Then, just after dawn, the dark wind came. Hodge noticed it in the way that the trees at the edge of the upper valley started rustling, then how the trees below bent as if being hit with an invisible river. More trees shook, then the lake’s surface rippled. Clearly wind was moving over it, but the explorers felt nothing. They smelled nothing unusual, either. It was as if a ghost stalked the valley.
And that ghost killed. Birds that had nested high enough to avoid the effects of the lake gasses had descended to feed on dead fish. As the dark wind passed, they keeled over. One tried to get airborne, but in mid-flight simply folded its wings and crashed onto a small stretch of beach. The dark wind killed everything, including their debate on whether to stay or go.
They all agreed to move on, wanting to be well shed of the place. They began working up along the ridge and aiming to go further up. This course of action made sense in a couple of ways. The dark wind appeared to be heavier than air, and moved along quickly. Kamiskwa pointed out that it had not shaken boughs in the upper third of the forest, so as long as they stayed higher than that, they should be fine. If they came to a place where safety was questionable, they’d put a rope on a man, let him go, and pull him back if there was any trouble.
To his credit, Rathfield volunteered to be that man, overruling Hodge Dunsby. Hodge had advanced himself because he was the smallest, lowest to the ground, and the lightest for pulling back. Rathfield countered that this was his expedition and would accept no counter to that argument. With him leading them through the most dangerous places, it took another week to get past two higher mountain valleys and reach the overlook.
The valley had once been home to a large lake. It normally drained to the east, but the earthquake had shattered that edge of its basin, creating a giant rupture. The draining water had carved a deep channel through the sediments and the lake itself had been reduced to a small pond. To the southwest, another higher valley poured water into it through a spectacular, slender waterfall which appeared to have been born of the quake.
Owen had produced a map and annotated it. He showed it to Nathaniel and shook his head. “I hope I am wrong, but I think this lake was the headwater of the Snake River. It probably flooded every spring after snow melted, but nothing like this.”
Flesh tightened on Nathaniel’s arms. He didn’t know how to do the math that Owen and Count von Metternin would do to determine the volume of water pouring down from the mountain. He didn’t need to. He just knew it was a lot. And down there in Plentiful, they built a lot on the banks of that river.
He looked at Owen. “Reckon there’s anything left of Plentiful?”
Owen flipped back several pages in his notebook. He’d mapped the village accurately. He looked up at the muddy expanse that marked the lake’s original shore. “Not much of it. Nor of many other places along the Snake. Kingstown might even be in trouble.”
Rathfield came over and glanced at the map. “Spot of bad luck for Shepherd Faith and his flock.”
Owen frowned. “That’s cold blooded.”
“Hardly, Strake.”
“It’s hardly charitable.”
“Neither does it lack charity.” Rathfield pointed off along the unseen river. “Standing here we can do absolutely nothing for them. Whatever fate overtook them did so a week ago. I fervently believe that because of their faith, God will call them to Him. In fact, calling them to Him may have been the reason this all happened.”
Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. “You’re ’specting me to believe your God would cause all this destruction for to harvest nine dozen folks what see Him as their salvation?”
“I am not a theologian, Woods, just a man who believes what he is told. I am not wise enough to figure out the mind of God.”
“But you’re willing to suggest He’s sloppy when it comes to doing a job.”
Before Rathfield could respond, Hodge Dunsby came running over from the west. “Captain Strake, you’ll want to see what Count von Metternin has found.”
The rest of the party followed Dunsby around what had once been the shore and off into a small canyon to the west. Water seeped down from the higher walls and drained through the middle. It created a lush grassland with a few wide trails through the shoulder-height growth.
Count von Metternin crouched over the body of a creature roughly the size of a dairy cow. It had a shaggy grey coat, though the coat was thinning in patches as the beast lost its winter fur. Its skull had a high crown and featured a pair of ivory tusks about as long as a man’s forearm. It had a long snakelike nose, and something-a crow most likely-had taken the upward-facing eye.
Nathaniel dropped to a knee. “Looks like one of them mastodons what will be migrating north soon.”
Owen pulled a piece of paper from his notebook and unfolded it. “Pygmy mastodon. It’s on the Prince’s list. He said they might be in an island in the sky.”
Owen and the others fanned out through the grasses to look for more bodies. They took to counting and measuring the carcasses. As they went to work, Nathaniel grabbed Kamiskwa and headed down to the pond to refill canteens and waterskins. The water had cleared and the presence of wading birds hunting on the new shore suggested the water was safe for drinking.
“Did you know these was up here?”
Kamiskwa sank a bubbling canteen into the water. “The Altashee do not hunt in these lands.”
“Doesn’t answer my question.”
“I do not believe every story I hear.”
Nathaniel caught an odd note in his voice. “Are you a-scared?”
Kamiskwa’s hand dropped to the hilt of his obsidian knife. “I am a Prince of the Altashee.”
“Then you’re damned lucky, on account of I am terrified.” Nathaniel sat and sighed. “Ain’t enough we’s out here visiting villages where all these people professing to believe in the same Good Book use it to justify all manner of different things. You’ve been acting queer since we climbed into the mountains, and more so since the ground shook. I ain’t been no great shakes since then, neither. And now you not telling me the truth.”
The Altashee grunted, then sat. “I do not know what the truth is. We have stories, Nathaniel, many old stories. Some told of creatures like Mugwump, and I did not believe them until I saw him. But those were good stories, for the most part. But here, do you know what we call these mountains? Nesgagoquina.”
Nathaniel scratched at the back of his neck. “Wall of the other men?”
“More fortress. They are monsters, Nathaniel, like the wendigo, but many, many times worse. There were once many stories of them, horrible stories. Not even my father knows many of them. He says his grandfather refused to tell him all he knew, because his grandfather had refused to tell all he knew, and so on. They come and kill silently-and an earthquake presages their arrival.”
Nathaniel frowned. Kamiskwa wasn’t given to panic, but something about the mountains was clearly getting under his skin. He figured that these other men could just be a story made up to explain the dark wind, but if that were true, why would there be anything called the dark wind in the first place? Just because he’d never seen one of these other men didn’t mean they didn’t exist. Nathaniel believed in the Queen of Norisle, even though he’d never clapped eyes on her.
“Well now, what has Msitazi told you ’bout them?”
“Nothing good. He says the spirits of the winding path bow before them. It’s why none of the Shedashee hunt in these mountains.”
Nathaniel ran a hand over his jaw. “I reckon I hain’t never been steered wrong listening to Shedashee wisdom. I also reckon that if Prince Vlad knew about these other men, he’d have them on his list. And if they’s as nasty as you’re letting on that they are, we’re going to need to learn a mite more about them. In the stories, can they die?”