Chapter 29

Ezhno looked like someone had bashed his head. He looked at Erik, then at Mato.

“We will help you,” Mato said.

“We can’t,” Ezhno said.

“We must.”

“But, we will die, and Sotsona will still have everything he wanted. We cannot help. I wish to, but I cannot. I do not have the strength.”

“You told Erik to come here and trade. You told him Abo would treat him fairly. We do not have any slavery in Abo. He should not have taken Thyra. It is against Sotsona’s own laws.”

“I know the laws,” Ezhno shouted. “But our deaths will not help Erik. Sotsona will kill us, and Erik will die in the salt.”

Mato grabbed his teacher by the temples and put them nose-to-nose. “I know that, Teacher. But the Great Lady gave me the heart to do what must be done. This must be done. It does not matter if we have the strength.”

“But we cannot succeed.”

“You told me to have faith,” Mato said. “I am going. Please do not make me go alone.”

Ezhno stood for several minutes, head down, fists clenched. Finally he looked up.

“If we are to do the impossible, we must have an impossible plan.”

* * *

They met the rest of their group and woke them before dawn. Ezhno related the story, then argued for an hour with the priests and trail masters. When the sun peeked over the horizon he held up a hand.

“It is time to choose. Those who will help Erik Bloodaxe come to me. The rest, join the wisdoms.”

“You would help a heathen against your own king?” Elki bellowed.

“Sotsona has broken Sotsona’s own law. Who will call him to account?” Ezhno asked.

“No one will call him to account,” Poplar said. “He is the king. He makes the law, enforces the law, and has every right to change the law. If he says it is lawful for him to take a woman, then it is lawful.”

“I will not live that way,” Mato said.

The division was predictable. Moki, Otaktay, and the three other failed seekers joined them. Everyone else clustered behind the wisdoms.

“Are we decided?” Ezhno asked.

No one moved.

Ezhno rushed the wisdoms and opposing trail masters. An upstroke took an arm. A cross stroke took two heads. A downstroke split a man in half. Three more moves and it was over. Six lives ended in the salt a day’s march from Abo.

Mato’s teacher turned to the seekers and finders. “You have options. First, you put your pack and weapons on the ground, then march toward Abo. Second, you fight me, then don’t march toward Abo. Third, you stand right there, and I will take your pack, and you can choose what to do after that.”

Most of them tried to join Ezhno’s rebellion. Moki accepted two.

“Run,” Ezhno said. “In one hard day you can reach Abo. We will follow. If we catch you, you will die.”

* * *

They met Erik back at the wagons. The men looked dead already. Wounds oozed, lips cracked, and the horses looked ready to drop.

“I have a plan,” Ezhno said.

“No plan can save us,” one of the northmen said.

Ezhno ignored him. “First, we will return to Abo. There we will gather water and supplies to cross the salts. Sotsona will try to stop us, and Erik and I will drive him away.”

No one liked the plan, but they preferred death on their feet to death on the salts.

* * *

Ezhno took time to give each of the northmen two cups of healing water. Then they loaded the wagons with everything of value from the cohort’s packs.

Then Mato and Ezhno ran toward Abo. They had water and food, and it took them only a few hours to overtake the fleeing cohorts. From there they just followed, and every time the seekers and finders looked back, they saw two sword bearers chasing.

There was chaos as they entered the north gates. The seekers and finders were demanding water and food, plus reporting betrayal behind them. By the time the guards organized, Mato and Ezhno had new clothes. They blended into the crowds without effort.

Mato went to his family home. Mother was there, cooking cavi over the sun oven’s grill.

She wrapped him in a full hug, and for a moment he forgot the previous year.

“Mato, I have missed you.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. I have turned against Sotsona. If you stay here you will die. Please come with me.”

Her eyes widened, and she dropped her stirring stick.

“Is this true, Mato?”

“Yes. We must go now.”

