Penumbra - Book 2 (10)

The image that was formed in the sand, while a rough sketch and certainly not a literal interpretation, was clearly that of a desolate valley with steep, stone edges. The floor of the valley was flat- large rocks studded the floor from place to place, but still there was, through nature or the hand of man or some combination of the two, a clearly defined road through the centre of the chasm floor. Along the road, dotted at a length difficult to determine in an image without clear scale, was a series of tall constructions, towers of a sort, but with wheels at their base and, ahead of them, beast of burden in large numbers straining against their harnesses. The towers themselves were strange devices, thick at the base, becoming slightly thinner at each level as they rose, with some levels sticking out at strange angles.Kerron was unhappy with how the towers had turned out, but felt they were the best he could do.

Despite the deep blue glow of the sun rising on the horizon ahead of him, the light over the image was still quite low, covered by the shadow of the surrounding rocks as it was. However this fact did not botherKerron in the slightest. He, as among all of his people, had spent most of his life in a gloom much greater than this, and his eyes were well suited to darkness and shadow. Indeed, toKerron's eyes even the little light that there was seemed positively glaring, perhaps the brightest he had ever seen. He had only seen the sun rise a few times in his short life, and although it had not shown its face over his drawing yet, he hope to see it do so again very soon.

Kerron looked up from his drawing, took two nimble steps over it, careful not to disturb the patterns in the sand, and looked over the crest of the rock that stood directly between him and the sandy bay he had been using as his canvas. Beyond the stone, far below, was the very valley he had been sketching, and indeed, through the valley there came the towers; huge, impossible silhouettes cut starkly from the blue line of the distant skyline. The sounds of their passage echoed up the sheer, smooth chasm walls: oxen lowing, wheelaxles and wooden joints creaking as the towers rocked gently across the uneven floor of the chasm as they inched ever forward. Also, so quietly thatKerron was not sure if it was a sound real or imagined, just underneath the natural sounds of the towers themselves, the voices of the enemy. Although his drawing could not be of sufficient detail, given the size of his canvas and brush, to make out individual details on the towers,Kerron thought he could see them, also, on the top of the tower at the front of the procession: tiny, manlike shapes moving slightly back and forth across the balustrades, and dotted here and there around the tower on foot, like ants from this distance, but still distinguishable as walking creatures, picking their way cautiously across the valley floor.

It was rare to see the towers in this formation, indeed rare to see them at all and not be in great danger. While the towers now traveled in an east-west line away from the sun, they were normally arrayed north-to-south on the line of the horizon, a phalanx of titans that moved ever forward, and that it was a near death-sentence to be caught behind. Although he had heard rumours that such men existed,Kerron himself had never met a tribesman who had been beyond the line- certainly none in his own tribe had ever returned from such a feat to tell of it. Still, however mighty they seemed as they rumbled slowly down the road that eventually wined directly below and past his current elevated position, they could not cross mountains, and were restricted to flatlands. On their yearly cyclical journey along the Great Path, they inevitably faced periods, such as this one, where they had to break formation to cross certain obstacles- the road they currently traveled on, worn down by countless identical journeys back through ages past, was the only way to traverse theRashada mountains, and necessitated the single-file movement that Kerron now bore witness to. The towers that Kerron could see before him were only the first, the vanguard of a long line of many hundreds, perhaps thousands for all he was aware, of similar constructions, that extended as far back along the path as he could see, and then far beyond that, into the sunlight. The sun would be high in the sky where the line of towers ended, a thought that made the young tribesman equal parts curious, excited and terrified.

As a result of the terrain, this provided an opportunity for his own people (whom you have previously heard referred to as the darksiders, although this is not a description of himself that Kerron would have used, his definition, and also indeed his very sense of light and dark a quite different thing to what you and I would understand, but nonetheless an adequate description that will suffice for this telling of the tale) to get far closer to the enemy than usually possible, to move silently and unobserved in the shadows of the mountain, yet get close enough to see thelightsiders , observe their patterns, their fearsome technology, their order of battle. Perhaps a weakness to be exploited or leveraged. It was still dangerous, to be sure, for the scouts of the enemy no doubt moved amongst the very rocks and shadows that they themselves used for cover, but thelightsiders were not as accustomed to darkness as Kerron's people were, and were at a distinct disadvantage in these circumstances. While no general order had been given, Kerron was sure that, somewhere amongst the terrain he looked down upon and etched in the dirt, a few of the enemy were being quietly taken out by his people. Not an assault, not enough to draw attention to themselves, but if adarksider scout was hiding in the shadows and a single lightsider passed him by unaware, Kerron knew that many of his people would not baulk at ridding the gloom of one of the "other". The thought of such death in the shadows sent a cold, unpleasant chill down his spine.

