Jean Rabe - Death March

“No, never again, that is to be hoped.” The clan had lost a few babies recently, when the food in the caves became scarce. Saarh could have led them to other chambers, where the great urkhan worms laired. Even a young worm would have fed the clan for days and days.

But there was no lure of power in the chambers.

When Saarh picked up her pace, the crooked-faced goblin struggled to keep up. Brab dragged his right leg; the foot of his right leg was turned outward and gave him an odd, halting gait. He fell behind after a while, and she did not slow to accommodate him, as she always had before in the caves. Still, he did not quit following her. He looked to the ground to find her footprints. Looking slowed him even further.

She stopped in the late afternoon, when her legs tired and her stomach growled in protest. Saarh thought about the clan she’d brought with her and wondered how their digging project was progressing. She’d been walking for a few hours, and she hoped they had not grown bored with the task. They always needed prodding and encouragement, she thought with a sigh. Leadership-that was what they needed. She sat on a large, flat rock and rubbed her thighs, turning her head this way and that and rolling her shoulders.

She heard a peculiar noise and sat still. She had nothing in her memory to compare it to-a good-sounding noise. It was accompanied by a soft splashing that meant water running nearby. Thirsty and ever-curious, Saarh slid off the rock and crept to the north. She was careful and stayed low, not wanting to find something as large as more bears on that trip. She didn’t fear bears and enjoyed their meat, but she did not want to waste time slaying more of them, even though she was hungry.

As it was, Saarh cursed herself for indulging in an investigation that had gone on too long and far. But the noise was very near, and she reminded herself that she was thirsty. Almost immediately she saw the stream and the thing in it making the noise. It looked like no bird she’d seen before, and its nasal squawking and clacking was not like typical birdsong. Its feathers were black under its chin and on its back. Its cheeks and back were a chestnut brown, mottled with tiny white feathers in places, particularly on its breast. The creature’s beak was flat and rounded and long, a yellowish shade, and its legs ended in feet that were scalloped like a bat’s wings. The creature was eating tadpoles and water insects and was happily unaware of the watching goblin.

“Weet,” she whispered, mimicking the sound it made. She smiled as it splashed in the water, throwing droplets up over its back and seeing them bead up all over. Fumbling on the ground at her feet, she picked up a rock. Raising it and taking careful aim, she threw the rock with as much strength as she could summon, striking the strange-looking bird on the side of its head and dropping it.

She scurried forward, sat in the stream, grabbed the dead creature up, and started plucking its feathers. Then she bit into its belly. The bird-creature tasted much better than bear, and she was certain it would be even better cooked. Selecting some of the better feathers, she put them in her pouch and pictured the thing when it had splashed in the water. She would describe it to the clan later, so they could add it to the list of creatures they desired to hunt.

There might be a nest nearby filled with sweet eggs. But she’d already spent too much time away from her quest and would not look. Saarh left the half-eaten carcass and hurried farther west, always following the intermittent pulse of the interesting thing.

After another few hours, she realized she had strayed too far and that she would not make it back to her clan by evening. It was nearing sunset, and she had let herself be tugged for miles. Hungry again, she wished she would have brought the rest of the bird-creature with her. Too, she regretted not taking more of the feathers.

What if she didn’t reach the something that day? Or the next? She couldn’t keep returning to the clan and retracing her steps west if it was so far away. No, she shook her head. She would not return to the clan until she found the something . The pull on her had become too strong.

Saarh slept little that night, by a bush with bright purple berries that tasted delicious. If she came back that way, she would take some of the berries and leaves with her to show the clan so they could look for similar bushes. There were owls in the trees above her, and they had hooted loudly and often, waking her several times. Deer had passed nearby, nibbling on leaves and rustling ferns. She knew that deer were good-tasting too, and easier to kill than bears, but the berries were enough for the moment.

It was midmorning when she stopped again for a brief rest and to eat different berries that she’d found growing beneath a young willow. They were clusters of tiny red globes that tasted very sweet. She ate too many of them, cleaning almost all of them off the bush, and paid for it with a sour stomach that forced her to curl into a ball and moan for a while. If it hadn’t been for her sickening, the crooked-faced goblin would not have caught up.

Brab was tired, having walked relentlessly through the night, and just as hungry because he’d not stopped to eat. He slumped beside her and ran his fingers along her side, offering comfort for her ailing stomach. While she slept briefly, he finished the berries on the bush and nestled himself next to her, draping an arm across her side so she would wake him if she moved.

By sunset that day, Saarh found the source of the arcane power. She’d walked slower that time, grateful for Brab’s company and the opportunity to tell someone about the tasty bird-creature with the odd beak. She showed him the feathers as they neared the clearing; then when they fluttered from her fingers, she gasped and dropped to her knees and closed her eyes, stretching out her hands toward an old oak-the largest tree she’d come across in that young forest. The tree was older than anything that surrounded it, older than Saarh, perhaps as old as the damp ground beneath her knees.

“This is it? The tree?” The crooked-faced goblin stared at the oak with a mix of wonder and disgust. It was the ugliest tree he’d seen in the woods. The trunk was not straight, it leaned to the north, and its lowest branches were dead. The bark was thick and corky, and its leaves were oval shaped with bristly edges. The acorns were big, and the cups that held them looked spiky and itchy.

“All this walking and walking and not eating enough was to find this ugly tree?” Brab sat next to her, cross-legged and holding his chin in his palms. Disappointment was writ plain on his crooked face. “Too much walking for such a big, ugly tree, if you ask me. The clan will not come here, not after digging so many burrows and establishing a home in the clearing back there. The clan would find this an ugly, dying thing too. The clan would be angry.”

He didn’t say anything for a time and rested his legs and feet while she remained kneeling and facing the tree. Finally she raised her hands toward the tree, and after she held that pose for several minutes, she made a slashing gesture with her fingers.

The crooked-faced goblin realized Saarh had been casting a spell.

Her magical gesture split the oak’s trunk as easily as a sharp knife could split the belly of a piglet. The cracking sound startled both of them. But the greater surprise came when the tree shriveled to a woody pulp, the leaves vanished, and standing there where the trunk had been just a moment before, was a spear.

“Someone hid this,” Saarh said. “Made the tree grow around it. But it was not so well hidden that it could not be found.”

The crooked-faced goblin said nothing, his throat tight and dry.