Redd And The Wyld

Redd and the Wyld

Page 1--Meyer

Redd and the Wyld John Meyer Copyright 2007 All rights reserved 34107 words Prologue: A lost people. Humans are but the fools of the gods, and their life a comedy to play out over the ages. -Ancient Cibolan Saying. The Wyld War is a war which teaches us both the desirability of self-discipline and self-denial, and at the same time the dangers of inexperience. The Wyld were the finest warriors in the world, and are still a match for the best army, but they had come out of their lands with no idea of the temptations of mankind or how to resist them. They were like children who had discovered the adults away, and got into as much mischief as they could before Jerochaim could send them back to their 'room'. If the world must pray for something, pray that they never grow up and leave on their own. Josua Kerris, The Wolf and the lion: Jerochaim Kayan and the Wyld

The sky grew darker as the last remnants of the Wyld wound their way slowly north, across the barren lands that they had once called home and would call home again. Clothed in the same brown short tunic and head wrap, they walked to what they saw as their condemnation. And above the mountains, the temple stood, an implacable gallows set at the end of a large valley. It was cold there, colder than in most of the Wyldlands. A rickety wagon headed the long train. Allan Chernov, a young man of only twenty-one summers, steered the two gray horses carrying the last of their belongings. Allan had made this trip two other times, each time bringing spoils from the eastern lands to Joab, their god, with singing and laughing and glee at the success each victory brought them. A few sacks of food, the barest that they could take before they were pushed back home, would have made the merest pile amongst what they had once brought. Allan feared Joab was hungry, but what would satisfy him was human blood, not quickly cooked bread. “Stop that rocking,” a voice said. Allan turned his head to the right. His father, a gray haired old man, was waking from his drunken stupor. As always, Allen couldn't help but feel revulsion when he looked upon him. Adande had been a fierce warrior against the outsiders, cutting them down with his spear like grass. The only way he would cut down an outsider now is if they passed out from the stench. “We are almost there, father,” he told him. The man nodded, then leaned over and went back to sleep. For the thousandth time Allan wondered what had gone wrong. The enemies of the east had always been easy killing for the Wyld, too fattened by half to have the stomach to fight in an honorable fashion. Another day, and they would have finally taken Cibola and avenged themselves of the scourge the priests and wizards had put upon them. A wind came from the south, carrying A baby's cry came to his ear. He shook his head. So many dead, and the outlanders had not cared if it was old man or woman or child that their swords brought down. He looked back, and saw men and women and children dragging their feet and looking down at their feet. Every one of them men or women or children, wore the same short brown tunic

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fastened at the belt. When one of them looked up, Allan could not see the fire that marked a Wyld's eyes, but a sad, distant spark that was weakening with each step to the temple. Allan wanted to shout, to scream to pull their heads up, that they were not dead yet. He wanted to grab each one of them by the nape of the neck, look into their eyes and ask them if they intended to do the job that Jerochaim Kayan had started. And every time he thought that, a counter point went off in his head, that maybe they were right. Two men pulled up on horseback. A large, heavyset man, and a shorter, if just as heavyset. Both of the men had cut their red hair in shame. The taller man wore the gray cloak of a paternas. Many of the others had also shaved their heads. Allan did not; he kept his sorrow and rage and shame hidden. As the son of a chief, a drunken chief at that, Allan had the duty to be the hope of his people when they gave up all hope. The shorter man pulled along side, “Uln wants to talk.” he said. “What is there to talk about?” Allan replied. But he knew. Each night it had been the same argument, Uln's clan was the largest of those that remained. Tyr's clan, the Olmovs had been greater before it had been wiped out, making one last stand for the rest of them to flee while they stayed and prepared to join their leader in the afterworld. It had only been Allan's strength of will that had kept Uln moving, even while they had the same argument each night. He feared Uln had had enough. The taller man motioned the shorter one to drop back a bit. “We need to find shelter,” Uln said. “We have marched the length of the Wyldlands, man, and my people need rest!” “We need to do what the Sages tell us to do,” he said, with more patience than he felt. “Rest will come soon enough.” And longer than you wish, too, I fear. “But our people are tired! They wish to settle down and live peaceful lives, not march onto eternal damnation! Tell me how that is the command of Joab, to march towards an empty temple in the middle of a desert! I have heard that the mountains to the east hold much treasure, and no outlanders to horde it.” “Then go!” Allan said. “If you wish to desert your duty, not on my head be it,” Uln nodded. At a curt whistle and a hand motion, about a third of the caravan broke off, moving towards the east. Uln's tribe was the largest remaining, or rather had been the largest. Allan noted that all the men leaving were bald. The few that remained who were still young were no more than a fifth; most, like Allan, hid their shame like a precious pond. He looked at the shorter man, who was also bald. “And you wish to go to, Ohm?” He asked bitterly. The man shook his head. “Gold won't do you much good if there's no food you can buy with it.” He said slowly. “I'll stay with you, if you'll have me in your tribe. Let us face the judgment of the Gods, and go with a smile on our faces.” Allan patted him on the back. “Now that's the spirit of the Wyld.” he said. “Is that really why you stayed?” Ohm shrugged. “I've heard the only thing to eat in the mountains is goat, and goat meat catches in my teeth.” Allan threw back his head and laughed. “We'll soon have beef, my friend.” he told Ohm. The one thing that they had managed to keep was a good herd of cattle from Parsian fields. It was accidental, in a way; between the Parsians and Kayan, the only way to run involved stealing the cattle or slaughtering them. So they had pushed them in front of them all the way to the border. His father shifted and sat up uneasily. “What was that about, my boy,” he slurred. Allan's good spirit faded. “I think we solved the problem of the food running low,” Allan told him. “Don't go thinking that you are the chief just yet,” he said. “So long as my hand holds this

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spear, I am chief!” He shook the spear he picked up in the back of the wagon, as if making a point Point made, he went back to sleep, his gray cloak covering him. The train came to large opening inside of a mountain ridge, and it was there. The temple of the Wyld, the sole temple of the Wyld to their one and only protector, reared up, it's black stone standing out even among the storm clouds. They walked the thousand yards across the field when Allan threw up a hand. The party halted. He got down from the wagon as four other men approached him. They were all clan chiefs, much older than he, but all wore the same gray cape symbolizing their rank. Three of those four faces were lined; two were gray, but all of them were tough men who still knew the way of a spear or sword. One of the men held up his hand. “Do you mean to go in Allan, or should we wait for your father?” His voice was riddled with scorn. All of them had seen what had happened to Adande. Allan felt shame in his belly, then stuffed it in a corner of his mind, and it was no more. There was just the duty of the moment. “I will go,” Allan said. “It is forbidden to approach the shrine while ill.” The lie was cold on his tongue. Some of Chernov tribe had muttered that it had to be a sickness that Adande woke every morning drunker than any other Wyld falling asleep at night. But they kept their mutters down when Adande was around, and when they thought Allan might not hear. Why did Joab have to curse him with such good ears? The four men nodded, and they dropped their spears into a pile, along with their swords and knives. “Before the god I go, unarmed and accepting his judgment,” each man said. Then they started walking in a straight line to the tower. The eldest carried a bundle wrapped in cloth, six foot long. Allan breathed hard, and hoped that the Sages had been right; he was not one to incur being turned to stone because somebody misinterpreted the signs. But when the eyes sparkled, you went. Allan felt a hard hand on his shoulder. It was Noah. “None of us think that you are responsible for your father,” he said. Allan merely nodded. “Enough of such talk, the gods await.” At the foot of the tower stood a woman in complete white. Her hair was as black as the night, and her skin pure and cream colored. No Wyld but the Sages had black hair. She bowed to them. “I am Lilith,” she said. “Sage of the God Joab.” If asked, she would say she was Lilith Chernov or Lilith Federov or whatever clan asked, and each clan would accept it. Allan Chernov named himself, as did Noah Federov, Jochai Yurev and Tyrman Putai, each bowing down on one knee for a second before raising up again, never taking his eyes off the woman. The woman held out her hands. “You brought it?” she asked. Tyrman took of the wrappings, revealing a simple spear with a short sword blade attached at the end. It was covered in blood save for the metal, which had been painstakingly cleaned. Tyr's spear. The leader of the Wyld. She grabbed the spear and lowered her head. For a moment, they all stood there, transfixed. What was this? Allan took a step towards her. “Sage, I...” The woman's head snapped up, revealing a scowl that hideously twisted her face. Her eyes were two golden stars amid creamy skin. Allan backed up, and landed rear first on the hard ground. “Impertinent fools!” The voice that came out of that mouth was deeper, stronger, than the one before. “You have violated the law! Because of you, half the Wyld lay on the field of battle, slain by filthy outlander scum!” They all knew that voice. Joab, god of the Wyld, the one who had commanded them to go forth and avenge themselves. Noah cowered. “My lord, Jerochaim Kayan...” “Did not beat you half as bad as you deserve, drunkards!” Joab cut him off. She raised her arms, both hands grabbing the spear. Lightning snapped at both ends, burning the rod. Allan

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uncovered his eyes for a second, and realized that the fire was flaring around the entire length of the staff, except where her hands held it. Ohm was right, he thought, we are doomed. “For years, I held my hand over your army, and you destroyed and burned villages to the ground. Seven of their men would flee from but one of yours, and the wails of their women lashed out as your battle song. All this, and do you not take the temple city as commanded! No, you spend your time looting and plundering the wine houses, growing as fat as the people you oppose!” Here it comes, Allan said. He tried to smile. It hadn't been that bad of a life. He only regretted that he had not married Sarah, and given her children to remember him. Then again, Sarah and her children might not be around either. The Sage turned to him, and smiled. “Great heavens of the Gods, what is going on here?” Allan recognized that slurred voice. He did not even turn around. Adande stumbled towards the temple; Ohm was trying to convince him to go back, dragging on his tunic. He looked at the woman with her eyes ablaze. “Do I know you? Whoever you are, do you by chance happen to have a flask of wine.” That was it! The Wyld were about to be destroyed, the race wiped off the face of the earth, and this drunkard demanded more wine. Allan didn't feel himself move until he had grabbed the spear out of the woman's eyes. In one swift motion he turned and tossed the spear. The blade went straight through Adande, and he collapsed to the ground. Ohm released him, stepping back and then looking at Allan with a mixture of horror and pity. The oddness of that look made Allan come to his senses. I have killed on temple grounds, and my own father besides!” He bowed to the woman on both knees, head hitting the ground. He expected to feel the flesh torn from his bones. When he looked at Sage, she had tilted her head slightly. “That is better,” Joab said. Allan took a second for moisture to return to his mouth. “I have killed, Holy Joab, I have slain my own kin...” Joab/Lilith cut him off. “You have erased a blemish from your line that would have cost you your life,” Joab replied. The woman turned her head the other men, still cowering on the ground. “Learn from him! While you would beg for mercy, he removed the diseased branch from his line. He has shown his zeal for me.” “Holy of Holies, we wait your orders,” Noah said. “You have sinned, but perhaps you may still be redeemed,” the voice responded. The woman marched back and forth in front of them, a commander reviewing his troops. The whole effect was rather ludicrous; a Sage would not raise hand or fist to defend even her life, a peaceful vessel for an angry god. “Three hundred years work of training you, preparing you, destroyed, but there is time. The first thing you must do is kill every man amongst you who is enslaved to the flask. Let nothing but water touch your lips!” “Yes,” they all said. Allan's mind ran, however. Every third man in the Wyld was hostage to the bottle, drinking themselves to sleep. Forget the Wyld destroying themselves with their depression; Joab would do it for them with his rage. “Retrieve the spear,” Joab said directly to Allan. Allan ran over to his father's body. His eyes were still fixed, and he had a look of stupid surprise on his face. He wrenched the blade free and brought it back to the woman, with the blood still on in. Her eyes were still glowing. “Second, you must spend your days wandering the land as nomads, going from place to place, never staying anywhere beyond the time needed to gather food and hunt,” Joab told them. “Clan shall divide from clan, and you will spend your time atoning for your sin.” The woman put out the spear in front of her. “The return of this spear to your hands will be the sign that it is time to conquer again. But know this: none of you may take of the spear, or even enter the temple before that moment. Those that try will suffer a fate worse than death itself.” “But great lord,” Allan said. “If we are not to take it...” “It will be returned to you by one not of your blood and handed over to the one he chooses,” Joab's voice cut him off. “You must learn humility, and discipline, before I can do anything useful with

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you. Now go, and take this piece of offal with you.” Joab said, pointing at the body. The men turned around, but Joab's voice stopped Allan. “Not you, Allan, not yet. I have something for you to do.” He stopped, and the others went along. Jochai and Tyrman grabbed Adlande's corpse and carried it back to the wagons; Ohm followed them, giving Allan looks over his back. He waited until they were out of earshot. Allan bowed. “My lord,” he began. “Uln's tribe...” “Violated my command to come to my temple, yes son, I know,” Joab responded. “For that sin, you are to ride against his people, destroying and pillaging from amongst them.” “We are to slay them, I shall have my people ready and...” “You are not to slay them on the desert,” he said. “Wait until they have settled into the mountain valley and become rich by the gold they shall find. Then you may kill, and take from them what they so coveted.” “Yes, my lord. Was that all?” “No.” the priestess turned her face south. “Even as we speak, Jerochaim Kayan leads his men towards through a gap with the intention of finishing what he started. Do not be alarmed, my child,” she patted him on one shoulder. “He rides only with a hundred men, the rest of the easterners being too frightened to do anything but cower behind walls they think will protect them. I have chosen him to lead you. You are to go and kill every one of his party except for him. You shall not harm a hair on his body, even though he will suffer a wound that will not permit him to enter this temple, but I shall be kind, and extend his lifetime beyond any man could see. Then you will tell him about the curse; show him it, if need be. I have need of him, and the fire in his belly against you will be a fire in his belly for you when the time comes, you and your line will serve him, and he shall raise you high.” Allan nodded, but his mind was racing like one of the sand tornadoes on the plain. Jerochaim is to lead the Wyld, impossible! The man never met a Wyld he liked except dead and rotting impaled. And serve him? I would as soon serve the demons in hell. But you did not quarrel with a god if you valued your life. “As you say, so shall I obey.” “So you shall,” Joab said. “Finally, one last thing. When you lead your men to kill the drunkards, you shall do this, as well as anyone who picks up a flask amongst you from here on...” Allan listened, his mind focusing. Had he not been so afraid he might have laughed.

As the caravan headed south, the young woman watched them go until they were but specks on the far side of the desert., then turned back and entered the large circular building behind her. Treasure lay in heaps on the floor all around, the tenth from what the Wyld had taken from their lands. She was a Sage, one who had been especially chosen by Joab to serve as his voice amongst the people. As always, she could not remember what happened when Joab required her lips and body, only that a strange spear now rested in her hands. “Have I done what you wish?” she asked. You have, my child. But there is one thing I require of you, that will pain you terribly. A single skylight focused a beam on a concrete slab. This place was old; Sages had once worshiped here and sought the wisdom of Joab, at the base of the mountain. Quickly she put the spear on the slab upright. Almost as soon as it left her hands a blue nimbus surrounded it, then disappeared. She stepped back a few steps, then bowed. The rumbling of the earth told her it was not done by far. She felt a changing inside of her, limbs stretching, muscles growing. There was pain, so much pain. She raised her head and screamed, and a beam of light crashed through the window and struck her.

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When the dust cleared, the temple was bare as it was before. The spear still stood on the slab, upright and unmoved, as it would for centuries to come. But a new addition. Behind the spear, stretching nearly to the top of the temple, a stone beast, half bull, half female, stood roaring silently, it's head thrown back up to the now uncovered opening at the top. Outside the temple the mountain became a volcano again, boulders slowly descending to, then breaking upon the ground. Two large boulders, more properly terms halves of a mountain, slammed shut in front of the canyon opening faster than any man could move.

