El'Anorath (First Draft)

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

         Nathalya and her team spent that night in the woods among the company of the stalkers.  Before the sun had fallen, the company followed the stalkers as they marched quietly to the edge of the woodland to the west.  They placed their fallen warriors on wooden platforms scattered in the open area just outside the woodland, then covered them with dry branches and brush.  They prayed silently, and then torches were set to the kindling.

         Black smoke plumed in the wind and was carried high over the plains-land.  Nathalya stood next to the stalker Chief, whose eyes were closed and was breathing deeply.  She thought for a moment that he might have fallen asleep.  Instead, he began to speak in a very calm, almost different voice than his own.

         “Our war with the Corrinites has almost broken us," he said.  “To further our troubles, the clans have begun to war against each other.  This is as far west as we can go before my brother's clan, of the barren's, will attack us.  He is merciful enough to allow us to continue our ceremonies for the fallen, but we cannot stay once the fires are out."

         “Why are the clans at war?” asked Nathalya.

         “We have no ruler," replied the chief. “He was slain by the Corrinites almost a year ago.  When the ruler dies, another of the Chiefs must take his place, normally the chief with the most battle worthy clan.  Many of our traditions seem to have died with the last ruler.  Instead of deciding a ruler as we usually do, we became divided and so began to fight over which clan will lead."

         “Sounds like human politics," said Nathalya, more to herself, but the Chief laughed.  “What is it?”

         “It is ironic that humans think we are barbaric and cruel, yet you fight against your own kind many times over.  I'm one of the few stalkers who has learned to read the human language and have read many books written by your kind.  The barbarism and cruelty of stalkers pales in comparison to all of your petty wars."

         “You're right, Chief," admitted Nathalya.  “We have no right to judge others without first judging ourselves.  But for all of our bickering and fighting, humans are very protective of each other when the need arises and will often form alliances to defeat a common enemy."

         “But when that enemy is gone, you continue fighting each other until a new threat is bred from the ashes of fallen nations.  When that happens, you team up against the weaker people and squash any hope they might have before it grows too strong.  It will catch up with you in the end of it all."

         Nathalya was quiet for a time.  The funeral pyres began to burn low, the occupants little more than piles of black and gray ashes.  The wind gusted off of the dusty hilltops and scattered the ashes of the pyres.  The stalkers of the Tarrin woodlands watched with proud eyes as their fallen warriors were now carried off on the breeze and over the rolling hills.

         Finally, night came and there was a sudden bright flame from one of the distant hilltops.

         “That will be one of my brother's clan. We've stayed too long," said the Chief.  He motioned to his followers and the stalker clan retreated back into the forest followed by Nathalya and her company.

         Wells walked alongside Nathalya, sipping water from a canteen.  She passed the canteen to Nathalya, who took a shallow draft before handing it back.

         “I wonder how DeVega is fairing..," said Wells out loud, stepping over a collection of roots protruding out of the ground beneath a large, gray, lichen covered tree.

         “You're fond him, aren't you?” asked Nathalya with a wink.

         “Am not," replied Wells, becoming defensive.  “I'm just curious.  After all we've been through, it'd be a shame if something happened to him."

         “You can admit it, you like him," Nathalya pried. 

         “Shut it," said Wells.  “Besides, you have no room to talk."

         “What?”

         “That Corrinite; Errol," replied Wells.  “I saw how you were around him."

         “I'd be crucified if I started seeing a Corrinite."

         “Do you love him?  He did save our lives..."

         “And we owe him a lot,” said Nathalya.  “But not my heart."

         The night air was cool as the company slept amid the stalkers on the forest floor.  Shepard took a liking to one stalker in particular, and despite some ridicule from his clan mates, he allowed her to snuggle up next to him to keep warm in his striped fur.  The rest of the strike team slept a short distance from the main camp, still somewhat distrusting of the stalkers and set their own watch.

