The encampment is invisible to all but those who know of its existence. The canvas of the tents is coloured to camouflage with the surrounding barren mountainside. The few fires permitted are built of the driest fuel available. Any smell of cooking food is somehow dampened as are any sounds made by the residents. Even the smallest children present are nearly silent.
A small cloaked and hooded figure slips through the encampment. Small bare feet cross the ragged rocks of the mountainside as if they were smooth. None of the few others outside the tents pay any attention to the figure. At the door of the centre-most tent, a frail hand reaches up to touch the small bell hanging from a slender cord. No sound comes from it, but the tent flap soon moves aside enough to admit the cloaked figure. Unlike the exterior, the interior of the tent is warm and vibrantly colourful. Soft rugs cover the ground and brilliant tapestries line the walls. Warmth is rolling off a small stove in the middle of everything. Low beds covered with bright blankets take up one side. Chests and shelves of all manner of items take up the other. At the very back is a small table with a chair on either side. One of those chairs is occupied by an ancient, frail woman wrapped in layer upon layer of shawls. The small cloaked and hooded figure stops by one bed to shed the hooded cloak. Beneath that garment, which gets laid across the foot of the bed, there is a thin grey shift dress not quite to the knees. Wildly curly copper hair now cascades down a thin back. The girl herself is so frail looking she appears to have been recently ill and little recovered. “Come sit and eat, girl,” The ancient woman makes no effort to move, “And tell me what it was you saw today.” The girl obeys, helping herself to some dried foodstuffs and a mug of water before taking the chair opposite the woman. The first few minutes pass in silence while the girl eats. Only once she is less hungry does she look at the woman opposite. “The battle is over,” The words are matter of fact, in no way reflecting the horror of the battlefield, “None were left alive this time.” The ancient woman nods to herself, “An increasingly common tale of late. What else?” “The raven came.” “Scald-Crow?” The ancient woman frowns in her surprise. The girl nods. “What did She say?” “A change in perception is coming... if the last oak can be found before the day of the dead.” “The day of the dead is tomorrow,” The frown deepens, “And there are no oak left.” The girl shrugs and returns to her food. While she continues to eat, the ancient woman eases herself to her feet and begins moving around the tent. From one shelf, she takes an old hard bound book. From a chest, she takes a folded cloth. From another chest, she takes several stones. From a second shelf, she takes a small chalice. Each item gets set on the table. “If you've finished eating, go play. I've work to do.” The girl slips from her chair, takes the now empty mug to a stand containing other mugs, reclaims her cloak and leaves the tent. Just outside, she pauses to fasten the cloak around her neck and pull her hood up over her bright hair. Slipping silently uphill through the tents, the girl begins to climb the mountain. Nimble fingers and bare feet easily scale the barren rock. It is not a large mountain, barely big enough to be worthy of the name, and it does not take the girl long to reach the small plateau at the very top. Up there, she sits with her feet tucked under her to survey the surrounding land. Battle after battle in a seemingly endless war has left the countryside a blasted, muddy mess. Forests have been either chopped down and hauled away for mysterious purposes or blasted with chemicals until all the foliage is gone. Swamps have expanded to take over fields, aided by relentless rains. While no rain is currently falling on the mountain, ominous clouds hang in the sky above. The girl seated on the mountain top can see for kilometres in all directions and in none of them can she see a living tree. What she can see is the approach of more uniformed men accompanied by more of their war machines. There only appears to be one group, but they are rapidly nearing the hidden camp. Drawing a deep breath, the girl lets loose a warning howl, then a second and a third. She slips off the plateau and scrambles down the mountain as fast as she dares move. The camp is all but gone by the time the girl slides the last short distance. Only the centre-most tent remains and the ancient woman is standing in the entrance, waving to the girl to hurry. Small bare feet slip and slide across the rock in her haste. As soon as she is close, the girl dives into the tent, curling into a ball on the floor as the ancient woman allows the flap to drop. As the girl huddles on the tent floor, her eyes squeezed closed, the world tilts sideways. Her stomach also tilts sideways. However, the girl is used to the sensation and does her best to ride it out until the world around her settles. She spends a moment just allowing herself to relax before opening her eyes. Slowly, she uncurls from her position on the floor and eases herself to her feet. Looking around, she spots the ancient woman sprawled on the tent floor not far away. Frowning in concern, the girl goes to examine the woman. As she does that, another woman, a younger one, slips inside the tent. She glances around before coming over to the girl. “Is she alive?” The girl shakes her head, “She was working a ritual when the warning sounded. She didn't have the strength.” The younger woman's shoulders slump and she sighs, “We won't be safe here long. The armies are everywhere.” The girl slowly straightens up, her green eyes passing over the contents of the tent. “Did she teach you anything?” The younger woman also straightens up, “What ritual was she working even?” “Our only hope,” The words come slowly, “Is for one of us to find the last oak by the day of the dead.” “That's no hope at all. The day of the dead is nearly upon us and there are no oak left.” The girl shrugs, “The words are the raven's.” The younger woman swallows hard, “I suppose it must be possible then. 'Though I don't see how.” Silence falls over the tent for a short time. Then the girl draws in a deep breath, straightening her shoulders. “Take care of her. I must go.” Before the woman can stop her, the girl slips away, out of the tent and through the camp. Instead of being on a mountainside, the camp is now in the depths of a swamp, the tents arranged on the limited patches of solid ground remaining. The girl is cautious as she makes her way across the murky ground, her bare feet picking their way from solid earth to solid earth. Without any real direction or destination, the girl keeps herself moving as the remaining daylight fades. The moon rises early, allowing her enough light to continue on, but once it sets, she is forced to stop and rest until dawn. Having left the swamp far behind, the girl is now out in the open, her only source of concealment her cloak. She huddles down in it in the pitch dark, praying to every deity she knows of for safety and guidance.
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AuthorAlexandra A. 'Lexa' Cheshire is the author of numerous novels and short stories published through Howling Wolf Books. Lexa is a wife, mother, cat owner, and music lover. Archives
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