Redd and the Wyld

Page 7--Meyer Chapter 1: A Way around

The sun stood high in the sky as the two men crawled up the side of the abatement carefully. They moved slowly, careful not to raise up any dust. They made an odd pair, a man in animal furs and brown jerkin pants with a man in a fine red cape and broad-brimmed red hat, in the Cibolan fashion. The man in the furs, older than the other by at least twenty years, pulled out a telescope and handed it to the other man, all the while motioning for him to keep the far side covered lest the gleam attract the guards. The man in red nodded, and kept one hand over the far side while he surveyed. A valley came into view, the border between lesser Cibola and Parsian lands. A troop of guards stood implacably out front of an opening in the mountains. He took in their purple coats and ridiculous winged conical helmets, and swore. Royals. The guards of the Parsian court, hard men and all incorruptible. A scream drew his attention down. He swiveled, and a man came into view, struggling while two Royals dragged him up a flight of stairs. A gallows. He couldn't hear what the man was saying, but he didn't think he was discussing places to stay for the night. His struggles did him no good. Within five minutes they hanged him. The man turned his view down, and noticed a wagon turned over with the floor of the wagon cut out. Right where Redd had stored the canbis plants. “Let's go,” Redd handed the telescope back to the guide. “It was a good attempt, wasn't it, Josua?” Josua said nothing. Josua rarely did. They gathered up their horses and rode back along the Cibolan rode. It took them a good three hours to get back to their camp, with Redd doing most of the talking. A group of wagons circled around a pit Four guards in blue capes like Redd's, but their hair black where Redd's was blond, looked up from a dice game. “What's the news?” One of the men, a broadshouldered one said. “It's like that bard said, Tel, they've got the border blocked.” He replied. The man shook his head. The youngest of the group spoke up. “What do we do now, Redd?” Marcello was on his first trip out of Cibola. His face lacked the lines of the others, and a great deal of baby fat still flushed out his cheeks. Donatello was supposed to go, but he convinced Redd to take his younger brother instead; Donatello's marriage would be in three weeks. “Now, Marcello, we head home,” Redd said. “There isn't much else to do.” “What!” A female voice screamed. Redd turned his head. A woman in a fine blue silk dress came stomping towards them. Latrelle del Grotto was more than a pretty woman, her fair skin attracting the sellers at the Grand Market in Cibola along with her voice, but right now she wore an ugly scowl as though she wanted to squash everything in sight, Redd first. “You listen here, you gutter thief. I paid good money to the Organization to see this cargo through, and I intend to see Panem Dea!” she said, holding a finger under his nose. “You were supposed to be the best.” “The best at chasing off bandits,” Redd snapped back. “You expect me to run a gauntlet of veteran soldiers and guarding four wagons with nothing more than a few bows and arrows and some spears. Light woman, I'm a thief, not a suicide artist.” “Veteran soldiers?” Tel scoffed. “These are Parsian soldiers, man. Put up a good fight, and they'll roll over.” “The only thing I saw them roll over was the wagon,” Redd told him, shaking his head. If there was a stereotype or a cliche, Tel believed in them more than the gods. All Tae'Peatians were sneaky, all

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Westphalians were good with money, and a Parsian would surrender to field mice given half a chance. “I'd sooner not risk a neck popping for your estimation of men you have never seen. Would you?” Tel shook his head; as good as he was in a bluff, he folded like a ruined cake if you showed him even a hint of a fight. Redd's first encounter with him had been when Tel thought him a dandy customer showing off in the Greased Pig to the common workers and tried to bully him; one knife to the throat, and the man had been all smiles and bows as if they were the oldest friends in the world. She hesitated. “Well, you know about those things. Couldn't you...bribe them or something.” she said. “Wonderful, I've always wanted to see what my guts looked like on the ground,” he said dryly. “Light woman, they're Royals, sworn to crown and law. They'd have their sword through me in two blinks.” The Organization had men in almost every nation, in every circle of power or anywhere there was money to be made by flouting the law. The only exceptions seemed to be the Wyld (and gods knew nobody wanted to get near them) and the Parsian Royals, at least for the time being. “Wasn't our fault that the King's son got into some canbis with the fae dust on it,” Marcello piped up. That had been the tale brought west; the prince had thrown himself from a building one day, screaming about the Wyld coming south, and the Parsians found some of the stuff near a table in his room. Supposedly they had also found about twenty skins of wine, too, but Parsians were proud of their wines, and Redd didn't think the king, angry as he may be, would be able to burn the vineyards without a riot that would make the Wyld war seem tame. “No, but we take the burden anyway. Anyway, the King's not too long for the world, and when he's gone, we'll be back to dealing like we were before.” He had seen it before; the fire in a ruler's belly for justice usually lasted as long as the summer season, or until somebody pointed out the futility of stopping something men did willingly. “Why don't we think this through after lunch,” Tel, the man who had spoken up first suggested. “Nobody's moving either Panem Dea or Cibola before that.” Everybody nodded, and they all went to bring out the pots for the trip. Truth be told, Latrelle was not the only one who didn't want to go back to Cibola. This whole mess had started when a merchant tricked Redd with a bag of false coins wrapped around some real ones after he retrieved a stash of jewelry from a Tae'Peatian ship. If the fact that the ship had been out to see nearly a mile wasn't bad enough, the ghosts and living skeletons on the thing were, each seeming to wave a sword or ax and none too happy about being woken up. Troubling things for a man who claimed the protection of god to face. It had only been when Redd made it back to the Greased Pig after delivering the goods that he discovered he had been the mark rather than the thief. In that regard Selene del Gaza had made a fatal error. Redd was not some simple thief who would be mollified by a bottle. Although he would kill no woman (that thought made him shudder, as it did any Cibolan), he didn't see any breasts on her shop, so when Selene woke the next morning, she found one of her shops had been reduced to a pile on the ground. The only thing left was a pendant on a pole, situated right in the center of her shop. One of the pendants Redd had been hired to steal. Two things marked Redd; one was his capacity for revenge, which was great even as far as Cibolans took things, the other was his ability to go off half-cocked with no regard. Which is why he ignored Cenn, who was pleading with him when he went out. Later he found out why: that woman, Selene, was the lover of one of the capos, lords of the Cibolan underworld, and a rather powerful one at that. That, Redd reflected, was why he was out here between Cibola and Parsian lands. Cenn would talk to the capos; Redd was too useful to be killed for this, and Donatellan changed mistresses as easily as other men changed their short pants, but until the capo's temper cooled, he had to get out of the city. Redd smirked to himself. And at least until the other trap I pulled sprang, he thought. He was not a man to leave a deed half done. Ah well, the sewers weren't really all that bad; just keep an oiled rag

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over your mouth and watch your step. He went over to the group of men, who had crouched down and were eating a lunch of jerked beef and cabbage. Josua stood a few feet away, smoking on his pipe. “Josua says they were cracking open the wagons,” Tel said. He was the roundest of them, but more muscle than fat. A regular Cibolan papa, black curly hair and twig between his teeth, Redd nodded. “So I guess subterfuge is out of the question.” “You want to risk your neck on it?” Redd asked again. If it weren't for those wagons, Redd might have tried himself. They had hollowed them out, then set the plants up inside them. The Parsians, though banning the plant, didn't have that much experience in false floors, or Redd had told himself. Tel had not been the only one to over- or underestimate people he had not seen. Tel shook his head. “What about the sea?” Marcello said. “My father said that they have huge rafts that haul goods from Cibola to Tapia, the Parsian capital. We could hire one of those.” “And what will we pay them with?” Latrelle asked. “If you think out of my share, you can forget it, boy!” “Easy, Latrelle, the boy does not know,” Redd told her. “Marcello, we could hire a fleet of rafts, but it would cost us all of these goods,” he pointed at the carpets and packs on top, “as well as a good portion of the real merchandise too. And the guards at the other end will want to search our cargo to make sure we paid proper tariffs, and then we'd be right back where we started.” Marcello brows furrowed at that. Late into the evening they tried thinking of anything and everything to disguise the plants or sneak them around, but to no avail. It all ended when Redd half jokingly suggested they send back to town for Harold, so he could whip up an invisibility spell of some sort. He knew that the Parsians, religious as they were, detested magic, and set wards all along their borders. Not to mention leaving Harold alone with the canbis was as bad as dumping it; he could put a Roin to shame with his knowledge of intoxicating agents. “Is it all that necessary for us to cross the border unseen?” Heads went up. It was Josua. Redd blinked twice; he had never seen the man speak more than a couple of words here or there. He could teach stones about silence, and the wind made a ruckus compared to him. “Well, yes or no, do we really need to cross Parsia to get to Panem Dea?” “Well, no Josua, I suppose we could conjure up a spell to fly us all there,” Redd said sarcastically. “Of course we have to cross Parsia; it's the only way to get to Panem Dea in the civilized lands!” “There's the trick,” Josua said. “Supposing we went north, then east just outside of the border. The Parsians wouldn't bother us in the mountains.” The mountains, which meant the.... “The Wyldlands!” Redd blurted out. “Your suggesting we cross the Wyldlands. Josua, I never heard you talk before, but if this is what will come out of your mouth, you should have kept it shut, that's insanity!” “Is it?” He shrugged. “You were all fired up to get those plants to Panem Dea. What's the one place where the Parsians will not go no matter what?” “And did you even think about why they won't go up there?” Redd retorted. Five hundred years ago the Wyld had come out of their lands, burning and pillaging everything for some reason only known to them. Only Jerochaim Kayan, the Westphalian general, had united the Grand Coalition in time to turn them back. But even with the Wyld fleeing, nobody had wanted to attack the Wyld again and risk a second destruction; they sealed up the two large passings with as much stone and mortar as they could find. Only Kayan, enraged beyond belief, had found some pass with a hundred of his crack troops, the Heart Guard, and gone in after them. None had returned from that pass, and nobody had the heart to try finding it after that. “Begging your pardon good sir,” Latrelle said. “But even assuming they do not mind, are you

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suggesting we take our pack horses up the mountains. A ride like that could break legs faster than anything.” He smiled. “There is one way around the mountains, through a underpass in the mountain ridge, that leads along a path just in the south of the country, it winds along the border to another underpass, which empties a good three days ride south of Panem Dea.” Redd thought for a moment. There was no pass up the mountains that he knew of. The Grand Coalition had piled up stones and mortar across the main pass the Wyld had come out of into the southern lands, as well as the one in the north.. No pass...except for one. The one in which the leader of the Grand Coalition and his Heart Guard had gone through, chasing the Wyld with the purpose of their destruction. “Jerochiam's Pass,” he said. “You're talking about Jerochiam's pass.” Josua nodded.

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Gray mountains loomed above them like an immortal guard.

The sky was relatively clear,

but Redd could notice a few dark clouds pushing here and there across the sky. But all of them were focused on a little path that you wouldn't notice unless you were paying attention. Big enough for just one horse and carriage across it went down, then straight to the north. So this is Jerochiam's Pass Redd thought. When he was a boy being tutored in reading and the like, his favorite story had been The Mountain Wolf: Jerochiam and the Wyld War. He had often times played at being Jerochiam, marching against the dreaded Wyld to save the city of the gods from destruction from the savages. How Jerochiam, angered beyond control at the destruction the Wyld had wrought, ignored his own people and the others of the Grand Coalition and set out in pursuit of the Wyld, so that they might never harm the land again. And here they were, on the same place that the Heart Guard had went in and never returned. No one knew what happened to them. He feared that they might just find out firsthand. Josua was moving from carriage to carriage, making sure everything was tied down squarely. “Are we ready to go?” Marcello piped up. “I can't wait to see the Wyld land, maybe even see a Wyld for myself.” Redd groaned; the last thing he wanted to see was a Wyld. “We won't see a Wyld if we're lucky, and we won't attract one's attention either.” Josua said, echoing Redd's thoughts. It was as if the prospect of the Wyldlands had opened his mouth like the torrent of a dam. “There are rules, now pay attention for your lives. We will not veer to the left or the right of the path, and we will take nothing that lives. Absolutely nothing! If we must we'll eat grass, or some of the fruit trees, but no man will cut so much as a twig from a tree without my permission! If you happen to see a Wyld, say nothing unless he says something first, and give no gesture that makes you a threat.” “I kinda liked the silent Josua better,” Redd muttered. Josua looked at him sharply. “My silence will mean your end, Cibolan, so keep your ears open and maybe we survive this trip. Now follow me and do not raise a sound! With that he spurred his own horse on, down the path. Redd and the rest of the caravan followed slowly. The path slowly widened, until when they finally entered the caves it was a highway to match the Primio Via in Cibola, though it was as dark as the inside of Redd's boots and smelt damp, along with the stench of rotting things. Redd took out a handkerchief and wrapped it around his mouth. He saw several others do the same. Latrelle, having no handkerchief of her own, simply took out a fan and waved it as if to send the smell another way. Redd almost was relieved when one of the horses took a crap right in front of him. Maybe that would relieve the smell. To Josua, it was as if some one dropped a jar onto a floor. He halted his horse so suddenly the others almost ran into each other. Motioning them to be quiet, he quickly grabbed a spade from his back pack and dug a hole, then put the dung in that and buried it back again. At this point, Redd had some doubts about whether the Wyld were all that accommodating to strangers. Once satisfied, Josua got back up and started riding. It continued that way for the whole of the first day, and onto the second. Each time one of the animals dumped a load, Josua made the rider bury it. Finally, on the second day of that, Redd held him up. “We won't get anywhere if we keep doing that,” he told him. “Are they really that touchy?” “Yes,” he told Redd. “They may not come out this far, but there's no use in picking up bad habits like leaving a refuse trail for them to follow.” He thought about it for a moment, then went back

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to one of the wagons and emptied some sacks. Working some rope this way and that, he hitched the bag to his own horse's rear, attaching it to the saddle. Redd and the others did the same, shaking their heads as they did so. Suppers were small for the most part, Josua cooking them on a utensil that was half stew pot, half oven that provided a lot of heat, though not as much as a full fire. He never allowed them anything but one small lantern passed between them. Latrelle offered to sing for them, but Josua refused—the last thing they needed was something echoing off the sides of the caves, but they did tell stories in a hushed voice that made them seem more like conspirators than travelers. After about a week in the pitch black cave, Redd looked over at Josua as they were settling in for a night of rest. “How do you know all this much about the Wyld?” Redd asked him. “I'd never heard you say you went anywhere in the north.” “I've talked with some travelers from time to time,” he said. “And I've read books. Once I was discharged from the Westphalian army, there really wasn't much for me to do. I got a good pension, and the promise of a farm should I ever retire to Westphalia proper, but traveling was more my thing, and where I could not travel myself, I traveled in the mind.” “And this pass?” Redd asked. “That was from one of my friends, a fellow freeblade,” he told Redd. Freeblades, veteran soldiers discharged from armies after their time was up and a few who escaped one step ahead of a stoning, sold their services to this lord or that who needed a bodyguard a champion or an assassin. They ranged on both sides of the law. “The man had charge of a minor son of a lord who needed to get to Panem Dea in a hurry ahead of another man. Dorn never really said what it was about, but the way he put it implied a marriage in danger. The other man had taken his time getting to Panem Dea the long way, thinking the other man would never pass him up. Imagine his surprise when he came to a mansion only to have the rival he left in a trap in Cibola open up the doors for him.” “So this is Jerochiam's pass?” Marcello said. “I'd read the books, but never actually thought that I would be walking down the same path the savior of civilization walked?” Josua smirked. “Was he? Oh I don't doubt he lead the Grand Coalition, like they said, but somehow all of the stories seemed to forget the fact that no Westphalian had gone to war, honest ground war, in over a century, since the war with the Roin. The Pirate War was fought between ships, not troops of soldiers, and as soon as they finished that up, the nobles were all too willing to get back to the business of business. Westphalians were merchants, tree-cutters and gold-diggers. Those types don't become soldiers overnight, you know.” “But the books say that the Westphalian armies were the finest soldiers in all the land?” Marcello protested. “One of them could face twenty Wyld and not break a sweat.” “Boy, nobody but a wizard could face anybody twenty to one, and even that's a doubt,” Josua retorted. “Jerochiam was a merchant, and a reader, but the books often don't tell the whole story. Do you remember the story about how he destroyed twenty-five thousand Wyld on the fields of southern Dachin by using the Ortan's Dragonfire? How he slung them like a farmer separating wheat from chaff?” “Of course, everybody knows that story,” Redd pointed out. “But do they know what happened immediately after that? After he set off the fire, he ordered his men to charge against the Wyld, who were milling about on both sides. And they did just that, right into the very hole that he had left in the ground. Ten thousand Westphalians died because they didn't understand the concept of going around.” He shook his head and chuckled. “That's an odd attitude for a Westphalian,” Redd said. “I thought he was a national hero to you.” “He is,” Josua agreed. “But being a hero does not make you anything but a human. Jerochiam

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was that, warts and all. He was clever, a little too clever, and sometimes it got the best of him.” He looked around at them. “After my service time in the army was up, the king would grant anybody aside from their pension and their farm, one thing in the whole world, as long as it was not the kingdom, and it was not another man's property or life. I asked to be shown the library of Jerochaim Kayan, the final telling of the family line. Each noble family in Westphalia has a scribe, who goes with the head of the household and records his every action. They are oath bound to write down the truth of a man, no matter what the man thinks should be told. The Kayan library is one of four Westphalian lines that have disappeared from the earth, and as such is property of the King. Only royal blood may view that, but the king granted me an exception.” “I was young then, thinking of Kayan as my personal hero—my line has a slight relation to the man—and what I read in there was shocking. You have never seen a man so high minded, so arrogant in all your life! The stories Cibolans wrote got few, if any of the details right.” “So, what was Kayan really like?” Marcello asked. Josua scratched his chin. “There were only two things the chronicles agreed with about what was publicly told of the man. They say he was outwardly religious enough for a Cibolan on a high day, and he always was fond of children. Everywhere he went he had a pocket full of candies to give to the kids. Even when he was raging and killing the Wyld, he had one order for his troops: rape and kill as you will, but the one who touches a child is the one who dies.” Latrelle sniffed, “Of course, rape is naturally the spoils of war,” she said tartly. “Actually, it was more like rape at your own risk,” Josua said. “The Wyld women were as bad as the men. You even looked cross ways at one she'd feed you your own cock and balls for breakfast. I don't think there was one recorded rape of a Wyld woman. In fact, that was another story about the Cibolans. “You see, Cibolans back then were just like they were now, they wouldn't attack a woman,” he looked around at the Cibolan men. “At least not in the open, out from the comfort of the kitchen.” “Watch your mouth, Westphalian,” Tel said around a mouthful of jerky. “As you wish,” Josua shrugged. “However it was, the Wyld general Tyr realized this, and exploited it. He would send wave after wave of women against them. Since the men wouldn't fight back, or maybe underestimated them, they were slaughtered time and time again. “He hid behind women?” Redd said. “That's cowardly.” “That's effective,” Josua said. “Never confuse cowardice with exploiting a tactic. Well, this frustrated Jerochaim to no end. It's not that Westphalian men enjoy attacking women and more than other men, but the belief up there is you pick up a sword, you take what is given win or lose, and don't complain about what you have or don't have between your legs, or what the other person has. But they were detained in the north, trying to beat the Wyld back towards the mountains. “Jerochaim was in Cibola, trying to persuade the men to unite under himself, when he noticed something. At the temple of Hel, Goddess of the Hearth, women were gathered all around listlessly. When he asked, he was told that they were the daughters and mothers and wives of the men who were being slaughtered. One of his underlings remarked that there were enough to form a troop. That struck something in his mind. “He asked them if they wanted a chance at revenge, and they all agreed. He spent six months training them in tactics, marching and all that. The women picked it up faster than the men, motivated by their own anger and the cries of their children for people they would never see this side of the grave. At the end of it, he pulled a trap. He sent a shipment of weapons supposedly to his northern flank; guarded by what seemed like a hundred Cibolans in full armor. The Wyld sent their women into attack, expecting them to dig in and just defend. I could never get the whole of why they ignored the fact that most of those uniforms were a good hand shorter than the average soldier. The look on their faces when a hundred women charged them was...well the writer said you had to be there. They left one

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captive alive, and forced her to watch while they showed her just what would happen the next time a Wyld woman tried to attack a Cibolan man. They say she ran screaming back to the Wyld when they let her go. It was a bloodbath, and the Cibolan women showed just how bloodthirsty they could be.” He shot Redd a quick look. “Can you really reach down a person's throat and rip out their heart?” “If you know what you're feeling for,” he shrugged. “I've done it once or twice. I wouldn't recommend it unless you aren't squeamish,” he shuddered with his natural Cibolan neatness. “Well, I suppose it's time to turn in.” Josua said “I've expended more than enough wind for today.” Latrelle got up, and Tel grabbed her hand. “Night's lonely,” he said. “Care for some warmth?” “I'd sooner snuggle with a pig,” she spat. He let her hand go, chuckling. “Watch it,” Redd warned Tel. He pulled a knife from his sleeve and began to trim his nails, occasionally pointing it at the thug to make his point. “She's our client, Tel, not one of your tavern wenches.” “Easy, easy, Redd,” he said. “She's the only one here with the right parts, unless you're into that sort of thing.” “I'm not, and she's off limits, Tel. It's only a month and a half, you've gone longer before. You'll have a nice Parsian wench in your arms before you know it.” “One of the busty ones, eh,” Tel said, rubbing his hands together. “Go to sleep.” “Josua, one more question?” Marcello said. “Just one. Why did the Wyld come out of their lands?” Josua stared at him for a second before responding. “The answer to that, friend, is probably more than you or I will ever want to know.” And with that he turned in. Redd stood awake for a few minutes, thinking. The last question rang in his mind. What had made the Wyld come out of their lands. More importantly, what had made Jerochiam go in? Revenge? Westphalians were all merchants, calculated risk and practicality. They didn't strike him as passionate enough to travel hundreds of miles looking for revenge.

