Tree of Truth (Book of Pilgrimage 1) (7 page)

Chapter XII

It was nice, just sitting there. But then it seemed to dawn on Shelley what we had done. She chattered nervously, “You sure about this, Marlowe? I mean, we just up and left. Our families must be worried sick. What will they say? You saw how mad your brother got when we slept in the meadow. Think how angry he’ll be over this.”

I tried to comfort her. “We’ll be back before they know it. Just a short trip to the city.” She forced a nervous grin. “Let’s think about something else.” I took out Benjonsen’s Book. “You relax while I read.” I flipped the pages. “Here it is—”

* * *

“Fortune smiled on me the first day—there was not a soul to be seen. One must travel the roads with an eye to the front and an eye to the back. It is an anxious journey, but a necessary one. As the sun began to set, I started for the safety of the wood. A reflection in the distance caught my eye—I struggled through the overgrown bush to find an old fueling station lost to time and vegetation. It would make a fine shelter for the night, if it was indeed deserted. I gently crept around trees, careful not to disturb their branches. The nomads do have one skill—tracking Pilgrims. A single broken limb could have cost me my life. I made it through the undergrowth to find the door sealed shut with vines. It was comforting to know that no one was inside. It was discomforting to know I had to tear those vines to enter.

I tugged gently on the door, opening it just enough to slip through briar and branch. The scratches I suffered might have saved my life, for the vines did not tear, and my camouflage remained intact. The night was restful, but sleepless. Every sound roused me from my intermittent napping. The morning sun brought a bit of relief, and I woke early to get a good start on the day. I knew the city was within a day’s journey—the old cities are everywhere, and the city ruins were far away from my path. The Southern State had been spared much of the devastation that followed the Great Disease. With foolish confidence I again followed the highway, hoping to make it to the city before sunset. It would be my second mistake.

“The hunger set in a few hours into my journey. I could not concentrate on the road behind, only on the food I thought waited for me in the city. I needed sustenance to keep up my pace. I became careless in my haste, and when I saw that patch of blackberries, I pounced like a wolf upon the fold. They were common in this area—I had eaten them many times as a child in my own backyard. They reminded me of home. The little berries exploded with juice and were perfectly sweet from late ripening in the shade of large oak trees, protected from the desiccating heat of August sun. And they were a trap that almost cost me the rest of my short life and most of my journey. At least the nomads let me fill my belly before they attacked.

“I don’t remember getting hit, only waking with a throbbing head and blood on my face. They had tied me to a tree and were rummaging through my bag. My head hurt from the blow, but it hurt more to see them so carelessly toss my precious books to the side looking for what they thought was ‘valuable.’ Those primitive nomads value trinkets and shiny things. I had none of what they wanted, not even food. I had heard the stories—they would kill me anyway. I thought one last time about my Tiesse and my children. I hoped they would never know the horror I was sure to face. I hoped they would think I died peacefully, as most of us do. There would be no Book of Pilgrimage—they would have to wonder.

“With disdain on his face, their chief emptied my bag of the last of its possessions. He looked me up and down as he slowly made his way to the tree upon which he would take my life. ‘Where?’ His fierce gaze pierced me to the core. I was shaking violently as I replied I had nothing to give. I was never so scared in my life. ‘Liar.’ He searched my pockets and found nothing. He drew his knife and lifted my Shroud. I feared he would cut that precious garment before cutting my throat. I could accept my own death, but I could not bear that agony. I closed my eyes and waited for the worst. But the worst did not come. Instead came the whiz, the thump, the spurting of blood, and the strained and sudden exhaust of a last mortal breath. I opened my eyes to see the chief lying before me with an arrow through his neck and blood gushing rapidly from the gaping wound, his tribe scattered about, desperately fighting for their worthless lives. ‘Warriors!’ I never saw so much blood.

“A gentle hand untied the knots that bound me. ‘It’s okay. We are here to help.’ The voice was surprisingly serene amidst the havoc of death and destruction. They were all very calmly and skillfully massacring their enemies. The nomads were no match. I had read about the warrior tribes—they seek the way through martial arts, and they are the noblest of men. They only live to fight, and they only fight to protect. They think they will find the Cure through intense training. It is a better path than superstition. I have always had great admiration for their way, even more so after that terrible fray.

