Beyond the Hell Cliffs (42 page)

Chapter 39

Freya was one of the Chief’s daughters and the only one that was unwed.  She was a mouthy teenager and spent too much time on the hunt for anyone to court her.  According to Ferydif, she was horrible at chores and even worse with children.  Her only interests were running, hunting and skinning.  She had spent more time out in the wild than most of the older hunters and had scouted farther than any of them.  It was why she knew where the Tyrra Clan lived. 

The black-haired Urufen led them out of the village after their month of exercises and work was over.  Even after the grueling routine the Urufen put them through, his breathing quickened after only an hour on the mountain.  For ten days they walked for an hour and then rested, repeating the process throughout the day.  At night the four of them would tuck in close to each other for Raegith and Helkree to take advantage of the Urufen’s high body heat.

“How much longer?” Helkree asked, rubbing her arms briskly as they struggled through the snow.

“Still quite a ways; another week, maybe,” Freya replied, looking over at her and laughing.  “It was stupid of you to come with us.  Rathgar are like lizards; they belong in the hot.  You’re going to freeze solid.”

“If I knock you out and carry you in my bra, would that keep me warm?”

“She’s right, Helkree… for both of us.  I can barely breathe it’s so cold.” Raegith said.

“That’s not the cold, Grass-hair.  We’re very high up.  Air is too heavy to stay up here.  I bet you never felt air like this before in the north, huh?”

“Some Sabans live in the World Edge Mountains, but mostly just Faeir.  They probably use magic to survive so high, like they do for everything else.”

The group continued on.  The cold never stopped and on some days the snow flew at them as if someone were throwing it.  They ate the dried meat that Freydif sent with them and whatever Freya could scrounge up.  Their progression was slower after the first week, as it took most of their energy just to breathe. 

A week dragged into two before they finally came across tracks.  Freya confirmed that they were from Urufen and that they were close to the Tyrra Clan.  They were found by the scouts well before they came across the clan village.

Urufen wrapped in thick furs and carrying long spears intercepted them as they wove through evergreens.  It was swift and unexpected and Helkree’s overly aggressive reaction to them almost got them all skewered.  Freya was quick to jump in front and speak to the leader, a brown-haired youth that looked the same age as her.

“Little Fang?
  What are you doing so far from home and who are these you brought with you?  I see a lost pup, a half-frozen Rathgar and… a pale Lokai?”

The other Urufen were surrounding the group and all of them were looking at the little bit of Raegith’s face that was exposed under the hood of his parka.  They were all curious as to what he was and he hoped that Freya would not just blurt
it out before explaining the situation.

“He’s a man from the north!” she said.  “By north, I mean way north; from the land in the sun.”

The spears were immediately leveled and Helkree yanked her twin axes from her belt and matched their growls.

“Okay, you’re done talking,” Raegith said, pulling Freya back behind him.  He lifted his hands at the leader and pulled back his hood to speak more clearly.  “I am called Grass-hair.  You can probably figure out why.  I’m not here to invade your clan.”

“How do we know that?” he asked.

“Because I would have brought a lot more than this if I were, don’t you think?”  Raegith looked around and flashed a smile.  “I’ve come from the Lupa Tribe.  I’m looking for Thorin, of the Tyrra Tribe.”

“Bardr, how does this thing speak our tongue?  And how does he know of Thorin?” one of the Urufen, a female with russet hair, asked.

“I’ll get to that, Hildr!” he replied, turning back to Raegith.  “How do you know all of this?  Who are you?  What do you want with our chief?”

“I’m just a man looking for the Junrei’sha.  If Thorin can tell me where to find them, we’ll be on our way without troubling you.  I would ask that you let the Urufen girl rest and then escort her back to her clan, though.”

“What?” Freya squawked.

“We’ve already received another visitor who won’t go away as it is,” the boy named Bardr said.  “We don’t need more pilgrims coming to test their might on the Alfhildr.”

“We’re not here for anything but knowledge, I assure you,” Raegith said.  “Please, we’ve been out in this shit for nearly three weeks.  Just let me speak to Thorin and we’ll be gone.”