Kerron was not a scout, nor a soldier, but he did have a habit of wandering far from the tribe and into distant, solitary places. To explore, to write, oftentimes to draw- sometimes just to sit quietly and think. He was thought odd for such actions, often chastised by the tribal elders and forbidden from leaving the camp, but he was a solitary being by nature and it was difficult to keep him from breaking camp and exploring. He had noted this quiet, sandy spot in the reaches of theRashada mountains the last two times the tribe had passed through these climes, and promised himself that they next time they passed it, he would come here and draw the sunrise. Thosedarksiders who did not actively fear the roaring eye of the sun, usually scouts or warriors who spent a lot of time near the penumbra, became, if not used to the rising of the sun itself, then at the very least inured to it, not quite fearful yet still finding it difficult or painful to be under the glare of such a mighty, mysterious presence. WhatKerron had never told any of his fellow people, not even his crib-mother, would be afraid to reveal, was that he loved to watch the sunrise. The sun did hurt him, this was true, and he averted his eyes away from it's glare as any of his people surely must, but he loved the lightening of the sky, the details that would slowly etch themselves into the rocks, the trees, his own arms, and the slowly creeping sense of warmth that would gently immerse him as the sun breached the realm of darkness. Kerron knew that he was looked on as different, even strange by his own people, but in the recesses of his mind he suspected that, if he ever let these thoughts be known to others, the consequences from certaintribesfolk would range from severe to fatal. It was a very nearly heretical thought, to take so much joy from the thought of the rising sun.

It would not be long now, Kerron thought to himself, as he crossed his legs and sat upon the cool, smooth surface of the stone, shifting his gaze up from the valley and ahead to the horizon. As the mountains obscured the majority of the skyline, it was difficult to tell when the sun would rise, but the blue at the bottom of the sky had lightened significantly sinceKerron had started his work many hours ago, and something in the air made Kerron feel that the first reaching rays would crest the edge of the eastern ranges very soon. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in through his nose, almost smiling with anticipation. Before he could release his breath, rough hands grabbed his shoulders and hauled him violently backwards off the stone, slamming him backwards into the sand at the edge of his drawing.

Kerron, gasping for breath and arms flailing wildly, was momentarily confused beyond the capacity for interpreting what was about him, the rip between his state of contemplation to one of sheer terror so abrupt that it took him several seconds to even fully comprehend what had happened at all. His eyes focused on the face of the man who had grabbed him and hauled him off of his perch on the rock, and to his relief it was not the dark skin of alightsider that was leering above him, but the familiar paleness of his own kind. It was another few seconds before Kerron realized that the mouth on the face was moving, he had just been too terrified to listen, or understand, what it was saying. He stared directly at the moving lips, small flecks of spittle flying out of them, and forced himself to concentrate on what was being said to him.

"What the hell are you doing perched on that rock child, are you hoping to take an arrow to the throat?"

Kerron gaped, unable to answer, and the man shook him roughly once again.

"Answer me, who are you, and why are you here?"

Kerron gulped and stammered out an answer.

"I am Kerron, of the Keldon tribe." he gasped, speaking the truth purely on instinct.

The man visibly calmed and relaxed his hold on Kerron's shoulders, although did not release it. Visually the man appeared as most of Kerron's people did- pale, translucent white skin, grey hair on his head. This man seemed bulkier than most, as darksiders were typically gaunt, and, while the white hair was hard to spot, he also wore a beard, which was also less than common amongst the often hairless peoples.

"Keldon, eh?" He considered a moment. "That seems square. Do you know the Kel-Chath crib?"

Kerron nodded forcefully.

"Yes, sir, they are first kin to my own crib, Kel-Chari."

The man, appeased, took his hands from Kerron's shoulders and slumped backwards into the sand, his posterior smudging the top half of Kerron's creation. Kerron flinched, but said nothing. The man, satisfied that Kerron was not a stranger, regarded him with a new eye.

"Aye, I know of your crib, and your cousin. Good blood, well met." He looked down, momentarily chastened, but then came back at Kerron with renewed vigour.

"What are you doing here child, so close to the penumbra, the enemy practically upon you?" He gestured sharply with one gloved hand, pointed like a knife at the very rock he'd just pulledKerron from. While the valley was no longer visible, the sounds of the towers was louder than ever, the refraction of the rocks concentrating the noise so that it sounded like they were right beyond the rock. "Sitting on your perch like a game fowl, you're damned lucky I saw you before one of thelightsiders did."