“We spent the rest of the day disposing bodies. With great reverence, the warriors built a small pyre for each of the nomads killed. I would not have shown such respect for so despicable a people. But I am not a warrior. After the sun set, they carefully lit each fire and stood silently as their enemies drifted into the heavens. The stench was unbearable, but they bore it without flinching. It was a solemn ceremony—very different from the chaos of the day. When the last corpse had turned to ash, the warriors covered the remains with earth and leaves. The chief then turned to me. ‘Where does your Pilgrimage take you?’ he asked.

“He knew the way of my people. I was surprised. ‘To the city,’ I replied. ‘You will not make it alive following the open highway,’ he said. I almost didn’t. ‘Here.’ The laconic chieftain handed me a worn but sturdy metal tin with food—warm food. He knew I was hungry. He was gone before I could thank him, instructing his warriors the posts and shifts they were assigned for the night. As I devoured what I thought was pork and wild rice (the meat was tougher than what I was used to—it must have been the feral boar that roam these woods), the warriors went to work. Folded fabric exploded into dome-like hovels arranged in a semi-circle facing the highway. We were a little off that well-trodden path, but close enough so that the two scouts in the tree tops could see the road for several miles in each direction. They worked in shifts. I knew from the chief’s instructions. I did not stay awake long enough to see them change places. I felt safer that night than any of my trip, before and after. I admired their discipline and for a moment even considered joining their tribe. But I had a path of my own to wander, and the city wasn’t getting any closer.

“I woke at dawn to the crack and clang of stick and sword—the warriors were diligently practicing their art among the chirping birds and dew-kissed grass. ‘The only way is to practice.’ It is not an axiom, it is verily their way. The barbaric yawp that ended their training made the birds pause. It was a frighteningly beautiful silence that lasted only a second before the warriors gathered their fighting tools and dismantled the tent city they had erected the previous day. ‘We must make our way to the city ruins. Take this.’ The chief handed me a small package of food. ‘It should be enough to get you to the city you seek.’ No one had ever returned to our village from the city ruins. ‘Why the ruins? It is said the city ruins are the most dangerous places in this world.’ The chief’s gaze slid down his blade like blood to the earth, and his sweaty forearm bulged with muscle as his grip tightened. He didn’t have to answer the question. His face, his posture, his spirit told me everything. They fight to prove themselves. They fight to find the way. They would rather die fighting than under a tree. After what I had seen, I needed no words.

“I arranged my things in my pack as the warriors collected theirs. They worked steadily in unison, everyone doing his part. Their discipline was obvious in everything they did, from the great to the small. I thought they would fare well in the city ruins, but I never saw them after that day. The chief wished me well before I left. ‘Stay off the highway—the boars in the bush are not as dangerous as the ones roaming the roads.’ I nodded. He took my hand in both of his, then hugged me. Each and every member of the tribe followed suit. It was a paradox to see such kindness from such a rugged people. I had a feeling mine was not the only life that had been spared by their skills.

“In my newfound fear, I wandered too far from the highway, and soon there was no trace of it, no trace of life, and few traces of what little hope still flickered in my heart. I stood before an abandoned field that looked exactly like an abandoned field I had stood before several hours earlier. Had I been walking in circles? I sat down in frustration. In the distance was nothing but overgrown bush—no trees, no buildings, no hills. These unpruned fields were once productive farms, and often there were traces of the crop that had been so carefully tended in the ancient times. More often, though, the fruit and vegetable were gone, stripped by the nomads and carried away swiftly in sacks and barrows. This field lay barren. ‘I will die before I make it to the city,’ I muttered to myself, forgetting my care, losing my sense. The loneliness had crept in and beguiled my better judgment. But I was not alone.

“I discerned a disturbance in the distant bush. Some animal was scurrying about the overgrown flora, and not knowing whether it had two legs or four, I dropped prostrate to the ground and held my breath. The rustle of leaf and limb faded into the distance, and even the flapping of wings and chirping of birds disappeared into the heavens. All I could hear was the rush of blood through the delicate capillaries within my ear, like the surge and retreat of the foamy seas upon the peaceful evening beach. It was odd how the sound soothed my anxious thoughts, and my heart slowed its pounding, but only for a moment, for when I noticed the shadows creeping across the ground around me, that most vital of muscles nearly exploded in my chest.

