Half Discovered Wings (28 page)

‘
Goyles,’ he muttered, touching the dead animal and tasting a
fingertip-sized spot of blood. It was stone cold. ‘Let’s keep
moving.’

Occasionally,
when coming to a high spot in the landscape, they could see through
the trees and make out the black smudge that was their next
destination. It was barely visible on the horizon. No matter how
far they moved without seeing that smudge, whether days or weeks,
it didn’t seem to get much closer.

They kept on walking.

The party survived on the sacks of food they had purchased in
Goya: levened bread; bags of preserved vegetables that swung from
the belts of Gabel and Caeles, including carrots, potatoes and
pickled beetroot; a block of cheese that had been mostly devoured
before it had the chance to go bad; and five large containers of
filtered water that Caeles carried on his back with the rest of his
things.

‘
We need to stock up,’ he’d assured them, ‘and I don’t get back
pains. Pile it on.’

A detour to
the north had been necessary and approved by the magus, who seemed
increasingly anxious to move whenever possible, yet even he thought
that a small diversion was worthwhile if it meant getting
horses.

They could be bought from an independent stable said to be
about twenty days’ trek from town. A family survived there on the
patronage of travellers moving from or between Goya and the eastern
city of Ponta Pora, and they lived by a fork in the road that went
north-west, toward Iilyani.. It would still be another few days,
however, before they could rest their feet and let the animals do
the work.

The forests were different to those between Pirene and São
Jantuo. These was an abundance of life, which seemed off
considering its relatively close proximity to the desolate Sinh-ha
Plains. Deer occasionally hopped in front of them, seemingly
oblivious, and then arrowed off through the trees. There were few
birds but there was an abundance of hardy insects, some longer than
a hand’s width, and they buzzed at them in the day and swarmed
around them at night.

Gabel suffered
from the bites from a particular species of bug. It seemed as
though they consciously sought him in the night to chew on the raw
skin around his almost-healed neck wound. Caeles and Rowan appeared
somehow immune, and the magus was thoroughly unconcerned. Gabel
stayed awake one night and captured a few large yellow-backed
beetles that had been pinching him while he feigned sleep. He
examined them, then crushed them by way of revenge. He didn’t much
appreciate the jokes from the other men, nor the outrage from Rowan
when he told them.

Time seemed to
move a lot slower when out in the forest. The tightly knit branches
withheld light from the ground vegetation, and the plants there
were small and pale. The gloomy days weren’t much brighter than the
nights; it began to get increasingly difficult to gauge what time
of day it was.

~

Rowan’s muscles had atrophied during her sleeping state, and
now she was paying for it. She ached terribly. After such a long
stint without exercise her body had decided that it wasn’t needed
anymore. It had let itself emaciate, leaving nothing but a bony,
malnourished individual who’d had to be fed because she couldn’t do
it herself. Doctor Fenn’s physiotherapy had renewed some of her
strength, but it felt semi-permanent and she thought she could
sense its effects evaporating. She became increasingly tired with
each day that passed.

The sludgy snow-mud mush underfoot made the journey heavy
going. She often stumbled. Gabel and Caeles argued about whether
they should or shouldn’t have made her continue so soon, which
eventually got on her nerves.

‘
Please let’s not discuss this any longer,’ she said. ‘I’m out
here now, and there’s nothing that can be done about it. Why can’t
you both get along?’

The two men
traded heavy-browed looks and walked further apart from each
other.

Gabel saw distress in Rowan’s tired brown eyes and walked by
her side, supporting her as he always did in case she fell. Once
more he gave her his heavy leather jacket to protect against the
chill; his own skin was became cold and hard under his shirt from
the bitter winds that perpetuated themselves amongst the
trees.

‘
How much further until the stables?’ Rowan asked
quietly.

‘
Just a few more days,’ he replied after a pause. ‘Not much
longer.’

‘
Are you okay?’

‘
I’m fine, Rowan. Let’s keep moving, shall we?’

That night by the campfire Rowan watched Gabel waste fresh
water by washing his hands before settling down to sleep. Before he
had a chance to slip into unconsciousness, she moved closer and sat
beside him until he opened his eyes and noticed.

He sat up, the
reflections of fire flickering in his eyes and making his skin
glow. Gabel slept bare-chested. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

‘
The journey is too hard for me.’

‘
Are you tired?’

‘
Very tired.’

‘
Then sleep is what you need.’ He made to lie down again, but
noticed she hadn’t budged. ‘You must persevere,’ he told her.
‘There’s nothing else you can do. This journey is for
you
.’

‘No, it’s not,
Joseph. I am just a secondary objective.’

‘
You mean more to me than that.’

‘
I do? How much more?’

‘
More than you might think.’

The firelight
played over them. Rowan had pulled her sleeping bag closer to
Gabel, close enough for her to lean against him. His hands played
with the frayed edges of her sweater collar.

‘
Enough to help me persevere?’ she asked, her eyes closed. She
pressed her face against his chest. Gabel felt a stab of
discomfort, holding her in his semi-nakedness. He played with her
hair.

‘
Joseph?’ she said.

‘
Yes?’

‘
Will you help me?’ she almost whispered.

‘Yes,’ he
said, breathing sleepily. ‘Rowan, you’re the reason I’m here.’

~

Two dusky children sat in the dry dirt outside of the stable
house’s rickety porch. They were playing with some chipped metal
toys that probably had blinking LEDs once upon a time. The little
boy and little girl didn’t pay any notice to the strangers, except
for a preliminary glance. Rowan stopped to talk with them a while
as the men approached the house’s ill-fitting door and
knocked.

