the warmth. A light twang resounded through the campsite. Arturo stood and walked to the trap. Aquiles hoped another fat rabbit would be caught there. A shout broke through the clearing from the direction Arturo walked in before. Was that his brother yelling? “Hermano? What was that?”

  Aquiles’ hair stood up on the back of his neck.

  In the darkness, a crunch on dead plants tickled his ears.

  He bent forward and ground his right knee through the dirt to spin in place. A spearhead appeared in the space where his chest had been the moment before. It came from the grass and the night that had been behind him. The dark shape of a man stood out between the blades of grass, spear returning to its side. Aquiles growled, something from deep within.

  He reached for the energy to strike this man down with a bolt of lightning, but he restrained himself. The Father might be able to report their abilities in a fight. Aquiles tightened his fists, rose to the balls of his feet, muscles stretching and sighing with the relief of a fight to come. Some real combat then. He could certainly oblige this creeping rat in the night. Another figure stood up from the dark. A third behind that one.

  Aquiles didn’t have a weapon. He would take one of theirs.

  “Scouts! In Ministry leather!” Arturo’s voice resounded from out of sight. He seemed to be struggling, hopefully holding his own.

  Aquiles cocked his head at the man, the animal, that tried to stab him in the back, “Is this true?”

  It roared like animals do and charged him.

  The spear came for Aquiles’ guts. He backed away with feet scraping semi-circles in the dust. A second spear came, a salvo, these two fought together. The first spear missed, but the second scratched his shoulder. Aquiles flung himself at the second attacker, sliding the hand of his cut arm down the spear shaft.

  Fought together, yes, but this animal was slow.

  He drove his shoulder into the slow one’s chest and felt the satisfying grunt as the air was driven from its lungs. Aquiles gripped the spear shaft hard and ripped it from the scout’s hand, whipping the hardened wood around to fend off the next strike from his first attacker.

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  Air whistled about the spear shaft, and the first attacker jumped back out of its way. Two thumps of feet to dirt, and Aquiles was wrapped up by the animal he had just disarmed. The other smiled and charged. Just as animals do. No thought. No strategy. No intelligence or care for their own survival. This last bit was clear, or they wouldn’t have brought themselves to the folly of fighting the last sword master of the Monastery.

  With the spear shaft pinned to his chest in the bear hug from behind, Aquiles dropped his weight and slid his feet between the legs of the one holding him. The beast lost grip and tumbled to the ground, tripped its friend.

  “Amigos, amigos… que malo.”

  He strode to the fire during their scramble and stabbed a piece of smoldering wood, lifting it as a club. It shifted and shuddered with a dying light. The animal with a spear found his feet first and rushed forward. Aquiles slung the piece of wood from the spearhead. It cracked into the animal’s skull and splintered in a shower of sparks. The animal howled and threw its hands to its ruined face. To the beast on the ground, he thrust the spear through its thigh. The spearhead and handspan of the shaft pinned it there. It screamed and clutched and writhed there. Blood pooled where the wooden shaft splintered into skin.

  The other clutched at a black and red burn on its face. Aquiles just took the spear from its hands. No resistance. He spun the spear head down and pushed it down into the space between the animal's collarbone and shoulder. It caught a little. He hadn’t pushed hard enough. Aquiles shoved now, the collarbone cracked, and the animal fell still.

  The pinned beast screamed more now, actually broke free and stood, spear a silly rod of wood wiggling in its thigh. Aquiles caught the shaft and yanked it from the animal’s leg. It dropped to its knees and screamed more. So, he swiped the tip of the spear across its throat, and the screams stopped. Blood streaked through the air, bitter and metallic. The animal put its hands to its throat and fell to its knees. Its blood turned to sludge in the dirt and hissed against the fire.

  The third attacker had not moved as he watched his two comrades fall in seconds. Aquiles leveled the spear dripping in an ended life at that still figure. Metal snicked against leather, and a glint of light from the fire poked at Aquiles from a thin blade. This last one might be a man after all. He leveled the sword at Aquiles. “Vamos,” Aquiles said, cold and still.

  Arturo crashed into the clearing, another spearman on his heels and tripped over his own feet. The dog snarled, and Aquiles' attacker rushed him in this brief distraction. He whacked the sword’s flat with his spear shaft as it came in for his side. The man dropped it.

  “And here I was thinking you were some great threat waiting like that.”

  The man looked up at him, shivering with terror, locked into Aquiles’ gaze.

  “Come now.” He shoved the spear shaft into the man’s hands and scooped up the dropped sword. “Do you know how to use one of those?”

  The man just stared.

  Aquiles looked over his shoulder. Behind, the dog leapt at the scout scuffling with Arturo and sank its teeth into the man’s neck, toppling him over in his rush. Chico gave him a vicious shake. Gurgles replaced grunts, and the scout’s hands flailed at the air and the ground and his own legs, really anything but the creepy beast killing him. His blood turned to sludge too.

  Aquiles watched it and looked back at his poor victim. “Are you going to stab me or what?”

  The man gave a pathetic cry and flung a limp strike at Aquiles. He sidestepped and slapped the spear shaft away.

  “Again.”