To her credit Mother picked up a knife, a blanket, and a waterskin, then followed. Mato sent her to meet with Erik’s wagons.

His siblings were more difficult.

“Meda, I have turned against Sotsona. Please come with me. Any of my family who remains will be subject to his anger.”

Meda looked him up and down, then continued folding sheets of cloth. “What are you talking about, Mato?”

“I do not have time to explain. There is fighting at the north gate. When it is over, the guards will investigate my friends and family. You will not be safe.”

“But, we cannot just pick up and leave. Where would we even go?”

“I must go. Please meet us at the north gate.”

It was heart-wrenching. He had to give as many family members a chance as possible, but he had little time.

His brother, Chesmu, seemed to take him seriously and sent him to warn the rest of the family.

In the end, he had no idea who believed him and who did not. His heart wanted to stop, but there were people who needed him. It wasn’t lost on him that even though he felt helpless, something inside refused to quit.

* * *

Mato found Ezhno waiting in the shadows near the north gate.

“Ready?” Ezhno asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You’d better be ready. This was your idea. If you’d tried to talk me out of this, we’d be headed the other way.”

“I know. Maybe after it's over I’ll know if I was ready,” Mato said.

Ezhno laughed softly. “That is something I can understand. The guards will rouse soon, and we have to open the gates.”

Perhaps two minutes later a bell rang.

Mato leaped out of cover and charged the gate. Ezhno beat him there by several paces. Mato sliced through the first guard. His inner voice murmured an apology to the Great Spirit. Then he cut another guard apart. Two good men, just doing their jobs.

Should he have abandoned Erik to the salt?

He rushed the stairs and found two more men at the top. Both of them fell easily. Was this really the quality of training offered to the guards?

The great reel was in front of him, and he cranked it as far to the right as possible, then jammed a block in place to keep it from unreeling.

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Men below roared.

At the first landing beneath the wall Mato could see Ezhno. His teacher flashed him the signs for two-hundred men, and then ‘follow me.’

What? Surely Ezhno wasn’t serious…

A cloud of blackness spread over the area, and Ezhno vanished into it. Mato drew hard on his guardian pairing, then leaped from the stairs and into the crowd.

At first it was pandemonium. Blades slashed him, spears jabbed, and he cut and cut and cut. Men fell, the ground became slick with blood. After some time--perhaps seconds, perhaps hours--he got some space. The guards had realized he was a true threat, and now they formed ranks of men with spears and shields, and fought to keep him at a distance.

With the space came arrows. The wall and high ground around them was ringed with archers.

Ezhno staggered up to him. “Shield, Mato.”

The bubble brought a moment to get his thoughts together. Ezhno had filled four waterskins with healing water, but all of them were slashed and punctured.

Ezhno got out a jar of paste and rubbed it on their wounds, then dripped a cup of healing water for each of them.

“You’re not making the most of your shield,” Ezhno said. “You can make flat shields. When someone tries to back away from you, stop them. When they charge, trip them.

“Can you push your guardian pairing to me, while using it yourself?”

“Push and pull at the same time?”

“Yes. It is hard to learn, but easy to do once you know how. See how you have two hands? You push with one and pull with the other all of the time.”

“It’s just like sweeping the floor,” Mato said.

“Exactly. You know how to sweep, so now you only need to learn a new broom.”

Mato closed his eyes, ignored the surrounding chaos, and focused. At first it was like trying to hold on to a fresh caught fish, but within half a minute something clicked in his head.

“Excellent, Mato. I share with you the sight.”

That was downright disorienting. People lit up, as if they had some kind of light inside. Their fingers and noses were dark, but their throats were bright orange and yellow.

Ezhno’s darkness ability filled the bubble, and Mato found that the strange vision could see right through the cloud.

“I will clear the wall and reopen the gate. You continue to pressure the courtyard. Ready?” Ezhno asked.

