Oats in the Water
(Ben Howard)
85 days till the end
They'd gone south from Polis following Caliban kom Trikru's lead. He'd hardly spoke except to declare that they would attempt to cut Skaikru off down river. No one else felt much like speaking either. The torches that Gaia and Yulian carried did little to illuminate the well-trod trails. Together they pressed at a hard pace. Focus sharpened their senses. The cold, the quiet, the fear...
In neither this life or before, had Clarke ever been much south of either Polis or Mt. Weather. Southern Trikru lands were more densely populated, as it was farther both Azgeda, and the Mountain. Here they neighbored far friendlier clans. The black war paint smudged across Caliban and Yulian's faces was meant to let them pass easily, but Clarke didn't know if that was even neccesary. Their party was ignored. The thick forests, interspersed with ruins of the old world, were home to numerous villages, which apparently grew fewer in number, but larger in population the farther south you went. None they passed raised alarms at the travelers passing by. Not even the ones they went close enough for the Skaikru to curiously assess by the lights of the night watches.
The ground was dry, and the trees varied still from bare to dark, startlingly evergreen. It looked like home, now that Polis was out of sight. The Trikru half of their riding party settled onto their horses with confident ease as they made their way south- away from Azgeda. It was clear from how comfortably Gaia and Yulian followed that this path was well-known to them. As for Miller, Clarke, and Charlotte, though, the only path they knew by heart was the straight shot between Hundred Camp and Polis. Even if not for the dark of night, they'd have been traveling blind away from that path.
Leaving a thick copse of evergreen, the group came into a sparse stretch, and Gaia pointed out a grouping of thatched huts, barely lit by a communal fire, some distance ahead. Clarke was trying to make out some idea of the village size in the faint beginnings of dawn when Yulian gave a shout. Caliban grunted at the boy to be quiet, but all eyes followed where the second pointed. That was not dawn offering a lightening of the darkness, but the far off, pale orange glow of fire. Closer than it'd ought to be. They stared, holding their horses still, each trying to take it in.
"North of our journey," murmured Gaia.
"We stay on course," Caliban said.
He turned his back on the disaster, and urged them on.
South they rode.
The sun rose to eclipse the far off flames.
Higher still.
They pressed on, breaks both few and brief. Once the winter sun had grown hot and heavy enough to redden the cheeks of the fair skinned Skaikru girls, Gaia pulled a dark hooded cloak from her saddle packs, and hesitated only a heartbeat before withdrawing two more. Identical to the first, they were the uniform of the Order of the Flame. Gaia pulled the first on over her plain riding attire. With the hood settled upon her braids, a shadow was cast over her face.
Shyly, she offered the others to the Skaikru nitblidas. Charlotte accepted it eagerly, and pulled it on before murmuring, "Mochof, seda,". She flashed a tired half-smile, returned by Gaia's.
Clarke watched Charlotte tie the cloak neatly beneath her chin, over and under her chest. The deep hood carefully tugged up, Charlotte looked expectedly towards Clarke. Thanking Gaia, Clarke accepted the last cloak. Sturdier and more closely fitted than the loose, velvet cloaks that Lexa wore, and gifted to Clarke, it was still familiar enough. With her head covered, and the little mare steady beneath her, she breathed slowly. Tried to rein in her fears.
There was still so much ground to cover.
They kept going.
South, then west, trying to anticipate where the fleeing Skaikru would end up.
Her head jerked, as the horse beneath her ambled to a stop unbidden. Clarke forced her eyes open, blinking, once, twice, again... Her head pounded. Around her, the sky had shifted. The sun was setting, and they would've hit Hundred Camp hours ago.
Miller's voice found her somehow.
"Clarke, we've gotta stop,"
She looked limply down at him, from atop her weary little mare, to find that he'd taken hold of the reins. He did not pull them from her grasp, but had simply held enough pressure to stop the agreeable horse. Her tail swatted at yet another insect, the very ends brushing against Clarke's thigh, but she barely felt it.
"We've got to be getting close," Clarke said, her voice as frail as the set of her trembling mouth.
