7. The Long Way Around

ENTIN

CHAPTER 7

"What do you suppose it means?" Entin wondered.

His tone was hushed. The two had been staring at the Slumbering God since he'd awakened.

"Only time will tell," Cascade replied.

Entin had to agree. Nature and the gods were full of surprises. First, the shaking of the ground, then the unexpected warmth of the water… and now this. An ancient and primal feeling stirred within him, screaming a distant warning he couldn't quite discern. The hair rose on the back of his neck as he watched the horizon slowly fill with uncanny smog and soot.

"I'll still understand if you don't want to continue," Cascade offered.

He placed his hand on Entin's bare thigh. As always, the unexpected contact made him jump. When he looked at Cascade, he saw another tribe's version of Balru. Cascade was a chieftain's son—he hadn't grown up as everyone's burden. He belonged. Because of that, he'd become a confident and sure man. His boldness shined through in how he carried himself, and his gestures were determined and elegant. He was a natural leader. But Entin couldn't help but wonder self-consciously what Cascade saw in him. Whatever it was, he didn't see it in himself. But he wanted this—he wanted Cascade. He had always longed for connection, even though he feared it deeply. And he knew he would never sleep again if he didn't try to rescue Aiel and the others or see where this all led with Cascade.

"Perhaps your sleeping god is just having a bad dream," Entin said. "I will continue with you if you'll have me."

The chieftain's son smiled. "I'd like that very much."

Cascade opened his leather satchel and unwrapped the last of the dried salmon. He handed Entin half, which he readily accepted. The taste was growing on him. Entin's tribe harvested mussels and cockles along the seashore and occasionally caught whitefish in the shallows, but salmon was new to him. The pinkish meat was almost sweet, and he finished his serving readily.

"I hope there's more of that at Mountainhome," Entin said.

"I'm glad you like it—it's all you'll eat for the next six months," Cascade joked.

"We'll see about that," Entin said. "There are about a dozen plants we could eat right here in this clearing."

Cascade looked at him with one eyebrow cocked, apparently doubtful of his claim.

"You don't believe me?" Entin said in mock offense. "Fine. This here: blackcurrant. You can dry the berry or use the bark to cure illness. And this is stinging nettle—you can cook it down and eat it or pound it out and cure it for weaving fiber. In the spring, these vines will be filled with huckleberries. There's food and medicine everywhere. You just need to learn where to look."

He grabbed a scarlet kinnikinick berry from a shrub in the salal and plopped it into his mouth.

"Okay, I know about those," Cascade laughed, picking a few berries of his own.

Entin had always enjoyed the tartness of the fruit. Although juicy and bitter, the tang was sweet, and the crunch was satisfying.

"How much farther is it?" Entin asked as they grazed.

"Mountainhome? Probably two days' walk," Cascade said between berries.

They'd gathered a small mound of the red gems. But inevitably, their joint focus returned to the Slumbering God as they consumed them. It was becoming impossible to ignore.

"And when we get there?" Entin asked.

"I'll confront my uncle. But we'll need to be careful. He has allies in the tribe. For all I know, they outnumber those loyal to my father. I'll have to figure out the family divisions and go from there. In the meantime, you'll need to learn to fight," Cascade said bluntly.

"I'd really rather not," Entin said.

A part of him had always felt relieved not to be included in the scrapping with the other boys. He'd always preferred it when they all left him alone. It had been safer that way. He'd contented himself with training in the woods and women's huts as a much-wanted escape.

"Look," Cascade said seriously. He gripped Entin by the shoulder and peered into his eyes imploringly. "If you come with me, there will be no turning back. Captives who abandon before the war will be killed. I won't be able to protect you if you step outside of the rules. And you should know that the Wolves are real. And dangerous. They have weapons my people can't make—harder and sharper than stone. And there are more of them than us. My tribe has a legend about an age before, when our people lived like yours, down on the plains in a time of plenty. The Wolves found them there and nearly destroyed them, and so they retreated into the mountains and made their home in the caves, where the Wolves couldn't find them. I don't know what will happen when they find us again. But I can assure you, your people weren't safe in your village, either. The Wolves are coming for all of us."

Entin considered his words. The idea of danger and violence terrified him. Yet, a part of him realized now that the threat of those things had always been all around him, skulking just out of view. He had never felt like he'd had a tribe, and setting off on this journey seemed both exhilarating and barbarically stupid.

"As much as I feel I shouldn't, I trust you. We will face the coming danger together," Entin said at last.

Cascade had finished his berries. He grabbed the last few out of Entin's palm before he could stop him and swallowed the lot of them. Entin shoved him playfully for his thievery.

"See! There's the killer in you. I knew we'd find him," Cascade teased.

Entin laughed ruefully. But he truly worried about the idea of violence. He'd never even killed an animal. When he'd been tasked with ridding Summerhome's larder of mice as a boy, he'd always managed to set the little things free near the edge of the woods instead of crushing them as he'd been instructed. The idea of hurting another living thing was the most foreign concept in the world. Yet, he knew that his morals were a luxury he likely couldn't afford. Not anymore. A sheepish part of him imagined Cascade might judge him for his naivety, so he kept his worries to himself.

"We should be on our way. It's safer to travel in daylight, while the dire wolves sleep," Cascade advised.

He slung his pack over his shoulder, then grabbed a few more berries for the trail. Entin looked back one last time in the direction of the hot spring, where they'd made a memory that would be seared into his mind forever. Then he turned and followed Cascade down the trail to wherever and whatever might come next.