Gabel took charge of the conversation, relating how they were
travelling from Goya to Iilyani, the mention of which sent a ripple
of pleasure across the dark faces of the couple. They seemed to be
pleased that visitors still went to Iilyani. It had an increasingly
pejorative title of “ghetto town”, and apparently the couple
assumed that any visitors must be friendly toward the
dark-skinned.

It wasn’t difficult to buy horses, one each and one for the
baggage. It came to a not-unreasonable cost in pre-Conflict
currency, and the transaction was short and sweet. By Gabel’s
terms, Caeles was incredibly rich. His stash of pre-war money
weighed down a satchel he wore. Gabel no longer worried that the
magus wouldn’t be able to pay his hefty fee at the end of their
journey.

The five horses were picked out from the dozen or so in the
stables behind the house, and looked as well fed as the plump
couple. Gabel led the beasts out to the front of the house, where
Rowan was playing with the scrawny children. She looked up and was
visibly relieved to see their new transport.

‘
They seem nice.’

‘
They’re friendly enough,’ said Gabel. ‘I don’t know how good
they might be in a chase, but hopefully we won’t need to find
out.’

Rowan smiled as she patted the closest of the animals,
running her fingers through its dark, braided mane and feeling its
neck muscles move under the thick hide.

‘
Come along,’ said the magus. ‘We need to make up for lost
time.’

‘
What’s so urgent?’

‘
Time doesn’t wait for tardy travellers,’ he replied simply,
and led his chosen animal back toward the trail.

They said a final goodbye to the family, along with a word of
appreciation, and set off once more on the road to
Iilyani.

On the way Gabel interrogated the magus, demanding more
details on the mission. In Goya he had attended confession with the
priest, although he didn’t tell the others that. The priest had
recommended a policy of honesty, and suggested that the best way to
get answers was to ask questions. Whenever Gabel asked the magus
for specifics he hadn’t received even an allusion as to their real
destination, nor their objective. All he would reveal was that it
would be a few months until they arrived in Hermeticia. Gabel now
believed this to be their final destination, and it meant that he
could plot a proper course for their journey; onwards to Iilyani,
through the Resting Place, over the deadly Sinh-ha Plains and
through the rainforest to the crater ridge, below which would be
the city of xenophobes, Shianti – Hermeticia.

The horses moved placidly along the trail toward the junction
that offered the choice of Goya, Iilyani or Ponta Pora. The party
continued on their way west, with the horses moving in single file,
ending with the magus who had the privilege of keeping an eye on
the baggage horse.

Moving hastily without rest was their defence against the
goyles that lived in the forest that side of the lake. When they
rested they did so without fire. They slept with metres between
them, and without blankets even in the cold nights. Gabel protested
at being so far away from the young woman he was supposed to
protect, until Caeles sharply pointed out that he would be able to
do little to protect Rowan if the camp was swarmed because of their
collective body heat. Goyles were drawn to even a mild rise in
temperature. The hunter accepted this, saying that he would concede
despite his concerns.

A least a fortnight from Iilyani, a tired Joseph Gabel
stopped his steed in its tracks and raised his chin, frozen like a
sculpture until the others turned and rejoined him.

‘
We’ve got to keep moving,’ Caeles said, keeping a close rein
on his animal to decrease its fussing. ‘Stop messing
around.’

‘
I can hear it again.’

‘
Hear what?’ asked the magus.

‘
Quiet!’ he snapped. ‘He’s following us again. Caeles, come
here. Listen.’

‘
I don’t hear anything but the goyles.’

‘
Shut up and listen,’ Gabel said.

‘…
I heard it.’

‘
It’s him.’

‘
The errant in the ninja suit,’ said Caeles, already preparing
his horse for movement. ‘I almost forgot about that son of a
bitch.’

‘
I thought that if he were to maintain his pursuit, the detour
around the Lual would have slowed him at least a
little.’

‘
Well, there’s no point in waiting for him to attack us again.
Come on!’

They pushed the hoses harder whilst the hunter listened out
for the pursuer. He remembered the rasp of his metallic voice, but
more vividly than that the cold lick of the blade through his
flesh.

‘
What are you thinking about?’ Rowan asked. She trotted beside
him, with her arms resting on the lip of the saddle as her fingers
loosely grasped the reins. Her animal was the most placid of the
five, and blew its lips as it walked.

‘
If
the person that’s following us really is that Scathac, then he must
be taking out the goyles in the trees as he goes. Or else they see
him as friendly.’

‘
Is that possible?’ she asked. ‘The doctor told me that goyles
were stupid creatures, like moths.’

‘
So I’m told.’

‘
What did this stranger look like?’

‘
I recall he was very thin, with wiry muscles and dressed in
black. He had a facebelt over his eyes.’

‘
Then how does he see?’

‘
I don’t know. This journey is opening my own eyes as to how
little I know. Back in Niu Correntia, I thought I could handle
everything. But this … I’ve never journeyed past São Jantuo-on-Lual
before. I know now there are so many things that I cannot fight.
That I cannot protect you from.’

‘
You don’t need to protect me,’ she said, and he thought he
could hear a touch of offense in her voice. ‘I survived this
far.’

Barely
, he thought but didn’t
say.

Another few days’ travel brought them to a clearing large
enough to build a fire. It was far enough away from the trees for
the heat-sensitive goyles to dare to attack them, and the party was
sick of freezing, sleepless nights. Caeles and the magus went to
fetch wood, while the hunter stayed with Rowan to build a
fire.

‘
Won’t those creatures come?’ she asked him.

‘
There are already scorch marks here,’ he said, pointing to the
charred circle by their feet. ‘Someone else built a fire, and there
are no bones. That means they survived, whoever they
were.’

She looked
down at her dusty boots and the tiny stones, scuffmarks and dead
leaves that littered the clearing.