by DJ Cooper
“So what changed?” Aeryn asked, calming himself.
“What changed? What changed is that for the past five years we’ve been gaining the allies we’ve needed. We’ve been working with the villagers, forming the resistance. We’ve been working with the Keepers of the Light, forming an alliance, we’ve been training! We are now ready, ready to take on the Elites and the Honor Guard, ready to end their brutal regime,” the old man replied. “We are ready for war,” he finished.
Aeryn shivered as a chill worked its way down his back. War, the thought both terrified and excited him.
Chapter Nineteen
Odo watched the smoke billow into the air and heard the screams of the women and children who had not fled the village. Tears leaked from his eyes and down his ruddy face. Pain, as sharp as a knife, tore at his heart. Lifting his rifle, he fired the last of his bullets into the group of soldiers and dogs and watched as some of the men fell. He gently lowered his rifle, spent. There was nothing more he could do. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the woods for his men. How many had fallen? How many, like him, were out of ammunition and could only now sit back and watch the village burn and the people murdered?
A step behind him caught his attention and he turned from where he knelt on the roof of the garrison. His eyes met those of a scared twenty-something year old. Blonde hair, pimply face, slumped shoulders as he held his gun aimed at Odo. He knew the boy, had served him many meals in the mess hall but could not think of his name.
“Odo?” the boy squeaked, lowering his gun a fraction. His face registered the shock of finding Odo there. And firing into the crowd of soldiers.
Odo nodded.
“Why? Why, would you fire on your own brothers?” the boy asked.
Odo tried hard to think of the boy’s name through the haze of anger that clouded his mind. “How can you ask why? Don’t you see what they are doing to those innocent people?” he spat, rising to his feet.
The boy took a step back and again brought his gun up, confusion spread across his face, indecision of what he should do. “They are animals, less than animals! You would kill our own for them?” the boy asked, incredulous.
A sadness flickered in Odo’s eyes. Yes, that is what the Honor Guard was taught. That is what the soldiers, boys like this one standing in front of him, believed. That the grays, the peoples of Rysa were no more than animals.
He shook his head. “They are humans. Like you and me. They bleed the same red blood we do, they feel the same pain we do, they love and mourn, hate and rage, just like we do,” Odo replied, his voice almost pleading with the young soldier to understand the wrong that he was a part of.
The soldier shook his head angrily. “No, you are wrong Odo, they’re animals. Stinking, dirty animals,” he replied. He motioned with his gun for Odo to turn around. “You’re coming with me. The General will decide your fate,” he snapped, his voice growing stronger and more confident.
Odo smiled tiredly, glanced down at his own weapon still grasped in his hand. The soldier didn’t know he had no bullets left. But he would rather die than face the General. He would rather die than spend one minute in the Elitist prison, where he knew he would be tortured and probably turned out to the arena for their pleasure of watching him die. He tightened his grip on the rifle, his eyes meeting those of the young soldier.
“No, Odo, no don’t,” the soldier warned. Odo could see in his eyes that he didn’t want to shoot him but he would leave him no choice. He raised his weapon and felt the bullet slam into his chest, and as he fell, the last thing he heard was his weapon clatter to the rooftop and the young soldier cry out, “Odo, why? Why did you make me do it?”
Smiling, Odo closed his eyes.
Chapter Twenty
Bevin moved over the rough terrain, his boots plowing into the craggy path. Grunting, he stopped, wiped the sweat from his face, and shielded his eyes with a hand as he peered into the distance. Ahead of him wound the long line of warriors and soldiers, women, and children. He set his gaze on Millicent, who led the group. She stood tall, confident, and he watched her body move easily as she tread over the same ground he did. It had been two days since they’d left the last camp spot and the weather had been beating on them ever since. One day of flashing lightning and downpours, and today, steamy, and hot as if the gates of Hell had opened. Pulling his canteen from his side, he screwed open the top and tipped it up. The tepid water hit the back of his throat, wetting it but not cooling the fire. He licked his dry lips and tasted the saltiness of sweat on them.
