Groundborn

by Scott Moore

Miles paused his thoughts and stopped moving. “Did you hear that?” he asked Sammy.

  Sammy stopped as well but didn’t reply. Miles strained his hearing and tried to pick up the sound. It took him a few seconds, but he heard it a second time. The sound of a horse’s whinny. Miles let a smile creep across his face. Horses were good; they needed horses, far more than anyone who already had them.

  ***

  When Miles grabbed his shoulder, it sent a cold chill through his body. He hadn’t been paying attention to the steps they were taking. He didn’t have a clue where they were going. Sammy had been thinking about the trees and their colors. About how some seemed to reach up into the sky and far beyond. He wondered at climbing them to their tops and seeing the entire world from high in the clouds. Miles hand slipped across Sammy’s skin, bringing him back from his dreams.

  They were running from something, but Sammy didn’t understand it. He knew what had happened in the town had been wrong, but how could anyone know what would happen after? Miles had been ready to leave, quickly, and while Sammy didn’t know why, he had agreed with the idea.

  They had been walking for some time before Miles reached out to stop him. Miles’ face contorted, and he strained for something. Sammy noticed the look in his eyes, the same look he had when he killed those people in the village. He planned to add another victim to his count. Would that make it three now? Or would there be more, as well?

  Miles pulled Sammy to the side and into the trees nearby. Then he pushed him down hard with the hand still gripping his shoulder. Sammy felt a sensation of pain but didn’t know how to respond. He also did not understand what Miles did with his other hand, as he pulled a finger to his lips in a gesture Sammy didn’t know.

  When Miles pulled his hand away, it went to his belt. Miles planned to fight someone, but Sammy didn’t see anyone. He turned back toward the path, with Miles’ fingers still pressed into his bone.

  What did Miles see out there that Sammy couldn’t? Sammy watched the dust swirl with the wind, the leaves blew above them, and he heard the cry of some animal in the distance. Was there another creature around the bend? Had Miles seen the flash of those yellow eyes? Sammy strained to see them.

  Sammy felt Miles tense. Whatever he planned drew closer. Miles had posted them on a small incline. Sammy couldn’t see a thing in the distance, but he could hear animal sounds getting closer. Was Miles waiting for the sound? Miles pulled his sword from the belt of his pants. Rusted, bloody, and very worn, but it would kill a man. Sammy had seen that in person already.

  The sound of the animals joined with loud footsteps and then Sammy saw them. Two people, one a man of older years, his hair graying at the sides. The other, a young boy, no older than those in the village playing games and laughing.

  Sammy couldn’t feel the emotion, or maybe he couldn’t understand it, but he knew that killing children made him uneasy. Miles let go of his shoulder and looked ready to pounce. Nothing Sammy could do now but watch.

  ***

  Miles hoped Sammy could stay quiet. The horses had come into view over the hill and Miles turned to Sammy a final time gesturing for him to stay put and stay quiet. He doubted that Sammy understood either cue, with that damn dumbfounded look drawn across his face. Simple-minded, but all Miles had. The only damn thing that kept Miles tethered to sanity. If Sammy left, then who else could confirm those fucking beasts that popped up from the ground and melted away after dying?

  Miles measured the father first. Square at the shoulders and long at the waist; which meant he ate well but didn’t train to maintain any stature. Miles pegged him as a man with money, someone who bought the horses for pleasure and not for work. The mark Miles needed. Someone who would fold under pressure and not try to fight. Although, if he had to kill them both, he would do the deed.

  The horses galloped by the trees leading up to where Miles and Sammy hid in the shrubs. It would be quick to jump out in front of the animals and scare them into submission. Miles waited for the opportunity, better to not move too soon and ruin their only chance at getting away from this damn place. Miles closed his fingers tighter around the pommel of his sword, hoping to not use it. Then as the beast came by, he jumped from the bushes. Sammy hadn’t followed, he had at least understood to stay put.