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Page 15--Meyer Chapter 3: To Pluck a Flower

After another day, the cave suddenly opened into a flat, barren field of strange rock formations reaching to the sky. The Wyldlands. Marcello had changed into his green cape and hat, and was looking around. “This is the Wyldlands?” he said. “Yep.” Josua replied. “Hot as hell and just about as hospitable.” “Tel and Josua, you scout ahead,” Redd told them. He was clutching a short bow and arrow, as were the other men. Despite Josua's warnings about looking threatening to the Wyld, Redd was not about to give them a free shot just to mollify some red-headed barbarian. “Marcello, take Josua's place on the lead wagon. Don't argue, boy, just do it! Rest of you keep close and to the sides” Marcello sulked, but eventually took the reins while Josua climbed onto Marcello's roan. “Let's get moving,” Latrelle said, as soon as Marcello had his seat alongside her. “Now!” she screamed, hitting Marcello over the head with her fan when he moved to slow for her. The party kept up a brisk pace. The men around the van were tough, competent men, but the Wyldlands shrank them into little more than city dogs. Redd didn't want to think about what they would look like should the Wyld appear. Think about what you can control, and leave the rest for later, he thought. He spent the time keeping up with Latrelle's frenzied pace as she egged on the young boy. Too brisk for Josua's taste, but he really didn't have much say in the matter. Latrelle set a pace like every hour, every minute reduced the price of her wares and that of the canbis. It ended up as a constant battle between Redd and Latrelle as to when they would stop before the horses stepped into a hole they couldn't see because of the encroaching dawn. Tel and Josua started back to the wagons. “We found a pond,” Tel told Redd, tossing him a skin. Redd caught it in mid-air, and drank its last contents. “We're getting low on water.” “You found a pond here?” Latrelle said. “I thought the Wyldlands were all waste and sand, no water at all.” “It's not much of anything, just a little underwater creek in the back of a cave,” Tel said. “Josua smelled it before we even got close.” Josua waved a hand as he got down, a dismissing thing. “All right, why didn't you fill the skins when you were there?” Redd asked. Tel went back to the last wagon and started removing more skins. “Thought we should get all of them filled at once,” Tel replied. “Hey, why doesn't Marcello come with us? We could use a young back.” At that Marcello jumped down from the wagon and looked at Redd expectantly. “Come on, Redd, don't be such a mama, Marcello came out here to get some experience.” “Could I, Redd?” Marcello pleaded. Redd thought for a minute. “All right,” the look on Marcello's face was pure exultation. “But you four get enough water to get us out of here and come right back. Nothing else!” He had promised to watch the kid, but the kid had to get some experience on his own, and what could go wrong with filling water skins? Tel put one beefy arm across Marcello's shoulder. “I'll care for him like my own brother.” Great, Redd thought sarcastically, At least there aren't any bordellos or taverns out here. Tel was one of Cenn's muscle men, good for a riot or a beating and not much else. He turned toward Josua, who was setting up camp. “Aren't going with them?” he asked. “Tel knows what to do, and I want to rest up,” he said. He pulled out a book and an ink pen and plopped himself against the back of a wagon. “And as far as I am concerned, this is my time, leave me alone.” And here Redd had thought the man an ignorant country yokel more interested in a drink than an inkwell and quill. This trip was full of surprises. Redd shook his head, then went back to the lead wagon. Latrelle had gotten herself down and was busying herself with the meal.

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“You aren't arguing?” he said. “I thought you'd be screaming about us stopping while there is still light.” He pointed to the west, where a tiny bit of light still glared over the rocks, playing with the shadows. She sniffed. “I am not so much a fool as you would think,” she said. “I want speed, but I want to get there in one piece, and I do not think that I could carry all of those plants. Nor could you, all apologies to your youth,” she said. That statement rankled—she was younger than his twenty years—but what he said was, “And would you tell me where you got all these canbis plants? They grow fierce on the coast, but never with that strength?” She smiled up at him. “I will, if you tell me one thing?” she asked. “All right,” “Did you actually pull down Selene's shop by yourself?” she said. “You don't look that strong.” “Used a couple of oxen,” he shrugged. “I pulled out the beams and the rest gave way immediately. Now, where are those canbis from?” “I grew them,” she said. “An old hash eater gave me some seeds in exchange for a debt.. He claimed that this was a far better plant than others. I felt sorry for the man so I took them, but later on, I wondered. I tried it, a few times,” she shrugged. “It was difficult for me to quit, so I imagine it will be next to impossible for an addict. Cenn told me you were one for brash action. You know, you really should plot out your revenge a bit more carefully.” “And what is that supposed to mean?” Redd had his hands on his hips. “I mean, you should wait until the other person has forgotten, when they are convinced the danger is over.” She sat on a chair Redd had brought down. “That way, you can inflict shock as well as humiliation.” “What good is revenge when the person you target doesn't even remember?” Redd shrugged. He squatted on the ground. “Besides which, I wanted her to know, along with every other person in the Market district. You get a reputation as a pushover, and everybody wants to cheat you.” “As opposed to being a hothead,” Latrelle said. “Remember what that got you. An early entry into the priesthood, and you do not look so pious to me.” He remembered. Two men walked down a badly lit side street of Cibola, on the West End far from the Isle. One had a patch of copper brown hair on the top of his head as well as a neatly trimmed goatee and a pair of glasses. The second was taller, if stooped over, dressed in the white robe of a priest, cloak pulled up so nobody could see his face. “I can't believe we're doing this,” The man in the white cloak said. “Cenn I'm a thief, not a merchant's guard.” “What you are is dead if I don't get you out of town,” Cenn told him. His own shirt was white save for patches of sweat underneath his arms and his black pants were in the shade of a rotund belly. He was more muscle than fat, however; Cenn Garcia had not made it in the world of the Organization through avarice. They stopped in front of a merchant's store. The lights were all on, in contrast to most of the other places. Cenn opened the door. As soon as they were in, Redd lowered his hood. “So that woman is the capo's lover, big deal,” Redd said. “Donatellan has more lovers than I do shirts.” Women had been the reason he had entered the Organization rather than the army; he wanted to impress a woman he was desperately trying to seduce into bed. And women were the reason why he was still the best, killing off anybody he thought of as a rival with the coldness of a snake. “He's taken a liking to Selene, boy, says he enjoys her singing afterwards.” Cenn snapped. “I could have told you that, but no, you were so hot to take her down a notch you may have worked yourself into the noose.”

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“He enjoys her singing,” Redd said in a mocking tone. “Hopefully he doesn't leave any valuables around where she can sneak them out afterwards.” “Worry less about what she sneaks out, and more about you sneaking out of the city alive and in one piece.” “I still say this will not work. I've hidden out when there has been trouble before, and I can do it again,” he told Cenn “This is the first time you have angered a capo, and few men do that and live,” Cenn replied. “Until I can get him calmed down, you need to make yourself scarce,” He leaned over the wooden counter and strained to look in the back room. “Now where is she?” “I didn't expect you so shortly,” Both Cenn and Redd jumped at the female voice behind them. A woman in a fine blue coat climbed through a door in the floor both men had ignored. She was pretty, and her curls framed an perfectly white face. “You must be Cenn, and...Redd?” she laughed. “I did not expect a priest.” “We heard that you required some assistance of the Organization in a certain affair,” Cenn said. “Delivering...carpets?” “Yes”, she said, pointing to the hatch. “Down there, gentlemen, where you may see the...carpets.” All three went down, and the woman—who gave her name as Latrelle—lit a lantern and handed it to Redd. Below, he could see several rows of plants in pots. Canbis plants; otherwise known as the fumes. She slapped his hand away where it bumped against the low floor. “Careful,” she told him. “There are sun runes up there drawn just so by a man who knew what he was doing, and I am not so well versed to repair them.” “So you wish us to escort you?” Cenn said. “Yes, to Panem Dea.” she said. “This crop will sell for great amounts among their mine workers and border guards. Have a taste of it for yourself.” she offered a pipe to Redd. “Interesting, but I am told that there is an overabundance of...whoa!” The effects of the drug hit Redd. It was total and complete euphoria. He backed up, and Cenn had to hold him up to keep him from landing on his rear. “You see?” Latrelle smiled. “This is no ordinary Divine Mist.” “Where did you get it?” Cenn asked. For some reason, Redd found Cenn's tone of voice slightly funny. He started laughing, and Cenn knocked him on the back of the head. He settled down, but still had some problems fighting a grin. “I would not tell you my secrets, sir, but I would offer you a trade for them,” she said. “A third of the profit from this trip for safe passage to and from Panem Dea. This will not be the only time, and the same terms will apply each time. A merchant earns more in the long term than in one trip.” “tame serms?” Redd said, and laughed. Cenn rolled his eyes. “Half, my good madam. I must pay the organization itself, and for the guards.” “All right, four tenths, and you take care of the guards.” “Agreed,” Cenn said. “But we choose the market. I have a man up there who will get you twice of what you think you can get on your own.” “A man!” Latrelle said. Typical Cibolan attitude; only women were merchants, and they thought down on any man who thought he could get a better deal than they could. But she finally agreed. “Come on, Redd,” Cenn said, leading Redd back up the ladder. “We have work to do.” It took Redd two tries to start up. He turned back to Cenn. “Do we have time to get something to eat?” “Now, Redd.”

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“Do you remember much of that night?” Latrelle asked him. Redd nodded. “I lost a bit of it until Cenn put some food in me,” he said. “I gulped down two whole chickens without even noticing.” She lit a pipe and smoked it, then passed it to him. Not the canbis, however. That was for sale. “I'm not saying this because I am any friend of Selene,” she said. “She is rumored to use short weight and shoddy crafts with customers, and that brings down the rest of us. But I suppose she has enough money to rebuild her shop. She says she has a man who is powerful in her bed, and he will not let her starve.” “That's not the only problem she faces,” Redd grinned. “I can imagine by now she's trying to explain to some very angry Patryn how a large stash of temple ornaments got into her possession.” “Won't this man shield her?” Redd shook his head. “Short weighting the customers, that's one thing, but not even thieves of the Organization will dare steal from a holy place, or protect one who does and is caught. No, I'm afraid Selene will be the guest of honor at a hanging.” He took a swig of water from a bag. “What is this Roberto di Cilla like?” Selene asked. “I still do not believe he can get me a better market than I could myself.” Redd put his hands behind his head. “The best way to describe Roberto is...well, Roberto is Roberto.” “That does not tell me much?” she said, frowning. “Put it to you this way, Roberto makes other Cibolans complain about fussiness,” Redd told her. “He was Cenn's tenante when I was ten, but Cenn had to send him up north because nobody could deal with the man. He was a stickler for detail, and expected everybody else around him to be the same way. He had to use exactly one hundred strokes on his beard in exactly the right way. One off, and he would start the whole thing over again.” “Sounds crazy.” she said. “There was a story about Roberto before he left for Panem Dea. One night, Cenn sent him out to retrieve an object from a minor lord that another one had wanted. He was there the entire night, and barely escaped the noble as he went up in the morning.” “He couldn't locate it?” she said. “No, he found it in ten minutes, but was so repulsed by the man's untidiness that he spent the rest of the night rearranging and cleaning his storage room!” Redd laughed. “The running joke going was that when that noble finally found Roberto, he wouldn't know whether to hang him or make him his chief chamberlain.” “And that is the person who will be our middleman!” “Roberto is odd, but he's the best negotiator and border man around, not to mention a great tenante protecting the wealth of Cenn,” Redd said. “The reason Cenn chose him as tenante was that he figured out who was stealing from him before anybody else did because the man who did it just so happened to be twenty minutes late for his meal, and Roberto noticed that he ate at always the same hour with the same exact meal. That was that man's last dinner. He'll get you a good price for your plants. He can sense the slightest thing wrong in any sort of deal, and he's a stickler for remembering details that other men forget.” “And that business with only carrying exactly 50 of the plants?” “That's Roberto. He will not deal in odd numbers. Which is why when you get there, make sure to bring in the plants two at a time, and arrange them balanced on the table.” Same goes with the carpets, and everything else. If you have an extra, stuff it for now. We'll get them in some other way, but don't offend the man's sensibilities.” “You criminals have a strange world,” Latrelle said.

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“All humans are strange, ma'am, it just depends on how much.” He said. “I wonder where Tel and the others are.” “You know, we do have some time alone, and I prefer your company to that of that pig Tel.” She got up, and grabbed his hand. “Would you care to join me in my tent?” Redd smiled. “Never thought you would ask.” He walked to her tent. When they were in Latrelle pushed herself into his lips, and then drug him down to the ground. A hideous roar awakened Redd, and he put on his pants while Latrelle slept contentedly under the sheets. That had been good; now he knew what made Tel so eager. Outside, he saw that Josua stood beside the lead wagon, a bow in his hands. Redd ran up to him. “You heard that thing too?” he asked. “Damn it if our luck didn't run out. Wonder if the Wyld killed them already. Josua shook his head. “Something is wrong.” he muttered. “That wasn't the Wyld.” “How do you know that?” Redd demanded. “It just is!” he said, then shook himself. “All the writers say that the Wyld shriek was highpitched and deafening. This one was low.” Again the roar came. Redd now could hear it better. Josua was right: this sounded like the roar of one of those black-haired beasts in the menagerie that he visited as a child. There was a ruffle, and suddenly Latrelle was standing next to them wrapped in a shawl. “The Wyld?” she asked. “No,” Redd told her, “At least Josua doesn't think so.” “And besides, the Wyld only unleashed that yell when they were upon their foes and they had arrows flying. Too early, and all they did was alert their enemy when they could make preparations,” Josua cocked his head. “Men on horseback are coming. About four.” Tel, Marcello and the others returned. Marcello looked especially sick. “You heard it too?” Tel said. “What took you so long?” Redd demanded. Tel smiled in an odd way. He pushed a white tulip down toward Redd. “Went plucking flowers,” he said. “These looked pretty enough to give to Latrelle.” He looked behind to see her, took in Redd's undressed, and laughed. “Guess I'm a little too late to be courting. Ah well, what can you say?” Marcello slid off his horse and went around the wagons. Redd thought he could hear a retching sound. “Didn't Josua tell you not to take anything!” he shouted. “Never mind, everybody sleeps on two hours tonight, and everybody keeps their bow and spear nearby.” He left the men and went around the wagon. Behind it, Marcello was leaned over, one hand on the wagon for support. “Are you okay?” Redd asked. He noticed a pile of vomit near Marcello's feet. “Yes, fine,” Marcello said, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. “I just suppose I ate something that didn't agree with me.” He still looked shaken, but he held himself up. “Redd, where are the Hel pigeons?” “Back wagon, why, you feeling a need to write home?” he asked. “Just, something I need to tell my brother. He may have forgotten about my cats,” with that, he walked all the way around. “Suit yourself,” Redd muttered. He was still skeptical, but went on back. Most of the men were falling down to bed. Only Josua remained standing. “You want to take the first watch?” he asked Josua. Josua nodded.

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“So you still don't believe me?” he asked. “I will admit, it's hard to write what a sound sounds like on paper.” “No, I believe you, which is why I'm setting up the guards.” He looked around into the starlit darkness. “If that wasn't the Wyld, it means we have two worries on our mind. Picking flowers,” Redd shook his head. “I suppose next he'll be singing his love of Latrelle in a voice that the Wyld couldn't help but hear.” Josua looked at him for a moment, then said slowly, “Redd, there weren't any flowers on the path we met, and certainly none that looked like that at waterside.”

Redd and the Wyld

Page 21--Meyer Chapter 4: Among the Wyld

A fierce sun burned fired down upon the caravan when Redd and the others finally got out of the canyon, for lack of a better term, and onto a wide open hard pan desert. This was what everybody expected the Wyldlands to be, hard desert and not a chance of water in any mass larger than what a man could cross. Redd had taken the horse, and left Josua on the lead wagon. Selene would not try her sharp tongue on him. Slowly, Redd eased his horse back to let Marcello come near him, but as soon as he came within two paces of the man, Tel would ease him to the other end of the wagon train. It frustrated Redd to no end. He knew something else had happened up there in the cave other than picking flowers, and if he talked to Marcello alone he could get the gist of it, but Tel was determined to keep him away. Whatever it was, Redd was sure he would not be pleased by Tel and the others when he finally found out. Finally he gave up and settled by Josua. Josua was holding the reins with a fixed stare on the outside world. “You are sure, no flowers?” Redd asked. “Gods damn you, boy, I said that a hundred times,” Josua said. “Now if they wandered off the path that we took the first time, they may have got them there, but there was absolutely nothing growing in that cave other than mushrooms and moss, and I left a trail of stones to guide us back.” “That and Tel is deathly afraid of the night,” Redd wondered. “He can steal, but only if the path is well lighted. Damn it, I could get the truth out of Marcello if I could get him away from Tel.” “When we camp at night, take Tel out of sight and I'll...” Whatever else he would do was lost forever when a black arrow took him straight in the throat. He toppled backwards into the wagon bed, and a scream approached, more high pitched than the one that had heard last night, just as a group of Wyld appeared behind them on horseback, screaming like the devil and firing arrows off. Redd instinctively slammed down on his horse just as a group of arrows flew into the place where his head would have been. He looked back. Another one of the men had taken an arrow in his stomach, and he fell off his mount. “Riders, guard the wagons!” he screamed. To Selene, he said. “Take the reins and start moving!” “I do not know how to...,” she began, but Redd cut her off. “Take the reins and run!” he screamed, hunching low on his horse and spurring it into a flight. The other wagons followed along with the men. By this time, the Wyld had ceased following and were now circling the wagon. Every other person held one of those rounded out crossbows that fired multiple arrows from a spinning bore. The arrows caught in the wagons, in horses and in men too slow to keep up. It was a full on chase along the road now. Redd tried to stand up and let an arrow loose, but each time found himself forced back low on his own horse. Most of the time he was preoccupied with keeping his horse darting in and out while arrows rained down upon them. He didn't even realize they had abandoned the road and were on a full out dash north until he barely leapt his mount over a small dip that would have broken the things legs. Latrelle somehow managed to wheel the wagon around the dip; the fear of the Redd had turned her into a somewhat competent teamster. Not all of the others were not as lucky; Redd turned around, and saw the back wagon tip over and fall. The man was dead, if not by the arrow then by the horse crushing him. Three other men dodged their horses around the wreck. The Wyld continued their ominous circle, shooting from their horses while standing up, mastering their horses in a way Redd did not think possible for them.

