Twenty people, ten brahmin, and enough supplies to last Two-Sun several months.
Overall, a large caravan by the region's standards. Which made it an appetizing target for the raiders lurking on Path 19. Even with the numerous guards that the caravan had, pushing any further up through was a death sentence. All the more important that they navigated through a different route.
Enter the Wild Lands.
The Wild Lands. A region that Sandra's father always spoke of with a cautious tone. Not much was known about the tribes that lived in the region, with only tall tales filling the gap.
Which made the canyon in front of the caravan all the more imposing.
"So these Wind Spirits..." Crunell tersely spoke, his laser pistol at the ready. "You sure they ain't going to cave our skulls in?"
"Relax. I've been doing business with them for the past few years, and they haven't steered me wrong." Marcel replied, motioning Crunell to drop the pistol. "They control one of the few routes into Two-Sun that haven't been blocked by raiders, and they know it."
"If you say so, mi amigo." Jose glanced left to right at the mountains on both sides. "Night is coming, and we can't afford to camp out in the open like the previous dias. Not if we want to get picked off…"
"
Which we won't." Cupping his hands together, Marcel bellowed out to the people behind. "Alright, folks! I know your feet hurt, but we're going to have to move quickly if we want to reach shelter tonight! So let's get a move on people!
With that command, Sandra coaxed the lead brahmin into moving, all the while looking around at her surroundings. Her father's words continued to echo through her mind.
'Member', Wild Lands up North are a mixed bunch. Some will treat you right, and some will just put you six feet under. If you ever find yourself in that God-forsaken area, your eyes better be on a swivel. And whatever you do…'
Jagged and narrow, the canyon entrance was barely wide enough for the caravan to get through, forcing the brahmin to navigate the pathway with limited space. Add in the rocky walls that reached up to the skies, and it made the brahmin skittish.
"There, there. It's not that bad. We'll be out of here in no time." Sandra gently patted the Brahmin on its side, the poor thing laden down with crates and supplies. The rest of the caravan slowly moved behind her, the sounds of echoing Brahmin bells echoing throughout the canyon.
Traversing the canyon, the few yellowish-green bushes and vegetation gave way to brownish-red sand and rocks, the only sunlight coming from the canyon heads above.
Sandra didn't mind it though. The shade was a welcome change of pace; a stark contrast to the merciless heat that bore down upon the caravan for most of the trip.
But despite the comfort from the heat, she didn't let her guard down. Even if Marcel was correct, his last contact with this tribe had been a year ago; plenty of time for conditions to change on a dime.
'… Always find a way out, no matter what.'
Twisting and turning, the path forwards became a maze of sorts, as Marcel led the caravan deeper into unknown territory.
Several times, the caravan leader seemed to pause at the multiple directions the canyon seemed to offer, before directing the others to follow him on a certain path.
But whatever was behind Marcel's thinking, Jose's prediction had come to pass.
The canyon had fallen into complete darkness. No lights, for fear of giving away their position. Instead, the almost ethereal moonlight illuminated the path forward, revealing what Sandra already knew.
'Rocks and sand, and yet not a single soul in sight. Great.'
Not even the howl of coyotes was present. It was a silence that was menacing in itself, a place where time seemed to lose meaning.
If she didn't know any better, Sandra would have assumed that these lands had been untouched since the Great War.
But if Marcel was correct, they were well into Wind Spirit territory. Lands that the tribals had known for their entire lives. As such, they should have already been in contact with them long ago. Which brought about a single question:
Where the hell were the Wind Spirits?
"I don't like it…" A man by the name of Krusoe nervously spoke two Brahmins behind. "We've been walking for half a Sun now, and they haven't even shown their faces yet. Where the fuck are these Wind Spirits Marcel?!"
"We'll have a better time finding them if you stop broadcasting our location to everyone out there." Crunell coldly let out, glaring at Krusoe with as much spite he could muster. "Now shut your mouth, we'll be out of this rut soon enough."
But turning his head back, Sandra could overhear the hushed whispers.
