Coyote Rising (15 page)

Zoltan was at the head of the line. He wore his robe over his folded wings, and as the rest of us came to a halt, he stepped forward, pulling down his hood so that Castro could see him face-to-face. They made an odd pair: black and white, the cyborg and the gargoyle. “With all due respect, yes, we are. I hope you don’t take it as an insult.”

A strange rattle from the Savant: an approximation of a laugh. “I should, but I won’t. The Reverend Zoltan Shirow, isn’t it? I’m sorry we haven’t met until now. I’ve been told that your presence in Shuttlefield has been . . . troublesome, shall we say?”

“If there’s been any trouble, it hasn’t been our fault.” Zoltan paused. “I hope you’re not here to stop us.”

“Not at all. I’m only here to enjoy the sunrise.” Castro raised a clawlike hand from beneath his cloak, gestured toward the wan yellow sun burning through the mist. “Beautiful, isn’t it? This is the time of day I enjoy the most.”

I glanced around, half-expecting to see Guard soldiers emerging from the fog. If Castro had brought any soldiers with him, our exodus would have been short-lived; we were unarmed save for the quarterstaves a few of us carried. But the Savant was alone.

“Then you don’t mind?” Zoltan asked.

“Not at all.” Castro shook his head. “From time to time, various individuals make an effort to leave the colony. If they’re people whose talents we value, then we endeavor to keep them here. More often than not we allow potential subversives the option of going away. We let them think that they’ve escaped, but believe me, there’s little that happens that the Central Committee doesn’t know about.”

Greer and I gave each other an uncertain look. How could they have known what we were planning? There were rumors that the Proctors had informants among the colonists, yet we had taken pains not to speak to anyone about our plans. On the other hand, perhaps the Savant was merely pretending to know something that he really didn’t.

“We aren’t subversives.” Zoltan’s voice took on a defensive edge. “All we ever wanted to do was settle here in peace.”

“I won’t argue your intentions. Nonetheless, if you’d decided to stay, there would have been trouble, and we would have been forced to take
measures against those who might have harmed you, or even you yourselves. So it’s just as well that you leave before it comes to that. No one will stop you, Reverend. You’re free to do as you will.”

“Thank you.” Zoltan bowed slightly. “You’re quite generous.”

“Only looking out for the colony’s best interests.” Again, the strange laugh. “I assume you’re heading to Midland. That’s where most people go when they leave here.”

The Universalists stirred uneasily, glancing at one another. We’d already decided that, if we were stopped by the Guard, we would claim that we were going to establish a small settlement on the northern tip of New Florida. Yet Zoltan decided to be truthful. “That’s our intent, yes. After we’re across the creek, we plan to hike downstream until we reach the Shapiro Pass. There we’ll build rafts and use them to cross the Eastern Divide until we reach the East Channel.”

“Oh, no . . . no. That’s the worst way possible. The Shapiro Pass is treacherous. Believe me, your rafts will be destroyed in the rapids.”

“You know another way?” I asked, stepping forward so that the Savant could see me.

Castro briefly regarded me with his glass eyes, then he looked at Zoltan once more. “Your guide?” he asked. Zoltan nodded, and the Savant shook his head again. “Once you’ve crossed Sand Creek, go due east until you reach North Bend. Follow it southeast until you reach the Divide. You should be able to reach it by tomorrow afternoon. There you’ll find the Monroe Pass. It’s marked on your map, if you’re carrying one. That’s where you’ll find another way to cross the East Channel.”

He was right. The Monroe Pass was much closer; I’d decided to use the Shapiro Pass because that was how the Montero Expedition had left New Florida three years ago. “What do you mean, we’ll find another way to cross?”

“As I said, others have gone before you. You’ll find them. Trust me.”

I wasn’t quite ready to trust Savant Castro, but if what he said was true, it would cut a couple of days off our journey. And I had to admit, any way off New Florida that didn’t entail braving the Shapiro Pass sounded good to me. I looked at Zoltan and reluctantly nodded; he said nothing to me, but turned to Castro once more. “Thank you. We’re in your debt.”

“Not at all. But tell me one thing . . . what do you expect to find out there? Surely not the original colonists. They’ve made it clear that they don’t want anything to do with us . . . except for whatever they can steal in the middle of the night.”

“We’re hoping we may be able to change their minds.” Zoltan smiled. “Since you’re being helpful, perhaps you can tell us where we might find them.”

If the Savant could have grinned, he probably would have. “If I knew that . . . well, things would be different. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to seek them out yourselves. In any event, good luck to you. Farewell.”

And with that, he stepped back into the mist, drifting away like a black wraith. We heard the crunch of his metal feet against the icy ground, then he was gone.

Zoltan waited a few moments, before turning to the rest of us. “If Pharaoh had let the Children of Israel leave Egypt so easily, then a lot of trouble could have been avoided. I take this as a good sign.”

Or an omen, I thought. Moses and his people spent forty years in the wilderness not because of anything the Egyptians did to them, but because of what they did to themselves . . . including the worship of false idols.

But I didn’t voice my thoughts, and perhaps that was the first act of my betrayal.