Without another word, Miller let go of her reins. The mare's head lowered to brush the tall grass. He reached up, and took hold of Clarke, tugging her down till she fell into his arms. A muffled harrumph of protest belied the way she let her head lean onto his broad shoulder. Nathan was getting bigger, she thought dazedly. Broader and thicker. The food in Polis, and the training, seemed to be suiting him well. Clarke looked at the side of his face she could see without raising her heavy head. Scruffy beard along his broad jaw, he was looking more like a grown man than a teenage boy. A man she knew she could trust. One she was lucky to have on her side. Her eyes closed without her meaning to.
Thick, narrow bedrolls had been tied to each horse, and most of the riding party threw theirs upon the ground, in a bit of an awkward circle. Caliban silently pulled Miller and Clarke's both down, and laid them out side-by-side, so close they nearly overlapped. With a glance at the grounder, Miller nodded slightly, and laid down upon the far side, lowering Clarke carefully down on the inside. She buried her face in his shoulder as they lay facing each other, with a comfort only possible to those who've spent a good deal of time wrapped up together. Eventually she roused enough to lean back away, and look up at the sky which shone in the distance with a fire worse than she'd ever have been able to imagine if not for the end of the world. Her hands, clutching Miller's shirt, shook. This was too much like Praimfaya. Far too easy to remember running from the Death Wave when she thought of her people fleeing for their lives.
As Gaia and Charlotte quickly tended to the six horses, Clarke drifted. Wary as ever, Miller watched the settling in despite his poor vantage spot laying down. After loosening girths and tying each to their own tree, Charlotte, quiet as a mouse, laid her bedroll close enough to touch beside Clarke's. The young girl didn't even bother to remove the cloak, or loosen her boots. Only paused long enough to lay down her sword, just beyond the top of the row of bedrolls, and curled up at Clarke's back. Once Charlotte was settled, Gaia neatly arranged herself on her other side, with a few inches of space between their bedrolls, but still close enough to share warmth once the sun fully set. They rested. Towards their heads, Yulian stood, several feet away, standing at a parade rest, fidgeting, but quiet. Opposite him, at the other end of their narrow campsite, stood Caliban, still and stiff as a statue. It wasn't even dark yet, but slowed, even breathing announced soon enough that all four were soon sleeping.
The stars above their heads paled in comparison to the roaring oranges and reds north of them. This far away, it was beautiful. Clarke watched how the fire seemed to shimmer as she woke. Sucking in a deep breathe, she exhaled steadily. The smoke hadn't reached them yet. Miller squeezed her shoulder again, as he'd woken her.
"I'm up, I'm up," she grumbled. Miller snorted at the flailing hand she extended towards him, but caught hold of it, and hauled her up anyway.
"C'mon princess, I don't know how long we slept, but it's been a few hours at least,"
No one had bothered, or perhaps dared, to build a campfire. It was cold, but there was light enough from the moon, and stars, and the infernal orange glow in the distance that they didn't really need it. Clarke stretched. Her tight muscles ached. After watching her a moment, Miller nodded slightly, heading to switch off with Yulian. With one last, twisting curve of her back, and a yawn, Clarke went towards Caliban. The forest was so quiet despite all the anxieties welling up.
Caliban greeted her silently. Dark and shadowed, Clarke wondered about the look on his face when he glanced at her. She tried to smile, but it was stiff on her face. Cleared her throat. Moved closer. Stopped right beside him, her cloak brushing his furs.
"I'll take over watch. How long has it been since sunset?" asked Clarke.
Grunting, Caliban stared off into the distance. She waited.
"Half the night, maybe less," he replied shortly.
Silence fell between, and he didn't turn to head towards the sleeping area. Clarke held her tongue. He was good company, even if quiet.
"Ton DC is burning," he announced into the still, quiet air.
Her hand flew to his arm, and hung on, her eyes on his face, and she moved to stand before him. He looked down at her, eyes dark, and his beard making it hard to read his expression even this close. But something in the set of his jaw betrayed him. Fury. Fear. Desperation.
"I'm sorry," she gasped. Squeezed his arm comfortingly. One large, rough hand gripped her other arm in turn, holding her there in front of him.
"This is not your doing, Wanheda," he rumbled, looking back up into the sky to watch the distant fire.
"But I didn't... I didn't even think about the fire spreading out to the village,"
Caliban ignored her rambling. Releasing her arm, he patted her shoulder with surprising gentleness.
"We can split up. Cover more ground. Maybe your people are trying to save the village-"
"My people know to follow the river, and would not wage an unwinnable war with their children and elders, and yours are obeying Heda's order if they are smart,"
"And if they aren't?"