"What's going on? You said they would have already greeted us?!"
"I know. There's supposed to be patrols on the outskirts. Should have normally encountered one of them." Marcel murmured. "Something's wrong, and I don't like it."
"What do we do?"
"As much as the Wind Spirits don't like people knowing where their home is, I managed to memorize the route. We should be getting close to the actual camp."
Marcel explained, gesturing to the path snaking to the right. "Worse comes to worse, we'll set up defensive positions inside, and continue during sunrise."
Sandra quietly gulped, gripping her brahmin's rope tightly. Looking behind her, none of the other caravaneers seemed to have overheard the conversation.
This was not the situation she wanted to be in. Not at all. Her imagination started to conjure up scenario after scenario, each worse than the last.
If there was one known fact about the tribals, it was that they were as tough as radscorpions. Savage or not, one had to be high on chems to think of attacking tribals in the Wild Lands.
For an entire tribe to have disappeared…
All of a sudden, the jingling of caps didn't feel like a reassurance that what she was doing here was right. Now, they rang the dinner bell for any of the critters lurking in the dark.
From yao guai, to cazadors…
To raiders…
With those thoughts in mind, Sandra didn't take notice of the arm shoving her back, catching her by surprise. The rope she held jerked back, forcing the Brahmin to grind to a halt. Soon, the entire caravan did the same, various caravaneers conveying some colorful curses.
"What the
fuck!" Sandra glared at Marcel. "The hell was that fo-"
"Careful." Marcel hissed out, holding his hand out for the entire caravan to stop. Subsequently, he jerked his head to the ground. "Crunell, flashlight!"
Some fumbling later, and the prospector turned the flashlight on, illuminating the path forward.
As well as the numerous rusty bear traps littering the ground.
'Oh. That's why.'
Everywhere the light shone, bear traps littered the floor like pre-war landmines, their teeth ready to sink into flesh. While some looked like they hadn't been used since the Great War, others had a fresh coat of crimson red, dripping ever so slowly.
"Just as I thought. I was wondering what that glint was." Marcel muttered. He crouched down to observe the closest one. "If blood loss doesn't kill you, the infections will."
"So… what now?" Sandra nervously stammered out, considering just how close she had come to losing a limb. "I- I mean… we- we can't go this way. R-right?"
"Which is why we set those traps for a reason."
If the near miss with the bear traps had taken Sandra by surprise, the unfamiliar figure that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere sent her jumping, as the rest of the caravan hurriedly moved to aim their weapons at the man.
That was before Marcel intervened.
"Hold your fire! Hold your fire!" He yelled out loud, as Crunell directed the flashlight at the unknown person.
At first glance, the man didn't look like a tribal whatsoever. Rather than wearing animal skins and rags, the man wore a black pre-war vest, the words
TPD on.
A bullet-proof vest, if she remembered correctly. One that would have cost her two months of wages back home. Weathered blue jeans, alongside black boots complimented the "civilized look".
In addition, no spear or bow was present. Instead, a bolt-action rifle was slung over his back. One with a polished scope, compared to the iron sights she had to use.
Back home, and he would have fit nicely in Rohead, possibly as a guard for one of them big-shots. However, it was clear that he wasn't from the South.
A feathered cap adorned the bald man's head, an assortment of white and brown, swaying in the wind. More prominently, was the paint etched onto the man's face.
Black and red lines ran from head to chin, a piece of art on the chiseled canvas. One that turned the man into a vengeful ghost from her younger years.
Overall, an intimidating figure. One who was squinting at the caravaneers with a disinterested look.
"Close, old friend." The tribal spoke directly to Marcel in an unknown . "But your memory is not as clear as you may think." A smirk emerged on the man's face. "Still, you are lucky that you only encountered the bear traps. Could have been crushed by boulders, for instance. Now then…"
Within a few seconds, the previously dead hills came alive, more indistinguishable figures spontaneously appearing out of the darkness, various bladed and ranged weapons in hand, wearing nothing but animal pelts.