“So, we should be there in another day or so,” his second-in-command murmured as he stepped up beside him. “Should I split a few scouts off and send them ahead? Runners to do recon?” the man asked when Bevin didn’t respond.
Bevin thought for a moment before answering, rolling the question around inside his tired brain. “Might as well,” he replied. Slinging his canteen back over the loop on his pack, he moved forward with a groan.
It didn’t register right away. The sound. The low whine that blended into the background of his thoughts. When it finally did he raised his hand and brought the group to a halt. Millicent, irritation etched onto her face, stomped tiredly back toward him.
“What?” she asked. Bevin held up his hand for silence and pointed off behind him. He tipped his head, cocking his ear toward the noise.
“We got company and they are coming up fast,” he snapped.
Millicent’s eyes widened in fear as she too heard the steady drone of a vehicle. Turning, she sent a hand signal to one of the warriors in front of the group. He bolted back toward her at a full run.
“Take the women and children, get them up there behind those boulders!” she growled. The warrior nodded. Bevin motioned for his men to take up position while the village warriors spread out behind bushes, rocks, and trees, blending in and disappearing from sight. Millicent looked at Bevin as she drew an arrow from the clutch on her back and nocked it onto her bowstring.
“I’ll head high,” she muttered before sprinting off toward a hill. Bevin watched her go then turned and made his way behind a large boulder.
He watched the four-wheeler come up over the crest of the hill and recognized it immediately. His heart sank as it pulled closer. He held up his hand, signaling to his men and the warriors to stand down. Climbing out from behind the boulder he walked toward the slow-moving off-road vehicle. It came to a stop in front of him. He gazed down at Jorin and smiled before resting his eyes on the woman driving.
“Delagnes? What happened?” Bevin asked, lifting Jorin from the seat and setting the little boy on the ground.
Delagnes caught his eye. “Rysa, the Honor Guard attacked it, setting it on fire and burning it to the ground,” she sighed, a sob hitching in her throat.
Bevin’s heart jolted with fear and anger. “What? Why?” he growled.
Delagnes wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. She was relieved to have found Bevin but also terrified of what she’d left behind. For days she’d been trailing Bevin, following the map Odo had given her. Fear kept her from sleeping much at night and driving her to push herself tiredly through the days. “Because of Kael and Zyla. Because they escaped and the Elites suspected the villagers of helping them,” she replied wearily.
She swayed on her feet and he reached out gently to steady her. “Come sit,” he said as he led her toward a downed tree. He grabbed little Jorin’s hand and sat him beside her. From the corner of his eye, he saw Millicent descending the hill she’d just climbed.
“We don’t have time to rest, Bevin,” Delagnes moaned. “The Honor Guard is heading this way. They have been ordered to take the Badlands, to find Kael and Zyla,” she said.
Bevin grimaced. “How many?” he asked.
Delagnes shook her head. “All of them, I think. They came from the city as well as every garrison in the surrounding districts,” she replied.
Bevin swore softly to himself. That meant thousands of soldiers. He and this
handful of men and women wouldn’t stand a chance against them. His second, who had moved up beside him, narrowed his eyes in anger.
“We’ve got to double-time it, warn everyone of this,” he muttered.
Bevin nodded. He knew there was the village, Zone One, where they were headed, but had no clue as to how many people were there. Or, even if they were prepared enough to defend themselves. Damn it he wished Grandfather had told him more about these people. More of what to expect in the Badlands. Growling he turned to his second.
“Get everyone ready, we gotta make a fast push,” he snapped. Glancing at Delagnes, he pondered an idea that flashed in his mind. Walking over, he bent, coming to eye level with her.
“Delagnes? Do you suppose one of my men could use your four-wheeler?” he asked. She lifted her eyes to him and nodded.
“Yes, of course. Why?” she asked.
“Because he can ride ahead and warn the people of the badlands. It will take us two days to get to the nearest village on foot, but with that,” he said and pointed to the monstrosity, “my man can make it by dawn,” he murmured. Delagnes smiled.
