Through Ru Wai’s and Xanthip’s efforts it was, that the people had been able to start their march west. Safety during this march was a number one priority. The Ru Clan knew that, But the Laertis people were not familiar with the process of searching for a new home, in this changing world. The plume of smoke, the reason they marched, the end of their history, was not mentioned during this. It would only be met with twisted disbelief. Right now they were getting a staging base for their counter attack. Nothing was lost.
Foe the two leaders still capable of thought this was better than nothing. If Archeseus had been ready for action, if he had not given up on his duty, some grumbled during the near constant march, they could have gone back right there and then. Ru Wai and Xanthip both knew that if he had not put down the mantle he would have persuaded the people away from their growing wroth.
Through the seemingly endless forest of green and brown, wet and slow, they marched for weeks. All foggy and blurred in Atlas mind, not many days but instead one, non stop, all the same. Beasts Attacked plenty of times, and casualties were had. He was the only one that could thwart them safely. Ru Feng had never come to the Underground Gymnasium. Chances were he stood and fought, and lost his life.
It was with Ru Shi’s integration, Carius’ integration and much to the surprise of everyone thanks to Little Argea’s integration that a modicum of safety could be reached as the group of hundreds traveled through the slowly thinning forest. Thick foliage turned to grass, and trees a hundred meters tall turned to large bushes and small trees with tough barks and small, dense, leaves. All vying for supremacy as the weather turned more harsh and breezy and dry, and as the sun grew colder, and the grass lost its vibrant luster. Little Argea’s integration had not been a surprise because it happened, but rather for the love Qi seemed to have for her. She need not move to actually be useful on the battlefield. Her control was more masterful by the day.
Every now and then Atlas had thoughts. Rare for the weeks of travel. He was glad he was alive, he was glad Argea was alive, and Carius too, Ru Shi as well, and everyone that was still alive. It was a great relief. And then he would remember who was responsible for this and hate would come over him and guilt and regret and he would regress to absolute mind numbing thoughtlessness.
Some times Atlas pondered on the flattening terrain, the large open grasslands they found themselves in, and as of late the treeless flatlands with yellow grass and thin creeks and puddles, the whole area crisp yet bogging. He had gone comatose even while awake.
Eventually even the Bog of patchwork greenery and foliage made way for patches of rocky dirt, coarse and short, and creeks turned into thin streams and the thousand puddles turned into only a few. When there was no hill in sight, when the mountains and their forest was in the distant East. When the wind was icy clear and food grew scarce and when with heavy rain became a rare occurrence, and instead it was dry thunderstorms, and when it rained it was a consistent, all day, trickle softly falling from the sky and dampening the refugees to the bone.
And on one of those days, when the sun played softly with whites and pinks. At the end of the Western horizon, behind a rocky plateau a golden light brightened up the sky.
From there dust rose, and plumed as it approached. Atlas was pushed by a hand and found himself standing at the forefront of the couple hundred people as a group of galloping horses saddled by riders stopped in front of him. Xanthip stood to the left of Ru Wai, to his right his wife. As he represented the Clan’s, with Archeseus standing not too far behind, hesitating, eyes to the ground, hear wild and gray.
“Welcome, troubled travelers to the Wild Steppe. Welcome to the Land of the Scavenged Union. We Invite you to spend the night, or the year if you’d like. Home to one Home to all. As long as you care for you own food that is, we will offer community.” The Young, virile rider standing at the forefront of the rest said as the horse below him tussled under his crotch. He placed a hand on its face, caressing it softly until it calmed down. His advertisement, and his tone which fit well, seemed almost recorded.
“I see we have Cultivators within your midst.” The young man pointed out and had to spread his hands out wide when he saw a hundred eyes flare with hatred and a hundred swords more reach for the skies. “Whoa there! All of you, and all of us,” He motioned to his fellow riders to seethe their scimitars. “We hold no prejudice against Cultivators here. In fact, we reward them. They can be of great use no matter what job they undertake, to the Scavenged Union.”
“Put your weapons down!” Xanthip ordered, glaring behind her. Her gaze lingered on Atlas, who had not made any move.
“Say what. Why don’t you all follow us back. We’ll give you a plot of land to camp in, and then on the more the leaders can come to the Great Council for talks. Price, jobs, permanence or not. Anything and everything will be discussed to make sure that no trouble will come to you or the Union over your stay.” The Young leader said helpfully. Ru Wai looked at Xanthip and she simply nodded. The deal was settled. The tired clansmen walked for a little while longer, curving on a path, the first one they’d seen in a long while, around the plateau from the left side and as they began the incline towards its center the Eternal Pavilion poked above the rest of the growing city in all its multicolored, shining, chiming, glimmering glory.
The settlement of the Scavenged Union could barely be called a city. It wasn’t a modern deal. Woolen roofs knitted tightly together held up intricately through cured wooden logs, Smoke stacks puffed out of the massive yurts splayed about on the infinite plains. Sheep Bells and Cow bells and other animal bells chimed and beamed with the movements of their wearers and the mishmash of houses and other faculty buildings blended into a tribal, primal sort of look. Truly Scavenged.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Whistles and bark guided the flocks to another patch of grass in the open fields. Horses roamed about in their pens, some were rowdy as they tried to escape their bindings tied to a spike poked deep into the earth, an exercise to futility as their breeders and tamers, tried to get them under control, while the other horses looked on at the scene in a satisfied arrogance.
