LYNX
As I silently make my way through the darkness to a hill overlooking the Rust People’s council fire, the rain turns to snow, falling in a whirling haze across the huge village. Their campfires, spread across the tundra to the south, glitter like a huge overturned box of amber jewels. I came here to speak with the elders in private, but now I see there is a council meeting underway.
Six old men and six old women—the Rust People’s council of elders—are seated around the flames. They all have gray hair and deeply wrinkled faces. Sticks stands before them with his silver cape shining in the firelight. He’s clearly telling a story, but I can’t make out any of the words, just the deep rich drone of his voice. I monitor the twelve elders around the fire, then my gaze moves to the people who’ve gathered to listen. Maybe two hundred are visible in the fire’s halo, but many more stand out in the darkness. As Sticks speaks, they transmit his words from one person to another so that even those far away will know what was just said. Like a wave rolling through the crowd, whispers rise and I see eyes widen and heads shake in disbelief as the story moves.
Instinctively, I search the crowd for Jorgensen, but I don’t see him here.
Sticks extends his hands to the assembly and raises his voice until I can hear him, as can the entire gathering: “. . . Then the Blessed Teacher Lynx reached down and breathed upon the hand of the evil Old Woman of the Mountain, and she woke from a slumber of a thousand summers and rose from the dead covered in the blood of the prophet. Her power shook the world. With each word she spoke, the earth quaked and the Ice Giants trembled.”
Gasps and moans erupt out in the darkness, and my stomach knots. This is a new part of the story I haven’t heard before. In only three summers, Sticks has revised so many elements of the true tale that the Rust People and Sealion People now have very different versions of this historical event. At the winter solstice ceremonial six moons ago, a number of fights broke out over whether or not I can change into a giant bird and fly, as Sticks claims.
The leader of the council, an old man named Ganmor, rocks back and forth. Many elders appear lost in a catatonic reverie. Sticks bows his head as though reverently awaiting the council’s words. Occasionally a villager glances out into the darkness, toward where I stand cloaked by the falling snow twenty paces away, but I don’t think they actually see me. Just an odd shape amid the pines, perhaps.
Sticks was my student. Did he learn nothing? Feeling betrayed, I fold my arms tightly across my chest.
Ganmor finally looks up and asks, “You actually saw this?”
“I saw it with my own eyes, elder. Just as the ancient Jemen breathed upon the bones of giant lions, dire wolves, and mastodons to bring them back to life, the Blessed Teacher Lynx breathed upon the hand of the evil Old Woman of the Mountain and brought her back to life. I will remember it to my dying day . . . the expression on her hideous face . . . her blond hair dripping the blood of the Blessed Prophet Trogon.”
An unpleasant eddy of conversation passes through the circle of elders.
Then Ganmor asks, “Why would the Blessed Teacher Lynx bring the evil Old Woman back to life? Is he evil?”
“He is not, elder. The Blessed Teacher was being deceived by the strange device called Quancee. It devoured his soul, leaving him an empty husk that could be controlled, just as it did so many of the ancient Jemen. That’s how it keeps itself alive. The same thing happened to the dead with the blue faces. It devoured their souls and then destroyed them.”
“And the Blessed Jorgensen says it will do the same to us?”
“Yes, elder.”
An old woman with thin gray hair asks, “How can he be sure of this?”
“Elder Indona, it’s happening this instant to the Sealion People. When it finishes with them, the last of the Jemen, the Blessed Jorgensen, says we will be next.”
Two of the elders stop rocking and lean their heads together to converse in soft voices. A short while later, nods go around the campfire as though the council has come to some quiet decision.
Leader Ganmor says, “How powerful is the Blessed Teacher? Will Lynx fight us if we try to destroy the evil device?”
Sticks bows his red head and blinks thoughtfully at the fire. “He will fight, and he’s very powerful. I have seen Lynx wave his hand and cause condors to fall dead from the skies.”
My mouth drops open in astonishment at this absurdity.
Sticks continues, “But it doesn’t matter. I read the ancient Rewilding Reports. I know the Jemen considered Quancee to be the pinnacle of their civilization and their greatest achievement. The device had monstrous magical powers. That’s why both sides fought so hard to get their hands on it during their legendary war. Quancee could kill from vast distances or simply make entire villages disappear into thin air.”
“Then we have no choice, we must destroy the device,” Elder Indona says.
Ganmor listens respectfully while the council discusses the issue in hushed tones, then he holds up a hand to get the council’s attention. “Despite what the Blessed Jorgensen tells us, I am not sure this is a prudent decision. Lynx is the greatest holy man of the Sealion People. We have a peace treaty with them.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Indona calls. “If we have to kill Lynx to get to the evil device, there’s nothing they can do about it. There are only twenty or so Sealion People left, and half are women and children. A handful of our warriors could sweep them into oblivion.”
A tremor goes through my muscles. Why did I even come here hoping to speak with the elders? Sticks and Jorgensen have already poisoned them against Quancee. If I reveal myself now, they will never let me return to her cave. There’s no use trying to tell them about Quancee’s gentleness and wisdom, or the fact that she tries to help anyone who calls out to her.
My gaze shifts to the darkness beyond the halo of firelight, where a shadow sways amid the black trunks of pines. My dread is so great, I suspect a short-faced bear.
No. Human. Very tall. So . . . Jorgensen watches from a distance, letting his surrogate, Sticks, lay the groundwork for whatever he plans to do next. Does the Vice Admiral know I’m here? He has the eyes of a wolf, but he’s made no move toward me.