“Ready,” Mato said. He dropped the shield and added hardening to his flesh. Arrows peppered the area, but the black cloud spread rapidly, and within seconds the archers could no longer tell where their own people were.

Fighting had felt like cold-blooded murder before Ezhno had gifted him with an obscuring cloud and unnatural vision. Now he was fighting blind men.

He cut underneath shields, removing feet. He slipped through the gaps and attacked men from behind. Panic spread, and soon men were fighting each other. Mato slipped to an open area in front of a wall and vomited.

A big man ran into the courtyard. His eyes spotted Mato, and he ran across the space, stepping over bodies and dodging blind guardsmen.

“Aha. The boy with the gifted sword. I should have killed you that day, not simply turned you away.”

“You have the sight,” Mato said.

They clashed, and the guardsman was good. Wandering trail met slinking dog. Marriage dance slipped around harvest dance.

“You’ve grown skilled in a short time.”

Mato lunged, let his attack be parried, and kicked the guard’s knee in. His follow-through took the man’s head.

“I’m sorry, Brother.”

The gate creaked open, and Erik shoved his way through. “Ezhno? Mato?”

“I’m coming to you,” Mato called. “Don’t stab me.”

He wondered why he’d said that while he crossed the courtyard. Surely he’d been stabbed so much one more wouldn’t change anything.

Erik’s arm clenched when he grabbed it. “Welcome back to Abo.”

“I should kill you for that,” Erik said.

“Wait until you see whether or not this works,” Mato said.

“I can wait.”

Mato got the northmen positioned, then called to Ezhno. “Ready, Ezhno.”

His vision returned to normal, and the blackness disappeared. For a few seconds violence returned, and then it was quiet. The sound of someone crying cut through the air, with nothing else to compete with it.

Now they needed Sotsona. Sweat dripped down Mato’s back. Then he used his new technique and pushed the warrior pairing onto Erik, while also holding it for himself. Then he did the same with guardian.

One second they were waiting. The next second Sotsona rammed the point of his blade into Erik’s back. It dug in an inch or so, then stopped. Erik spun, swinging his ax in a huge arc. Sotsona disappeared, and Mato felt a blade at his throat.

“What is your name, young traitor?”

“Mato Stone Foot, Great Majesty.”

The king tensed. “Mato, you said?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Interesting. You even resemble him a bit. He was larger though.”

“Sire?”

The moment came. Mato flicked his sword blade up, and pushed against Sotsona’s blade. The king’s draw cut left a shallow wound behind. Nothing to worry about.

He spun to face Sotsona, who smiled. “I see you have the warrior rune. No wonder you recover so well. I have had it for centuries.”

That was a strange thing to say. This was Sotsona IX. His father had carried the salt blade before him.

They clashed, and Mato felt a slash against his arm. The angling of the blade to leave a wound under those conditions was masterful.

Then Erik’s battleax slammed into one of Sotsona’s shoulders and drove him to his knees. The blade had only penetrated a little though. Mato lunged forward, and Sotsona disappeared and a blade stabbed Mato in the back.

Mato spun, but only Ezhno was there, eyes searching outward.

“Go lad, go!” Erik shouted.

Right. He turned and raced for the well. Guards tried to stop him, but he ran right past. Now that he had his objective fixed, nothing would stop him.

Sprinting was one of his favorite things. With the waterblade active, he didn’t need to breathe, thus he had far greater stamina than others.

He reached the southwest market, vaulted a cart, and shoved his way through the crowd. Only the warrior rune kept him from running full tilt into a sword swung at his neck. He parried, and then he was moving again, outdistancing the men who had just surprised him.

The guards at the well spotted him and held their spears up in a signal to stop. Mato continued his sprint, deflected a spear aside, and crashed into the guard. Both of them went sprawling, but Mato was up before the guard’s partner could help.

At the stairs he ran down, trying desperately to go faster without tripping.