A society so different to modernity had developed in only six months, and a half. Faces and people from all over the world worked, drank, ate, lived. They acted tightly as families, smiled at their neighbors and played with the children. The Sweet & sour smell of goat’s milk and tea bubbled out of large kegs in the middle of some big campfire were people gathered and made merry.
These people had moved on, even the teenagers, those stuck to the screens of their phones searching for validation from humans that had none to give were doing honest work, petty and addicted, naïve and weak. Only now being hardened by the times. But there was a willingness to them, a brightness in their eyes that only made Atlas shy away from their looks.
Atlas, understood this. He saw himself in them, and how different he was, yet he also saw his clan, and how they had failed, it was necessary, and this was also the first coherent thought process to have existed in his brain since he killed Edward.
The Storm of days ago came to mind, the downpour that seemed to empty the skies of moisture. It may have been that the heavens were not buying them time, neither the enemy. The heavens do not act unless defied. It mourned the loss of its rules, and the change brought forth with the advent of Qi. The Clans were a part of the Heaven’s old Self. The Oldest in fact. Yet this abidance with its rules had morphed to defiance. And it had been time they were stricken by tribulation, like all who defy. They were not strong enough to face it.
Atlas released himself from his self torturing bondage and he came to know regret. Regret at not taking action to inspire change, regret at not pushing for a his own ideals, regret at his weak actions, his half-assed hope that everything would sort itself out, if he just did this, they would give up, if he acted that way they would understand. He was his own creator. He had no room for regret, he had taken Edward’s life because of his own weakness, and he had made a monster.
Before the Clans could enter into the city proper, where the buildings got less distant and less agricultural activity happened, they were stopped. They were showed a plot of land to the side of the dirt path stomped out of the grass by men and horses. “That is one of the preliminary plots that we give to new families, to guests, in our land. We the Scavenged Union welcome all, in these rough times, yet not everyone want to be welcome. Thus we cannot allow you all to enter the town yet. For any reason you deem important enough, the persons entering must be escorted and questioned on the particular reason for this trip. Hence I recommend you build camp and sit tight for the night.” The young rider bid his horse forward and it galloped away, night-black mane flying in the wind, it’s tail flicking behind it with an arrogant flare.
Camp preparations begun right away, people were eager to get decent sleep after weeks of constant, back breaking travel. Their callused legs needed a rest, cuts and bruises and itchy spots had popped up all over their bodies and good sleep would do a lot to alleviate them. Tents were set up, wood was provided and gathered from the eastern fringe of the Steppe they had just passed through and a temporary, defenseless camp was set up. Of course for the long trip to the fringe of the region cultivators had gone.
Atlas sat silently next to a fire near his father and Aunt, Little Argea tried to get his attention, playful. She had begun gathering Qi as per the Dark Code and she manipulated it to near perfection. A strand of Qi danced in the night over the fire, casting no shadow behind itself as it twirled and spun, looped, expanded and constricted. Atlas stared at it, making no reaction. Argea was happy even with that. She smiled and did even more. A trickle of sweat down her nose dropped to the ground.
Just like that, the emotions of the people grew. Having been starved of a chance to feel for the past few weeks, at the first notice of rest all the worst things within the Laertis and Ru people came to the surface. Like the excrement within a septic tank it floated to the top. But a sedentary layer had been brewing all this while. Through hushed whisper and disdainful looks, through arm movements, and body placement the tank of shit and waste and all the filth in the world festered, in moments, minutes, it had suddenly reached its peak. Rest was all but forgotten. The tank of hate and foul thoughts, and anger, and emotions so rotten you could smell them form miles away exploded and the first target it landed on was the Hero that failed at his job description.
“And why didn’t he do anything? He had so much Qi, so much training, so many resources. Yet he did nothing until the very last second.” A mocking voice said from the shadow of anonymity. It was supposed to be a whisper. Everyone heard it. Argea’s dancing figurine crumbled and disappeared, much like her smile. A chilly wind grew and slithered up her back. Xanthip snapped to attention, Atlas stared at the person that had spoken, an aunt of his. He uttered not a sound.
“Some hero he is. If I was still young I would have killed those two in the dark, easy enough. Given them the worst poison we have and see then suffer, Oh how an old man can dream. Even if they had protection, with the Ru Clan on our side we could have made anything!” An old man grumbled, his eyes glaring at Atlas. Who like a deer in headlights looked around lost. Panicked.
“He let our home be trampled on, he let our home be taken over. And now it’s within his responsibilities to take it back! He has the Cultivation for it!” Another masked rat squeaked.
“Yeah. Why did he run away and hie underground like us? We’re old, mortals. Ru Feng had the valiance to fight for what was right!” Another added, it must have been a friend of his grandpa. He was old and always had the kindest smile on his face as he smoked his pipe.
Atlas looked at his father. Staring right into his eyes he pleaded for an olive branch. He hoped for something. “I understand.” Archeseus spoke up. “Your sentiment, despite your best efforts, has been heard loud and clear.” Some more sensible people around the campfire chuckled with derision. “I as his father saw that, and I contributed to that. I hereby announce that Atlas is taken out of the position of Heir. And if the council of elders so wishes I will disown the failed hero, from my lineage.”