Kerron as astonished. "They could have seen me from so far?"

The man looked at him with disbelief. "Could you see them?"

Kerron considered this. "Vaguely, yes, I think I could."

"Then you should consider that they may also spy you, young lad."

"But to hit me with an arrow, from so far? Could even they cast wood from such a distance?"

The as yet unidentified scout gave Kerron a slightly more charitable look.

"No, not from as far as the towers," he raised an eyebrow, "at least not so far as we know, even they could not hit a mark from such a pace, but don't be fooled. Their scouts range far ahead of their main force, particularly during the mountain crossing. There will belightsiders between us and our camps this very instant, I can assure you."

Kerron's reaction to this knowledge must have been quite a severe expression as the man instantly moved to reassure him. "Not so many, and certainly not too much to worry about, it's our territory for the moment, after all, but still, I've no doubt that if they saw you sitting on your rock like an ice monk they wouldn't hesitate to..." He made the noise of an arrow and mimed one going into his neck with one pointed finger. "It's a good thing I saw you when I did, else you'd be on your own. I'm part of the rearguard, we're moving back."

"Before sunrise?" Kerron asked.

"Aye, before sunrise." The man looked up and away towards the sunset as he considered. "They're pushing further and further past thelightline with every year- certainly this is the furthest past the line they've ever been before during the passing. They're getting more and more aggressive with each cycle. We have to let the camps know that they need to start moving a bit quicker this time- we can't tarry in these mountains any longer, or there will be a major confrontation. Which may be just what we need if you ask me but, well," he looked upwards with exasperation. "Greater minds than thee or me." He considered a moment before going on. "What are you doing here anyway?"

Kerron gestured towards his picture, on part of which they both now sat. The man looked about him at the lines in the sand that Kerron has created, more stark than ever now that the sky was brightening. From where they sat, the lines were just that- meaningless lines that bore a resemblance to nothing.

"What are they?" the man asked, confused, seeing nothing.

Kerron stood up, brushing sand from his clothes, and gestured awkwardly."You have to, ah, you have to view it from the other side." He pointed to the base of the image, and, as an example,leaped over it to stand at an angle where the image finally made sense. The man looked about him once more, then joined Kerron at his side- not leaping over the image as the youth had done, but runching through it, leaving two great footsteps over the image. Kerron winced again at this destruction.

Despite the damage from both the fall and the footprints, the image was still recognizable as the valley and the towers below, and the man whistled as he took the whole thing in.

"Impressive, child. You are an artisan?"

Kerron looked down, embarrassed in spite of himself, pleased by the praise, something he encountered but rarely. "No, I just like to draw."

The man looked down on him, not unkindly. "Well, I can see why you picked such a spot. It's an incredible view. Now, help me brush this down."

Kerron's heart leapt in fear. "Brush it down? No!"

The man had already started shoving at the sand with his feet, trying to wipe the image out. He spoke gruffly as he worked.

"In a few hours this place is going to be crawling with lightsiders, and a few hours after that it will be their home, their territory. Millions of the enemy are going pass this very spot. I don't want to leave a single footprint, let alone a bloody document saying where we were, and outlining how closely we were observing them! I'm sorry son, it's a wonderful thing you've made here but you can make another anytime. We can't leave it behind for the enemy to see. We want to know about them- we don't want to leave behind clues that they should know about us."

Objections rose into Kerron's mind but he knew they none of them held water, particularly the thought that he might want to leave something of himself after his passing, no matter who saw it. In truth, there was no way that they could leave nothing behind for the enemy to find- the passage of so many people would always leave some kind of trail, and thelightsiders certainly knew they existed. But the man was right- this was a step to far, and could not be left to be found. So, wordlessly, sadly, he took up his stick and started to use the flat edge of it to wipe out his drawing. Working together it took them little time to wipe the sandy floor clean, his image of that moment in time now gone forever.

When they were done, they stood on the rocks behind the sandy floor, brushing themselves off. The man held out his hand to him.

"I'm Salazar, child, and I appreciate your help."

Kerron's hand took his, and was shaken firmly. Salazar clapped him on the shoulder, trying to raise some small amount of cheer.

"I'll get you back to your camp."

As they walked away from the now-blank canvas, into the darkness of the mountains, the first rays of sun streaked over the lip of the eastern ranges, sending a wave of light down into the valley where the towers rumbled.Kerron looked over his shoulder longingly, squinting towards the light, feeling the warmth on his skin, then turned away.