17

Trunks among Rockslingers

OCTAVIA

My ass is starting to grow numb and my thoughts keep wandering to the cured meat and dried apple slices tucked away in my saddle bag when the ground grows rocky beneath Helios's hooves. We haven't passed a lake in over an hour. We have been following a river, the ground sloping steadily upwards through forest. But this forest is different than Trikru's. The trees are sparser and massive boulders are scattered throughout them, looming between the tree trunks like silent sentinels.

Indra pauses at a fork in the trail and I seize the opportunity to sling one tingling leg over my saddle so that I can twist far enough to reach into my saddle bag. My fingertips brush against the worn leather of Lincoln's journal and I have nearly pulled it out before I remind myself that it is not what I was searching for. I gently push it back into the depths of the sack and snag the bag of meat instead.

"What is it?" I call out to Indra through a mouthful of jerky. The hunks are tough and chewy and strings of the meat lodge between my molars. But the deermeat is salty and satisfying and I'm so hungry at this point that I would gladly eat roasted rat or charred snake, or the raw river-beetles Lincoln once tried to feed me. "Why have we stopped?"

"It's blocked." Indra answers and I can hear the frown in her voice. "They've blocked off Southern Pass."

"Can we get around it?" I ask, craning my neck to try to see past Indra and Cedar and glimpse the path before us. "Maybe go off-trail, ride parallel to it, then cut back onto it later?"

"No." Indra answers. "The mountains only get steeper and rockier from here on out. The trails themselves are treacherous as it is. Parts of them are cut directly into the crumbly rock face. One wrong footing of your horse and you both go tumbling down the mountainside."

"So where do we go?" I ask.

"We could turn around and backtrack to Four Corners" Indra answers, hesitantly. "And take Lonely Oaks trail through Yujleda... Broad Leaf," she adds, switching to English before reverting back to our usual Trigedasleng. "Yujleda territory. It's safer, but would add a whole day's ride to our journey."

"Safer?" I ask, swallowing hard as the salty dried meat catches in my throat. "Safer than what? What's the other option?"

"We take the Northern Pass." Indra says, gesturing towards the steep narrow path jutting off to our right. "Through the outskirts of Boudalan... Rock Line."

I hear the hint of fear in the deep voice of the bravest woman I know. And I know that I should feel the fear running like a poison through my own veins, making my stomach churn and my heart flutter, making my breath catch in my lungs and prickling the hairs on the back of my neck. I should feel the fear rising. But I don't. I am not afraid. I haven't been afraid in a long time.

Because I haven't feared Death since the moment I watched Lincoln's temple shatter and his crimson blood splatter the mud at Pike's feet. In that moment I felt no fear, only longing. I did not fear Death, I craved it. But Lincoln's last wish was for me to live. And so I promised myself that I would not seek Death.

But when he comes for me at last, I will not run from him. I will not fall at his feet and beg for mercy. I will not wriggle futilely against the claws of his grip. When he comes for me, I will welcome Death like an old friend.

"How much time do you think we have before Azgeda marches on Trikru?" I ask Indra. And because I already know the answer, I pull Helios's reins to the right and nudge him forward with my heel.

"Not enough." Indra answers.

"Then let's keep moving." I say, already leading Helios up the narrow, rocky trail of Northern Pass.

...

"Keep your eyes sharp, Octavia." Indra warns me for the third time. And for the third time I ignore her. Keep my eyes sharp? As if I can look at anything other than the narrow, rocky, uneven path beneath me? With every few steps I take I can feel the ground slipping and crumbling beneath my boot as bits of the rock face break free and tumble off the cliff to my left. I try not to watch them shatter into a million pieces against the boulders below.

About a mile back we left the trees behind. As we climb higher and higher even the scrubby bushes are growing sparser. There are no roots anchoring the rocky soil to the mountain and the gravelly path shifts and slides dangerously beneath our feet. Add to that the random gusts of wind that threaten to push us sideways off the mountain, and I've decided that this is by far the least enjoyable nature hike I have ever taken. The path has become so narrow and so uneven that about a half-mile back I decided to dismount and lead Helios by foot. It is slow, slow going as we practically cling to the side of the mountain on our right, keeping as far from the left edge of the trail as we possibly can.

Helios lets out a terrified whinny each time the rocks give way beneath him and he struggles to find footing in the loose gravel. I try to comfort him with a soothing voice and words of encouragement as I pull his reins further up the mountain trail. But the look he keeps giving me seems to say, "Lincoln never made me do shit like this."

"Almost there, Helios." I coo as the path cuts to our right and we at last leave the cliff's edge, entering a narrow, rocky ravine. Thin patches of crusty yellow-brown snow litter the path ahead and I roll my eyes at the sight of them, because... Honestly? The trail wasn't treacherous enough already? Now we have to deal with patches of fucking ice and snow too?

"Maybe we should rest... Just for a second." I suggest tiredly, as Indra rides into the ravine behind us. I cannot understand how it is that she is still mounted. When I climbed off of Helios's back she had shrugged at me and said "Cedar is more sure-footed than I am." I can only hope for her sake, and my sake, and the sake of all of Trikru, that she is right about that.

"Just a second." Indra agrees, taking a slug of water.

We both breathe easier in the shelter of the ravine and I am reaching for my own canteen when I hear a sudden woosh and a crashing thud as a small boulder shatters into pieces beside my boot. Helios whinnies and bucks as another stone ricochets off the ground at his feet. Heart racing, I turn my eyes to the sky in confusion.