  The horses brayed and kicked their front legs into the air, with fear. The boy who was younger than Miles would have guessed, fell to his back. Uninjured, but providing the opening Miles had needed to secure the horses. In a blink, Miles leapt over to him with his sword drawn and the point at the boy’s neck. Miles glanced to the father, he had no intention of killing the child, but the father would have to make the final choice.

  “I don’t want to kill him. I need your horses. I am a desperate man.” Miles rushed the words. He tried to convey the importance of giving up their mounts. The father’s eyes drew to a scowl. Miles saw the hatred forming and wondered if he would save the son. Nobles were funny creatures about their pride.

  “Just give me the horses,” Miles tried again.

  With a sigh the man let the scowl fall from his face. He dropped the reins. Miles gave a silent sigh of his own, thankful not to have to spill the blood of a man so young.

  “Take them, but know you will be found,” said the man.

  Miles didn’t care about the threats. They were empty and meant nothing to him. If caught stealing these horses, that would be the least of his worries. Miles gestured for Sammy to follow, happy the man had made it this long alone in the woods. Sammy stumbled out showing just how incompetent he would be if it had come to a duel.

  “Grab the other horse,” Miles told him and jumped into the father’s saddle. Sammy looked at the mount and looked like a lost child. “Put your foot in the stirrup and jump on, we have to go,” Miles said.

  Sammy continued to look at the creature with no idea what to do. This robbery had gone south fast. Miles jumped down and gave the father a cold stare. He didn’t need the man getting any ideas. Miles grabbed Sammy by the shoulder and walked him forward. Then he showed him how to pull himself up to the horse’s back. Sammy hoisted his weight but sat in the saddle all wrong. Miles didn’t have time to care. He mounted back onto his own saddle and kicked off. Luckily, Sammy had followed, lucky for Sammy, because Miles thought that being insane was the least of his worries.

  19

  What had he done? Nov awoke in a sweat for the fourth consecutive night. He had fallen into sleep with only one thought on his mind. The plan. Meaning that every single night he dreamed of nothing but the plan.

  He saw the yellow eyed monsters climbing over the city walls. Saw their fangs spearing the flesh of Sera. Saw himself standing with his sword clutched in his hands, his knuckles white from the grip, but frozen as if a statue. He had caused the pain and suffering and couldn’t stop it.

  Every day for the past four days, he had awoken before the sun tipped the city walls. Moving to the basin and wiping the sweat from his brow. The images couldn’t be wiped away. They imprinted on his mind, like a burned brand.

  Every morning, he had tried to use his sword to take his mind from the sorrow and the guilt. He had no friends in the city to talk to. He had no family. All he had was his work and even that just reminded him how he had failed. How he had given up everything he had worked for. For so long, he had known nothing but protecting the people. Now, he knew nothing but their sure demise.

  He wiped his sweat away. The city didn’t spill into the streets with picket material yet. They were not worried about the mass of Groundborn clamoring to rip out their throats. They worried about the grand ball. The ball that Nov had orchestrated for the woman’s own sick purpose.

  Nov swung again without vigor. No one else even bothered coming to train. He would find them all out getting fitted for their dancing suits. There would be no special admonishments for swords or daggers.

  He beat the stuffed dummy with a flurry of strikes. Straw flew down around his feet and left the burlap sack empty, just like hi
m.

  Streets around the barracks had been empty. Even the poor thought they were going to be invited. They would spend their last copper on dresses that wouldn’t be more than a sack for the flour they couldn’t afford.

  Nov swung again, the anger filling him.

  The other soldiers traded in their shiny metal swords. They put their well-maintained hands around fancy walking sticks. They traded in their soldier leathers for fancy suits. Traded in their boots for pointed toe shoes.

  Nov took another swing, hitting nothing but the wooden post. His sword stuck there, and he slumped to the ground.

  No noble blood ran through Nov. Without Earl, this whole place fell to shit. Without Earl, Nov fell to shit.

  He still hadn’t gone to check on Earl. He still didn’t know about Earl’s fate. Someone knew the answer to that question. Someone had gone to check on him. But whoever it was, they had not informed Nov.

