Forest of Demons (13 page)

“Masks, they’re wearing masks. They’re no monsters, they’re men!” Ravi said.

The blue-eyed man locked eyes with her for the briefest of moments before turning to cleave a rakshasa in two with his sword.

Recovering from the surprise, the invaders began to fight back. Black batons boomed, and the rakshasa fell.

“We need to go. Now!” Ravi took her hand.

This time Priya didn’t need urging, she turned and ran.

Never the Muse is absent

from their ways: lyres clash and flutes cry

and everywhere maiden choruses whirling.

Neither disease nor bitter old age is mixed

in their sacred blood; far from labor and battle they live.

Pindar

Aryan led his firstborn through the frozen wilderness, his pace steady but not too fast. The sun months were upon them, and the world above was constantly bathed in light. It was early, what would have been predawn had the sun deigned to sleep. He had only a few hours to find his son the perfect spot. He had been preparing for this for the last twelve years, from the day he’d held Ivor in his arms and his heart had squeezed painfully with love and fear. He’d pushed the fear aside, collared the love, and simply cared for the boy. The task before him now was difficult but not impossible. Mia, on the other hand, was inconsolable; he had left her at assembly before setting out, hoping that their god, The Divine, would sooth her troubled heart.

“Da, are we almost there?” Ivor’s breaths plumed before his face.

“Yes. Over that rise.” He pointed, and Ivor shielded his eyes with his hand to look. He was small for his age, and slender, but that meant little. Aryan had also been a slight boy, but he had grown into a monolith of a man. All Borean men grew large; it was just their way.

“Come.” Aryan started up the rise, Ivor close on his heels. The boy stumbled. Aryan balled his hands into fists. He would not help. The boy must help himself. Ivor picked himself off the ground and continued up the rise.

They slid down into the valley below. The summer brought a rise in temperature, enough to melt the snow, leaving bogs and pools of icy water. Plants and shoots had broken through the ground. They would attract small game. Trees were scarce, unable to bed down their roots in the frozen ground, but Aryan had found a spot where there was struggling woodland, enough to provide shelter and fuel. The high land surrounding the valley protected it from the worst of the elements, in particular the north wind that could whip the landscape into a frenzy and leave frozen devastation in its wake.

“Da, this is perfect!” Ivor looked at his new home in awe. The world above had always fascinated him. Aryan would return from a long day’s hunting or from patrol to find Ivor waiting eagerly for stories of his day. Aryan would object at first, but in the end he would always capitulate.

Ivor hoisted his supply pack high on his shoulder, clutching the spear he’d designed in his final class against his chest. The excitement in his eyes had dimmed.

Aryan swallowed past the tightness in his throat. This was the moment he had been dreading—the good-bye, the leaving. “May we meet again.” He turned and began to climb up the rise.

“Da!”

Aryan paused in his ascent as Ivor’s muffled footsteps approached.
Do not cry, boy, do not beg, do not shame me.
He clenched his jaw as Ivor wrapped his arms around his waist.

“I love you,” Ivor said.

Aryan pressed his lips together against the words. Those words were trapped inside him—dangerous words, words that could taint his actions.

Ivor released him, then took his hand and pressed something hard and smooth into it.

His steps retreated. Aryan resumed his journey up the rise.

He didn’t look back, not once.

He strode past the passage guards. Leaving the above behind, he descended deep into The City below.

The City was stirring into consciousness, the morning crystals slowly waking. He hurried toward his modest home on the outer edge of the center of The City.

He found Mia in their open kitchen. The room blazed with the heat of the stove and was filled with the scent of freshly baked bread.

She was upset. She always baked when upset.

She tensed when he entered but didn’t acknowledge him.

“We will see him soon,” Aryan said.

“You don’t know that.”

“I have faith in The Divine.”

Mia snorted.

Aryan’s skin prickled with unease. Her behavior was bordering on treason. “Did you attend the Assembly this morning?”

“No.”

Frack! “When was the last time you attended Assembly, Mia?”

Mia shrugged, picked up her mixing spoon, and began to beat the batter in her bowl.