Sticks has adeptly convinced the Rust People of the righteousness of Jorgensen’s cause. Once their warriors have removed me from Quancee’s cave—and they’re right, they will have to kill me to do it—he will have free access to Quancee. Nonetheless, I’m puzzled. Jorgensen could shorten the process by telling the council that I’m standing right here.
If I had any sense, I’d flee this instant. But I must wait until I know the council’s final decision.
An unknown elder leans sideways to speak with Indona, then nods and turns to Sticks. “If Quancee has great magical power, what will it do to those who attack the Blessed Teacher?”
I wonder the same thing, just as Jorgensen does. Neither of us knows.
Sticks lifts a hand in the direction of the shadow in the pines. “Jorgensen tells me that Quancee is too weak now to fight back. It will be easy.”
Another old man asks, “Once the task has been completed, what happens next?”
“Jorgensen will kill Quancee’s heart and dismantle the device so it can no longer hurt anyone.”
The council members lower their voices. I can no longer hear what they’re saying.
I’m ready to leave, but I stop when, from the darkness, a deep voice calls, “Elders? May I address the council?”
Ganmor looks up and respect slackens his face. “Of course, Blessed Thanissara, leader of the sacred Dog Soldiers. Step forward.”
A dark-skinned man with a shock of white hair strides out of the shadows with great dignity and bows to the circle of elders around the fire. His silver cape is painted with red geometric symbols, and he wears a lump of rust on a cord around his neck. Though he leads the Dog Soldiers, I’ve heard that his influence has waned somewhat since Sticks’ alliance with Jorgensen. “If it please the council, I have questions.”
“Yes?”
The old Dog Soldier’s gaze moves quietly around the circle before he asks, “I am confused, I suppose, but if the ‘evil device’ is too weak to fight back, why does Jorgensen need us? He is, after all, the last of the gods to walk the earth and supposedly a man with extraordinary powers.” Thanissara gestures to Sticks. “Sticks the Novice claims to have seen Jorgensen change from a wolf into a man, is that not correct?”
In a dire voice, Sticks answers, “It is, Thanissara. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Then perhaps you can answer my question, Sticks? Has Jorgensen lost his powers?”
The shadow in the trees goes still.
“No, no,” Sticks insists. “Of course not. It’s just that the last of the Jemen does not wish to interfere in our earthly affairs.”
“I see.” Thanissara nods and pauses as though to consider the idea, before he continues, “And why is that?”
Firelight reflects from faces as people whisper behind their hands.
Sticks looks upset at this apparent challenge to his authority. He has ascended to prominence because of Jorgensen’s support, but he is still the youngest Dog Soldier. “The Blessed Jorgensen is above this debate, Elder Thanissara. He cares little about the puny affairs of men.”
“Puny? After hearing your words tonight that strikes me as an odd description. You have just told us that the device is monstrous and about to destroy us all, and Jorgensen has beneficently offered to kill its heart to save us. That does not seem puny to me. Further, if Jorgensen is truly above this puny matter, why would he be willing to slip in after we’ve dispatched the Blessed Teacher and kill Quancee’s heart? Why not allow us to use our axes to demolish the device?”
“Axes may not work, Elder Thanissara.” Sticks has adopted a superior tone. “Only the Blessed Jorgensen knows how to kill its heart. You see, once Lynx is out of the way—”
“What I see, Sticks, is that Jorgensen’s bravery is as nonexistent as his powers.”
A wave of gasps and shocked voices roll through the gathering.
Thanissara just set himself up as a target, for if Jorgensen truly does have godlike powers, the elder Dog Soldier will soon be dead. Stunned, I watch people leap to their feet and flee across the village, trying to get away before the sky falls.
A slow smile of admiration creeps across my face. I suspect Thanissara’s words were designed to test exactly that hypothesis, which means Elder Thanissara may be the bravest man here.
Elder Ganmor leans close to speak with Elder Indona. For a long while, the council talks amongst itself.
My gaze moves to the shadow in the trees. Jorgensen stands dead still. I wonder what he’s feeling. Outrage? Amusement?
At last, Ganmor grips his walking stick where it rests on the ground beside him, and uses it to shove to his feet. The night goes quiet. “And what is your recommendation, Blessed Thanissara?”
Thanissara straightens. “Elders, the Dog Soldiers recommend that we do not break our treaty with the Sealion People, at least not until we have more information about this device.”
“By then, elders,” Sticks calls and glares at Thanissara, “we could all be dead. The Blessed Jorgensen says we must act now.”
Ganmor clutches the head of his walking stick, listening to the elders who whisper around the circle.
When Elder Indona rises and hobbles over to Ganmor to speak into his ear, the remaining villagers close in around the fire, awaiting the council’s final decision.
Nodding, Ganmor heaves a deep breath that frosts in the snowy air. “The council has debated the issue and reluctantly decided to dispatch warriors to drag Lynx away from the evil device so that it may be dismantled.”
“I understand.” Thanissara bows deeply to the council, turns, and walks away into the crowd.
Sticks’ voice stops him. “I wish to address the Blessed Thanissara.”
Thanissara turns where he stands in a group of warriors.
Sticks calls, “You were lucky tonight, elder, but in the future you would be wise to temper your words when you speak of the last of the Jemen. His patience with you wears thin.”
The old Dog Soldier bows again, this time so deeply it almost seems a mockery, then he continues pushing through the whispering crowd.
Jorgensen’s shadow detaches itself from the pines and glides toward me along the trail that circles the village.
Perhaps he does know I’m here . . .
I turn and hike away up the trail as fast as I can.