187) The Salvation of Eden, Chapter 22 -- It seemed like a good idea at the time...

Shortly afterwards, they heard the distant echo of the caravan’s horns signaling that it was time to get moving again. “They’re early,” Dominic commented, looking up at the sky.

         “De Swamp,” replied Gorb. “Dey push ‘ard t’ be in Annuvin by nightfall.”

         The unspoken implication settled over them like a cold, clammy fog – they had better not be around here by nightfall either.

         “They say that it wasn’t even a swamp, before the war,” Devona spoke up.

         “What was it?” Kohra asked.

         Dev smiled, confident in her knowledge. “Farmland, some of the best farmland in Eden.”

         “Yep!” Lenny agreed brightly. “But all the blood and corpses from the Great War turned it into a swamp.” She shrugged. “That’s what they say anyway.”

         Kohra shivered, thinking of an entire swamp made from the dead. Squirrelly crawled inside Lenny’s shirt, only her tail sticking out, which Lenny repeatedly batted away from her face until she finally stuffed it inside her shirt, growling under her breath.

         “Well.” Dominic’s tone brooked no further discussion. “Let’s not waste any more time. We find where this goes, then high-tail it to Annuvin.”

         The softwoods gave way to conifers — mostly pines and spruce, interspersed with tamarack, which Kohra had always loved, their beauty more wild and unruly than other trees, as if they were the black sheep of the forest family. They also snapped and crackled when they were used for firewood, and she used to love to listen to them in the stove at home. She breathed deeply as they walked over a soft carpet of needles, the air filled with the sweet pungence unique to evergreen forests.

         They picked up the pace. It was easy for Dominic’s sharp eyes to track their quarry through here.

         The conifers gave way to a gently undulating, leaf-strewn land of skinny trees, beech saplings mostly, with little underbrush. “This land was logged, and probably farmed,” Dominic explained as they walked. “Until about thirty, maybe forty years ago, by the look of these trees. That’s why there aren’t any big ones.”

         He was enjoying himself. His senses were alive, far more than they had been on that interminable road. Here, in the familiar forest environs, he could feel his way forward instinctively, guided by the small signs that gave away the Hooded Man’s passing — a bent twig, weeds that weren’t quite straight, indentations in the dirt, scuff marks on roots and rocks. The trail was very straight, like the Hooded Man knew exactly where he was going, and wasn’t concerned about being followed.

         He turned to tell Devona this, when his feet broke through a thin covering of leaves and sticks and he plunged into empty space! Twisting, throwing out his hands, grasping wildly, he barely managed to grab onto a dangling tree root, lurching to a stop, his shoulder stretching painfully as he broke his fall.

         A moment later, Devona, shrieking, slid on top of him, wrapping both her arms and legs around him and hanging on while dirt rained down from above. In the very next moment, a weighted net swung down from the trees, covering the top of the pit.

         Everyone rushed forward. “Hang on!” Kohra shouted, helping Lenny to lift a corner of the net. Gorb grabbed Devona’s hands, hauling her out. Dominic scrambled quickly up the rope after her, rolling onto the ground while they dropped the net back into the pit. They all paused, panting.

         A high-pitched snarl rent the silence. An enormous tawny cat, three times the size of a horse, sprang onto the trail, fangs bared. Gorb leapt to his feet, shield and hammer up for battle. The great cat flashed out its paw like it was swatting a mouse, and Gorb spun into the dirt.

         Dominic’s eyes flitted to his bow, but it was on the ground, just out of his grasp. Maybe he could…he started to stretch toward it, slowly, slowly….

         The cat whirled about, snarling. Dominic froze. It didn’t attack, pacing back and forth, eyes like amber fire.

         Devona screamed, but it was cut short in an horrific gurgle. A skinny, bare-chested old man, clad in dirty rags, held a blade against her throat, one arm around her chest. She trembled, eyes wide, a droplet of blood trickling down her exposed neck.

         His crusty beard jerked spasmodically, face twitching as he tittered to the cat. His filth-encrusted body was skeletally thin but tightly muscled, with a brown burlap sack tied diagonally around his torso, like a sash.

         Dominic looked toward his bow again.

         “You move, she dies!” the old man screeched, his eyes bulging. Devona let out a strangled whimper, struggling to move her head farther back, the blade digging into her neck. But there was nowhere to go. She couldn’t move, or scream, or do anything at all.

         “We have a friend now.” He seemed to be speaking to the cat. Then he whispered in Devona’s ear. “We like you.” He smelled like rotting meat.

         She needed a plan of action, a way to escape, to do…anything. But the blade; it was impossible to think. Everything was unreal, like she was on stage, and soon there would be applause.

         Her lifeblood pulsed against the cold steel. She tried to calm down, to think.

         Her eye caught Kohra’s. Kohra, please, oh Gods, oh Gods…please. Eyes filled with tears, mirrors of horror. Devona focused on Kohra like she was the edge of a cliff and all Devona had to do was hold on, with all her strength. Kohra— Her gaze was ripped away as she was forced back several steps and turned around to face the other direction. She tripped, on purpose, hoping to bring him with her, but he was strong, much stronger than she expected, hauling her back to her feet.

         “Now listen to me! Here’s how you all stay alive.” He broke into a hacking, wheezing cough that rattled his bony frame for several seconds. But his grip on Devona, and on his knife, never slackened for a moment. He slid one hand down the front of her chest to reach his waist, untying a burlap sack from his torso, and threw it on the ground at Gorb’s feet. “Spread that out.”