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“Redd, it's not working!” she screamed. “What do we do?” Redd looked up. They were going one way into a crevice. The Wyld had managed to steer them as easily as a cattle driver, and they were the cattle. Redd did not like it, but he had to face facts, or face his own slaughter. “What else do we do?” he retorted, he put up his bow, eased his mount to a halt, and raised his hands, ordering the others to do the same. “Drop arms, we are not dangerous!” he screamed. The others did so quickly, and the Wyld stopped. At that point, Redd had a feeling that he was going to learn just what the four guards did in the middle of the night. Redd walked along the wagon, his arms bound across a heavy oak bar, while trying to keep from having his ankles stomped on by the Wyld's horse just behind him. He looked around; all of the guards had another bar over their shoulders. The Wyld seemed to take great pleasure in whipping them, most of all Marcello. The young boy faltered and fell, a Wyld whipped at him. “Damn you all, can't you see that he's just a kid,” Redd screamed. The Wyld who had been hurrying him along came out beside him. He was a strong man in his youth, with an arrogance that could match any priest or noble. He rode on Lucas' mount; Lucas had no need of it in the afterworld. “You have your own problems to deal with,” he said, smiling. “Now move, hothouse flower!” he said, whipping him again. At least they had let Latrelle ride the wagon, but a large Wyld woman sat beside her, occasionally prodding her on the right path with a strange weapon. Latrelle was the cowed one, now, and every now and again shot a look of pure murder at Red. Damn you Tel, what have you gotten us into now? He thought, looking at Tel shouldering his own burden. Sweat rolled down his face now; he did not look so much the gods-may-care papa he had before. He had known the rules, and Josua, Lucien, and two other drivers had died for it. Why couldn't he leave that stupid flower alone? The only consolation had been that the canbis flowers had been in the front wagon, and not the rear. As time went on, however, Redd began to think that it would not matter what became of them now. Dead men don't ride horses, and they do not sell or use drugs either. Finally, then came across a camp where several Wyld watched, each holding a sword or a spear or an ax, and some weapons Redd did not know the name for, including that strange crossbow. They were led into the middle of the came, and the tall women shoved Selene to the ground. Redd knelt beside her. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Selene punched him lightly in the leg. “Of course I'm all right, I'm just being prepared as dog meat or whatever the Wyld use people for.” It was a legend that the dogs of the Wyld, sleek and gray animals with speed of a leopard, were regularly fed the meat of captured humans. “Keep up hope,” Redd said. “We are not out of this yet.” “And what makes you so sure of that, or that you can negotiate a deal for us,” she sniffed. She looked at the woman who was just hopping out of the driver's chair. Her red hair flowed down from a top wrapping. “My dear ma'am, if we have offended you by being on your land, we can certainly offer you something for it.” The Wyld woman grabbed her hair and pulled her face to face. Latrelle squirmed. “There is only one price you can pay, defiler,” she said. Her face was all hard angles, but Redd supposed that she was pretty in a way. the tunic molded itself around her considerable bosom nicely. “Chain them up!” she said, as she crossed the camp and went into a tent on the opposite side. A couple of strong handed Wyld grabbed all of them and led them to where four stake poles lie in the ground. They tied them all of, putting a lock on each chain they used. to bind the hands. Redd turned around. Latelle stood just behind him, her arms bound in front of her as opposed to the three men gathered behind her and Redd himself, hands crossed and each with heavy cuff links on their hands. They were struggling to free themselves.

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“Keep that down until the guards look away,” Redd told them, to Latrelle, he said loudly, “we'll I guess there's no hope for us all, would you give me one last embrace?” and he pushed himself up against her. “What are you doing?” Latrelle asked as Redd started to kiss her neck passionately. “This is no time to...” “A lockpick,” Redd told her in her ear, “there's one in the back of my shirt, tucked into a hidden pocket” How they had missed that while taking the rest of his knives—even the Wyld had smiled at the pile they made at his feet—he didn't know, but it was there if she could get to it. At this, she buried her head into Redd as if kissing, too, and moved her head around his collar. “I can't, Redd, if the guards see me I am doomed,” she looked up. “There, they are all going to a circle. There's an anvil in the center, and a hammer, the kind used on horse's hooves.” “What are they going to do with that, shoe us to death?” Redd asked. Marcello lifted up his face. “What we deserve,” he said sadly. “What all of us deserve.” “Shut up, Marcello!” Redd told him. “I gave an oath to your brother and I will keep it, have you got it, Latrelle?” “Yes,” she said. “Wait, another man's coming this way.” “Put it in your mouth, then work it when the guard is turned,” Redd told her. He felt himself jerked back and down to the ground. The same Wyld on Redd's horses grabbed him and pulled him up. “You do what I say, hothouse flower!” he shouted, thrusting his fist at him. Redd was getting real tired of that term. He put him on the ground facing front. The hard-faced woman finally came out of the tent and stopped in front of them. “Damn it, I'm no lock pick,” Latrelle said. “Become one right now,” Redd told her. He pointed to where four horses were tethered end to end. “If you get me free, I can have the others out in no time and we can escape.” He might have to Shift. No, he thought as he eyed one of those strange crossbows they had, he would have to Shift if he even thought he could avoid those things. “I will not leave my canbis behind,” she hissed. “Those things won't buy fare for the Ferryman,” he responded. “Get that thing unlocked.” “I'm working it,” she said. “Good, as soon as you have my lock loose...” Redd cut off as the woman motioned behind him, and he heard a struggle. The two returned, pulling Marcello with them. Redd lunged at them. “No, I cannot work it with you pulling it out like that,” she said. “Tell me when you are ready,” he said, silently trying to wish his own skill into the woman. Oh Light, Marcello! No! The woman picked up the hammer, and the two men forced Marcello to his knees. Marcello looked up at the woman, then closed his eyes almost like the anvil was a pillow; he sensed what was happening before Redd did. In a split second she raised it high above her head and crashed down on Marcello's skull, sending blood and brains everywhere. Redd's tongue dried in his mouth. I promised, Redd said. Marcello, you son of a bitch I swore an oath. The shock of the moment burned his mind of everything. He could see nothing else now. There was no escaping a broken oath, no matter how hard you ran. His face became hard, harder than that Wyld. In his mind he could see only one thing, that woman, with her blood soaked hammer. Nothing else mattered; there was nothing else he cared for. He could not fulfill his oath now, but he could damn well die taking her out. Not her; taking the monster out. You will learn the vengeance of a Cibolan. She pushed the body down to the ground. A guard cleaned the anvil with a brown cloth. She then pointed, directly at Redd. That guard turned around from the sight he was watching. “Latrelle, are my bonds free?” he asked coldly. The Wyld had taken all of his knives, but he

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had fought enough street battles without them to know what to do. “Oh my Gods, Redd, they killed...” “Are they free?” he said in a harder tone. “Yes, but how can you do anything with that guard watching.” “Not what you think,” he whispered. He uncrossed his arms slowly and crouched slowly, careful not to show the effort to the approaching guard. “Your next, hothouse flower,” he said. “Guess again, dip shit!” he said. As he spoke he brought out one hand like lightning, striking him in the throat with an open hand. Redd felt the satisfying crunch of the bones as the man fell, grasping at his neck and struggling on the ground. The man was strong, but Redd had grown up in the side streets of Cibola where a sword or a spear would be a hindrance, and where speed was deadlier than strength. He could fight as quick with his hands as with his knives. He saw the woman pull out a sword. She either had forgotten the hammer's use or was now taking him seriously. It didn't matter; hammer or sword, she was dead and didn't have the brains to know. Redd pulled his soul in tightly until his body was a distant shell to him, then let the soul carry him into the world of the Shift. The sun's light faded from existence like an eclipse. Darkness enveloped the camp, but the men and women were as visible as if it was still noon. The one who had killed moved much more slowly now, and when she moved, left an image of herself behind where she had been, one that slowly faded. He grabbed the chains and jumped out, sweeping past her. The chains were heavier than anything, but adrenaline pumped through his veins and he whirled them around his head. Just a moment longer, Redd said, whipping them around the throat of the woman. He felt the tiredness finally overcome him, and he shifted back. The sun returned, and the woman kept on jumping at full speed until she was yanked back nearly to Redd's feet by the chains. Her eyes were wide now; the man in front of her before was suddenly behind, and with the advantage. “Ain't so tough when it's one on one, are you, barbarian!” He screamed. Her surprise lasted but a moment; the woman whirled on her side kicked his legs out from under him. Redd almost felt his own legs break because of that force. He fell, but only after smacking her hand, causing it to release the sword. The two struggled on the ground, rolling this way and that as if lovers. She grabbed Redd's chains, and punched him in the nose, sending stars into his vision. At any other time, he would be stunned for minutes, but all he did was take a hold of her head and rammed it into her nose, sending blood flying. He wrapped his hands around her throat, and she his. The world was narrowing to Redd's eyes, but he did not care. If he took her out with him, it was all worth it. “Stop it!” a male voice screamed. It had enough power in it to actually make Redd stop. He thought he made a mistake, but the woman dropped her hands too, looking over his shoulder. Redd looked to. A tall man with graying hair stood at the edge of the circle, holding a large spear like a walking staff. He had a gray cloak wrapped around at the neck. He pointed at Redd and the woman absently with it, turning back the way he came. “Bring these two into my tent,” he commanded. Another Wyld, this one with a beard, pulled Redd to his feet. He started to do the same for the woman, who brushed him off. They were pushed back into the tent.

Redd and the Wyld

Page 25--Meyer Chapter 5: Nothing is ever free.

With the adrenaline gone from his veins, Redd felt the pain of the nose. Tears rolled down his cheeks, partly from the pain of the nose. Damn you Marcello, you made me break oath. And you, Tel, as well Inside anther figure in a long white robe sat by a table, the cowl pulled over its head. There was a basket in front of the figure. Redd could hear squeaking coming from it. The man stood in front of them with his hands on his hips. “You fought well, for an easterner,” he said. “I admit, you could move faster than I could see.” “I would have had him in a moment if you had not interfered, Jakob,” the woman said. “Half of me wanted to believe that, Amelia, and I needed to stop you before that. However, half of my mind was not so sure. Do not be too quick to underestimate the fight of a man who has seen one of his own executed, no matter what place he comes from.” “Save the compliments,” Redd told him. “Look, would you mind telling us what made you bring us here? If you want your stupid flower back, it was in the rear wagon before you tipped it over. “Flower?” Jakob said, scratching his chin. “Yes, that white flower that the men picked up, if you want it back, there was no need to go killing people,” Redd shot back. “You people seem to be a damn too testy about those things.” He motioned to the other figure. “Let me show you what 'flowers' you have picked.” The figure threw back the cowl, and long curls of black hair flowed down a woman's ruined face. Oh shit oh shit oh shit was all Redd could think when he saw her faces. She might have been pretty, before, but now five scars neatly tore her face to ribbons. The stitches made her face look like a leather pack. “Hel of the Gods!” he said breathlessly. At that moment, he vowed that were he to be executed, he would beg for a chance alone with Tel. He could tell them that they would not need the hammer for what he would do to the man. And Marcello....the boy was young, but when you played that game, you paid the full price. “Come on, do not fake pretend you know nothing of this,” Amelia retorted. She put her hands across her chest. “Those were your men, outsider!” “I believe he did not know,” Jakob said. “But still, a blood price has to be paid for it. A group of men in Cibolan blue tunics and hats attacked her at a pool where she was meditating upon the words of Joab. They took several liberties with her, then cut on her. Had Bryn not been there to bring her back to the camp to be healed, she might have died of the loss of blood.” Who's Bryn? Another Wyld, I suppose. That one guard with the beard? Then Redd realized that Tel had made a pun. Plucking flowers was code for having sex with a prostitute. “You have my word that I will kill those who did this,” Redd told him. “But Latrelle did not participate in that, nor did I.” “That is not enough,” Aimee said. “You threw your lot in with them for good or for bad, and how can we be sure they acted on your orders.” “We cannot,” Jakob agreed. “But a man must be allowed to redeem himself, and you may very well do the same thing. I seek something, and you may be crafty enough to steal it out.” “Steal what out?” Redd asked. “And what makes you so sure that I posses such skills?” The man laughed. “Very few people use that trail you were on, but I have spoken with a few,” he said. “They talk of a man who can steal your eyes out of your head and you would not notice for two days afterward. A man who carries a multitude of knives on his person, and knows the use of each and every one of them. A man who is reported to wear a red hat and cape, and goes by the name of Redd.” “Lots of people wear red hats and capes in Cibola,” he said. The man stared him down. “Okay, okay, I am Redd, what does that have to do with anything?” he demanded, the man turned around, hands folded behind his back.

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“Strange times are coming amongst my people,” he told Redd. “When I was young, men would steal from each other, but rarely, and only under the cover of darkness. Now one clan attacks another with the sun as witness, and every time a few men are lost. How much longer, before we are all pulled into one final battle. What Kayan started, we may well finish, and no one will be around, even the children.” “And that means what?” “I seek a spear, that is located in a temple to the north,” he told Redd. This spear is a sign of leadership of our people, the only sign that will men from different clans obey. One who had this could make every warrior drop weapons with no humiliation. I would go myself, but the laws forbid me, or any with Wyld blood, to retrieve it. Those who do suffer a fate worse than death. The way to the temple is dangerous, and has traps designed to grab the unwary. However, a man like yourself may be able to pick the way, and since you are definitely not a Wyld, you may take it, then bring it here. For that I would repay you with your lives.” “So let me get this straight,” Redd began. “You want me to go to a temple in the middle of an obstacle course and get you a spear, that you may posses, but not take? Sounds like lunacy to me.” “Who knows the heart of the God Joab?” he lifted up his hands. “It is said that we must master discipline, and humility, before we can become whole again.” “You should not question a gift of your life,” Amelia spat. Redd turned to her. If his nose was broken like hers he would no longer be considered a dandy boy. The woman in white picked out two black rats and placed them gently on her shoulder. She stood in front of Redd, then held up her hand, allowing one of the rats to enter it. When it was there, she put it to the side and put her hand over his now ruined nose. Redd heard the snap of bone just as a wave of energy hit him. He felt bones moving, rearranging themselves. She dropped the one dead rat to the ground, then went to Amelia, doing the same thing though Amelia tried to pull back. Redd thought he saw a flash of blue light in her upraised hand. When she removed it, Aimee's nose was whole again. The woman then picked up the rats gently and put them back on the table. She's using Healing Magic, Redd thought. He didn't even expect the people in here to know it. Healing Magic was one of the most sought after, and also most hated. In order to heal another person, a live sacrifice had to be made so the energy from that thing could be released through the wizard to mend and heal. Being made prisoner of Atos, god of Justice, was bad enough, but at least it was quick. Hanging or flogging, done and over, and if you still walked you were free to go. Should you be turned over to one of the wizards to be the scapas of a nobleman, however....it meant years of torture in order to heal the nobleman who had bought you. That was a constant reminder of the commandment of magic: heal for injury, life for death, but there was a price for everything, even Healing. Nothing was ever free. For a small thing, like a broken bone or a slight cold, a smaller animal like a rat had to be killed. For larger wounds, though... “I heard the hammer drop inside the tent,” she said. “And I am most sorry that I did not stand up sooner. Jakob held me down; he would not have had me see what was done in my name. As it is, however, I would have to kill a man to restore the other, and I will not do that.” “I understand,” Redd said numbly. He couldn't blame her for not wanting to kill a man in order to rescue one who had assaulted her. He looked up at the clan chief. “I get you this spear, and you give us our freedom, right?” He nodded. “All right, but first you let Latrelle and the others go.” “You drunken eastern fool!” Amelia said, grabbing his shoulder and turning it towards her. She looked like an angry cat with those green eyes of hers. “You are being offered your life, and you set conditions? We should break your head open right now.” “Your the ones who are all hot to get this bloody weapon,” Redd shot back. “I cannot carry the others, and unless this spear is a hundred pounds or more, you don't need the wagons.” That and he

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didn't want to be around Tel for more than a minute. “We agree,” Jakob said. “By my word as a paternas of my clan, they shall leave freely. He walked passed them and stuck his head out the tent flaps. “Release them!” he said. “Release them all.” The woman in white looked at him. “Amongst your followers, was there a man in green?” she asked. “More of a boy than a man, in truth.” Redd nodded. “The one who that woman executed,” he said. “I know...,” he cut off as the woman started sobbing, choking. Amelia rushed to her and held her in her arms. “Aimee, you should not press yourself over a rapist,” she said. “He raped nobody!” she screamed. “He was as scared as I was, and the others egged him on. I think they meant to kill him if he did not do as they asked, so I told him to do it. What he received, he received willingly, even though he held his eyes shut the entire time. But you were so thirsty for their blood that you would not listen. That is what happens when your anger becomes your master, Amelia!” The fire in Redd's belly returned. Marcello had died because of Tel and the others sins. He had not participated in their game, at least not actively. His teeth came down hard on his tongue, and he drew blood. Marcello had died because he changed his bloody clothes. What am I to tell Donatello? He thought. “Your men can go tomorrow,” Jakob said. “I will see that they are accompanied to the border by Wyld, so they do not inadvertently pick more flowers. And I will send Amelia with you, to make sure you know the way both there and back. The desert has few markers, and none a foreigner would recognize” At any other time, he would have spat out that he needed no help, he preferred to work alone, but he only nodded. That's right, Amelia, you accompany me to this temple of yours. You have to fall asleep sooner or later, and I will end your miserable existence once and for all. And this time, I'm going to think things through. No more revenge on rash thoughts. This will be calculated, as cold as the grave I put you in!

Redd and the Wyld

Page 28--Meyer Chapter 6: A message southward.