More prominently, red dots emerged onto the brahmin, aimed straight at their heads.
"Let us lower our weapons, and we can discuss matters like
civilized people, shall we?"
When the caravan arrived at the edge of dawn, Sandra couldn't but marvel at what she was seeing.
At the bottom of the valley, the Wind Spirits had made themselves a community. Numerous houses, made out of gecko and brahmin skin, dotted the center, some larger than the Connor family's house.
A river, flowing downhill from the mountains above, replenished the lake nearby. Crops, green and yellow against the rocky red background, grew tall and proud, promising a gorgeous bounty at harvest season. Potatoes, corn, squash, even those tato plants that produced a crop that tasted like puke.
There was even a small pen with brahmin, several babies following their mothers around.
A community that was almost dream-like, in comparison to the raider-infested highways that Sandra had recently encountered. Except… there was one tiny problem with that image:
The Wind Spirits were preparing for war.
The tribals made no attempts to hide the activities of what they were doing to Sandra and the others.
Young men and women alike, each in pairs, sparred with one another, spears and daggers in hand. Near the tents, the elderly carefully polished the metal blades, ensuring that they would not fail in battle. Even children meticulously fletched arrows, small piles being collected in reserve.
Then… there were the sharpshooters.
Three men, and four women. And yet they displayed a level of accuracy that put her to shame.
As the sharpshooters fired off another volley at the human-shaped targets down range, Thunder-That-Trails, the man who had established first contact, continued to talk to Marcel and Sandra, the only two who had followed him up the hill. The rest of the caravaneers remained in the Wind Spirit town, resting for the journey ahead.
"Magnificent, are they not?" Thunder asked, a bright smile on his face. "They are what you
outsiders would call the best of the best. I have personally trained them since childhood, and they rarely miss their shots."
"You can say that again…" Sandra said, mesmerized by the skill on display. "Pa taught me how to shoot, and even he wasn't this good."
"I would not insult your creator's skill.
Hotoru ensures that even the most hopeless cases are capable of rising to greater heights, young one."
"T-thanks, I guess?" Sandra replied, remembering the warning that Marcel had made about the Wind Spirits. About their religion.
While she wasn't religious herself, it was important in the Wasteland to know how to interact with religious people, ranging from those kooky New Caananites, to the shoot-on-sight policy for the Vipers.
Fortunately, the Wind Spirits tolerated outsiders well, so long as you didn't intentionally insult the Spirits of the Sky.
Glancing to her right, Sandra noticed the frown on Marcel's face, as he observed the sharpshooters reloading.
"Impressive work, but how much ammunition have you been going through?"
Immediately, the brahmin in the room came to pass. Thunder's friendly face morphed into a frown, before sighing deeply.
"I see that nothing gets by you, Marcel."
"Don't give me that crap, Thunder." Marcel tersely replied. "A year ago, there wasn't this level of mobilization. And I sure as shit would have remembered the bear traps. Raiders have been getting bolder, but this is more than just raiders…"
Marcel used his left hand to gesture to the other activities. "Who are you planning a fight with?"
Thunder briefly glanced at Sandra with some wariness. "Are you sure you want to talk about this in front of her?"
"Hey! I know when to keep my mouth shut!" Sandra responded, a brief glimpse of annoyance masking her uneasiness.
"Not to worry, I'm planning on informing the rest."
"Very well." Thunder gestured for the two to walk with him. "We have always had interlopers that seek to take what isn't theirs, our way of life since the Great Calamity. But they were few in number. Even the Hidebarks are not foolish enough to try and attack us."
"I'm sensing a but in here…"
"Indeed." Thunder stated. "For the past few months, the interlopers have become more numerous. Traps that would have deterred the most foolhardy, have not dissuaded them. In fact, it seems they are becoming more daring with every passing day. And the caravans? Well… you are the first we have seen in months."
"That's troubling, to say the least…"
"Indeed. While we are isolated from the savage world outside, we have heard…" Thunder went silent, looking over his shoulder, as if someone was out to get him. "
Tales."