  They had not come to apply a new general to the dwindling army. Whoever knew didn’t give a damn.

  Nov took a few breaths, trying to keep his composure. He wanted to lean back and just close his eyes; for it all to end. If he closed his eyes, he knew nothing but pain would be etched into the black abyss of his eyelids.

  Instead of giving in to his flogging mood, he left his sword and walked out into the narrow walkway. A back path—some called them soldier alleys—led to the great wall protecting the city. The alleys made for a quicker route to the guard post. Every soldier took their turn and watched out over the landscape. Most of the time, it was a long boring shift, but sometimes a Groundborn or two would pop up. Against the walls, it didn’t matter. Large wooden doors were the only thing not made of stone. They represented the weakest point along the wall that stretched for miles. A wheel atop the wall provided the only means to opening the gates to the outside world.

  The wheel had long ago taken two people to heave with all their might to move it. Earl and Nov—over the years—had come up with an easier cranking method, and so, now, it was only a one-man job.

  Silence pressed in on him. Even in the back alleys he should have heard hawkers and beggars, but he heard nothing. Not a sound that could pull him from his invading thoughts.

  Nov hoped that those fancy walking sticks weren’t all the men brought to the ball.

  He couldn’t blame them, this rested on Nov. He had done the leg work. Alti had been there behind him, but he had set the ball rolling. Now, only his conscience stood in the way and he told himself that he already decided on that.

  Nov turned off the soldier paths and onto the wall’s walkway. There should have been fifty men at least standing ready.

  He only saw a handful of soldiers manning the base. They stepped forward without a salute. Earl would have scolded them for their demeanor, but Nov couldn’t bring himself to care. He motioned for them to man the elevator system. Audible sighs left them. Nov wasn’t their leader. Not the one they had come to know. Maybe he never would be. That wouldn’t matter soon. Not after he opened the gates of hell.

  The elevator would lift him hundreds of feet into the air, making it a hell of a drop to the bottom, one of instant death. Nov wondered if the soldiers below would let the pulleys go on purpose. Nov wondered if maybe that would be the better solution for him. Join Earl in the afterlife, but he shook those thoughts away. He would not go out that way, not that he was above it, but he had things left to do no matter how much he hated them.

  Nov had an agenda atop the wall, but he paused a moment to look out over the trees. If the Groundborn were out there, they were staying well hidden.

  “Good morning, Nov.”

  Nov broke his gaze, seeing the man on duty for the afternoon. Cliff joined the barracks around the age of ten, not by a choice of his own. Join or off to the chopping block and Earl never liked to see someone so young executed. Cliff appreciated his spot in the barracks, even if he only took it seriously when Earl showed up. Cliff had no hope of ever becoming a nobleman, but still strived for it anyhow.

  “Everything quiet?” Nov asked.

  Cliff shook his head. “There is nothing out there, not today or yesterday, probably not tomorrow.” Cliff believed that. Most of the men did. Shifts were a time to catch up on sleep. Nov knew better though. He had the scars and the stories to know better. Earl lay either in the hospital bed or his grave knowing better. Nov had to keep to his decision, no matter how much it ate at him.

  “That’s good,” Nov said. Then, he moved off toward the small shack that housed the cranking wheel.

  A simple design Nov and Earl had made together, but it saved a lot of energy and time. Instead of hours, the door opened in a few minutes. Nov wrapped his fingers around it and gave it a good tug, making sure the locking mechanism stayed in place. Cliff pretended to be highly interested in the tree line.

  Nov knew better, as soon as he left the wall, Cliff would be sleeping. Nov let out a sigh. One sigh moment after another; a shit ton of bad moments, Nov thought.

  The clipboard with the schedule hung on the wall to the side of the crank. Nov didn’t get scheduled anymore, not since he became second in command, but he scratched out a name and put his own.

  He had to be here. That was part of the plan. The soldier who had been scheduled wouldn’t make a fuss about it. He would hang his sword on the rack and grab his fancy suit, skipping off to dance the night away.