  This was a final lesson of sorts. The man pulled the same move for a second time. Aquiles stepped in and extended his front leg out, bending down low and throwing a flourished jab of his sword. The man’s cry was cut short as the blade found its home. Sharp steel, reflecting fire and carrying rivulets of its previous owner’s blood, buried itself in gut and bone. Aquiles stood tall and stepped forward holding his blade steady. The man stared at him then the sword in his stomach. Aquiles stepped forward again and drove the blade straight through the scout, edge grating against his spine. Those sensations were odd in Aquiles hands. He wasn’t used to that soft jitter of a blade against bone. He let go of the sword, and the man, quiet, fell to his knees, head slumped. There the scout died, hands grasping at his own sword inside him.

  Aquiles turned to see another swordsman charge from the grass as the dog was distracted mutilating the scout that attacked Arturo. This one had more fire in him. Arturo stretched out his hand with a concentrated look on his face.

  “Wait!”

  A faint movement in the air, too dark to see, caught the swordsmen as he swung at Arturo. The man’s head snapped backwards, and a distinct thump resounded in the clearing. The man’s head collided with his own back. The skin tore on his neck, and the scout fell, grinding his charge to a halt in the dust, eyes to the stars.

  Aquiles threw his head around, looking for more attackers. None came, and he relaxed. Arturo didn’t move, instead choosing to lie still on the ground, eyes closed and breathing deeply. “Are you hurt, Arturo?”

  He lifted his and shook it before letting it fall back to the earth. “Bit of a twisted ankle. You?”

  Aquiles shrugged, realizing his shoulder had been cut. Maybe during that first double strike? The adrenaline got to him. The wound pulsed with blood now. “One of them got me pretty good in the shoulder.”

  “We have some extra clothTo bandage it.”

  Aquiles bent down next to his first kill, “I’d rather use theirs.” He ripped a clean piece from the linen shirt of the scout and pulled the robe down his shoulder. His wound leaked blood, a nasty cut, but nothing too serious. He wrapped the linen around the cut and tied a knot, tightening the end with his teeth. “I guess I can see how well we heal after all.”

  “Si?. Why send only five?”

  “Maybe they thought they’d catch us sleeping.” Aquiles snorted and continued, “If the rest are that poorly trained, we’ll have no problem.”

  Arturo leveled his own spear of a gaze at Aquiles. “You just killed three men, and this is the spirit you’re in?”

  “Not men.”

  “They were just taking orders.”

  “Yes, and that makes murder ok.”

  Arturo closed his eyes and pursed his lips, “They may deserve it, but we shouldn’t revel in it.”

  “Are you going to become soft when the rest arrive now?”

  The Thunderhead surged to his feet. “I will blast the heads off anyone that so much as looks at my home.”

  Aquiles nodded, “And you won’t revel in it? In the revenge?”

  Arturo fixed him with ice in his eyes, “I will be happy when it is done. When I know that Stranger, that thing, is done and gone. I will be happy then with my peace.”

  “I hope you find it then,” Aquiles replied with a coldness all his own.

  They spent the rest of the night dragging the remains of the scouts into the burnt clearing around the town. Aquiles scavenged what materials he could from the bodies: leather, weapons, and scraps of fabric. Arturo brought a piece of the fire and lit the stripped bodies, throwing the burning wood in his hands unceremoniously to the small pile. Burning flesh wafted through the camp.

  A rabbit had tripped the snare Arturo set. Must have been fleeing from the scouts sneaking up on them. Arturo cleaned the kill, and they put another set of meat and bones cooking in a fire. Aquiles stomach rumbled. He quite enjoyed the taste of rabbit.

  ***

  A Brother’s eyes shut once the column made camp. A voice clawed its way into A Brother’s mind. It sounded far off at first, broken and unintelligible, then it became more and more clear.

  “Transmitter. Transmitter. Check? Transmitter.”

  A Brother was annoyed by these odd words. A Brother was just A Brother, none of this transmitter talk. The All-Transmitters were the group, not the individuals. “Call me A Brother.”

  The voice paused, an old man’s wavering voice, weak and quiet. “Perdon. Brother.”

  “No, A- It is fine. Do you have an update?”

  “The twins were found by the pueblo your sister destroyed.”

  A Brother’s breath buzzed in his chest, metal sliding on metal. “Good. And the scouting party?”

  “Dead.”

  “And your observations?”

  “Only the Thunderhead used its power. Nothing a capable Thunderhead couldn’t do.”

  “They killed five with their bare hands?”

  “Well, the Bolt took a spear.”

  A Brother grimaced and squinted harder. “No more information on what the Bolt might be capable of?”

  “No, sir.”

  “The Thunderhead is very powerful. Do not be tricked.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The Bolt slew a handful of men in their flight from the Outreach. We will assume he is as dangerous.” A Brother’s eyes opened and saw the sleeping men in their camps. “These men will not be enough.” A Brother’s eyes closed again, and the voice crawled back into A Brother’s mind.

  “Y- ye- yes, sir.” It came in clearly at the end.

  “But the All-Transmitters together should prove enough to handle them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Relay this information to A Sister.”

  The voice faded, repeating its affirmation. “Yes, sir.” A Brother made to stand before the voice erupted again. “Wait! There was something else. A dog. It killed one of them as well.”

  Fear struck A Brother like the blast from the Thunderhead, and A Brother’s imagination was strewn about the countryside. How was that possible? A Brother straightened and calmed. Couldn’t reveal his worry in this company. “Thank you for the note. Do not tell A Sister of that detail.”

  The voice waited a moment before responding. “Yes, sir.”

  “You may go, Father.”

  “Thank you, sir.”