Before the Sky Fell

[ 19 ] Doppelgänger

Information on the Maker. "But he escaped?"

Pelk sat silent, legs wrapped around each other like a twisted pretzel. He picked at tiny pebbles and flicked them over the edge, then leaned forward and watched their descent. Whik turned back to John.

"Someone freed him. They never caught the one who set him free, but I've heard that Malachi had dozens of spies working for him."

"John!" Pelk jerked his head back from the ledge and grabbed Whik's ankle. It was only when Whik saw the mass of black himself that the panic set in. A dark horde of Larks sprinted through the valley, axes drawn and banners waving. Pelk was about to stand before John grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him to the rock ledge below.

"Stay down," John whispered.

Whik moved to the side of the cliff and peered over the edge. The horde of Larks must have been somewhere around two dozen, but even in their small numbers, their bulky frames made them appear more like the stampedes of handleback boars that plagued the north of the island. Whik scanned ahead of them to see where they were running.

John pointed to the opposite mountainside. "Look, militia coming out of the forest."

Whik squinted to see the peasants running down the gradient. The sun shimmered off their swords as if their blades breathed fire. "From Ridgewood?"

"Must be," John said. "Looks like they outnumber the Larks two to one."

Whik's eyes grew to the size of berries. He counted the group of men armed with more pitchforks than swords and then jumped up from his crouched position.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to help them," Whik told John. "We can't sit here and be a silent witness to this."

Whik picked up the satchel and draped it across his chest. He jumped down to a ledge below and began his descent to the valley floor. The sound of Pelk's nimble footsteps followed.

Whik's feet felt uneasy against the rocks as he slid, leapt, and maneuvered over them. He used whatever he saw as he descended, grabbing at undependable roots and shallow fissures. The satchel bounced from his side as he leapt and it hit his wound, sending a shrill pain down his side. He grimaced and pushed on.

When the terrain flattened and grass took over the fallen rocks, Whik crouched behind a tree. Pelk was behind him in no time, and John's heavy breaths joined them shortly after. 

John leaned on the tree, one hand resting on his leg. "I'm getting too old for this shit," he muttered. "And what is the genius plan? Run in there waving our hands?"

John and Whik were without weapons. Pelk had a bow strapped across his back, but the arrows looked dull and next to useless. The soldiers and Larks had already collided, and now the muffled clangs of metal friction grew louder.

John placed a hand on Whik's shoulder. "Remember, Whik, if you really are meant to find this object, dying won't help your case." John smiled. His brows lifted and suddenly Whik felt uneasy. "I, on the other hand, have flirted with death numerous times, and she always flirts back."

John reached down and grabbed a rock from beneath the tree. He took off into the valley, his fatty bulges flinging from side to side.

Pelk's lips were lopsided and he cocked his head to the side. "What is he doing?" He reached back and fastened an arrow onto the bow.

A wave of anger set over Whik. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. "And he thinks I'm just going to sit here and watch?"

As he ran from beneath the tree, he thought of Charlotte's dead body laying somewhere in the forest. He thought of Frankford choking on the smoke of Tannuchi's ruins and Torra Grimley floating along Sebolt's shores. He thought of Halloh Baker in the outpost and Margarie Govney proudly pouring a pint and he thought of that brown-haired girl he had seen just once weaving baskets. He might never see her again.