Aryan’s unease flipped to anger. Assembly was held twice a week; Assembly was essential, Assembly promoted peace and amity. There was no reasonable explanation for her idleness. The law required citizens attend, at minimum, once a month.

“Stop that!” He grabbed her shoulder, turning her to face him.

Her eyes grew wide, because he never lost his temper with her. But today was an exception; today, he had just abandoned his only child in the wilderness.

“You must attend assembly. Look at you, you’re a mess.”

Her large gray eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from crying, her skin was blotchy from the heat of the kitchen, and her hair escaped in untidy wisps from her usually neat knot.

She stared up at him, reading the displeasure on his face. “I-I’m sorry. I promise, I’ll go this evening.”

He released her. “Make sure you do. I do
not
want to have to employ firmer methods, but if you test me, then I will.” He turned away from her, ignoring her soft sobs. Tears had little effect on him when it came to the prosperity of the City. The City would always come first.

This was their way.

The Borean way.

The City was rumbling with life, the morning crystals burning with yellow and orange hues, mimicking the rays of the sun. The boiler room chugged loudly, the many pipes jutting from it carrying water and steam to the outermost extremities of The City. Citizens rushed to work either at the textile or food mills, or to the education centers that shaped their future. Everyone fulfilled a specific role. Sloth was not tolerated. Life was purpose. To serve and obey was to flourish.

The hot baths were in the center of The City, and that was Aryan’s destination. His rank of chief in the Borean Force gave him accommodation close to all the necessary amenities. He entered the baths to the echo of several voices he recognized.

The cavernous room was filled with steam, and four men were already submerged in the depths of the crystal water.

They greeted him with nods and raised hands. He stripped off his robe and stepped in beside them.

“How’s Mia?” Fen asked.

“Upset,” Aryan said.

“To be expected,” Earl said. “Assembly will sooth her fears. Hera is feeling much better after the morning session. She’s confident Victor will return.”

“Did he like the valley you found?” Aryan asked.

Earl grinned, his handsome face lighting up. “He couldn’t wait for me to leave. I know he will return.”

“You remember our year?” Fen said. “I almost crud myself. Da almost didn’t leave me. Those days alone in the wild were the worst and the best. I finally learned who I was, what I was capable of. When I bear a son, I will proudly leave him to the Forging,” he added, referring to a young boy’s initiation from boyhood to manhood.

Aryan smiled and listened, but Ivor’s pale, pinched face swam through his mind
. May we meet again.
A son meant prosperity, the possibility of moving up in ranks, but it also meant the Forging, and not all returned from this enforced exile into the wilderness above. On the waxing of the new moon, those who returned would return not as boys but as men.

Earl turned to Cadoc, his face creased in concern. “Hera said that Alma was feeling unwell?”

Cadoc sighed. “Alma’s carrying is coming to an end, but the burden is making her ill. I hope for my son to arrive soon.”

“Praise The Divine!” Fen said.

“Praise The Divine!” They all repeated.

They finished their bath in silence. Leaving the water one by one, they donned their uniforms. White and brown furs and thick britches of the finest leather made up their attire. Their hair, kept long, was a sign of their warrior status. They twisted it into a cue at the nape of their necks with black leather.

“What’s on the agenda today, Chief?” Bojan asked.

Aryan adjusted his headband, a mark of his station. “Today we hunt.”

They left The City behind, taking the tunnel up to the surface and into a wilderness coated in patches of white. The chill brushed against the areas of skin left exposed by the sealskin-lined furs, but it barely affected them. Borean blood ran hot in their veins, the fish-oil-coated seal and caribou-hide boots and furs did the rest. Summer simply turned the snow to icy pools, but the air continued to bite.

“Kemp’s Hand spotted musk ox to the east while returning from their seal hunt two days ago,” Bojan said. Kemp, another commander in the Borean Force, headed up his own group of warriors.

Aryan nodded. “Let’s go.”