         Nathalya was still awake, sitting and thinking. Through the thin canopy overhead, she could just make out a cloudless, starry night.  She leaned back and watched the leaves flutter for a time, feeling safe as she lay amidst the creatures she once thought horrible and hostile.  When sleep finally overcame her, she drifted into an easy, dreamless, slumber. 

         She awoke early the next morning and found that most of her company, along with several of the stalkers, were up and about the clearing.  Shepard still slept with the arm of a stalker stretched across her and Toomes was sitting in quiet contemplation. 

         Nathalya stood and stretched, then joined the Chief at the edge of the clearing.  The air was cool and damp with a slight breeze and the sky was a pale blue over the treetops.

         “Did you sleep well?” the Chief asked, a short tobacco pipe in his mouth.  He let out a large puff of smoke that caught the wind and was carried east.  Nathalya yawned.

         “I'm not quite used to sleeping on the ground," she admitted.  “My neck feels sore, but otherwise I'm well rested enough."

         The Chief turned and stepped directly behind her, then placed a large and rough hand on either side of her head.  He made a quick yet gentle motion and Nathalya felt the tension in her neck release.

         “Some never get used to it," he said “What is your plan for today?”

         “We need to get west," replied Nathalya.  “My team and I are looking for a lost Calari artifact of great importance."

         “The titan..," guessed the Chief.

         “How did you know?” Nathalya asked.

         “I've said before that I have read many books in your language.  I've read some on Calari lore.  Scouts of our old alliances have seen it.  The titan is of their craft, is it not?”

         “Yes.  Do you know where it is?”

         “The land out west has changed much in recent years.  There is a path I know of, not far from here, that will take you to the ruins of Sayara Anor; an ancient Calari stronghold just beyond the plains of Agaelnor.  You may learn something there."

         “Can you take me to the path?” asked Nathalya.

         “No, I must remain with my clan,” explained the Chief.  “Lest another rise to take my place.  I will appoint another to show you the way.  He may journey with you for a time, as he chooses."

         “Thank you, Chief," Nathalya replied. "One more question, though.  Our camp beyond the woodlands was attacked by stalkers.  What would drive them so far east?"

         "They were exiles.  Probably on their way to the shore to join a fleet of our kind who have taken to the oceans. If it is one thing I dislike, other than Corrinites, it is the vast emptiness of the ocean."

         "Don't ever go into space."

         The bags were packed and water replenished by late morning and they were presented with tokens to prove their friendship with the stalkers of the Tarrin woodlands.  To Shepard's delight, their guide was the stripe-furred stalker named Brusko.  He led them south for a time until they came across an over-grown path, wide enough for two humans to walk abreast, or one stalker. 

         The trees became more and more scattered until they left the woodlands and stepped out onto the golden hills of the plains of Agaelnor.  The sun was high and bathed them in an unusual heat.  The humidity rising off of the fields drenched the company in sticky sweat and the wind offered little reprieve.  Pollen stuck to their legs as they made their way through tall grass and flowers and attracted all manners of bees and other insects.

         The path cut winding and broken over or around the hills.  It was very easy to follow sometimes, free of obstructions and mostly intact.  At other times, however, it was overgrown or scattered about, forcing the party to spread out to pick it up again when they lost sight of it.  Occasionally, they would come across animals grazing with young on the spring grasses and wheat.  In the distance ahead was little more than the horizon, but behind them they could make out the Hollin mountains through the haze as they stopped for a rest about mid-day.

         Sergeant Ralphael landed the drone and distributed water to all except Brusko, who, when offered, held up his own water skin in polite refusal.

         “Is this path watched?” asked Haliday.  Brusko shook his large head, then sat down on the lee of a steep hill to cool his fur.  The company scattered themselves around the hill, talking or resting their eyes.  They ate little, just enough to sate their growling stomachs for a time.

         They packed up after an hour of rest and Sergeant Ralphael released the drone skyward, which was becoming cluttered with dark gray clouds.  Thunder rolled in the distance and flashes of light cracked in the clouds.

