Thunder: The Shadows Are Stirring (Thunder Stories Book 1) (20 page)

(SAMUEL)

J
AMIE KNOCKS ME OUT
so both he and Maddix can work on my leg, which is broken in multiple places. In real life, the Human Layer or whatever, an injury like this could take months of recovery time. I’m expected to walk unassisted within the next couple of days. Nothing like adventuring with two Healers and a bunch of Shadow meds. I wake up woozy and with something nagging at my memory.

“Hey there, Squirt,” I slur, my mouth gummy. Jamie’s eyes narrow briefly, and it crosses my mind that I should find a new nickname for him. After everything he’s experienced, he’s not a little kid any more, no matter what his age may be. I clear my throat. “Where’s Maddix? Are you both okay?” I ask, taking in my surroundings.

I’m inside a small one-roomed cabin; there’s a large fireplace with a huge black pot on a metal spit across the opening, a few cots, including the one I’m lying on, and a rough wooden table with benches around it. A couple windows, two doors. It’s pretty bare of anything but the essentials. Jamie and I are alone. I shake my head trying to remember everything. When it hits, I bolt upright, swearing at the tug created by the sudden movement of my leg.

“The two men—Jamie, what happened? Who were those guys? Where’d they even come from?” My brain is trying to register the logistics of what my eyes had missed. It’s not true what I’m thinking, is it? The boys hadn’t kept me awake long enough to ask any questions.

Jamie holds my eyes steadily before smiling tiredly and rubbing his temples, looking very much like the ‘Little Man’ Dad used to call him. “Take it easy, Sam.” He squats next to me, adjusting something on my leg. “You’re gonna injure something. Everyone’s fine; your leg is the most severe injury, anyway. And, um, I guess you weren’t alert enough to see what happened right before I knocked you out?” He peers closely at me. “Aw, you’ve already guessed it though, I bet.”

“You’re gonna tell me the guys were the goats? Or the goats were the guys? Or whichever way it was?”

“Yup, that pretty much sums it up. Maddix and I haven’t even heard the full details yet, but a ton more people showed up while you were asleep. Something big is going on.”

Seriously? I want my brain to take a break from Crazy, so I adjust my line of questioning. “Everyone’s outside? Where are we anyway?”

“Well ….” Jamie considers my questions. “We’re inside one of the shepherd’s huts. Right up the hill from where we crossed the river. There’s a whole village out here, tucked away into the land. Half the guys are getting some lunch together now; you’ve been out an hour or so. Let’s get you outside and we can see what’s up. I don’t wanna miss food.” He pats his stomach with a grin and calls for Maddix, who must have been waiting just outside the back door. Maddix gives me a hug, and I smile. Seeing them both safe and uninjured is fantastic. And food sounds great, though right now, for me, information sounds even better.

Together, we hobble through the doorway, my arms over both the boys’ shoulders for support. From knee to foot my leg is clamped, wrapped, and immobilized. Despite any medicine I know Jamie has administered, I still feel a deep ache at each movement and I have to twist awkwardly to get down the front porch steps. The sudden glare of the sun makes me blink.

Jamie was not kidding. There are people—men, women, and a bunch of kids—milling all over, talking to each other and acting shell shocked. When they notice us, they grow even quieter. A middle-aged guy steps out of the crowd, moving forward to stand in front of us. He has gray-streaked hair, long enough to pull back in a ponytail, and a goatee that reminds me of the goats’ beards. His eyes are a deep brown with crinkles in the corners, his feet are bare, and he has red gashes across his cheeks and one arm is bandaged. He dips his torso in a type of half bow and raises his arms as he turns to face the group of people.

He speaks with the air of someone who is used to being in charge. “Friends! Today we find us ourselves again, thanks to two Outworlders and a young Dweller. There is much we must discuss and, while we mourn the passing of Enric, we may know his sacrifice is now an interwoven piece of our story and will live on in the telling. Before proceeding further, let us take a meal with these travelers,” he gestures back to us. “We will nourish our bodies and our minds, together and in peace, as we have not in years.”