  Nov sighed again, placing the clipboard back into its slot.

  Come the end of the week, Nov would watch the coming path. He would guard the sanctity of his life’s work; holding the city in his hands. The world would be his for the taking. They won’t cherish his decision. They won’t recognize his sacrifice. At least, not now. For now, he will be a black mark. A shame upon the city of Sera.

  But, maybe, someday, they will understand why he had to make the choice. Someday, maybe, they will praise him for it. It didn’t matter either way though. Because when something has to happen, it isn’t about what others perceive, it is about the outcome. Without this, the city died. Without this, he could protect this gate below him for only so long.

  Nov nodded on his way back past Cliff. Cliff nodded, an ease, slumping into his shoulders. Nov would leave and the reality of life would resume.

  Nov thought of Earl and the way he would have handled the laconic actions of the soldiers. He thought of Earl often, but still couldn’t muster up the courage to act on those thoughts. To bridge that gap would be too much.

  Nov walked the alleys back to the barracks without seeing another soul. Even the eating mess was empty. He knew the men’s heads were already filling with grand music. Their nostrils already dreaming of the sweet smell of their ladies. Nov hoped that their determination to be something they were not didn’t end them all.

  Nov remembered being young much differently. Remembered drilling with his sword, sharpening his sword, cleaning his sword, sleeping with his sword. Duty was his mistress. His dance hall, the drill yard; his music the clashing of metal.

  Not a single man remembered that now. Too much money, too much death, and everything faded into the sunset.

  The decision should have been easy. He knew why he had to do it. Still, he wished he could just get it over with now. The waiting killed him. He thought about going back to the wall and scratching his name out. Instead, he bit into the bland, cold mutton. It tasted like he felt. Nov pushed the plate aside. The desire to eat had faded.

  It is crazy what you can do to something that is not interested in your wants at all. It is a marvelous feeling to impose the will of yourself on that of others, knowing that they suffer, but knowing that they will never tell you no.

  20

  The horse didn’t want to run. Sammy could feel its reluctance underneath him. He could feel it in the way the horse’s muscles tensed. He could feel it in the way the horse moved. Somewhere deep within the horse it rallied to rebel, but it never did; it just continued to move in the direction Sammy pointed it.

  Miles had spent a good, lo
ng while instructing Sammy how to convey messages to the horse. He had taught him to move in any direction, to make the horse run and walk, and to teach the horse to stop. Sammy relucted as much as the horse, but he too trotted onward. His hips starting to become sore the longer he sat on the bumpy ride.

  Miles didn’t seem to notice that anyone was reluctant; or more likely he didn’t care. He just pressed forward, with his head down and his eyes always gazing in front of them. For the longest time, Miles pushed the horses as hard as he could. The horses ran but with time even the horses had to stop for a breath. Miles jumped off for a few minutes and instructed Sammy to do the same, but the reprieve hadn’t lasted long. Then Miles jumped back in the saddle and pressed the poor creatures again.

  Miles said in the small walk that the beast could keel over from exhaustion so he would only press them until sundown and then let them rest, but that they would expel every drop of energy before he would let them do so.

  Sammy spent most of his time on horseback trying to figure out the animal. It did no questioning, unlike the humans that Sammy had met. Less worried about itself and more worried about the commands of the rider. Sammy almost felt pity for the thing, but that would have meant he needed to know pity. Instead he settled on wonder.

  Sammy and Miles did not talk. They did not discuss where they were heading. Not that it would have mattered. Sammy didn’t know a lick about the kingdom. He didn’t know much of anything. Everything he had once known faded, if it had ever existed. Miles would have just been rambling and talking to himself anyhow.

  Sammy doubted he could concentrate on staying atop the saddle and talk anyhow. Along with the soreness of his legs, his back and midsection were sore too. Holding himself up strained his muscles and made him long for walking. Miles, however, insisted on the horses and Sammy decided not to question. Maybe he differed from the horses less than he thought. Fewer complications if he just listened to Miles.