They trudged east. Amba and Disa, two of their large hounds, pulled the sledge that would carry their kill. He was proud of his Hand, had picked his four warriors himself, raising them from the reserve ranks to proper status in the Force. There were twenty-five Hands in total, made up of teams of five. They were responsible for hunting, scavenging, and the collection of goods from the discovery ship; the vessel that sailed to new lands and brought back essential goods. He was proud to serve The City, proud of his purpose.

“What I wouldn’t give for a warm cunny,” Bojan muttered.

“I know what you mean,” Cadoc said.

“What do you mean? You have Alma,” Fen said. “And you!” He pointed at Bojan. “You had your cunny and you broke it!”

“What the Frack!” Earl laughed.

Fen sighed, his long, mischievous face arranged in a pout. “I swear I think The Divine has forgotten about me. If I don’t get assigned a life-mate at the next shipment, I may just have to hand-fast with my . . . well, hand.”

Bojan glared at Fen over his shoulder. “I didn’t break her, she was already broken.”

“Or maybe your ugly mug drove her insane?” Fen said.

Bojan’s high cheeks flushed red.

Earl cleared his throat, his laughter dying. He shot Fen a pointed look.

Fen frowned, looking confused.

Aryan sighed. Fen could be deliberately dense when he wished. Bojan was pleasant-natured most of the time, but nothing riled him more than the reminder that his life-mate had proven to be imperfect. Aryan knew that he blamed himself for the unsuccessful union. Fen, however, was born without a sensitive bone in his body, and no filter for his mouth.

“A virgin cock shouldn’t speak of things he doesn’t understand,” Aryan said.

“Crud, Chief, that’s just plain mean,” Fen pouted.

Earl and Cadoc laughed. After a moment Bojan joined in.

They continued in silence for a while, Aryan’s mind firmly on the hunt. He was trained in all weaponry, but swords or guns were of little use on a hunt. Spear and bows worked best. The east was a blotchy landscape of green and white plains. The herd would be easy to spot in such open landscape; the problem would be sneaking up on it.

“They post the new rotation in a few days,” Bojan said.

“You think we’ll make the cut?” Fen asked.

“I don’t know,” Aryan said.

Fen perked up, his young face filled with eagerness. “I get my feet on that discovery ship, and I’m not coming back without a beauty. I bet I could find a beauty to rival even yours, Chief.”

Aryan smiled. “Best of luck with that.”

The warriors chuckled.

Aryan’s chest swelled with pride. Mia was indeed an exotic find. With soot-dark hair, copper skin, and large, gray eyes, she was startling to behold. He had been honored when the Enforcer had gifted her to him upon his promotion to chief. Borean-born women were scarce, and without the discovery ships’ occasional shipments of beauties, they would struggle to procreate. Coloring didn’t matter as long as they were fertile, for Borean seed was strong, and Borean characteristics always prevailed. The men—and occasionally women—born from the unions were always fair-haired and blue-eyed.

The landscape shifted from mainly white to startling green. This was the hunting ground, filled with wildlife for their taking.

Up ahead a dark mass came into view.

The musk ox herd.

Aryan raised his arm, making a fist. His men stopped.

Bojan instructed the hounds to stay with the sledge as the Hand continued forward.

Aryan made a circling motion with his finger, and the warriors moved stealthily around the herd and up a steep incline.

Musk ox were dangerous creatures if encountered up close; Aryan had seen one fend off a wolf once, scooping it up with its horns, flinging it up in the air, and trampling it to death when it hit the ground. At a distance the Hand could pick them off one by one, but only if they stayed upwind and remained hidden.

If they were lucky they may even be able to catch a few younglings. The elder ones could be used for meat but were mainly hunted for their coats; the wool used in the textile factories to make most of their clothes. The young, however, were only ever used for meat, but if the herd spotted the men, they would surround their young, making it impossible to get a good shot.

The herd, oblivious to danger, continued to graze, heads bent to the earth.

Aryan crouched low, drew his bow and took aim; his sights set on a youngling at the edge of the herd. He was about to let his arrow fly when movement to the herds left caught his eye. He lowered his bow a fraction, not believing what he was seeing.

It was a boy, one of the Forging initiates, no doubt. A short stocky thing, swaddled in furs and running directly at the herd with his spear held high.