Forsada: Volume II in the New Eden series by Peter J Dudley Page A
Authors: Peter J Dudley
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bottom of my soul. It’s too deep to show in my eyes.
“We need to go,” I say. “We need to try to warn Upper. We can still get there in—where’s Shack?”
He’s gone, and I never saw him go.
“He said he needed to go do something. He wouldn’t say what, and I couldn’t stop him. Loop, you must—”
“Leave it, okay?” I don’t yell, but it has the same effect on him as if I did. “My father’s dead. I get it. My mother’s going to be dead soon, too. I get it.”
I busy myself with picking up my pack and pretending to adjust the straps on my shoulder, tie some loose ends that aren’t really loose.
“I hesitated once, and everyone in Lodgeholm burned up because of it. I won’t do that again.”
“Not everyone,” comes a voice from behind, and I glance at the two men who have silently been watching behind us.
The other steps forward. I’ve already forgotten his name from the Council.
“I knew your father, Lupay, and I promise I’ll do whatever you ask me to do if it will get revenge for that cowardly attack.” I can see he means it. And I’ll hold him to his promise. Our eyes hold each other for a long moment, the pains of the last few hours shared between us. I don’t know what he lost at Lodgeholm—wife, mother, children, dog, whatever—but our pain is beyond individual losses. We’ve both lost more than things, more than people we love. It’s deeper than that, something that connects us even though we didn’t know each other before today’s sunrise.
The jumbled sounds of yelling, metal clanging, cows howling, all sorts of noises drift up to us on the warm, morning wind. I turn my back on the slaughter below, pick up two of Shack’s abandoned satchels, and force one foot to step forward, away from the cliff. It’s unnatural. Difficult. But I force another step, then another, and within seconds I’m rushing along the ridge trail, west through the trees.
Garrett trots up behind and drops into rhythm with my steps. “Loop, where are we going?”
I can’t get any words out. I concentrate on the pebbles, sticks, dirt passing beneath my feet.
“Upper?”
He shouldn’t have to ask, should he? Where else would we be going?
We walk in silence for a couple of minutes, the two from Lodgeholm trudging along behind us.
“Think we’ll get there in time?”
How I wish Garrett would shut up and just let me walk. I step up my pace and try to hide how hard I’m breathing.
“To warn them, I mean.”
That’s it. I stop short, spin, and grab his sleeve as he stumbles past. He’s heavy, but I steady him and haul his bulk back to stand in front of me. He’s a head taller, and I glare up into his face. I curl my fingers so tight into the fabric of his sleeve that I might tear it apart. I struggle to stop trembling, try to calm myself before speaking. He’s startled, and a little scared. Good.
I’m breathing hard, not just from the fast hike or heavy pack.
“Will you…” I begin, but I can’t bring myself to say “shut up.”
“Will I what?”
Clueless boy.
“Will you please…” I try again, through clenched teeth, but I still can’t tell him to shut up. If it were Shack in front of me, I’d have punched him in the chest and shouted it at him. But Garrett. More fragile. Innocent. Clueless.
A shout from behind startles us both. “Hey!”
We turn to look at the two Lodgeholm men. One of them points down at the river. We all look and see a single rider on a horse galloping up the road, heading toward Upper. I can’t see who it is, but he’s pursued by two others, Southshaw men. They’re hundreds of yards behind, and falling farther back. We can see a good portion of the ravine where the road winds alongside the river. It dips and dodges in and out of view behind outcroppings and trees, but we can see the rider, head down and speeding along. After a quarter mile, the Southshaw men stop and turn, heading back to the valley.
I feel a terrible urge to look back at
“We need to go,” I say. “We need to try to warn Upper. We can still get there in—where’s Shack?”
He’s gone, and I never saw him go.
“He said he needed to go do something. He wouldn’t say what, and I couldn’t stop him. Loop, you must—”
“Leave it, okay?” I don’t yell, but it has the same effect on him as if I did. “My father’s dead. I get it. My mother’s going to be dead soon, too. I get it.”
I busy myself with picking up my pack and pretending to adjust the straps on my shoulder, tie some loose ends that aren’t really loose.
“I hesitated once, and everyone in Lodgeholm burned up because of it. I won’t do that again.”
“Not everyone,” comes a voice from behind, and I glance at the two men who have silently been watching behind us.
The other steps forward. I’ve already forgotten his name from the Council.
“I knew your father, Lupay, and I promise I’ll do whatever you ask me to do if it will get revenge for that cowardly attack.” I can see he means it. And I’ll hold him to his promise. Our eyes hold each other for a long moment, the pains of the last few hours shared between us. I don’t know what he lost at Lodgeholm—wife, mother, children, dog, whatever—but our pain is beyond individual losses. We’ve both lost more than things, more than people we love. It’s deeper than that, something that connects us even though we didn’t know each other before today’s sunrise.
The jumbled sounds of yelling, metal clanging, cows howling, all sorts of noises drift up to us on the warm, morning wind. I turn my back on the slaughter below, pick up two of Shack’s abandoned satchels, and force one foot to step forward, away from the cliff. It’s unnatural. Difficult. But I force another step, then another, and within seconds I’m rushing along the ridge trail, west through the trees.
Garrett trots up behind and drops into rhythm with my steps. “Loop, where are we going?”
I can’t get any words out. I concentrate on the pebbles, sticks, dirt passing beneath my feet.
“Upper?”
He shouldn’t have to ask, should he? Where else would we be going?
We walk in silence for a couple of minutes, the two from Lodgeholm trudging along behind us.
“Think we’ll get there in time?”
How I wish Garrett would shut up and just let me walk. I step up my pace and try to hide how hard I’m breathing.
“To warn them, I mean.”
That’s it. I stop short, spin, and grab his sleeve as he stumbles past. He’s heavy, but I steady him and haul his bulk back to stand in front of me. He’s a head taller, and I glare up into his face. I curl my fingers so tight into the fabric of his sleeve that I might tear it apart. I struggle to stop trembling, try to calm myself before speaking. He’s startled, and a little scared. Good.
I’m breathing hard, not just from the fast hike or heavy pack.
“Will you…” I begin, but I can’t bring myself to say “shut up.”
“Will I what?”
Clueless boy.
“Will you please…” I try again, through clenched teeth, but I still can’t tell him to shut up. If it were Shack in front of me, I’d have punched him in the chest and shouted it at him. But Garrett. More fragile. Innocent. Clueless.
A shout from behind startles us both. “Hey!”
We turn to look at the two Lodgeholm men. One of them points down at the river. We all look and see a single rider on a horse galloping up the road, heading toward Upper. I can’t see who it is, but he’s pursued by two others, Southshaw men. They’re hundreds of yards behind, and falling farther back. We can see a good portion of the ravine where the road winds alongside the river. It dips and dodges in and out of view behind outcroppings and trees, but we can see the rider, head down and speeding along. After a quarter mile, the Southshaw men stop and turn, heading back to the valley.
I feel a terrible urge to look back at
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