Bishop Bumble, that I would be doing the devil’s work? I was merely suggesting that you organize among your flock as I shall organize the Mystrian Militia. As your people are able to organize supplies, we can take able-bodied young men and deploy them to survey the damage and rebuild. While God may have visited his judgment on a people, could not the devil have used the consequences of that just punishment to hurt others in an attempt to drive them from God’s bosom? If the devil can use the Good Book, surely he could use divine acts for that same purpose. This was what I meant, Bishop, and if I was so abrupt that my intentions unclear, please forgive me.”
The look of puzzlement on Bumble’s face revealed much to Vlad. The man knew he was trapped, but not quite how he had been trapped. For him to refuse to organize when the Prince did would leave Bumble in an inferior position. Just as he had laid the groundwork for the court ecclesiastic to elevate himself, now he found himself with another opportunity to raise himself in the esteem of others. He couldn’t pass it up, but he also couldn’t shake the knowledge that he’d been manipulated for his own gain.
He also won’t like that I was able to quote both his sermons and the Good Book back to him. It was a sin Vlad was certain he’d pay for, but that mattered little at the moment. “Please tell me you understand, Bishop.”
“I do, Highness. Of course I shall do my utmost to help in these dire times.”
“Good. And you will send me the Postsylvania manuscript.”
“Yes, Highness.” Bumble bowed his head. “I shall do God’s bidding for the exaltation of His family here on Earth.”
Chapter Twelve
30 April 1767 Westridge Mountains, Mystria
Nathaniel looked back at the others following behind him along the game trail. “Another turn around and we should have a pretty good vantage point.”
The others grumbled and laughed in equal measure, since he’d been making that promise for most of the morning. Since the earthquake, they had moved slowly onward and upward along the eastern ridgeline. What they had taken from the distance to be a single mountain chain actually had multiple rows of saw-toothed ridges running in parallel. They could see two over to what was the tallest, but had no idea how many rows stood on the western side of the tall peaks. They also could see no obvious passes through to the west.
When the earthquake hit, their natural inclination had been to descend to the lake, but Kamiskwa stopped them. He pointed to the great eruptions of bubbles across the lake, which churned the placid waters into a turgid gray-green sludge. Having a source of fresh water so clearly fouled was enough to slow them, but when an eagle dove to pluck a dead fish from the surface, and plunged into the water without appearing again, they stopped cold.
Count von Metternin produced a spyglass and studied the lake. “This is not unknown in some swamps and lakes. Yearly sediment covers over decaying plants and animals. It traps gasses which suffocate the unsuspecting.”
Kamiskwa nodded. “Our people are told that when the ground shakes, or a lake bubbles, we should seek high ground. In the wake will come the dark wind.”
“But a dark wind? It is so primitive.” Rathfield stood tall, his arms folded across his chest. “This land is sorely lacking civilization, and would be better for it.”
Nathaniel had stood at that point. “I might be taking exception to the notion that my brother is lying, or that his story ain’t as good as the Count’s on account of his telling it.”
Rathfield looked down his nose at Nathaniel. “I think even you would agree that the considered opinion of a noble from Auropa carries more weight than a tale of fancy from an uneducated savage.”
“I might agree iffen we was talking things all noble and Auropy, but this here is Mystria and ain’t nobody gonna be knowing more about it than the Shedashee.” He raised a hand. “Hold on up, now, I ain’t done my piece. I been out here on this land for thirty years. I felt a tremble or two, but ain’t never I felt nothing like we just did. And I ain’t never seed a lake bubble like that, or an eagle die like that. Now, iffen you’re of a mind to go down there and bring some of your civilization to that lake, I ain’t gonna stop you. I jes want you to know you’ll be walking alone.”
Owen looked up from where he’d been writing in a notebook. “What do you think we ought to do?”
Nathaniel looked at Kamiskwa, then pointed further up into the mountains. “We ain’t exactly at the highest point around here. I reckon we get there, then we figure out what else to do.”
Kamiskwa led the way and Nathaniel remained at the rear. He wasn’t concerned with anyone coming up on them; he just didn’t want to be leading. The ground shaking the way it had wasn’t right. The ground had always been solid, then it just turned into jelly. He wasn’t sure how long it had been shaking, but how ever much time it was, it was more than he wanted to experience.
More than that, the lake bothered him. He couldn’t count the number of similar lakes he’d crossed or camped beside in his life. Had the party been making camp on the shore, he’d have had them set up right where the outlet stream had been trickling to the north. By the time the earth had stopped shaking, the wave would have washed them all away without warning. If someone survived, the dark wind would have taken him.
They stopped on a shelf overlooking the lake, but not high enough to see to the next valley. They supposed there was a lake up there, too, since a stream spilled down a rock face, and a ruin of trees showed where some water had pitched giant stones from above down to the lake and forest below. It didn’t look to Nathaniel that a great volume of water had flowed down-a sentiment that Owen and von Metternin agreed with when he mentioned it.
None of them slept very well that night and, with dawn, they gathered their things to move on. They did so sluggishly, as the lake below them still burped here and there, and the water still possessed the appearance of a rancid pea soup. They debated whether or not to make a fire and cook breakfast, and Nathaniel helped the debate rage by advocating sloth simply because Rathfield wanted to get going.
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.