         "We'd better find shelter soon," said Nathalya.  "I don't like the look of those storm clouds." 

         The clouds drew closer and rain drops began to patter all around them.  Just in the nick of time, however, the company was able to find shelter before the deluge.  In what seemed to be a deep, rocky, ravine, they found an overhang into a shallow cave that was large enough to fit all eight of them.  The drone sat just outside, protecting their valuable gear.

         The wind shrieked outside the small cave, and curtains of rain quickly turned the soft ground into thick mud. Though they were mostly sheltered from it, starting a fire proved difficult – even for their stalker guide.  Finally, and with a little help from Nathalya, they had a small but warm fire lit.

         

         They decided to stay in that little cave for the night and most of the next morning when the rain did not lessen.  The company spoke little.  The strike team cleaned their weapons, Brusko slept, and Nathalya and Wells viewed several maps brought by Toomes. They made some small scribbles and circles specifying target areas as they discussed their plans, or rather, what they hoped they would find once they reached these areas - the stalker Chief had not be very specific with his directions after all. 

         It wasn't until the sun started it's afternoon descent that the rain stopped and the clouds finally broke apart. The gear was packed and the drone sent off once more.  Nathalya and the others followed Brusko out of the ravine and located the path, which proved more difficult to follow after the rain.  Their boots sank into soft mud and made the going very tiresome. 

         Climbing to the top of a hill, Nathalya, after taking a moment to catch her breath, could see that the path was much clearer on the other side and saw it snaking into the hills in the distance. Brusko came up beside Nathalya and pointed straight ahead. Nathalya saw that he pointed to a line of green trees running north to south.  Brusko then knelt down and with a large claw on his right hand drew two wavy lines in the soft mud.

         “A river?” asked Nathalya.  Brusko nodded, then drew two more lines that intersected the first two a quarter of the distance from the bottom.

         “A bridge, a little ways down the river?” she asked.  Brusko nodded again, then stood.

         “I just hope we can find the path on the other side."

         Finding the path on the other side would prove to be but a small part of a larger dilemma.  For when they reached the bridge, they found it had been destroyed and was now little more than posts sticking out of the ground on either side with lengths of rope hanging loosely into the water.  They also found the river had swelled with yesterday's rainstorm and bubbled and frothed perilously in front of them.

         “Now what?” complained Toomes, who was beginning to look disheveled and worn, as if the journey had already been too much for him.

         “You're the scientist," came Falson's voice.  “Why don't you science something up for us?”

         “What would you like me to do,” Toomes snapped.  “Part the water for you?  Or perhaps you can make yourself useful and go stick your oversized head in the water upstream.  That might stop enough of the water for the rest of us to cross over."

         Falson walked up and towered over the scientist, who, after realizing his mistake, began to back away.  Just as Toomes' heels reached the bank of the rushing river, Falson reach out and pulled him in.

         “'Bout time you grew some balls, old man," he said.  Though he wasn't smiling, he patted Toomes hard on the back.  Toomes let out a sigh of relief.  When Falson let him go, he took a step backwards, but misjudged the distance.  Falson reached back out to save Toomes from falling in, but the scrabbling Toomes could not grip Falson's outstretched arm in time.  Falson made a last ditch effort to save the scientist, but only managed to lose his own footing on the slippery bank. 

         Together they toppled into the raging river and were immediately swept out of sight.  Nathalya and the others ran as fast as they could safely manage down the bank, following the intermittent cries of the men at the mercy of the river.  It wasn't long however, before the current proved too fast, and carried the two beyond any help from their companions. 

         “Well, we should go after them, right?” said Wells, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

         “There is no way we can catch up to them," replied Ralphael.  “Falson can take care of himself.  It's Toomes that I'm worried about."

         With reluctance, the rest of the company headed back to the decrepit remains of the bridge and stood together around the bank.

         “We'll wait here for a while and try to figure out how to cross the river," said Nathalya.  “If there is no sign of them by the time we're across,  the strike team can go look for them, but I have to keep moving west."