After swearing oaths, Redd left the tent. The others were being unhooked from their chains. He looked at Marcello's body, and Josua's still in the back of the wagon. Two of the wagon drivers still survived, old bald men in rough leather cloaks that kept looking around the Wyld with such fear that they might die of a heart attack even though they had been released. Or at least, that was the first thought until one of the men backed himself right into a Wyld when Redd approached. He jumped, but still kept closer to the barbarian than he did Redd. It took a second for Redd to realize why. The Shift. To him, it had seemed the rest of the world slowed down to a snail's crawl while he moved normally; to them, however, he had gone from being over the man he had just killed to behind the woman who had killed Marcello, choking her with the chain. Nothing in between. Just here one second, there the next. Just like a wizard would do. “Easy man, easy,” he told one of the drivers. “I'm still me.” He looked around then grabbed a shovel. Those who had fallen on the path they could do nothing about. But Josua and Marcello's bodies were still there. He went to one of the wagons and grabbed out a shovel. His voice became hard. “Well what are you waiting for, we have to bury them!” He shouted over his shoulder, leading the way out to a place outside of the camp. A moment, then he heard men dragging the bodies from where they were. Who knew what an angry wizard would do? The funeral was scarce and simple. Nobody remembered much of it, other than a simple prayer to guide the ferrymen to the souls. Between them they had found the two silvers to place in each man's hand as fare for the Ferryman on the final travel home. That was, if the Ferryman could find his way out here in this arid country. As Redd pressed the coins into Josua's hand he noticed a bulge in his chest. He dug around his coat, and found two small books, each wrapped in leather and thick. One looked like a simple journal; the other, however...on the first page, the words “The Wolf and the lion: Jerochaim Kayan and the Wyld”. He looked over the text quickly. It was like no book he had ever read about Jerochaim in his life. It took him a second to realize who's hands had jotted down those neat precise letters. They were so different from the first book's rough hand as to make it seem like two men, but there was no doubt, this was Josua's work. He stuffed the books into his coat. If Josua did have family out there, they would surely appreciate at least having that back to have it. It seemed that the Wyld did have some manners. As Redd rose and returned, he was three or four guards, still there with their weapons but respectfully out of earshot. As they returned to the camp, Tel seemed to want to ask him something but one look into those cold blue eyes made him fall back. That's right, Tel, I know your dirty little secret! Redd resolved that he would make the man pay, and if the man thought Redd would let it go simply because his victim was a “barbarian” he would set him straight. At the end, Latrelle returned the lock pick Redd had passed her. “I don't even know the words to begin to ask,” she said. “First you were...and then you were...” She was groping for words, her hands two frightened birds flapping under her chin. Redd grabbed them. “It's all right, Latrelle, I'm still the same man,” he told her. “The same one you pulled the clothes off of last night.” She smiled. “I never thought I would bed a wizard,” she said. Redd was taken back by that. “I'm no wizard,” he told her. A wizard, hah! The wizards he had known were more con men than holy men, using simple tricks of hand to fool country bumpkins in to pay their respects to the holy temples and stealing their offerings. The one wizard that he knew personally that was legitimate, Harold, had to be drunk to even cast a simple spell, and then it was a toss of the dice whether it would

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work or fry you and him alive. He didn't know what it was that he did, but he knew it worked, and whether a god or something else was behind it he didn't care. He just did. “I do what I have to do, that's all there is to it.” At the edge of the camp, Jakob and Amelia were there. Jakob put his shoulder around Redd and motioned to the camp. “A celebration!” he said. “Joab has sent us a sign that Tyr's Spear is about to be returned to us. It is a time to rejoice!” The camp erupted in yells. Though Jakob's position was hereditary, it seemed, he had the look and feel of a natural born politician. He had the air of a merchant vying for a position on the Merchant's Council trying to worm his way into a celebration, or make it seem like he was the reason for celebration. That didn't stop Amelia from looking waves of pure hate his way, however. Nor did it stop him from doing the reverse when he thought the other Wyld weren't looking. Wyld celebrations were on the odd side, at least to Redd's thinking. The first notion that things were different were when Redd went to fetch the skins of wine that they had brought along to heal the water. None of them were there! All of the skins that they had filled with water were, but not the wine. He mentioned that to one of the Wyld guards, who smirked. “We threw out your poison,” he told Redd. “You won't have anything to tempt us with.” “Easy man, who said anything about tempting. I just wanted...” “Enough!” he shouted. “Your wines are gone, now keep quiet!” he ended it with a slash of his knife. Clearly the Wyld had not been impressed with Redd's Shifting. “All right, all right,” he muttered. “It wasn't like we were going to share anyway.” Beside the lack of wine, the party was pretty good. Wyld told stories in front of the fires, or danced. Even the kids were involved with the parties late into the night. Now there was a shock. Children did attend parties, but they were put into bed well before nightfall, when the wine could flow freely and the real fun could start. Not here, however. Every child was up late, listening to tales or even singing by the large bonfire. Redd was eating a rather tasty steak—he had not thought the Wyld would be civilized enough to cook a proper steak, but they had—while Latrelle was still questioning him about the change in attitude of the Wyld. “But why did they release us?” Latrelle asked Redd. The other two men were sitting by the wagons. Tel had one foot up and leaned against the side, smiling. Redd forced himself to smile to the man. whenever he looked at him, or at Aimee, all he saw was the crushed head of Marcello. He just couldn't keep it in his pants, he thought. That, and he did a job on her that any temple torturer would be proud of. “They say that they need something, and I can go and get it from them. In the morning a Wyld guard will lead you to the border. After you go through the underpass, it's three hours to Panem Dea.” “And if that Wyld decides to whack off my head, you will not even be there?” she said. “I believe Jakob. The man doesn't need to hold a hostage over my head now that he knows I've sworn to his cause.” That's right, I swore an oath. He reminded himself. To see this spear into his hands no matter what. But I said nothing about his cur of a daughter. Not Aimee; he had kept his distance from her. Somehow he thought she would want some sort of oath about Amelia, and as appalled as he was about what had been done to her, he didn't want to make that. Nor was he sure he wouldn't if she asked. “Would you mind walking with me a little bit to see the fire?” he held out his hand. Latrelle hesitated, but then she hooked her arm in his. Redd took her out of earshot. To the side, three women stood, each with a Rolling Lightning—that was the name of the strange device they used that allowed them to fire arrows faster than ten men, and as strong as one without any need of strength

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to prepare them. One of the women waved at Redd, who returned the gesture. “Now what was it you wanted me to hear about but not them?” she asked. Redd than told her what had been done. She paled when he was done. “Light of mercy, do you mean me to stay alone with that man! Redd I can learn how to pick a pocket if need be. Do not leave me with them, please?” she held onto his sleeves. “Don't worry, you'll be safe enough with that Wyld guard, and however long they string it out, that ride will not be long enough for them to do anything..” He pulled out a long knife and handed it to her. “Where did you get that from?” she demanded. “And if you had it on you all that time, why didn't you...,” he cut her off. “The Wyld gave them back. Once I swore, they saw no real threat in me, and according to Jakob, it's bad manners to rob a guest. Now listen, when you get to Roberto's inn, the Green-Eyed Elf, relay a message to him. Tell him 'the chicken is not safe while the fox lies in wait.' Those exact words, mind. “'Chicken is not safe while the fox lies in wait,'” she repeated. “Redd, what does that have to do with anything.” “Just this, once Roberto hears that he will guarantee you another party on your return trip to Cibola as well as putting you up in a room under guard.” “And the knife?” she said. Redd tucked it into her sash rather neatly. “Just this, and listen on it carefully. If you stab a man between the third and fourth ribs you will not miss the heart. I do not think you will need it, but just remember that.” “Do I have time to send my will southward?” she asked. Redd smiled as a thought came to him. “Just a moment,” he told her. He went around the wagons, opposite of where Tel and his surviving companion lounged, watching the fire and eating cheese. In the last wagon a group of pigeons were in a cart. He searched for the ink, and found that it had spilled over. He was just about to give up when he realized something. Taking up a piece of parchment, he rolled it up and tied it like a message. He then sent the bird into the night, kicking the wagon as he did. The shudder back told him he had gotten their attention. “What's this?” Tel said, scratching his head and looking at the direction the pigeon flew. Southward. Hel pigeons, named after the goddess of hearth and home, could fly halfway around the globe and return to their home. “Oh, just had to send a message back to Cenn, something I need done that I may not be able to do myself,” he said softly. “What message?” “Well, it seems that you were involved in an impropriety, and that's the reason for our accommodation.” he told him. Tel's face paled; at least he was enough of a man to show that much guilt for what he had done. “I cannot be certain of the truth of it, after all, who can trust Wyld. So I told him to hold off any sort of judgment until Latrelle returned. It is a matter for women, and a woman should judge. It could be that I am wrong, of course, but if anything happens to her, or she does not return, Cenn will know what it means and deal with you in his own way. I put in special instructions in case that happened as well.” “Are you accusing me of something,” he said, trying to bluff Redd. Redd had had just about enough of the man, He grabbed his hand and pushed a finger back, forcing Tel to the ground. “That hurts!” he screamed. “And it's going to hurt a lot more if you force your attention on Latrelle,” he spat. “Because of you, Marcello is now on the Ferry wondering what he will say to the gods. He died, when it should have been one of you filthy scum giving up your lives. I will be leaving the caravan, but I eventually will go back to Cibola. Never think that there's any distance you can run and hide from me. And if I

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see you even so much as look at a woman without her permission, if I see or hear of you in a brothel or going to a woman of the night, the next thing I snap will be far more important than your 'finger', and then I will get nasty.” He let go, and looked at the other man, staring on in shock. “Cibolan's oath on it, and it goes for any of you as well. If you have to satisfy yourselves from now on, do it with each other. You are only fit company for yourselves. And never think that you are out of my grasp.” He shifted, ran behind one of the men, then shifted out. “I can be here,” he told the man, putting one arm around his shoulders like he was a friend. He Shifted again, launching himself onto the wagon, then Shifted out. “Or here,” They're heads whipped around to see him. He let them see him for one moment, then finally shifted again. He was careful not to grab Tel's finger again until he was out of the shift; he did that, and he might send a torrent of blood his way, and he felt dirty enough already. “Or here. Remember what I can do the next time you even think of Latrelle. I can pop out of nowhere and slit your belly for your unclean thoughts.” He walked off to the fires, leaving Tel to rub his finger furtively. Latrelle came to him. “They will not harm you,” he said. “Remember, the Green Eyed Elf, 'the chicken is not safe when the fox lies in weight,'” “I shall remember,” she said. “I still think I should prepare my will.” Redd shook his head. “The ink was spilled in the chase,” he whispered. He put a hand over her mouth as she started to shout. “Don't let them know,” he told her. “That's your guarantee home. As long as Tel and the others think you hold power over them, they will not risk the wrath of the Organization,” He looked around. The men had gathered around Tel, looking at his finger. “Besides, Cenn knows better. If I don't return, or you, he'll have a good suspicion of why when we did not. Tel may be obnoxious in his own way, but the man's a born coward, and Georgiano even more so, not enough to aid him. If you have to, back him up with the knife, and he'll fall back. Now I convinced Jakob to let you have a tent near his.” “Well, maybe we will have one last night of fun,” she said, smiling. Redd nodded. “I must get some clothes into that tent,” she said, and then went running back to the wagon. Tel and Georgiano started towards her, then backed off when she looked at them. She would have no problem with those two. “You are Cibolan, are you not?” Redd turned his head to his right.. A Wyld woman stood beside him. She had deep blue eyes, not gray like Aimee's, and free flowing red hair down her shoulders. There was something else about her. Her voice was soft like that of Amelia, but she was dressed as a warrior, holding the Rolling Thunder as if she knew well the use of it. “Yes or no, are you a Cibolan. You do not have the black hair, but they say you are.” “I am,” he said slowly. His hair was more Dachinian than Cibolan, but he had no desire to eat snow and hunt make believe creatures to the north. She smiled. “Is it really true what they say about Cibola? That every man there is a prince from the old tales, and the women dressed in fine silks imported from the south?” “I wouldn't know much about the prince part, uh,” he said. “I am sorry, I have not told you my name, I am Sarai of clan Chernov,” she bowed. Redd gave her his own. Why does she make me feel so odd? She was as hard as Amelia in places—she did not hold that Rolling Thunder like a fan—but her voice was serene, like Aimee. A cross between the two, and he did not know the how or why of that. He had only talked with two or three Wyld other than the three of them. None of the others seemed to want that much to do with them, pardon of the paternas or no, and he soon learned why. It was not just that they had violated a Wyld woman, but they had apparently also violated their Sage, or priestess. A Sage was completely or nearly as completely at peace as a Wyld could be. The only violence they would do would be in their Healing Magic for others, and even that grieved them greatly.

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She would not raise a hand to defend her own life, or even her liberty. That was the sad irony of what had happened. Had she given up a fight, had she even looked like one, it may well have been that Tel and the others would have backed off and not bothered her further. It might have been that Marcello's brains would still be in his head as well. Of course, Redd didn't dare speak that to Aimee; that was too much like blaming her for what had happened, and he wouldn't do that. To find out that she was related to Amelia, and both the daughters of Jakob, was a shock. If the two had not been related, and married, then Redd surmised Sarai would have been a natural daughter. “Sarai, the prince part isn't true, we have lords in Cibola not princes, but the ladies do wear fine silk. why do you ask?” “I have read many of the books of Cibola, that come here through traders. What it must be like to live in such a city?” she rocked on her heels. “I thought you Wyld didn't like Cibolans?” he said. She shook her head. “Our quarrel was with the priests and wizards, not the people themselves, a private matter that we must discuss with them alone. They have wronged us greatly, and must pay, but there must be a chance we can convince them to lift what they have done to us. Once that is done, we can be friends once more.” Her tone said that she would discuss no more. She looked over his shoulder. “Jakob and Amelia require your presence,” she said. “We shall talk upon your return.” Yeah, right, Redd thought sarcastically. When he retrieved this spear, the last thing he would be doing is coming back here. As a matter of fact, he wouldn't come back through the Wyldlands if all the gold in the mountains was offered to him and a hundred legions of Royals sat on the border. Redd turned around, the two were walking in his direction. “I thought you might like a tent instead of the hard ground, so I prepared one for each of you,” he said. “Well, then, let's go,” Redd said. They walked towards four tents pitched side by side. “You do not wish me to...,” he left the question hanging. “They are not useful, and they might try something with that young woman.” Redd shook his head. “I thought about it, but Latrelle needs guards through the exit rout, and you said you would not cross the tunnel to civilized lands. Sorry, Jakob, slip of the tongue,” Amelia gave him a disdainful look. Jakob shook his head. “It is not that I do not want to, it is that I fear the outside world would not be moved by the presence of me or any Wyld. I wish for peace, and it cannot be obtained when shaky hands hold spears. Still, I can send a Wyld with them halfway through.” “Your bed is prepared,” Amelia said. “There is just one more thing to do,” she moved behind him. “What is that?” Redd said, suddenly a piece of leaf was pressed over his mouth and nose. He struggled for a moment, then darkness overtook him as he smelt the noxious odors.

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Page 33--Meyer Chapter 6: Across the desert

Redd awoke on the back of a moving wagon. He rubbed the back of his head. “What in the....Light!” he felt his clothes, and realized he was not in his own garb, but rather a short brown tunic in the style of a Wyld. He brushed off a head wrap where he thought his own hat would be, had to be. He started to stand up. “Do not do that, it is hard enough to drive this blasted thing without you moving,” Amelia's voice said. She looked back at him. “I almost feared I used too much of the Nightfall on you,” “What did you do with my clothes?” he screamed at her. “My knives?” “They are all safe with you in my father's tent,” she told him. “They will be presented to you when you return back with the spear in hand. Call it a sort of ransom, if you will.” “Why you little...” Redd muttered, than held himself back. He reminded himself to keep silent and to not do anything rash or miscalculated. Remember what rashness got you in the first place. He looked around. For miles and miles there was nothing but hard pan desert rising as hills and valleys. A wind was blowing softly, whistling as it passed. “Where are we?” he asked. “Why, on our way to the temple, outlander, don't you remember that?” she said. “Whether it has been two or three days, I do not know. We simple barbarians do not have devices to count time.” She cut that off with a hard bite in her voice. “Sure, and I suppose you don't know how to count sunsets either,” he said sarcastically. “I said I was going and I was going.” “One can never be too sure when dealing with outsiders,” she said. “In any event, what is done is done. Relax, you are going to a temple none has seen in five hundred years, and there is great glory to be found there.” “Yeah, glory,” Redd muttered. Glory was what the capos said you would have when you went out for them to retrieve this or that stone or jewel or whatever they wanted. Glory was a bone tossed to dogs when they came asking for more before you shoved them into the corner. He'd just as soon not have the glory. Just do this thing and Latrelle could cross safely, and he could see her to her market. “Our ancestors angered Joab with their greed and their love of alcohol, and so now we must pay the price.” Redd got up into the front seat. “How many years have we had to suffer the curse upon our progeny because of you.” “What curse?” he demanded. Amelia shook her head. “Never you mind, that is a Wyld problem, not one to be shouted to the far reaches of the earth.” She pointed ahead. “The Temple draws near.” “That is not the only thing,” Redd muttered, pointing behind them. Two Wyld were coming up fast on horseback. Amelia cursed, then shoved a head wrap upon his head. “Put up your hair, Cibolan,” she told him. “You have enough for a girl.” I do not he thought sarcastically, but did as he was told. The men pulled up beside them, an older man with a beard and a younger one that was taller, if skinnier than the first. The eldest touched his first two fingers to either side of his neck. “Blood and honor,” he said. “I am Danh, paternas, and this is my son Izzakah, of the tribe Yurev.” Izzahkah did the same gesture to Amelia, who repeated herself. “I am Amelia, of Chernov tribe, and this here...is my youngest brother Bryn,” she said. “He wishes to see the temple, and lay offerings before the Trifold Test,” she hit Redd on the shoulder. “Where are your manners, Bryn.” Hastily he did the same gesture. Danh tilted his head.