“Let’s just take them, Bardr,” the girl named Hildr said.  “They have Little Fang with them and another Urufen.  We cannot just leave them out here.”

Bardr scowled at Hildr, but he did not argue with her.  After a moment he huffed and came closer, pointing his spear at them.  “You follow us and don’t try anything stupid or else we’ll turn and rip you apart.”

“Turn?” Fenra asked, confused.

“You poor girl,” Bardr replied, rolling his eyes.  “You don’t even know what it means to be Urufen.”

They were closer to the village than they thought, as it only took the rest of the day to reach it once they had a reliable guide.  Without running into the scouting party, they would have wandered for a lot longer, as Freya was only certain about a general area and not a specific spot. 

The village was tucked away inside a large cave in the side of the mountain called Alfhildr.  It was well concealed and could be easily defended.  The overhang of the cave kept the smoke from their fires from being seen at a distance.  There were not near as many villagers as there were in the Lupa Tribe’s village, but everyone had a sense of strength and ruggedness about them that other Urufen he had seen lacked.  These were a hardened and proud people.  They would have to be in order to survive so high up above everything. 

As they passed into the cave, Raegith saw a huge form that seemed out of place among the smaller Urufen.  It was a Rathgar and he was enormous.

“No fucking way,” Helkree breathed, catching sight of the Rathgar.

“There is our other visitor,” Bardr said, pointing to the man.  “Been here for almost three seasons now, eating all of our food.”

The hulking figure turned, showing a scarred, stubbly jawline and crimson eyes.  His dark grey hair was shaved on the sides and
stood upwards in a single strip down the middle of his head.  He noticed the new group being brought into the cave and his wide mouth split into a grin.

“Brimgor?”
Raegith exclaimed, breaking away from the others and lifting the hood of his parka away.

“Grass-head!” he replied, pointing to Raegith’s head.  “You’re thieving my look from me!”

“What are you doing here?” Raegith laughed, clasping hands with the Agillean.

“Training… and waiting.  You were supposed to bring me a war, Grass-head.”

“It’s Grass-
hair
, remember?  And I did bring a war here.”  Raegith sobered quickly, his smile draining away.  “The Citadel was attacked, Brimgor.  The men from Rellizbix came and destroyed it.  They murdered the Empress.  You must have missed it.”

“No, I heard,” Brimgor said.  “That’s not the war I am waiting on.  The smell of blood is still on the wind and has not changed since that day we last parted.  There is still a war to be had with the men from the north and we will both be fighting it.  Damn, it’s good to see you again.  Have you come here to get stronger as well?”

“In a way,” Raegith answered.

“He’s looking for the Junies,” Helkree said, joining them.

“Great, all the freeloaders know each other!” Bardr exclaimed, frustratingly leading the others over to the conversation.

“You’re still dragging the Stone Worshipper around with you?” Brimgor laughed.  “Have you not found anything better to stick it in, yet?”

“I’m about to stick my boot in your ass,” Helkree replied.  “You sure look chipper.  You find a new drug that you haven’t built up a massive tolerance to yet or something?”

“Hey, foreigner, do you want to see Thorin or not?” Bardr said. 

Raegith nodded and turned back to Brimgor.  “I need to speak with the Chief of this tribe, but I’d like to talk more with you.”

“I’ll be around.”

Bardr and his team accompanied the foursome into the cave and through its halls.  Without the winds, it was much warmer inside, though the air was smoky and thick.  Along the walls were green-burning torches instead of emberstones.  As he looked about, he could find no Rellizbix technology inside the caves.  There were no hints and whispers of the Treaty inside the cave, as there were in the Outposts and Citadel.  There were no steel instruments or weapons.  Everything was primitive compared to the villages and settlements in the rest of the Greimere.

The group entered a chamber of the
cave that housed the Chief.  Thorin was a broad-shouldered Urufen with pure white hair and collar.  His tan, leathery skin was stretched over hard muscle and though his face showed an aged and weary elder, his figure was one of an alpha warrior. 