         “Let's hope it doesn't come to that..," said Shepard.  “I'm rather enjoying this little escapade."

         They stood for a time, silently, and fearing the worst for their companions.  Nathalya watched the river and shook her head in dismay.  They hadn't been travelling but a few days, and already she felt she had lost two team members.  Am I slipping? she thought to herself.

         Finally, Sergeant Haliday stepped forward and presented them with an idea.

         “I don't have any experience in bridge building,” said Haliday.  “But might the drone support our weight if it were to carry us over one at a time?”

         “Maybe one of the females, but certainly not one of you or our guide," replied Shepard.  “It is already close to it's capacity with our gear."

         “And if we unpacked the gear?” asked Nathalya.

         “That might do, if one of the females stays behind to repack the drone before flying over herself," said Shepard.

         “I'll do it," Nathalya replied, and once the drone was landed, they all began to unload the gear. 

         A tarp was laid down and the gear was piled carefully atop the bank.  It took but five or so minutes for the drone to be unloaded, but the sun was already beginning to dip into the distant horizon.  An orange to blue gradient filled the sky as Sergeant Ralphael climbed inside the drone.  It was tight with a low ceiling so that he had only enough room to sit with his head bent forward.

         Shepard had been given the controls and manually directed the drone across the river to the opposite bank.  The Sergeant stepped out and the drone ordered back.  In this fashion Wells, Haliday, and Shepard were ferried over.  An initially reluctant Brusko had to lay down in a near fetal position to fit. The drone moved slowly and wobbled dangerously as it carried him over.  Still, he was set down without incident and all the more relieved for it.

         Nathalya, the last on the bank, began to pack things back into the drone.  Without the help of the rest of the company, it took her fifteen minutes to load everything before she could clamor onto the top of the drone.  Shepard had warned her not to hold on to any of the antennae, and so she searched for something else, but found only a panel with a single bar that ran across it. It was little more than an inch tall and very difficult to hold. 

         She gave Shepard the signal and was soon hovering above the ground atop the shaky drone.  It lurched forward and her feet slipped a little on the slick metal.  She clinched her single hold as tight as she could, her knuckles going white, and pressed her knees down hard to secure herself, so that her thighs soon ached. 

         She flew out and over the roaring river below. It bubbled and frothed as though, with an insatiable hunger, it waited eagerly for another feast.  Nathalya watched it pass beneath her and saw it's strength for what it was as a large, fallen tree was carried easily along it it's wrath.  She thought of the likelihood in which they would ever see Falson or Toomes again.  Hopefully they didn't suffer too greatly, she thought.

         The drone dipped suddenly and nearly rolled over in air.  It steadied itself, but Nathalya was thrown down, only just managing to catch hold of one of the landing struts.    The drone had been overheating with the constant weight adjustments and now began to stall.  Nathalya felt the rapid descent and timed her release. 

         The drone landed hard on it's struts, which folded with a crack and a crash.  Nathalya stood and walked over to the wreckage, dusting off her trousers.  She found Shepard looking dismayed and on the verge of breaking down. 

         “I'm sorry,” she said to Nathalya. “I thought it could handle it."

         “Don't be sorry, I'm alright.  Do you think you can fix it?”

         Shepard took a deep breath to calm herself and then inspected the damage more closely.  “She just needs a rest to cool herself off.  I can splint the damaged struts, but I don't think she should do any more work tonight."

         “Very well," said Nathalya.  “We'll sleep here tonight.  I'll take it as a sign that we shouldn't abandon Falson and Toomes so quickly."

         Camp was set beneath the stars that night and a fire lit.  It was a fairly calm night, but the sound of the still rushing river was still in their ears.  They took turns sitting watch, hoping the fire would not draw any unwelcome attention. Nathalya and Wells sat together in silence for a while before drifting slowly to sleep.  Shepard lay wrapped in Brusko's fur beside the injured drone.