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“The only brother of yours I have heard of is reported to be a Cursed One, and he doesn't look so cursed to me,” he said. “Distance tends to change the truth,” she said lightly. “Bryn is cursed in a way, though. He cannot speak, and to tell you the truth, I almost think his brain is damaged, but he is my brother.” “There is truth in that,” Izzakah said. “When I was but a boy, a goatherd came running screaming that Joab had spoken to him like a Sage. Turns out that Joab was his pet goat. He had little brains as well, so we did not wish to kill him.” “None of this explains why I cannot see an offering on you,” Danh said. For an answer, Amelia pulled a large sack from the back of the wagon and shook it at him. He nodded. “Pardon me for my ignorance, Amelia, by these unadulterated lips, I did not see that.” “Ay, are bandits still active here?” she asked. Redd played along, absently toying with the reins and putting as stupid of a grin as he could on his face. Danh nodded. “Unfortunately, it is a sign of the times,” he said. “I would offer to escort you and your brother to the Trifold Test.” “With weapons?” she asked, pointing at their swords and Rolling Thunders. “You know it is forbidden to come within sight of the temple with a weapon.” “Who knows how the laws have been changed to over the years?” Izzakah said. He moved his horse close to Amelia. “I would not have you harmed by bandits on the way” “And you do not think I can defend myself?” she snapped. “But you have no weapons, and the way you have spoken of your brother says he does not know piedi di volo,” he said. “Still, let us scout ahead of you.” Amelia opened her mouth, but Danh cut it off. “No!” he said to his son. “You know the task set to us,” he turned to Amelia. “A thousand pardons, but I said that I would escort you, but other duties force us further north. Romav clan wishes to discuss a marriage between my son and the daughter of their clan chief.” “With a woman I have not even met,” Izzakah said ruefully. “Don't whine like a drunk, you know your duty to your people.” He touched his two fingers to his neck again. “Blood and honor,” he said, and peeled off to the side, his son following him, while giving glances back at the wagon. Amelia shook her head. “And what was that about?” Redd finally said. “Did you want me to slobber and pee myself as well, like the idiots locked up in the calmness rooms?” “I had to think of something to hide the fact that you are an outsider,” she said. “And why do you have to do that?” “Every clan knows the will of Joab, that one not of the blood must retrieve the spear and give it to one of the blood. If they had seen your blond hair or heard your speak, they would have known what I was up to, and would have tried to kill us both.” “And why is that?” he said. “For that matter, why hasn't anybody tried to take the spear before.” “They have,” she shrugged, “and Joab has always punished them for not waiting on his will. When Joab wishes a thing done, he speaks through the Sages. Father told me that Aimee's eyes glowed with the golden fire of Joab when he told him to stop the execution, that the Retriever was here. It is one thing to hear about a prophecy fulfilled, another to learn that others have the right to the glory and honor, while you have the duty to follow.” Well, that Izzeykah or whatever his name didn't seem like he wanted to spear you, at least not with a metal one,” he said. “He has tried to attract my interest for ten years now, but I do not wish for him in that way. Now don't go thinking unclean thoughts,” she told him. “I do like men, but not ones that brag all the time and smell like a wet goat, and I certainly do not like Cibolan Retrievers either.”

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“And you have such a wonderful personality to attract men,” Redd said sarcastically. She ignored that comment. “Not so sure I like being called a Retriever, sounds like a dog.” “As far as I'm concerned, you are on,” she said. “Father may believe you, but I know that Cibolans lie as easily as Wyld breathe. Even if you told the truth, you had the power to stop your men, and you failed to use it. That makes it as if you had been the one to violate Aimee yourself.” “Now just one second,” he told her. “Maybe you may go around crushing boys heads into oatmeal, but I am not one to kill without first deciding if the man needs to be killed. Besides, what makes you think that I was the leader? It could have been Tel, or any of the other men.” “You have the look of a leader of Cibolans,” she said. “The others cower when you talk, and jump when you say so. That Tel, we had to convince three times that you were sleeping before he would leave. He accidentally bumped into that, and then started apologizing as if he had torn off her dress. No, you are the leader, I know that much.” “Thanks for the compliment,” he said. “Do not take it as such. I would rather be a leader of a clan of drunkards than that of one Cibolan,” she said. She pointed to a group of thin shadows in the distance, away and to the east. “There, we camp there for the night.” “But we still have light,” Redd protested. “Stupid Cibolan, do you not know that water is scarce in the Wyldlands. I know those trees, they signify water, and we can refill our skins. Unless you care to drink your own wastewater.” “Fine by me, lead on,” he said.

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Page 36--Meyer Chapter 7: A price for everything

It was just like Amelia said: a large pond of water stood inside a ring of trees, with large, sparse branches looming overhead. Near the lake stood a large box, striped and colored. “Hand me that sack,” she told him. He tossed it to her, and she rummaged around in there and pulled out a gold bull, about three feet long and rubies for eyes. She handed it back to him, and then put the bull into the box. “It is required,” she said when she saw Redd looking at her. “We must give the Putai clan a water gift for taking from their land. We may rob and steal each other, but no clan will take the water on another clan's land.” “The Putai own this?” he asked. “Of course not,” she snapped. “Anybody but a fool knows that you can not own water any more than you own the air. It is a gift of Joab, and must be preserved both for now and future generations, but the Putai are deserving of a gift for keeping the water safe. There is a price for everything. Fill those skins,” she told him. Grumbling, Redd grabbed the six skins from the back and set about laboriously filling each one. Amelia grabbed each one up, then set it back in the wagon. Redd looked into the box; in addition to the bull, there were some golden coins and a silver star, as well as a large drum stick of some type, made out of a black substance. “Looks like they haven't been here for a while,” Redd said, then jumped back when Amelia shut the lid with a slam. “That is not for you,” she told him. “Let your mind think on other things, thief.” “I was only saying...,” he began, but she cut him off. “Nobody would dare take a water gift but those to whom it rightly belongs,” Amelia said. “As soon as it it retrieved, it becomes fair game, but until that point, it is not to be touched.” “Wonderful,” Redd told her. “And where did you get that gold in the first place?” “From raiding the Uln,” she told him sweetly. “That one piece came from a castle that we attacked during the night. We killed many of the Oathbreakers that night.” “The Uln,” Redd said. They were the fierce mountain kings, shaving their heads and wearing the fur of bears. Strong as ox and smelling just about the same, they did trade with the outside world, most notably with Panem Dea. Amelia then went back to the wagon, leaving Redd staring at a pool of water. He scratched himself furtively as the stink of his own body came wafting to his nose. He knew that sign; the first time you smelled yourself meant that others had done so ten times over, and about as bad. He needed a bath. He quickly removed his tunic and dived into the water. Almost instantly he felt the dirt wash off his skin. This was the good life. Clean and pure again. He dived to the bottom, then rose up again to break the surface...right before something thrust his head back under water. He kicked and struggled before he recognized Amelia holding his head. “Stupid barbarian!” she said. “What are you doing dirtying all that water!” Barbarian! He wasn't the one who smelled like he had been frolicking with horses for a good year. At least he didn't anymore. He grabbed her arms, pushed off the shore, and threw her over his own head into the water. If anything, getting into the water made her more frenzied than before. She wailed away at him with her hands for a while before she gave up that and started to struggle against her head dropping below the water. Redd grabbed her hands. “Kick your feet!” he said before he thought. This was a custom made opportunity for him! The

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woman drowned, a victim of an accident. Short, simple, easy. That is, if he wanted to spend the rest of his life wandering around this desert alone, prey for any Wyld that dared a good look at his hair. Think things through, he told himself. She slowly began to kick, then moved her feet faster. As soon as she did, she looked over at him. When she pulled off one hand and made a fist, Redd released the other arm. It had a satisfyingly placating effect; immediately she grabbed both of his shoulders again, and began kicking. “All right, just hold on to me and we'll get to the side,” he told her. Slowly he kicked his way back with her struggling to hold on yet at the same time keep her distance. They finally got back up on the side. “I almost thought you were going to do the same thing that your followers did to my sister,” she said, shivering. “I would have almost preferred that. How could you contaminate all that water?” “Hey, I bathed in it, I didn't empty my bowels in there,” he said. “I haven't been smelling so good lately. Neither have you, if you want my opinion.” “Well, if I had thought of it, we could have set up the steam tents to indulge you,” she said. But she kept feeling her hair as if it were something new. “Do not do that again!” “No problem,” he said. He felt good enough to go on for a month. Well, maybe a week. Maybe. That night Amelia cooked some meat that tasted rather good while she warmed herself by the fire. Redd finished up his plate, and was about to ask for more when he realized what she had done. No way am I going to give her the benefit of thinking I'm in her debt. For a long time, they stood staring at the fire. Finally Amelia broke the silence. “You seemed to care a great deal for that boy I executed,” she said. “Yeah, well, some of us remember that we have oaths, and I promised his brother I would return him safely,” Redd spat out. “You must understand that I thought he had violated my sister,” she told him. “I would not have done as I did had I known the truth. Aimee only said that men in blue coats and hats attacked her.” “And you followed her word,” he spat out. “A man can change his clothes, or do you believe we all walk around in the same outfits for days on end.” “As I was saying, I would not have done as I did, I would have merely hanged him,” she said right back. “It is death to violate the virginity of a Sage.” “You heard her yourself, Amelia, she let him do it!” “That does not matter!” she cried out. “The consequences of that action will be the same. If she is pregnant...,” she trailed off. “If she is pregnant, what?” Redd asked. She looked at him over the fire. “The law is clear: the Sage who is with child will die,” she told him. “It is blasphemy to violate a vessel that Joab has chosen for his voice.” “You mean you would kill your own sister because she got raped?” Redd said. “Unbelievable.” “We would not do any such thing,” she told him. “Joab would cause her to bleed out, and she would die along with the child. But if she has her normal flow, then it will not happen, and the god will forgive.” She rocked back and forth, clasping her legs to her chest. “I would not harm my sister if she slept with a thousand men. She is the only family I have, other than Bryn.” “That's the third time I've heard that name,” Redd told her, “who is this Bryn anyway?” “Bryn is my brother. By all rights, he should have inherited the title of paternas when my father was called home, but then he was touched,” she looked toward the south. “My father was stricken with grief. All this time, and he had thought that we were immune from the Cibolan curse, but Joab has a way of bringing a man down when he begins to think to highly of himself.” “This Joab of yours seems to be one heck of a god,” Redd noted sarcastically. But in the same moment, he realized Joab was no different than Aether, God of Thunder, who had looked on

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impassively while Redd's friend had been brutalized. Only Redd's actions saved Rudolfo that night seven years ago. That friend had gone on to leave the Organization and become a priest in the very same temple he had been violated in. Fools of the gods, Redd thought. Whatever they were or were not, Redd would never again honor them, or even pray to them for so much as a copper penny, or to get out of a tight place. The gods would go to their place, and he his. Cenn would often ask him jokingly how he would answer the gods when they judged him; Redd (not joking) would reply that the gods had much more to answer for to him than the reverse. “I am tired,” Amelia said. “Sleep well. Or were you waiting for me so you could strangle me in the night?” “What was that?” Redd asked. “I saw the look you gave me when we were in my father's tent. You want to avenge your friends death. That is admirable, but never think that you will have my life as easy as a rabbit's.” And with that, she turned over, leaving Redd to stew in his own thoughts.

Redd and the Wyld

Page 39--Meyer Chapter 8: Stalk Death in the Night

For a long time Redd sat there, looking at Amelia's silent form. He tried to work up his anger and rage—no matter what he said, he did not think she could really stop him, and he knew she couldn't if he Shifted—but he couldn't. For a moment he thought it was because she was a woman, and his typical Cibolan machismo was taking over him. No, that's not it, Redd said. He found that more and more, he was thinking like a Westphalian in that regard; you pick up the blade, you pick up the price, no matter how good the actions felt when you first did. Abruptly he realized that was why he could not: he didn't blame her anymore. He still grieved for Marcello on the inside, and regretted what he would have to say when he finally did return, but Amelia had simply acted because she thought Marcello and the others would be the death of her sister. Still might be; Redd regretted that, the woman had been more than gentle, and she had healed him no differently than her sister. He had done much the same himself several times before when some merchant or lord thought that his money bought whatever he desired from one of Cenn's ladies no matter how hard she cried or the bruises it left. It was only rotten luck that she had chosen the one man in blue who was not a willing participant in the games. Rash thinking, Redd noted. That was why he was out here and Marcello was no more. Rash thinking got a man in a pickle every time. He looked over at her again, and renewed his promise to himself. No more acting on impulse, he decided. Latrelle was right; you should think everything through, even revenge, so you don't cut your own nose off to spite your face. If he had to avenge himself, let it be well thought out from all angles. Redd was almost so engrossed in his own thoughts that he didn't hear the soft tap of a boot some distance off. He whipped around his head. His sharp eyes, used to stalking in the streets of Cibola late at night, detected two men walking, crouched over. Danh and Izzakah! Redd had seen six full skins on their horses when they left, and he doubted they had drank them that fast. He crawled a little bit underneath the wagon, and waited. The figures passed him. “Keep it down,” Danh said. “You'll wake them.” “I do not know why we are doing this,” Izzakah whispered. “You heard them, just two pilgrims out to pay respects.” “Pay respects my spear!” Danh replied. “One day you will be paternas, but not until you realize to see beyond what is in front of you. Those Chernov are up to something, they always are. Now quiet!” The two men passed by him, and he slowly moved out. He didn't like the odds, two men with weapons against a man and a woman with none. Quietly he slipped out of the sandals he was in, and got to his feet, slowly he crept behind them. They were almost on top of Amelia. One raised his sword high, then turned around. “Father, there is only one...,” Izzakah said when Redd punched him in the mouth. “Amelia, wake up!” he screamed. The man tried to bring his sword up but Redd grabbed where he thought the hand was. If he was wrong, that blade would slide quickly through his hand. The other figure turned, then fell to the ground just as Redd and Izzakah did the same. The two grappled in the dust, rolling this way and that. Thorn seeds stung Redd, and he could hear grunts from Izzakah, when he rolled as well. Redd came to rest on the bottom, and felt water in his hair. He struggled to keep the sword from his own throat. Damn you Amelia, I could have had both of them killed before they could breathe if you didn't take away my knives! Regretting lost knives would not help him now. Redd could feel the edge pressing against his face when the other man stiffened, and then collapsed. Redd pushed the man off him and looked up. Amelia was standing there, a sword in her hands.

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Page 40--Meyer

“I almost thought that was you trying to...,” she shook her head. “I almost didn't move until it was too late. You see sharp for a city man.” “Stealing from houses in the daytime is risky business.” he said. “And you have to work in little or no light if you do not want to be caught. He got to his feet. “Now what do we do? Do we leave now?” “We cannot until day has broken, or would you risk a horse stepping on a bane snake,” she said. Redd groaned; she just had to bring up that particular subject. During the Wyld war, it was reputed that the Wyld would dig huge trenches and fill them with snakes, then cover them for an approaching foe. No few soldiers died either in a snake's belly or with their blood turned to gel by their poison. And the one thing Redd hated in the world beyond anything else was a snake, their large mouths ripping open like the cave to the underworld, striking with those fangs of theirs dripping poison. “What happens if these two sent for backup?” Redd asked. “I'd hate to think that I'd wake up to find my head missing.” She shook her head. “I do not think we have to fear that,” she said. She went back to the ground. “Their lands are far to the west, on the border, and from the looks of things they doubled around and came back after us, thinking to catch us off guard. No time to send a message. Sleep well!” She said cheerily, and returned to her own bed. Redd grumbled. The woman was insane, sleeping beside dead bodies without a care in the world. “Well, I suppose you won't be snoring,” he told the corpse, and went back to his own pallet. Yeah, he thought glumly, about as insane as he speaking to a corpse! He did not think he would sleep, but soon he was snoring himself. Amelia better be right, he thought as sleep took him.

Redd and the Wyld

Page 41--Meyer Chapter 9: The Trifold test

Amelia was right, Redd did not wake to the Wyld scream and arrows. He awoke to something much worse in his own eyes. A moving on his stomach made him open his eyes. A large red snake was moving across his belly. The snake turned its head to regard him, then went back to slithering. Pardon me, coming through. The warm feel of liquid down his leg told Redd his bladder was empty, but he didn't care. “Amelia!” he screamed. “Where are you.” “Ah, good morning,” a voice said above his head. Redd looked up. In one of the trees Amelia sat in a branch, idly waving a leg underneath her. “You see, I told you you would not wake up to the Yurev seeking their revenge.” “I might have preferred that!” he said. “Do something!” The last part of that came out as a high-pitched screech. “And if I move too fast, the snake may misinterpret, and strike at you.” she said. “How could I repay you for saving me when you are on the ground in your death rattles?” “Damn you!” he said. The snake had turned around and was regarding him wearily now. He could hear a hiss coming from its throat. “Just a minute, do not worry,” He heard her drop to the ground to his side. A moment later, the earth seemed to throb underneath him in a rhythmic pace. The snake turned around, and started out back toward the desert as fast as it could streak. Redd got up. He saw that Amelia held that strange drum stick in her hands. “Did that amuse you,” he said sarcastically. “A little,” she said. “I did not think your voice could get that high. You do look like a woman, now that you have proper clothes, but...” “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “You try waking up to one of those horrible things. Where did it come from, anyway? And what is that?” he pointed to the stick. She twirled it. “This is a snake konga, something to drive them away when they come too close. It creates small tremors that annoy them,” she looked the direction the snake had left, “I know every type of snake in the Wyldlands, and that is not any of them. It could be that one wandered off from the temple. Once we get there, we will know for sure.” “The Temple! You mean there's more of those things in there,” Redd said. “Oh yes,” Amelia said. “The temple has not merely kept it's secrets for five hundred years because no man has tried to brave them in the path. It is said there are things in their to kill the mightiest warrior. The temple is the test, the final test, that we have hardened ourselves to prepare us for what is ahead.” “Wonderful, Joab has created the obstacle course from the netherworld,” he said sarcastically. He grabbed her arm when she went back to the box. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “Returning it,” she said. “It is the Putai's, remember?” Redd grabbed up the konga. “Oh, no, I'm not letting some snake up my leg because of some stupid tradition.” he said. “But we are to go to the temple without arms, that is the commandment.” “You may, but I never remember signing that agreement with Joab,” he turned around. Both men were where they had fallen. “Hold on,” he said. He grabbed up their Rolling Thunders and their swords. Redd flinched a bit when he saw Danh's severed head, but he went back to the box and tossed them in. “There,” he said. “Their offering, and offering for this, now can we go!” She shook her own head.