A new emotion, something calm and almost like acceptance, ripples through the crowd. Then the kids start to urge and tug at what I assume are their parents. The man who had been speaking turns and introduces himself to us as Peter. He and another man offer to help me to the base of a nearby tree where they can prop me. There are woven blankets spread out and loaded with all sorts of ceramic pots and bowls. Maddix and Jamie follow at their side. My stomach rumbles at the smells.

Inside the containers, we discover roasted vegetables, mushed vegetables, and stewed vegetables. Ditto for assorted fruits. There’s also a thick sweet porridge similar to oatmeal, which tastes amazing with some of the stewed fruit scooped on top. We thank them profusely for the food. I don’t know how they had the time to get all this prepared and served, but I’m thankful they did. I wolf down multiple servings and lie back against the trunk with a moan, hands on my belly, my leg stretched prone in front of me. I don’t think I’ll be able to move for a while. Watching everyone around me, I recognize this is a sort of celebration. Subdued, for sure, but still ….

A muted groan comes from next to me. “Oh, man, I ate too much.” Jamie voices my own unspoken thought.

He and Maddix look pretty much how I feel, mildly sick and ready for some mid-day shuteye. To stop myself from passing out right here in the lazy breeze, I shift to look up into Peter’s face. “Sir, can I ask you what’s going on? First, those monsters and, now, all of this?” I gesture to everyone sitting around us.

Several people overhear my question and regard me in surprise.

“You don’t comprehend what has happened here today, do you?” asks Peter, who is standing by my side. He had not sat down to eat.

The three of us shake our heads in unison and I raise my brow, questioning. In response, he claps his hands brusquely, waiting for everyone’s attention to focus on him before calling out, “Gather in, friends. It’s time for a tale.” He settles himself on the ground as people scoot aside the dishes and move closer.

Clouds slip across the sun and the lighting changes the grass to a deep green. Several dead leaves swirl to the ground and not one human sound can be heard. These people know how to keep quiet. Even the little kids hold so still it’s like they almost don’t want to be noticed. Rather than being impressive, there’s a sadness to the lack of movement.

“We are a strong and hardworking people,” he begins, almost with a sigh. He visibly ages before us. The cool breeze carries the bleating of the sheep down to us and then that too fades away. Peter continues, “From almost the beginning, we have tended the flocks of these hills, keeping to ourselves and getting in no one’s way or business; living with the land and raising our families with care. Liking our space and privacy. We earned the reputation of being tough yet fair with our commerce; our sheep were known for their excellent wool and excellent meat.

“Several years ago, a darkness came, not just here, but to many areas within the Shadows. Rumors of a rift were relayed, but what could we do? We’re shepherds, not warriors; we stuck to our hills and our herds.

“One day, two trolls arrived. They demanded our flocks for their eating. We flatly refused and tried to get them to leave. They laughed at us and said we were a bunch of old goats, and they might as well eat us instead. As the words were spoken, we were transformed, our families, our children …. We were shape-bound.

“They destroyed the bridge leading to the next town, forcing travelers to either use the older crossing, which leads to the heart of our community, or to go far out of their way to reach another passing. Travelers began taking our path, as the next easiest access. The trolls would hide under the bridge—the dragon fish, which inhabit this river, do not enjoy the taste of troll, so the beasts were quite safe—and the travelers would never be seen again. Word of the disappearances spread, and people began to think somehow we were responsible, that we’d been turned.” Peter almost spits out the words. “No one came to help or to investigate. They simply wrote us off. Assumed the worst because they never really knew us.

“Fewer travelers came our way, and, to our horror, the trolls began to add goat to their regular menu. We sent our families to hide as best they could among the hills and valleys, but the trolls had done a head count and knew the number we were. They threatened us, and there wasn’t much we could do to defend ourselves. If we retaliated, the children would suffer in unimaginable ways. We lost many.” Peter shudders so intensely, I can feel the quaking deep in my gut, and I feel nauseated.

“We tried what we could to prevent the killing of our people and the unsuspecting travelers. We outnumbered the two, after all. We left lookouts, willing to sacrifice themselves if it came down to it, near the bottom hills to keep an eye out for travelers, to warn off those who appeared vulnerable, to plead with those who seemed to have strength.