He turned to give her a sardonic look, but saw her wide eyes, and clenched teeth.
"We stay together until we find survivors," he declared.
84 days until the end
When they come to a bridge at mid-morning, the horses balk.
Sharp heels in their soft sides, leather reins against their necks, slaps to their rumps... did no good. Caliban stilled the lot by dismounting, and leading his soft brown stallion forwards by hand. Gaia sprang down from her own saddle atop her thick, gray mount, landing light on her feet.
It's small, and old. Clarke knew just enough of pre-Catalyst architecture to confidently say the bridge hadn't been new when ALIE had tried to wipe away humanity. Whether it was 19th century, or what, though, she couldn't tell. Either way, it was older than she liked betting her life on. Surviving three centuries of neglect, and nuclear war, didn't mean it'd hold much longer. Not that there was a choice. If they were going to meet up with her people, this was their best bet according to Gaia.
Stone, slate, and Aegean blues, foaming as it hurtles downstream.
The untouched land is moss, juniper, basil, sages, olives, and of course, pin greens...
Cedar, umber, carob, and walnut browns for the trees and dirt.
The smoke is dove, graphite, and porpoise greys teeming among them.
The fire is all scarlet, oranges, and those shadows...
Silently, Clarke cataloged all the colors she'd never truly seen in space, only memorized from tablets, and the precious few tattered books. The fire is burning away the beauty, the colors, the life...
There is something wrong with her, Clarke thinks, that she knows now... if she lives long enough to, she will draw it. Again, and again, for the rest of her life. She will never be satisfied that she has captured the striking horror of this disaster. There was nothing that could have prepared her for this sight, the sounds, the smells... Paper could never contain it, but she will try.
As their horses grudgingly followed their heads, the rest of the group joined in. Miller's horse trails behind, and even Charlotte's. Clarke tried tugging her little mare behind the rest, but the horse stubbornly held her nose high in the air, feet planted firm in the dry grass. With a groan, Clarke jerked at the reins forwards, but the now the riding party was now heading onto the bridge without her.
As Clarke tugged again, the mare's velvety nose went higher still as the horse shifted her weight.
Behind Clarke, a snicker made her spin on her heel, already glaring.
There she found the mockery had come from Caliban's ill-behaved second, but Yulian kom Trikru just grinned at her dark expression.
"Down, then forward," he announced blithely, his dark eyes bright with amusement that she hadn't seen from him considering this awful journey.
"What?" Clarke was tired. Bone deep, had forgotten when she'd lost slept, kind of tired, and the Trikru boy's three words didn't make sense. "What?"
He snorted again, and stepped closer to Clarke, and her mare, whose nose had lowered some while she was being neglected. That nose went directly back up, so high she'd have drowned if it rained, once Yulian snatched the reins from Clarke's loose grip.
"Down, steady, once," he explained, not anymore cleared, but then with the leather lead in both his calloused hands, he bore his weight onto her head, pulling to the ground. She snorted, and huffed, and her feet shifted restlessly, but Yulian held her nose firm, at low enough to brush his thighs.
"Now, forwards," he told Clarke shortly, and keeping one hand on the reins, heaved the horse's head forwards, and she shuffled her feet to follow.
"Down, then forwards," he repeated, looking at the bridge ahead, where everyone had now nearly cleared, and strode ahead, the mare having no choice but to follow. Clarke trotted to keep up, and just noticed that Yulian's own oddly mustard-brown horse being led off the bridge opposite Gaia's gray, when Yulian got her attention back by shoving the split reins into her hands.
"Don't stop," he warned, before he sprinted off to catch up to Gaia and their horses.
The dozens of hooves echoed in dull thuds over the ancient bridge.
Clarke looked down into the high, rushing brown water as she finally brought up the end of the procession across.
On the other side, as they left the bridge behind, Clarke noticed an old plaque, and ran her fingers curiously over. "Hibbs Bridge" she could make out, deeply engraved into the metal, but the rest had been obscured by time.
With a sign, she tossed her hair over her shoulder, and tucked the prickly star necklace beneath her shirts again. Somewhere out there, her people wandered, driven from their home by a growing inferno. Meanwhile she could not even get one stubborn, small horse to walk over a bridge without a grounder's help. Useless didn't quite suffice. What could she even do for her people in this disaster?