Four men are repelling down the side of the ravine like spiders. Two more men stand on the ridge above them watching with stones loaded into the slingshots clutched in their hands. I draw my sword as the four men leap from their ropes onto the path, two blocking the way before me, two behind Indra blocking the way from which we have come.

One of the men steps towards me, eyeing me with eyes the cold gray of slate. A single thick, jagged, black tattoo cuts through one of his brows. The other brow is smeared with a streak of white. I recognize the warpaint as Ice Nation, though the rest of the man's appearance screams Rock Line. More jagged patterns are shaved into his short-cropped beard like miniature mountains. He wears layers of thin-lightweight clothing made of a material that looks similar to what we used on the Ark. I suspect that it is thermal-insulating, providing warmth while not hindering mobility. A harness clings to the man's hips and various climbing gear dangles from caribiners fastened to the pack across his shoulders. He holds a long serrated knife in one hand and a sharp climbing pick in the other.

"What are a couple of Trunks doing wandering the mountain so far from their forest?" The man asks, his voice casually threatening. "Are you lost?"

"We're just passing through, Rockslinger." Indra growls from atop Cedar. Like me, she has her sword drawn and ready.

"Passing through..." The man echoes her. "On your way from where to where?"

"From somewhere." Indra answers coldly. "To somewhere else."

The man lets out a sharp laugh. "Careful with your tongue, Trunk." He warns. "Or I will cut you down and throw you from the cliff without so much as a 'timber.'"

I feel the anger rising in me. I want to run my blade right through this man's cocky smirk and out the back of his skull. I want to watch his blood paint the crusty snow scarlet. I want to watch his body tumble down the mountainside and split open on the jagged rocks below.

But we are outnumbered. And they have the high ground. And I am fighting against the heat in my chest because I know that to be rash right now could cost me my life, and along with it, Indra's. And I am not afraid. I do not fear Death. But if I allow him to rip Indra from this world, he will take all of Trikru with her.

So I slowly reach out with my free hand until my fingers tangle into Helios's mane. And I try to fight the anger. And I try to breathe.

"Trunks aren't welcome in Boudalan." The man says, absentmindedly running the serrated edge of his blade against his steel pick so that a metallic "clink, clink, clink," punctuates his words.

"We are just passing through." Indra repeats. And I have to admire the way her cool voice is simultaneously threatening and calm, reasonable. "There is no need for Trikru or Boudalan blood to be spilled today."

The man eyes us a moment longer, his gaze lingering on my sword and on my eyes. I wonder if he can see the anger in them. I wonder if he can see how desperately I long to spill his blood.

"I suppose not." He finally says with a smirk. "After all, Trikru's blood will spill soon enough. The forest will be cut down and all of its Trunks will burn."

He steps to the side to clear the path for me and Helios, ushering us through with an overly polite wave of his hand.

"Go back to the trees." He says. "Tell your people to get ready. Prepare for the storm. Winter may be passing, but ice and stone are coming and the cold has just begun."

I feel his cold gray eyes following me as I sidle past him. I try to breathe. I try to fight the anger. My boot slides on a bit of crusty snow and I stumble and the man lets out a jagged laugh.

"Careful, honey." He warns. "I'd hate to see such a pretty face bashed open against the rocks."

I try to breathe. I try to fight the anger. But the anger is rising. And finally, I welcome it.

In a flash, I pivot on the rocks and slice my blade sideways through the air. It half severs the man's neck and his hot blood splatters across my face as he stumbles backwards in surprise. I spin and rear my arm back just in time to see the second man coming towards me with a long knife drawn. I fling my blade and send it soaring through the air. It finds its target, delving deep into the man's breast. Its tip pierces all the way through him and lodges into the crumbling rock face behind him, pinning him to the mountain's side. I plant a boot on his chest and pull my blade free as the man crumples.

And I turn to help Indra, but of course she already cut down the two men behind her. I smile at the blood on her blade, but Indra's face is still panicked.

"Run!" She says as the first stone rains down from above. It slams into my shoulder and I stumble under the force of its blow. Another stone smashes into Indra's thigh and she lets out a small gasp of pain. Regaining my balance, I throw one foot into Helios's stirrups and I am nearly in the saddle when the next stone bashes me in the temple harder than any fist ever has. White lights flash across my eyelids like lightning and my body lurches sideways out of the saddle. I feel my cheek slam against stone and as suddenly as they appeared, the lights go out around me.

...

I open my eyes to streaks of color. White and black and gray and brown rush past me in blurs. Someone is pulling my ankle with such ferocity I fear my leg will be wrenched from my hip at any moment. But the pain in my ankle is nothing compared to that of my hands and forearms and head. Someone is bashing my head repeatedly against stone and gravel and ice and snow. No... They aren't bashing me... They are dragging me. And suddenly the pain in my leg makes sense. I feel a jagged edge slice through the skin of my cheek as easily as a peach's. Another cuts into the back of my hand. Still another drags like a knife along my forearm. I try to pull myself up but we are moving too quickly and I am being tossed about as helpless as a rag doll.

Suddenly a hand wraps around my flailing wrist, pulling me upwards and for a moment I think my body might rip in half right down the middle. But I feel my ankle snap and my foot twists free of the stirrup. And now it's my legs that are dragging along the rocks as my torso is wrenched upwards. I am thrown like a sack of potatoes over the shoulders of a horse as the streaks of color grow black once more.