“The trolls were not pleased with our interference; they became unpredictable and would sometimes remain hidden, allowing travelers who heeded our warnings to turn back. Those people would find other crossings, alive, but carrying with them the impression that whoever now controlled these hills was a danger to avoid. Which, of course was true, but they never understood we were the victims and not the villains.

“You are the first to stay and fight for us, to fight alongside us, and to show emotion at the loss of one of our own.” Peter regards me pointedly as he says this, and I remember vaguely crying out when the goat, Enric, was fatally attacked. It hadn’t mattered to me he was a goat; he’d obviously been trying to help us.

“Today, with the combination of our forces and the use of your weapons, the trolls were destroyed. With their demise came the end of the shape-binding they had forced upon us, and we were released to our true form. Which brings us to this moment, this new chapter. We have learned your names, but not your reasons. So. Why did you stay when you could have fled?”

I’m shocked by Peter’s story, the violence and destruction, the lack of help, everything these people had gone through for the last two years. And yet here they are, feeding us and letting Peter tell us, three strangers, their awful story. It’s all very personal, their grief and loss, so it’s like they’re welcoming us into their community... on the grounds that they approve of our reason for sticking around. Jamie and Maddix turn to me. I can’t lie to these people or make it sound better than it is—that we weren’t initially here to help them, but to ask for help ourselves. I feel almost guilty, but Oden felt we needed the support of this group. All I can do is ask. Hopefully, they’ll be open to listening.

I explain everything, from the beginning. I tell about the accident on the snowy road, the training, and the Bending. What we have seen and done since we arrived, what we are now trying to achieve, the search for Livs and Ethan. What Livs’ role is, and why we need their help with it. When I mention Thunder and Oden by name, Peter’s eyes light up with recognition.

“They are good ones, the both of them. Why us? Why are
we
needed to help your cause when there are surely better warriors available? In reality, can you expect us to feel pity for the locals around here who so readily believed the worst in us and could not even be bothered to verify the situation? Why should we concern ourselves with their welfare, on how this all could affect them? They obviously felt no such qualms when it came to our well-being.

“Maybe we feel we have done enough for them already. We warned them of their own endangerment and tried to send them away safely. Maybe now we’d like to just experience being ourselves again, with our families and friends, try to regroup and recover.

“Even if we were to say ‘yes, we will join you,’ what is it we can offer? Our lives? We have already offered our lives.” He speaks without moving his eyes from my face, reading my reaction and giving me a chance to study him.

I inhale deep enough to make my toes grow. “Peter. All of you,” I say, trying to include everyone in view. “We need you because you understand the risks here, not the risks to yourselves if you join the battle, but the risks to you if we fail our cause. You
know
what will happen if the darkness you spoke of is allowed free reign; you have experienced it. To stand back and say ‘this is not our fight anymore’ is not actually standing back. It is joining with
their
side. It is giving permission to the darkness.

“Turning neighbor against neighbor, allowing suspicions or resentments to come between people, this is what the darkness does; this is the confusion that leads to pandemonium and chaos, because you can no longer trust. We
need
to band together. We need to stop this from going further. Why did we not run today? First of all, it was crucial for us to talk to you guys and see if you’d be willing to help. Secondly, because while we live, it is our responsibility to do the right thing. It would have been wrong for us to run away while you stayed to fight.” I stop to take a breath. “That’s it, I guess. It’s all I have. Just, please. We need you.”

Peter observes the three of us in silence, his face unreadable and giving away none of his thoughts. He turns to the others and states, “Right, then. They have stated their requests and intentions. I do not need to deliberate my response. I ask you this: Who is with me? Who will walk with me from these hills when the call comes?”

Peter’s grave face splits into a proud smile as everyone responds in solid agreement, “I am; I will!”

I breathe out a sigh of relief. Seems like we’ve got ourselves some helpers.

Peter and a few others take Maddix and Jamie out on a tour of their fields and flocks. Even in goat form, they tended their sheep as best they could. Which means all the remaining animals are long overdue for shearing.