Bardr stopped the group short of the steps of the throne Thorin sat upon and approached the elder.  Thorin stroked his long, white beard as he listened to the youth and then waved Bardr back dismissively and stood.  His arms spread wide and a smile crossed his lips.

“Little Fang!  It warms me to see you among us again.  Have you come to find a mate among my tribe?  A spirit such as yours belongs here, high on the Alfhildr.”

“I appreciate that, Elder,” Freya replied, skipping forward to be embraced by the old man.  “Have you any young men that could tame me, though?”

Thorin’s laughter boomed in the small chamber.  “Some would try, I think.”

He let her go and looked back to Raegith and his companions.  “
Are these friends of yours?  The red-furred one I could understand, but how did you come to be in the company of a Rathgar woman and one of the Sun-kissed Folk?”

“Fenra is a city-pup, Elder, but I like her.  She’s fierce… like we are.” Freya motioned to the other two.  “Helkree is a female warrior!  Can you believe that?  She doesn’t give a
damn what the men say in the Citadel!”

“And Helkree speaks for the man?”

“I speak for myself, Elder,” Raegith said, bowing his head.

Thorin gave him a surprised look.  “You speak our tongue?  You’ve been in these lands for some time, then?  Come closer; tell me your name.”

Raegith approached the curious Urufen Chief.  “I am Raegith the Grass-haired, Elder, and I have been in the Greimere for two years now.  One was spent in the Pit inside the Citadel, where I found Fenra.  The other year has been spent liberating the Lokai villages from their Rathgar captors since the fall of the Greimere Empire.”

“But not the Urufen tribes to east, I believe.”

“No, the Urufens did not need my help,” Raegith replied.  “Chief Freydif has been kind enough to extend his help to me, though.  I come to you hoping to gain your assistance as well.”

“Live high on the mountain,” Thorin said.

Raegith looked at Freya and back at Thorin, cautiously.  “Excuse me?”

“That’s how you will become stronger, Raegith the Grass-haired.  That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?  Ambition is not so difficult to recognize in the eyes of men and there are only two reasons men come this high up to seek me out: to grow stronger or to domesticate my tribe.”

“I did not come here as a conqueror, Elder.”

“I would hope not, with only three allies,” Thorin chuckled.  “And you did not come to liberate us from the Empress’s goons, either
.  Chief Freydif told you that I could make you stronger, didn’t he?  Sometimes I think he sees me as some mythical figure due to my age, when I am just a stubborn old wolf who cannot adapt to modern living.”

“I appreciate the offer to make me stronger, Elder, but I seek only information.  I have nothing to give in repayment but a pair of hands.”

“Three pairs,” Helkree chimed in.

“This is unexpected,” Thorin replied.  “A visitor from the Sun-kissed lands travels deep into enemy territory, climbs high upon the Alfhildr, and seeks me out for my conversation?  What is it you would like to know?”

“Where can I find the Junrei’sha?”

Thorin looked at him for a moment and then turned and sat back down on his throne.  “Go home, Raegith the Grass-haired, wherever that may be.  Leave the zealots alone; they are nothing but trouble and you’ll only die trying to reach their ‘Path.’  Worship the mountain gods if you need a higher calling.”

“I cannot turn back, Elder, and I won’t,” Raegith said.  “I’m not foolish enough to try and force the information out of you, but if you need me to prove my worthiness of this information, then bring me your best fighter.”

“My best fighter would tear you in half, boy, and I don’t like the direction this conversation is taking.  Take your friends and return to civilization.  You don’t need this information as much as you think.”

“It’s not for me, Elder, but all of Greimere.”

Raegith dropped to one knee and Helkree immediately hissed at him.  He ignored her and knelt before the Chief.  “The people here are dying,
Chief.  Your people have kept the old ways and will carry on through history, but the others will not make it.  Thousands of Rathgar, Lokai, Gimlet and Urufen will die off, starving in these lands for the ways forced upon them by those from the Sun-kissed lands.”