         Gorb’s gaze could have melted stone. He bellowed in holy authority, “BY D’LIGHT, I COMMAND YE—”

         But the old man’s instant, explosive, psychotic wail cut short even Gorb’s wrath, spit spraying as he screamed, “You command NOTHING, God-man! I am the God here! I command YOU! Or she dies, right now!”

         Gorb sagged, furious but impotent against such outright delusion.

         “Now spread it out!”

         Gorb bent down, unfolding the sack slowly, carefully, watching for an opening.  

         “Your weapons, in there. All of them!”

         They had no choice. Daggers, Kohra’s crossbow, Gorb’s hammer. Dominic’s bow.

         “Tie it up! Tight!”

         Gorb did as he was told.

         “Now back up, over to that log. Nice and easy.” He motioned with his head toward an old, rotting birch log.

         They backed up, slowly, under the watchful eye of the cat. The old man cackled. “Good, good, they are learning manners, aren’t they, Tiki?” Raising his voice, he commanded, “Now, kneel! Put your forehead on the log.”

         They hesitated.

         “KNEEL!”

         They knelt, placing their foreheads on the log. Kohra closed her eyes. She felt helpless, neck exposed like she was about to get beheaded. There was nothing, at all, that she could do.

         Desperately, she tried to clear her mind, to Connect. Her life was about to end, it was now or never, life or death. The Flux. She needed to….

         But she couldn’t focus. She just, couldn’t.

         His voice was quieter now, soft as though with endearment. He spoke directly into Devona’s ear. “We will be good friends now. Good friends.”

         He paused, sniffing her neck, nuzzling his dirty beard into her hair. She wanted to scream, to bite or punch him, anything, to get away from him, from here, from wherever they were going.

         Faced with the stark imminence of death, Devona was crystal clear about one thing — what mattered, ALL that mattered, was being alive. She vowed not to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was terrified. Her moment would come. She just had to wait for it.

         “We will be so happy,” he whispered into her ear.

         He raised his voice to the others, terrifyingly jovial and ice cold at the same time. “If you follow us, Tiki will eat you, won’t you, Tiki? And I will know. Yes, yes, this is my forest, I will know. And we will eat this pretty girl, too, won’t we Tiki? Yes, yes.”

         “Now move!” he shouted at Devona.

         Kohra risked a glance, watching him hoist the sack of weapons over his shoulder and march Devona into the forest, knife still tight against her throat.

         Kohra felt a hurricane inside. She wanted to jump up and rush him. She wanted to tear him limb from limb. She wanted….

         But she was helpless, and she knew it. Watching Devona walk away, hearing the cat’s breath as it stood by ready to kill whoever gave it half a reason, feeling her face pressed against the wet log, she was helpless.

         Seconds later, Devona was gone. Kohra looked over, locking eyes with Gorb. He nodded, starting to rise slowly, but a snarl immediately warned him back down again.

         Kohra shut her eyes. Absurdly, birds were singing, Life continuing despite whatever tragedy befell any of them. After all, Death was no stranger to the forest.

         Maybe I can put it to sleep, like I did to Dominic. Maybe, if I can Connect….

         She concentrated, willing herself to calm down, to focus, to feel into her breath, the sounds and smells around her, the wind on her skin, coming to “center,” to that point of stillness.

         If I fail, we’re all dead.

         She turned her head until she could see the cat, amber eyes glittering as it watched them.

         No way, Kohra. You just can’t do it.

         But I have to. I HAVE TO!!

         She Connected, the Flux flowing within her, through her. Looking once again at the cat, she flowed into those amber eyes.

         If I fail, we’re all dead.

         The Connection faltered, her concentration breaking.

         Clammy wet log pressed against forehead. Tears. Wet knees. Mud.

         Oh Gods, oh Gods. Dev is going to die. I did nothing. I did, nothing. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Dev. I’m sorry….

         Every minute felt like hours. There was nothing to be done.

         Kohra had always been terrified of getting beheaded. It would feel just like this — head down, neck exposed, waiting for the axe to fall, knowing every breath might be your last. What could you do? What could you think about, in that moment, that would possibly make sense of your life? Your birth and cries and your parents’ sleepless nights? All those games of chess or cards or dice or running races or handball that you won or lost? Your crushes and heartbreaks? The promises you broke? The ones you kept? Your mistakes? Your courage and compassion and kindness? All the thankyous, all the sorrys? And all the ones you should have said but didn’t have the guts to?

         With your head on the chopping block, what of all that would matter to you?

         She had always feared that none of it would. She was more afraid of that than even of losing her life — the Knowing, in the final moment, that it all mattered “not a rat’s ass”, as her friend Tom, back in Reading classes, would have said.

         She loved Tom in that moment, remembering how he would always say, “You’re a poet, and you don’t realize it!” and she would laugh herself silly.

         Now she knew the truth.

         When your head is on the chopping block, ALL of it matters. All of it. Your heart breaks a thousand times every heartbeat, and your heart reaches out a thousand times too, in gratitude for this beautiful life and everything you’ve experienced. The whole world is you. Every breath is your whole life. Every mistake is acknowledged, mourned, and forgiven, and every love, every joy, is savoured, embraced, inhaled like Ms B’s soup.

         Head on the log, Kohra wept. Go ahead, cat. If I’m not allowed to cry, then eat me.