Fortunately there weren’t very many people on the stairs. He had worried about shoving dozens of grandmothers over the side. As it was, two grandmothers, several mothers, and a handful of men was bad enough.

He reached the floating dock and pulled up. Four dippermen looked at him uncertainly. Mato drew his sword.

“Get out.”

They complied.

At the top of the stairs a contingent of guards arrived and began the descent. Mato squatted and scooped up a handful of water, then drank it.

“Gross. Should have washed my hand first.”

He looked into the water. It was impossible to say how far down he could see. The light came through a few small skylights, and some mirrors in useful places. It wasn’t bright, but people could work effectively.

Sandals slapped on the floating dock, and Mato readied himself.

“Drop your sword!” one of the guards thundered.

He needed to goad them into fighting. “Go ride your mother.” He felt bad saying it. His own mother would have washed his mouth out with soap.

“Drop it or die fighting the king’s guards,” the loud one shouted. He was the oldest of the bunch with gray in his beard and at least eight pairings on his blade.

“Alright,” Mato said. “I’ll ride your mother. Someone needs to. But I’ll expect payment after.”

“What the blazes is he doing?” one of the others asked.

Men around him shrugged and formed a line, then they edged forward. The last thing Mato could afford was a pitched battle where they captured him.

He rushed them, swinging at their blades. He managed to chop the head from a spear, and flick the tip of his sword across the loud one’s face, leaving a shallow gash. It hurt his feelings to do it, but he left himself off balance and his sword out to the side.

The loud one cooperated and slashed him across the chest. Mato gave a bit of a jump, and threw himself backward into the well.

The surface closed over him, and then a spear probed. They weren’t stabbing for him, they were offering him a way out.

Fortunately the weights tied around his waist were just right, and he sunk reasonably quickly. The water was frigid, and he drew on the warm rune in his blade.

He carefully sheathed his blade. The worst thing that could happen now was dropping it into the depths. Even without the need to breathe, being so deep was terrifying. It grew darker and darker, and he imagined enormous things moving in the corners of his vision.

When he was certain he was deep enough that they couldn’t see him he righted himself and swam for the northeast side of the well. It was slow going. He was hardly a strong swimmer, and his boots and clothing hampered him.

The edge of the well was… confusing. It went down about two hundred feet--he wasn’t sure. It was hard to estimate how far down he was. Then there was no wall, just an endless expanse of water. He could even see faint sunlight. How was that possible?

He kicked his way back until the well was above him again, then began searching. The darkness was complete, and he made his way a stroke at a time, feeling along the wall. How was he supposed to locate a doorway size hole in a giant wall, underwater, with no light? He could be right above it, or right below it. He could search for days and not find it.

There was a splash and then some shouting from far away. He felt along the wall in that direction, feeling hopeful, but then it was silent again.

He had to do this. He was the only one who could do it. They’d brought Erik’s people back to Abo for this. Well, for the water they needed to get away, but Thyra was important too.

Mato paused, trying to remember where the sound had come from. How did people keep track of their own location in places like this?

Another splash, followed by more shouting. It was just a sliver louder this time. Mato swam down, and after about six feet he found a hole in the wall. The desire to sigh in relief was powerful, but not quite as powerful as his fear of drowning.

The tunnel had rough, uneven sides. The ceiling was the worst, and he bumped his head on it a few times before he decided to follow the floor up.

It seemed like forever. By the time he got out of the tunnel, Sotsona would be back. He was going to die under the blades of a thousand guards.

Courage, Mato.

His head broke the water, and he took a breath. The air seemed good. Like… air.

He got Ezhno’s little lantern from his belt pouch and tried to light it. His clothes and hair were wet and dripping, and he must have gotten water on the flint. It wouldn’t spark. Mato put the useless lantern away and crept up the tunnel, one hand on his sword, the other on the wall.

Water dripped off of him, and his boots squelched with every step. How was he still undiscovered? People must be able to hear him from a clip away.