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“On yours be it, then.” she said. “Let's get moving. The spear awaits!” A group of mountains reared up in the distance towards dark clouds just behind them as Redd and Amelia rode closer and closer to the temple grounds. Redd noted something odd with them. The sun had moved halfway across the sky, and they still had not moved. In that amount of time they should have moved east, or dissipated. Instead they stood there, as solid as the mountains below. Redd caressed the konga as he would a lover. If that thing kept snakes away he wouldn't move two feet without it, not until this little errand was done. He kept checking behind them. Nothing but hardpan desert, and maybe a snake or two writhing along on its own way. “How many times must I tell you, they did not send back for their clan,” Amelia told him. “Trusting thieves live short lives,” he said to her. “Besides, what were they doing coming out here in the first place? Don't tell me you believe that tale about marriage.” “No, but...,” she bit her lip thoughtfully. “Redd, they know about the tale as well as any do. It has been nearly two hundred years since anybody even tried to go after the spear. Even if a Wyld were lucky enough to get all the way to the temple itself, they could not take the spear in their own hands. The spear must be given, not grabbed like a piece of booty.” Redd shook his head. More and more, the whole story sounded like a crock. Why would the Wyld hate outlanders so much, yet at the same time need one to do a task they seemed to be excellently suited for? The legends overestimated their skill, but they were still formidable. He looked over at Amelia, and just as sure as he knew there was something funny about this, he knew equally as strongly that she was telling the truth. “The Trifold test,” she said, pointing. A break in the mountain ridge had appeared. It led slowly back until it ended right in front of a large black building circular in design. To its right, a volcano puffed smoke into the air. Amelia stopped the wagon in front of a stone, and got down. “So, this is the temple of the Wyld,” Redd said. “Doesn't seem holy to me.” “Joab is not like other gods,” Amelia told him sharply. “While they prefer to lie comfortably and drink in the praises of their worshipers, he prefers conflict, and struggle, so that a man or woman might make himself better, worthy to be called Joab's child.” “Right. What is that white powder on the ground?” he pointed to the opening. It looked like a fine mist that had been...Amelia threw him back just as two large slabs of the mountain slammed together, booming. The ground shook. Redd hauled himself to his feet. “That is why no one has returned who has tried,” Amelia said. The stones move with a mind of their own. Here, let me show you.” She dragged him back a few steps. As soon as they were even with their wagon, the stones returned to their position. She motioned for him to be still, then approached. When she got within two paces, they slammed shut again. She came back, and they moved back again. “Wonderful, I've been wondering how I could lose some weight,” he said. “Now you see why we needed you,” Amelia told him. “You move faster than the wind, faster than even the eye can see. It is Joab's will that you take the spear and unify us. Only you can make us whole once more.” Redd looked up the slope to the opening. It would be tricky. Not only would he be running against the force of time itself, but slope. “All right, you stay here, that spear is in the center of the temple, right?” “No,” she said. “What do you mean, no?” Redd asked. “Is it there or is it not?” “It's there, that is not what I mean,” she turned him around. “I was a fool, Danh must have sent back for his tribe. They are coming for us!”

Redd and the Wyld

Page 43--Meyer Chapter 10: Bryn to the rescue.

The Wyld on the other side marched steadily, slowly, like they had all the time in the world. They reminded Redd of an army marching through Cibola on a holiday, all formal and regal. Oddly, they weren't using that battle scream of theirs, but that did not settle Amelia. “They would only be here in that number for one thing,” she said. “They know of my father's plans, and seek to stop him. Redd I must go with you; they will kill me if they find me here.” “And if we come out of there with the spear we will be killed instantly,” Redd said. “I think it's time to get going east, to Panem Dea. “No!” she held onto Redd's shoulders. “If you take the spear, then they will not attack. Once the prophecy has been fulfilled, they will know to obey my father, and he will not allow us to die.” “Are you so sure he can get here in time,” Redd said. “Never mind. How much do you weigh?” “What does that have to do with anything?” “How much?” “Four stones, by the way you outlanders measure things,” she said. Four stones. If he were to start behind her and pick her up as he went, she could weigh twelve, and grow with each second. That entry way was too long for that. Objects seemed to gain mass in the shift...but what you brought in with you did not. “I guess there's only one thing, to do,” Redd said, swinging the mallet across her head. She collapsed onto the ground, and Redd picked her up in his arms. “Four stones, yeah right,” he grunted. “Keep telling yourself that, and you might believe it one day.” The only other time he had taken somebody conscious into the world of the shift had ended badly. He had carried a woman past a group of men seeking her life. When he came back out, her eyes had popped out of her head, and brain leaked from her ears. The strain of the Shift was too much for other people. Of course, there was no telling that it wouldn't happen if she was unconscious, either. Somehow, however, Redd thought it was his only hope. Only he could see the world of the Shift and survive. Putting the konga in her lap, he pulled himself in, waited until the energy inside him would tear him to pieces, and exploded out as he took the first step. Shift. The world slowed, darkened. He ran through the gates, and the doors started to slam, slower than they were originally, but still faster than he wished for. He could feel the world pressing in on him, as well as those stone walls, but he kept moving, leaving their imprint behind them in the fabric of reality. He stopped, and he was dead, he and Amelia both. He forced himself to move just one more step...The stone grazed the sole of his sandle, and no more. He shifted out, and the boom threw him and Amelia forward ten paces. He crawled over to Amelia, patting her cheek. The eyes flew open; gray eyes regarded his blue. “Amelia, thanks...,” Her hands clasped onto his throat. He struggled to remove them. “And what was that fool move of yours,” she spat. “I should kill you.” “Couldn't...survive...that pressure,” he said, and she threw him off her. He gasped for air for a few moments. “You do not look tougher than I,” she said, getting to her feet. “If you can move like the wind, then so can I! There is no need to treat me like a tavern wench you'll drag to your bed whatever she wishes.” “Do you want to risk your brains and find out,” he muttered. “Well, now that test is done, let's go get this spear of yours.” He took a step forward, then backed up when a boulder crashed down in front of him. He landed on the ground.

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“Cibolan, we do not call it the Trifold test for nothing,” Amelia sniffed. “We will be tested twice more, once crossing the ground and once again in the temple itself.” “Wonderful, just wonderful,” he thought tartly. “Well, let's push on, there's nothing to be gained here waiting for a boulder to crash onto our heads.” They moved out of the way just as a boulder did just that. For the next two hours they crossed the large, flat wasteland, dodging whenever that volcano sent a red stone flying at them. The boulders dug deep into the ground where they were not cracked by boulders flung there earlier. As Amelia said, there were all sorts of snakes, but Redd did not even mind them after a while. At least the snake would give you warning were he to attack. Boulders did not, and more than once Redd came within seconds of being crushed if Amelia was not there, as well as in reverse. At last they came to a deep gorge separating them from the temple. The boulders had let up as they drew nearer. It was almost like there was a living being in that mountain that was giving up. A single rope led from one side to another. “First dodge the bowling balls, now play the high wire artist,” Redd said. “I'm really beginning to tire of this. I'll start out first.” He expected her to argue with him, but she shook her head violently putting her hand on her chin and staring at the depths below. Something was odd about her. Putting that out of his mind, Redd slowly eased himself out on the rope, his hands held to either side. It was somewhat shaky, but nothing to a kid who had learned to steal on the sharp rooftops of Cibola. Ease along, steady but surely, and that was it. He dropped to the ground and looked back. Amelia stood there. “All right, come on, it will hold your wait.” he said. She shook her head violently. “Like you said before, you are the one who can grab that spear, I'll wait for you here,” she said. At that point a boulder landed just behind her. She screamed, and nearly fell into the pit. “Amelia I can't protect you over there, are you afraid of the heights?” “I am not afraid?” she screamed. “Oh, who is the fool here, I am! Redd, you must go on without me.” “Damn it, Amelia, I'm not leaving you out here to become a Wyld pita,” he told her, holding out a hand. A day before, and he wanted to throttle her. Now he thought he might almost have to go all the way back to save her. “Just take it slow and steady, and do not look down. I can help you along the last few feet, but you need to get out there.” Slowly, wiping away tears, she made her way onto it, crying as she did. Redd coached her on. “That's it, Amelia, just keep those arms out and keep steady.” She brought her arms out. She was about halfway across now, when the ground shook, she dropped on the rope. “Keep up, damn you!” Redd shouted. He eased out a little bit on the rope, holding out his hand. Just a few more steps and you're there. Steady, steady,” She held out her hands to him when a boulder came whistling through the air, cutting the rope. She screamed, and Redd barely grabbed her by the hand. She hung over the side. “Give me some help here,” he told her. He saw streaks of tears flowing down those cheeks. “You cannot save me,” she said. “I'm falling.” The grip was slipping. “I will not leave you,” he said. “Then I must,” she told him, and released. She fell for a few feet when a giant hand half the size of her reached down and grabbed her, pulling her and over. Redd turned around. “Whoever you are, you...Gods of Cibola!” he screamed. The creature standing over him had to be at least twenty feet tall, and wore a large tunic in the Wyld style. Wild red hair matted down across its face and thick lips. He saw one large blue eye looking at them underneath the wild tangle of red hair. Redd searched for a knife that was not there, while his mind tried to name this beast. The creature seemed to ignore him. It patted Amelia on the cheek gently, then turned and ran

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for the mountains to the east. It's huge leaps ate up ground. When it got to the foot of the mountain it jumped up it easily, disappearing into the forest. Then that howl came, the howl they had heard that first night, the night Tel had gone on his outing. Amelia put her two fingers to both sides of her neck, then kissed them and raised them toward the direction that beast went. “Thank you, Bryn,” she said slowly.

Redd and the Wyld

Page 46--Meyer Chapter 11: Begin the Final Test

“So, let me get this straight, that ogre is your brother?” Redd said. Amelia's eyes were like hard agates. “He is not an ogre!” she screamed. “He is a Cursed One, and to be mourned more than the rest of us and our troubles.” She sat herself on a boulder. Redd was still looking at the direction he had gone. “I didn't mean no offense, it's just that I've never heard of anything like that save in fairy tales. Sorry, but you tell me if you wouldn't be searching for a term when a twenty foot giant with hands the size of boulders showed up to save you.” She sniffed. “My father was so happy when he finally had a son,” she said. “Oh, he adored me, and Aimee, even more when her hair turned and she was selected for a Sage, but when Bryn was born...” she looked to the sky. “Father thought he had finally had an heir, some one to take over as paternas when he went on his final journey. It was all going well until his first birthday, when the curse began to show.” “Wait a minute, he didn't come out like that?” he asked, then thought better of that. That would be one hell of a pregnancy, he realized. She went on as if he had never spoken. “For one whole week, he screamed in pain and agony. Father held out hope against hope that it was not the curse, that he merely had twistbone fever. But he was whistling in the wind; by the end of that week, what was Bryn was now what you see. Obviously that meant the end of our line. Father would not try to have another child, not when his line was just as susceptible to the Curse as anyone else.” “And that curse is what changes you?” Redd asked. she nodded. “It does not strike us all, of course, one in twenty, maybe one in fifteen, but it occurs. The disease is awful to comprehend, and no less so ten years later, when it ends, the bodies of the Cursed ones shaken and bent to all they could stand and dead with gray in their hair.” “Who on earth would do this?” he said. “And to children!” “It was in the Marble pits on the border. Our people worked for a local lord, who grew greedier and greedier each day. It is said that he hired a wizard from Cibola by the name of Nemo to put a curse upon us and our progeny, so we might work harder and longer for less pay, if any at all. He hid his curse inside candies, for children. Adults ate of it, but it did not seem to affect them like it did the children. When we found out about the curse, and that he was enslaving our children, we tore his castle down and crushed him with the marble he so wished to have, after taking the name of Nemo from his lips with a hot poker.” she spit. “No wonder you came out of those mountains so pissed,” Redd muttered. Cenn used kids as labor at time, of course, as did the other dons and capos, but only for simple tasks like pickpocketing, things the kids would do while they waited to grow up. For those that would use kids for darker purposes, however, those who would harm a child...he had cut up the bodies of several who had done so and tossed them into the Eld in sacks. “Initially we wanted to go to war, but it is said that Dor, Tyr's son, pleaded for one last chance to save the Cibolans. He said that Joab had spoken to him, had said it might be possible to convince the Cibolans that they had done wrong and lift the curse. He set out with no guard to Cibola with no weapons, and for that, they strangled him and dragged his body behind a wagon back to us,” she spat. “Wait a minute, Dor was executed for killing Nemo, now I remember where those names came from.” “He would not,” she retorted. “In any event, once Tyr looked upon his body the decision to go to war was set, and the rest is history. We forgot why we went out there in the first place, to cure our

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children, and Joab punished us for it. I guess we will forever be haunted by that curse.” “Not if I have anything to do about it,” Redd said darkly. “I am no friend of the priests, but I do know a few, and wizards as well. If the cure for your children is there, I will find it, by theft or murder or whatever needed to loosen their tongues.” She shook her head. “It is not your problem, Cibolan,” she said. “The torture and murder of children anywhere is my problem,” he said to her, looking back down there. “Or do you believe you are the only people who love your children?” “You really would do that, would you?” she said. “What type of a man are you, Redd. You move like the wind and dress as fancy as any Cibolan, but you have no charms of the gods that your kind normally wear and talk about harming their servants.” “No god helps me,” he said darkly. The image of a priest bent over a little boy, his pants to his ankles returned to his mind, overlooked by a stone relief of a god casting a lightning bolt from a cloud, dispassionate, unblinking. Trust the gods, and you let evil men get away with whatever they wanted. “What I do, I do by my own hand. If the gods help me, fine, but I'll do what I must with or without them, and let them watch or go fondle themselves.” He started walking the final steps towards the temple. “Well, are you coming, or what?” he said over his shoulder. “Let's go,” she said. “The final test awaits.”

Redd and the Wyld

Page 48--Meyer Chapter 11: Interloper

The inside of the temple was dark and dusty. A single beam of light shone down from a window inlaid into the center of the dome. Redd waved away the soot, then took a fuller look. “Good heavens!” he said. Piled all around the room were heaps of gold, crowns and bars and jewels reaching up in neat stacks. There was enough treasure in here to make a pauper a king, and a king an emperor. To the center of the room stood a single slab. Some smaller statues blocked him from seeing what it was. He had to get in closer to see. On top, a single spear lay, black wooden shaft holding a short sword blade. Redd tripped over something at his feet, then looked down. It was a statue carved as a leg. He looked at the rest of it. The statue was reaching forward, trying to grasp the spear. He wondered at the mastery of detail in this sculpture, the screaming face, and it all came home to him. This “statue” had not started out as stone. A drop of water hit him on the head, and he looked up. It had come from the end of a stone horn nearly to the top of the roof. It was half human, half-bull, the breasts jutting out on it with an eroticism that was disturbing. The head was thrown back in an eternal roar. “What are you waiting for Redd, get the spear and get out of here,” Amelia said. She had not stepped foot into the temple. Redd reached for the spear when he heard a thud and a click, like that of a crossbow arrow being primed. “Move back,” a voice commanded. Redd turned around. In the doorway a large man stood with a cross bow. Amelia was crumpled to the ground. She was going to have a headache if she kept this up. He moved in closer. Sunshine coming in through the hole revealed thick bear furs over chain mail. Green eyes stared out from deep eye sockets. Uln. “Who are you?” Redd demanded of the man. “An outsider, like yourself, of course,” he said. “Dachinian, or is it...Cibolan. I know that accent from anywhere. The desert dogs found a fancy cat to retrieve their precious spear. Tell me, did you kill Danh and Izzakah? If you did, I must thank you for it, you saved me a great deal of trouble. of having to kill them afterwards.” “A name?” Redd demanded. “I am known among my people as Gisel,” he said, and shoved the bolt under Redd's chin. “But do not let me hear you sully that name, boy.” “You don't look so fast as to get through those gates on your own,” Redd said. He chuckled. “That's the thing with Wyld, they always think of one direction, forward, always forward. They have not the brains for craft,” he said. “Nor the skill for climbing mountains. I came up the opposite side. There is always a way around, if you have the patience and the smarts. That volcano spewed its rocks, and the snakes were numerous, but I made it, and now the spear is mine.” “And what will you do with that, try to become a Wyld paternas?” Redd asked. “They'd skin you in two steps.” “Silly boy, there is more power in this spear than you can dream of. With this, we will ride against the Wyld and slay them with their own symbol.” He walked backwards, closer to the outstretched foot That's it, fool, move a little bit more Redd thought. He finally tripped, and Redd rushed him, pushing him down. He had to break his neck on those stone arms thrown out, he thought. The man reached back, grabbing the edge of the table...and immediately his body turned stone gray. The corpse of the man shattered on the ground, another ruined statue. Amelia was getting to her feet. “What happened?” she asked. Redd pointed to the wreck and she sniffed. “I am getting tired of being knocked silly by men,” she said. “An Uln! How did one of the

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Unfaithful Ones get here?” she said. “Apparently Danh and his son were going to use him the same way your using me,” he shrugged. “They got no better than they deserved for their treachery,” she said. “I am glad to see the Uln dead, even though his death is proof that even he has Wyld blood. At least you do not?” Redd said nothing. Amelia grabbed his shoulder, sensing something. “Redd, tell me you know your parents do not have Wyld blood?” she said. “They died before I was born,” he said. “The only family in my life has been Cenn, and even he's not related. He told me that, made sure I knew. “By the beard of Joab, man, if you have even one drop of Wyld blood in you you will be turned to stone. Do you dare risk that! You will save no children as a statue!” Her eyes were pleading. Redd turned around towards the thing. “Amelia, obviously you have never diced before,” he said. “Why do you say that?” she asked. “You don't know the first rule: you can't win a toss that you are too scared to make,” he said. He leaped over the men kneeling before the statue. For a moment his heart froze as his hand crept over the spear. He could feel his body tightening up, and then he fell. With a warm hand on the spear. He grabbed it, and turned to Amelia, who breathed in heavily. She walked towards him, then smacked him on the head. “What was that for!” he demanded. “Do you have no regard?” she said. “I'm beginning to think you care for me,” he said. She turned around. “I care for the spear, Cibolan, now lets go,” she said. Redd smiled, then held the long spear in his hands, chuckling. He did not even notice the glint that sparked in a moment in the monster's eyes.