We crossed Sand Creek without incident; the ice was still strong,
and we safely made it to the other side. Instead of going downstream, though, we took the Savant’s advice and went due east, following the orbital map and electronic compass Ian had bartered from a kiosk for
one of our generators. As the group’s guide, I was the one entrusted with the map and compass, but it wasn’t long before we found that they were unnecessary; a trail had already been cut through the high grass and spider bush on the other side of the creek, marked here and there with strips of blue cloth tied around trunks of faux birch. As Castro said, someone else had gone before us.

We marched all day, stopping now and then to rest. By early evening we’d reached North Bend, a broad stream that ran parallel to Sand Creek. Beyond it we could make out the great limestone wall of the Eastern Divide, only about fifteen miles to the southeast. It was tempting to press onward, but we were footsore and tired, so Zoltan called a halt. We pitched our tents and gathered wood, and by the time Uma went down and Bear was rising to the east, we were gathered around a warm campfire, eating beans and gazing up at the stars. After dinner Zoltan led his followers in prayer, asking for His help in the long journey ahead.

I prayed for something else: a few more weeks of cold weather. There was another reason why we’d left the colony on short notice. The grasslands of New Florida were haunted by boids: huge, carnivorous avians, known to lurk in the tall grass and attack anything unwise enough to pass through their territory . . . and beyond Shuttlefield and Liberty, guarded by a broad circle of motion-activated particle-beam guns, all of New Florida was their domain. But the boids migrated south during winter, so for a few months it was possible to hike across the northern part of the island without worrying about them. And just as well; boids had no fear of humans, and our bamboo staffs would have been useless against them.

Still, I volunteered for the overnight watch and didn’t return to the tent I shared with Greer and Clarice until Michael relieved me shortly after midnight. Greer’s body kept me warm, as she had ever since our first night together, but it was a long time before I was able to go to sleep. I couldn’t help but remember the exchange between Zoltan and Castro.

The Savant asked the Reverend what he expected to find out there. Why had Zoltan evaded his question? What
was
he expecting to find out here?

I didn’t know, and it would be a long time before I learned the truth.

Daybreak came cold and bleak, with a new layer of frost on the
ground. Even though we were only about twenty-five miles from the colony, it seemed as if Shuttlefield was a comfortable place we’d left far behind. A breakfast of lukewarm porridge heated over the dying cinders of our campfire, another prayer by Zoltan, then we hefted our bags onto our aching backs and continued down the trail, following the creek toward the Eastern Divide.

The day was bright and clear, and by the time Uma had risen high in the cloudless blue sky, it seemed as if the world had thawed a bit. Everyone’s spirits began to rise; the Universalists sang traditional hymns as they marched along—“Onward, Christian Soldiers,” “The Old Rugged Cross,” “Faith of Our Fathers”—while the Eastern Divide grew steadily closer, no longer a thin purple line across the horizon but now a massive buttress through which West Bend had carved a narrow gorge.

We were within the shadows of the Eastern Divide, close enough to the Monroe Pass that we could hear the low rumble of rapids, when we came upon a sign: a wooden plank, nailed to the burned stump of a blackwood tree that had been felled by lightning. I was at the front of the line, so I walked closer to read what was painted on it:

W
ELCOME TO
T
HOMPSON
’
S
F
ERRY
P
ASSAGE
N
EGOTIABLE
—T
RADE
& B
ARTER
S
TOP
H
ERE
—L
AY
D
OWN
G
UNS
—Y
ELL
L
OUD
& W
AIT
T
RESPASSERS
S
HOT ON
S
IGHT
!

Shading my eyes with my hand, I peered up at the limestone bluffs. No movement save for the breeze wafting through the bare branches of some scraggly trees that clung to the rock. The sign looked old, the paint faded and peeling. No telling how long it had been there.

“Hello!” I yelled. “Anyone there?” My voice echoed off the bluffs; I waited another few moments, then stepped past the sign.

A high-pitched
zeee!
passed my right ear, then a bullet chipped a splinter off the top of the sign. A half second later, the hollow bang of the
gunshot reverberated from somewhere up in the rocks. I instinctively ducked, raising my hands above my head.

“Hey, cut it out!” I shouted. “I’m unarmed!”

“Can’t you read?” a voice yelled down.

“I can read . . . can’t you hear?” I straightened up, keeping my hands in sight. From the corner of my eye, I could hear the Universalists ducking their heads or diving for cover behind spider bushes. All except Zoltan, who calmly stood his ground, a little annoyed but otherwise unperturbed.

“We’re not carrying!” I couldn’t see where the shot had come from, but whoever had opened fire on me was a crack shot; otherwise, I would have been missing part of my skull. “We’re just trying to . . . !”

“We come in peace.” Zoltan barely raised his voice, yet he spoke loud enough to be heard up on the bluffs. “We mean no harm. We only want passage across the channel.” Then he turned to the others. “Come out,” he said quietly. “Let them see you.”

His followers reluctantly emerged from hiding, leaving their packs where they’d dropped them. Everyone looked scared, and some seemed ready to run back the way we’d come, but as always, their faith in their leader was greater than their fear. Soon they were all out in the open once more, their hands in plain view.

A minute passed, then a figure emerged from hiding among the boulders near the entrance to the pass: a long-haired boy, wearing a catskin coat a size too large, his trousers tucked into old Union Guard boots. He ambled toward us, a carbine cradled in his arms. He couldn’t have been more than twelve, yet his distrustful eyes were those of a man twice his age.

“Who are you?” he demanded, looking first at me, then at Zoltan.