"What tales? You seem like you folk can take yourselves." Sandra said.
"But not if the tales are even close to the truth. A red plague of sorts."
'Red… plague…'
'Oh shit.'
All of a sudden, Sandra the uneasiness morphed into a chilly numbness.
"Legion." She stated, small chills through her body.
Ever since she was a small child, Pa always told her to never EVER, go beyond the Wild Lands. All because of Caesar's Legion. A fate worse than death, for any woman that dared to go into Legion Territory.
But they simply had been an afterthought in her mind. Too bogged down fighting inside their own territory against some folks called the Rangers. Too busy, and too incompetent.
Until now.
"Aye, young one." Thunder affirmed her guess. "The more they advance, the greater the number of interlopers that flee before them. Even I would not blame them, if the tales of this Legion are correct."
"Fuck! That explains why there's so many raiders. Marcel muttered under his breath, before turning his attention back to Thunder. "How bad is it up ahead?"
"We have cleared out the surrounding areas up ahead, but after that? Even Hotoru doesn't know. Which brings me to our ammunition reserves."
"Wouldn't say they're low, considering the amount of practice that your students are getting." The rifles let out mighty roars, illustrating Marcel's point.
"True. But I did not become war-chief by being foolish in the face of reality. They need all the practice that Hotoru can provide. And while our reserves have always been blessed by the Ancestors, Hotoru favors those who prepare for the unknown."
With that, Marcel and Thunder started to hash out an impromptu ammunition sale, utilizing some of the reserves meant for Two-Sun.
Sandra however, didn't really pay attention to the sale, focusing on the sharpshooters, who had ceased their firing drill.
Such a simple drill, yet it represented something so much more.
In the short time that Sandra had been in the Wind Spirit's camp, there was a thick aura of tension, threatening to break out from underneath the surface. The children were hurried by their mothers to sleep, their eyes glancing warily at them. And while Thunder hid it well, Sandra could tell there was another emotion in his eyes, other than projected calmness:
A hint of fear.
As the caravan started to move out of the valley, she could only hope that the rest of the trip went smoothly. After that, maybe she would find a less dangerous job, with the breathing space her family would have.
Maybe a courier. Less chance of being targeted by raiders. Maybe.
They were so close to Two-Sun, she could almost taste the shitty beer they offered.
Another twist of the telescope, and he couldn't help but smile.
The courier in Rohead had reported that a sizable caravan would be traveling to Two-Sun. Through the so-called "Wild Lands", where numerous tribes resided.
And here they were, exiting out of the canyon, thinking they had escaped the worst that the Wasteland could offer
A shame, really. Especially the women that were a part of the caravan. The
barbarus in these parts were particularly nasty to the women they caught. A waste of a valuable commodity, and certainly not what Mars would want. A small comfort that these
barbarus would know their place.
But for now, they served their purpose well enough.
Grabbing at his tunic, Hortensius activated the radio.
"Lupa. This is Frumentarius Hortensius. I have visual confirmation of the caravan coming from Rohead. Currently exiting out of the Wild Lands right now."
"Ten-four. Barbarus gangs nearby will be notified. Report if any other caravans come through. Over."
"Ten-four. Hortensius out. True to Caesar."
AN: If there's one part of the Legion that I would not want to deal with, it has to be the Frumentarii. From their disguises, to their sabotages, they are the one component that allows the Legion to be more than just an organized group of raiders.
Noticeably, what makes them more dangerous than the rest of the Legion, is the fact that they don't underestimate
anyone. A Female Courier working as Legion will make them a bit confused, but they don't denigrate or deride the F! Courier compared to the other Legion members. They will utilize any tactic that will grant the Legion victory.
And that's what makes Frumentarii such a valuable tool to the Legion. Everybody expects the hammer that's being swung towards you.
Nobody expects the dagger in the back.
Thank you for listening to my TedTalk!
Also, song of the Day:
View: https://youtu.be/VEyDNTLlRgU