Redd and the Wyld

Page 50--Meyer Chapter 12: The Final Test

When Redd and Amelia came out, it was as if they had stepped out onto a different world. The gap in the earth was not there, even the boulders were gone. The volcano still smoked, but somehow even that was a little less intense. “I wonder how long it will take us to get back there,” Redd asked. “I really need to get on my...” “I see that you were successful,” a familiar voice behind them said. Redd and Amelia turned around. Two men walked toward them, each holding a Rolling Thunder at their chest. Redd didn't know the younger man with the square face and the sneer on his lips, but that older man with the gray was all too familiar to him. “I would congratulate you, but the tribes await their new paternas, give me the spear.” “Father, what is this about? Why the need for this?” Amelia asked, the father shoved the Thunder at her. “Stay out of this, Amelia,” he growled. “Let me guess, you never were going to let us out of the Wyldlands in the first place,” Redd told him. “What did you do to the others, Jakob, wait until they were halfway through and shoot them full of arrows. Typical Wyld, brave to the world yet you run screaming when a Jerochaim Kayan stands up to you.” “Silence your tongue, outlander!” he shouted. “I do not know what happened to your friends. I wanted to kill them, but Aimee stopped me. Aimee said I must wait for the will of Joab. Aimee said I must not go here, that I must wait. Waiting for the will of Joab is why I have a freak son and my line is ended!” He screamed. “No father!” Amelia said. “What have you done?” “I think I know what he wants to do,” Redd said. “The last time that this spear saw Wyld hands was when it was returned from the Wyld war. You are planning another invasion, aren't you?” he touched fingers to his forehead. “We conquered the world once, boy, we can do it again. And I will be the next Tyr, uber paternas of the Wyld. This time, we shall destroy the wine fields before they destroy us, and enslave the nations to our will. This time, Jerochaim Kayan will not stand in our way, far from it. I would have gotten here sooner had I not had to deal with my daughter.” “Aimee, what did you do to my sister?” she growled. “When I was a boy, my mother was a mid-wife for many clans. Tribes would pay her money, and other chieftains would pay her even more to ensure the women did not survive the child birth nor the child. I remembered how to cut just so that they would think the god was displeased with her and spilled out her whore blood on the ground.” He said. “Enough talk, hand me the spear.” “You bastard!” she screamed, taking a step towards her father. A horrible rumble threw her back. They looked around. Another rumble. Redd looked at the mountain. It wasn't coming from there. It emanated out of the temple. “Why do I have a feeling that test was a little too easy,” he said as the front of the temple exploded out. The dust settled, revealing that mad half-female, half bull creature, screaming. It roared to the heavens, then started down towards them. Jakob and his follower started shooting their Rolling Thunders at the thing. The arrows bounced off those breasts like they were nothing. The beast raised one hoof down and brought it down on the younger man, making him nothing more than a blot on the ground. It swatted Jakob into the side of the mountain, knocking him out. The Rolling Thunder bounced to the ground. Amelia grabbed it, then aimed it at the thing when Redd pushed her. “What are you thinking?” he told her. “Big stone monster, little arrows, not a good match.”

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“What else do we do?” she said. Redd looked up in the sky. That volcano was still bubbling. that lava had to be hot. Hot enough to... “Get moving down to the tribe, I'm going to get rid of this bull,” he said. He shoved her down. “Go!” He screamed. She started running. Redd turned around. The bull attempted to charge him, but he rolled out of the way. It crashed into the canyon wall, then turned around. “You want the spear?” he screamed. “Time to play fetch!” And ran up the mountain, with the monster in hot pursuit. Chapter 13: Somebody's Daughter Redd ran up a winding path, with the beast at his heels. He slowed up every once in a while to let the thing catch up. This wouldn't work unless the beast thought she had a chance. “Here boy, I mean girl,” he said, whistling and tapping the spear against his leg. Cenn would crap himself if he saw Redd in a Wyld's turban playing fetch with something the size of a warehouse. It grabbed for him, tearing out parts of the mountain. The rising heat from the opening alerted Redd to how close he was to the top. Below he could see a group of people milling about the entry to the temple grounds. The gates did not close now; there was no need. Abruptly a stone hand came down, trapping Redd against the side of the rock. The monster raised the other hand, set to bring it down and end Redd's days on this earth once and for all. Redd turned around. The heat nearly blinded him, but it was there. He twisted in the grip of the beast and got free enough. “You want it, go get it!” he screamed, tossing the spear high above the lava. The beast abruptly let go, leaping into the air. Redd turned around and felt his body ready for the Shift, even though he hadn't noticed gathering his soul in. He could escape, if he wanted, but he was a thief, and a thief who walked away with no prize was no thief at all. He Shifted, and jumped onto the back of the beast. It was a slow motion race up the back of this bull, straining with everything he had. The spear was falling now, nearly a hairs breadth away from that beasts own scarily female hands. Just as those fingers closed on it, Redd leaped over and snatched it from the things grasp. Twisting and turning he leaped over the other side of the volcano, grabbed onto a ledge, and came out of the Shift. The world exploded. A brilliant bright light filled the sky, dwarfing even the sun. Lava spewed out, then just as suddenly rushed back in, missing Redd by a hair. It shook the mountain for a minute, threatening to send Redd falling to his doom, and ended. Redd pulled himself up onto the ledge. The once orange hot opening was black and smoking, though no more hot than the desert he had traveled through to get there. In the middle of it, instead of the bull he expected, a woman reached out her hands as if to grab something, the color of the ash and just as hard. Somebody's daughter, Redd supposed; those eyes held a shock that she was where she was. Did she have a moment as herself, to realize what Joab had turned her into before the fires burned the air in her lungs, then the lungs themselves. He touched the cheek of the woman gingerly. People are but marionettes of the Gods, the Cibolans said, but it was still a hard way to die for someone who could look over the span of your life and not raise a finger to help you. He passed her up, and headed back down the mountain.

Redd and the Wyld

Page 52--Meyer Chapter 13: A drunken Wyld.

When he got back down, a group of Wyld were staring up at him as he slid to the bottom. Half of them were in those white robes and had the black hair of a Sage. The others were in tunics. They all bowed to him. “What do you want?” he said tiredly. “Retriever of the spear, we greet you,” one of the Sages said. “I am Merise, and these two are Nicolette and Nami,” They bowed. He bowed back. “A pleasure,” he said. “Well, you got your spear, now can I get some decent clothes,” he said. “I swear this thing is making me rash.” “We have them,” Amelia said, smiling. Two tall Wyld males were with her, each overshadowing Redd by a hand and both with fire-red hair. They both made that strange gesture to him, repeating the words “blood and honor” as they did so. Now there were two toughs that he would like to have working for him, Redd thought. He had a feeling merchants would throw the treasure his way rather than face them even if their hair was black and curly as a Cibolan's. She looked toward the figure of her father, and snapped her fingers. Immediately they grabbed him each by one arm, and pulled him back down to the camp. “Dregos, Martin, what are you doing I am your paternas!” he screamed. They paid him no mind. He struggled, but that bull would have moved more than they did. Redd followed. them down. “We will talk later,” he told the Sages. “But retriever, you must...,” one of the sages said. “Later,” he said. There was a circle prepared, like before, but this time, instead of an anvil, there was a simple pillory, set up with the holes straight up and down instead of out front. They put him in the holes, then forced a funnel into his mouth. One of the youths then picked up a large barrel. “This man has violated our laws,” Amelia said. “He has not waited on Joab as he should, but rather he became greedy, and murdered anybody who would try to turn him from his path. He even dared to silence the voice of Joab, and murdered my sister, the kindest and gentlest soul among us. He is beyond corrupt; he is drunk with power, and among us, there is only one punishment for such weakness. “No, no, Amelia, do not do this, do not make me go to Joab with wine on my breath.” They held his mouth open, and Amelia opened the keg, pouring it down the tunnel. Redd couldn't even look anymore. He turned away. The liquid went down and down and down, until finally his heels thrashed on the ground, and he was no more. His gray cloak whipped in an errant breeze. She looked at his body for a moment, then turned around and walked back into the tents. Redd went the other way, back up the mountain to the temple. The man had deserved what he got, Redd thought, but that didn't mean he wanted to be the one to witness it. He supposed that went double for his daughter, now an orphan even if by her own hand. A couple of hours later Amelia went back up and found Redd in the center of the once ruined temple. “Do you plan on staying up here forever?” she asked “Gaining wisdom through Joab? Your hair is not the right color.” “Please,” he said. “I was just thinking up here. How many years was that woman here held captive, waiting for somebody to pull the spear and then send her to her own doom? How many years did she serve Joab, and what did it get her? Place of honor on top of a dead volcano, that's what.” “Joab does not forget those who serve him loyally,” she said. “Her soul will be welcomed on the eternal journey, leading the souls of not only all who were, but all who will be. Same with my own sister. We cannot pick our destinies, Redd.”

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“Says who?” he turned around. “Amelia, you sound like one of those priests explaining to a peasant why his son died or why his wife left him after twenty years. The Gods tell us that they are involved in our lives, that they control all that happens. Well if they do, they've done a pretty shitty job so far. Look at your own brother, for the sake of the Gods!” Her hands trembled at her side. For the first time, he thought he saw true sorrow. “Do not lecture me on how hard the path is,” she said. “But I cannot change it through tantrums. Do you think I enjoyed killing my father down there, even if he killed my sister. No! I would have thrown open the locks and told him to leave us, but the Sages...,” she started crying. Redd gathered her in his arms. “I know it's hard,” Redd told her. “I'm just not cut out for this stuff. I tend to think that a man cuts his own path, whether or not the gods help him or not. Any man who tries to explain the sorrows of the world as some Gods cruel joke does nobody a favor.” “You would be a good Wyld if your hair was red,” she said. “Among us, we say 'the trap pit for one man is the beginning of a pond for another'.” “Well, this looks like the beginning of one pond,” he said, pointing all around. He picked up a spear and then saw something in the corner. Two short swords, each with a haft as long as its blade, sticking out of a pile of gold. He brought them both out. The sheaths were worked ivory with vines going up and down each. He unsheathed one Cutter of Hope was etched in it; Dreamslicer on the other. “You are gathering up a trove of weapons, my Cibolan Wyld, she said. “What will you do with all of them? Conquer the world?” She put a hand around him as they went down the mountain. “First thing, I'm going to Panem Dea to make sure Tel and his minions did not get up to any more mischief,” he told her. “And then back to Cibola. I have a promise to keep.” Marcello, he thought grimly; at least one promise I can keep. And a vow to pay, however hard it was. At the end of the valley the women sages bowed. Here we go again. he said. “Look I told you...” “It cannot wait,” the sage said. She pointed to several young men. “You must choose. These men have no thoughts in their minds of glory, and represent the best of the Wyld tribe. “Really?” he said, smiling. “No disrespect to those young men, but I think I've seen one better,” he told them, and tossed the spear behind him. He turned around, just as Amelia caught the blade. “You seem to be gathering weapons, paternas,” he said. “Make the most of that one.” She looked at him with shock. “There has never been...,” she began. “A female paternas? Or is that maternas?” He turned to the men. “Your God Joab commands you to learn humility, and discipline,” he told the men. “There is no greater humility than following one who may be physically weaker than yourself, but still stronger in mind and spirit, and doing so of your own free choice. Following a person strong enough to admit their fears and their weaknesses, but to do what must be done regardless of that price.” The men thought about that for a moment, then one by one, went to Amelia, bowing on one knee and kissing her hand. “We have a paternas,” the sage intoned. “Let us celebrate.” Redd awoke the next day on a bed of rock, and realized that the tent had been taken up from him. He looked to the north. The temple was distant, but the clouds that had boiled above were gone. The sky was clear, now. “Damn it, she did it again,” he muttered, rubbing his head. Amelia had lured him into a tent with promises of things to come, only to have a familiar leaf squashed into his mouth. Would he never learn to think before he acted? He stopped when he felt the hat, and looked down. He was back in his old clothes, and he could feel that familiar weight of the knives in their places. With two new

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additions. The short swords were buckled onto him with a heavy leather belt. He had never known the use of swords, never even had the desire. Well, he would have to now, he guessed. “Did you have a good sleep?” a soft voice said behind him. Redd almost thought that Aimee had come back to the dead. But it wasn't. Sarai, that strange woman warrior with the voice as soft as silk, was standing beside a wagon and horses. She had her hands behind her. “Yeah, as good a sleep as you can have while being knocked out,” he muttered. “Where did they go?” “They had to go on a different way, to gather the tribes and announce a new lord of all Wyld,” she said. “Amelia wishes you luck, and says that you have a home amongst our people anytime you have need.” “Fantastic, but I'd prefer Cibolan sewers to places where snakes cover the ground and women are turned into bull-headed monsters. Now which way is out?” She pointed. “It is a couple days journey that way, but I...I wish to show you the way.” she said. “Huh?” Redd looked at her oddly. “The way to Panem Dea?” “The way to Cibola.” “You want to go all the way to Cibola!” he said. “You're a Wyld, why would you want to associate with wizards that cursed your people.” “I have read the books,” she blurted out. “And I tire of the warrior's life. Sleep on the ground for days on end, then a ten minute battle and it's on to the next one. I wish to see the temples, and the towers, and what I have read about for so long. I wish to see the men and the women from around the world, and become something more than a desert nomad, eating snakes every night. I wish to become civilized.” He considered her for a moment. A single Wyld walking down the Primio Via would send people screaming. He smiled. “The first thing we'll need to do is get you a proper dress in Panem Dea,” he told her she smiled. “A real dress?” she asked. He nodded. “I just hope Roberto has saved my part of the money,” he told her. “Come on, let's get going.” He hopped up on the wagon, and Sarai joined him. Supplies had been placed in the back. “On to Cibola!” she said. “On to Cibola,” he agreed, “and the long way around,” as they sped eastward towards the mountains.

Redd and the Wyld

Page 55--Meyer Afterwards: Hidden Names

The party of Wyld finally arrived at the Nord Mountains, part of the ridge system known as the Elf's Teeth. Amelia ordered them to a stop, then walked into a small hole set inside the mountains. She crossed an alley built by centuries of Wyld and rooms on either side. In one of those rooms a man in Westphalian armor stood watching passively while Wyld in iron armor engaged in drills, striking as one in with their spears, while shouting. The rest of the world thought them barbarians, unskilled in the use of such things. Well, they would learn soon enough. In another, men stood around a table, designing and crafting war machines, talking intently. She carried on through these hidden rooms. The Wyld were a people of secrets, of an iron wall to the rest of the world. Her own line, the Chernovs, had two hidden names used only amongst themselves, in clan meetings and upon the date of maturity. One, Kinslayer, was a great disgrace in a people who valued family above all, but the infected branch must be cut off whatever fruit it bore, lest it destroy the tree. It had been true since the first of her line, Allan, had cut off a branch infected with the bitterness of wine, and it was still true today with her, she mused. The other signified their position, a degradation that would lift them high in the world. That name was the reason why she had come here. At the end of the hallway, two of the Westphalian guards in armor stood, each holding the banner with a wolf's head below a mountain. They bowed, putting their fingers to each side of their neck. “Heart and honor, paternas, go right on in,” they said. How did they know, she wondered. Perhaps the spear, but they had seen her with spear before. She passed them, and noticed that whiff of an open grave in the air. She saw the glint of white bone in one of the suits of armor, and shivered. In the large room, a man stood in a stone chair with heads gathered around them. He was reading like he would for his own children, but these “children” dwarfed their father by a good three Wyld. He closed the book. “That is all for now, children,” he said. He placed a candy in each of their hands. “I must talk with the adults.” Each took the candy from him. One of them looked back and yelled, running to embracer her. He picked her up and grunted. “Yes, Bryn, I missed you too,” she told him. “Now quit breaking my ribs and get to bed. You used up a lot of energy scaling those mountains. He nodded, and followed the others out a side entrance. The man walked towards them, limping slightly. He wore heavy iron armor, and his hair was gray, tied back in a ponytail. “Did the Cibolan work out as planned?” he asked. She nodded, and held out a spear. The man touched the wood carefully, drawing one mailed finger across it's length. “I have not seen this spear in over five hundred years,” he said. “That time, it was held by a master warrior leading his men to a charge. Would it have been that he lived, and I died.” he shook his head. “My Lord, you did not know.” she said. “I didn't at that. I had been trained to revere the temples of their gods and their wizards, to come to their aid when the dreaded Wyld attacked. How did I know that it was the Wyld that needed me, not them! How was I to know the depravity of the Cibolans. But Joab has compassion for those who fight purely, regardless of cause. He just wishes for them to fight justly.” “And that day is coming soon, my lord,” Amelia Chernov, Amelia Kinslayer, and most importantly, Amelia ser'Kayan bowed. “We shall find a cure for our children, so that none may die before their time.” The man came out of the shadow, showing a heavily lined but strong face, with iron gray hair. “Yes, my child, but not just any cure,” Jerochaim Kayan said. “The cure for all cures, a way to rid the world of those meddlesome wizards who work their horrible magic. We shall tear their temples down, and free the people forever!”

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“Is that time now, my lord?” she bowed. “A little while,” Jerochaim said. “Just a little while longer. How it must ache for you to taste revenge.” “Jerochaim, my father...,” Jerochaim held up a hand. “I know what he did, my child, and what you were forced to do. I had despaired of him being a leader of the Wyld. I wish that I had been able to turn him, but never fear. You have cut the withered branch from your vine, and for that you will survive.” “What are your orders?” Amelia asked. The anticipation of revenge filled her. She did not want what they had on the outside. The Wyld way was pure, perhaps the only pure way. Maybe the Westphalians, or was Jerochaim merely an exception to the rule. But to tear down those who had hurt the most innocent in their society...the strain was too great. But Redd said that he would try to find a cure. she thought. He was a Cibolan, but he had promised that. The man chuckled. “You wish to believe that thief when he says he will find a cure,” he told her. “Do not. For even if he believes his words, he is a Cibolan, sworn to the temples themselves no matter what he prattled about the gods. His own soul will betray him. But now we have work to do. I want you to send messengers to all clans. Have them gather all their cursed ones, my child, and bring them here.” “I do not understand?” Amelia said. “I have a plan. In addition to what preparations we have made, we shall also feed them the poison that they sought to use against us. It will be hard, and I do not wish to use children so, but they may prevent another generation from being touched by that curse. When the battle is finished, no wizard shall dare to the same to us again, as Joab guides our hands in battle.” He looked up above his chair. A picture of a man in a Wyld tunic, leaping with spear ready to strike. But the hair on his head was curly not straight like most of the Wyld, and dark as the night like a Sage. Only females were chosen as the voice of the God—a man might twist the words around to his own satisfaction. The eyes gleamed down horribly. “Thank you, Joab, for opening my eyes.” And Jerochiam's eyes gleamed for a second. The time was upon them. The world would know the fear of Wyld once more.