“At once, both my ankles were seized, and I was lifted into the air. The blood rushed to my head, and hanging inverted I was overcome with vertigo. ‘A Pilgrim.’ The voice sent me reeling, and soon I felt the half-digested victuals speed their egress through my throat, my mouth, my nose. The vomit sprayed across the biggest pair of shins and ankles I had ever seen. The giant nomad swiftly loosened his grip, and I hit the ground with a thud. He wiped the spew with a groan before propping me up against my own knapsack. The last thing I saw before darkness veiled my eyes was a circle of men, backs bowed to the ground and faces full of curiosity, in conference over what to do with this ‘strange Pilgrim’ caught wandering in their field.

“When I awoke, the giant was kneeling before me. ‘Sorry about that. How’s your head?’ It was not the greeting I expected. ‘Uh, fine. You-you—’ Rubbing the knot on my skull, I nervously groped for words. ‘You’re not going to hurt me?’ He looked puzzled. ‘He’s a big boy, but he’s harmless. Heck—he’s the runt in his family!’ Laughter broke out among the men. The elder nomad patted the blushing giant on his back as the two lifted me to my feet. Still dizzy, I stumbled as I reached for my things. ‘Careful there, son. Where ya headed?’ He handed me my bag. ‘The city.’ I checked its contents—nothing had been taken. ‘Well, you ain’t far from it. Why so nervous?’ He chuckled amicably. ‘I thought you were going to kill me.’ His chuckle turned to a guffaw. ‘Why the heck would we do that?’ Murmurs and susurrations mingled in the crowd. ‘There was this tribe down the road—they tied me up, and—’ I didn’t know how much to tell them. I still didn’t trust them. I was afraid their smiles were beguiling.

“The elder looked at his men and then at me. The smile had disappeared from his face. ‘They didn’t follow you, did they?’ He seemed anxious. ‘No. No, I don’t think so.’ The murmurs grew into groans, but the elder hushed them with his hands. ‘What do you mean you don’t think so?’ I detected a twinge of fear in his voice. ‘I mean, I’m pretty sure they didn’t.’ They all looked around nervously. The elder grabbed my cloak and pulled me in close. ‘I need to know. Did they follow you or not?’ My nerves then conquered my sense, and the truth came pouring out like water over a demolished dam. ‘They’re
dead
. They’re
all
dead. A warrior tribe came out of nowhere and killed every last one of them. With my own eyes I saw their bodies burning. It was horrible. And spectacular. The warriors saved my life, but spared none of the nomads. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.’ I squinted my eyes and took what I thought was my final breath.

“But that anxious breath would not be my last. They burst into laughter—some of them were even hugging and dancing. The elder quieted his men once again. ‘Tell me, son—did you get a good look at their chief?’ I would never forget the eyes of the monster that nearly rent my precious cloak and sent me to my early grave. I described the beast as best I could, and with each aspect and feature, the elder seemed more and more contented. A hand reached out and propped itself on the elder’s shoulder. ‘It was them, boss. It had to be.’
Boss
. They called their leader boss. ‘Who?’ I sounded like a child asking him that—as soon as the word left my mouth I regretted uttering it. He didn’t hesitate to answer. ‘Dogs. A pack of virulent dogs.’ He said no more, but sulked away to sit in sadness.

“Another elder took me by the arm. ‘It’s okay. He should be happy.’ A few of the men ceased their celebrations and gathered around the boss to console him. ‘He lost his wife—my sister—to those infectious mongrels. They called themselves the Howard Clan. But the Howard family was honorable in the ancient times. These men are—
were
animals. They roamed the valleys and the hills, preying on Pilgrims and nomads, destroying whatever or whoever stood in their way. Plaguy beasts. My sister was gathering vegetables when it happened. It was a field just a little ways from here. It wasn’t his fault, but he still blames himself.’ He seemed quite torn with conflicting emotions of sorrow and relief. ‘Warriors, eh? I’ve never seen a warrior tribe myself.’