“Then yes, yes. By all means, take it, I’m sure Odo wouldn’t mind,” she replied.
Smiling, Bevin stood and motioned for one of the runners. He spoke quickly, pointing to the four-wheeler and then drawing a map in the dirt. The man nodded, grabbed his rucksack, and jumped on the small vehicle, gunning the engine. Within moments, he hopped on, shot a glance at Bevin, and drove off.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kael hugged his sister. Creed lay in the same hospital as Mischa. His wounds were severe, but not life-threatening. Mischa, on the other hand, was still unconscious. The doctor, a kindly man, stood by her bed and explained to both Kael and Zyla her prognosis.
“We’re giving her intravenous antibiotics, but until we find the right combination, we won’t see any improvement,” he muttered. Kael felt his heart slam against his ribs. He turned tortured eyes to his sister who looked silently at Mischa with tears standing in her eyes. Bacterial pneumonia.
“So how long before we’ll know if these antibiotics you are giving her will work?” Kael asked.
The doctor shook his head. “We should know in twenty-four hours. If we see no improvement, then we will need to try something different,” he replied.
What was left unsaid and hanging in the air was that in twenty-four hours she could also be dead. Her fever bordered on 103 degrees and they hadn’t been able to lower it. The infection had gone untreated for too long and her chances were slim, even with the right treatment.
“Can I stay with her?” Kael asked.
The doctor nodded. “I’ll have one of the nurses bring you in a cot,” he replied.
A squeeze gripped his hand as Zyla’s hand tightened on his own. “I’ll stay too,” she whispered.
Kael shook his head. “No, you go see Creed. That man almost died for you,” he muttered.
Although he didn’t care much for Creed and didn’t like his attitude, he did feel indebted to him for bringing his sister safely to the Zone. Turning his face to Zyla, he looked at her with a question in his eyes. “Who’s the other man you were with?”
Zyla smiled. “Ecker, he’s my friend,” she nodded approvingly.
Now was not the time to tell Kael about Ecker. That would come later when things settled down a bit.
Kael nodded. “Okay, we’ll talk more about him later, right?” he asked.
Zyla chuckled. Ever the big brother. Protective and nosy. “Yes, Kael, more about him later,” she replied.
Glancing down at Mischa, Zyla bent and kissed her softly on the forehead. “I’ll check back with you later,” she murmured before leaving the room.
This place amazed her. This village in the middle of nowhere. They had a fully functioning hospital with real doctors and nurses. They had nice homes, gardens planted in every yard, food in what to her was... abundance. The people were happy. This was almost like a dream come true. She had no idea that people lived like this.
When she got to Creed’s room, she quietly slid open the door and peeked in. She saw a nurse, a woman a little older than her, checking his bandages. The nurse looked up and smiled as she entered the room. “He’s gonna be fine. Doc said he’d probably be able to leave in the morning,” she said.
Zyla smiled gratefully toward the other woman. Creed grinned at her from the bed. “See? I told you,” he teased, then winced as the nurse pulled away a bandage on his upper arm and washed his stitched-up wound with an antiseptic wash before redressing it.
Zyla watched with interest. She’d always wanted to learn more about medicine and doctoring. “What is that you are washing with?” she asked.
Her nose caught the sharp scent of the wash and she wrinkled it in disgust.
“It’s an antiseptic mixture. It works well to cleanse away any germs and keep the wound clean,” the nurse replied, capping the brown bottle. “It’s called Betadine,” she finished, holding the bottle up for Zyla to see.
Zyla had never heard of it before but that didn’t surprise her. In Rysa the only medicine they had was herbal, and that was even a rarity. She let her eyes wander around the small room. Everything was clean and neat. In Rysa there was no hospital. Only the garrison clinic where the people could go if they were sick. And that, at best, was dirty on a good day. Half the time the medic wouldn’t even try to treat the ill but rather just tell them to go home and suffer it out. Shaking her head, she pushed the thoughts of Rysa away. She was free now. Never again would she suffer at the hands of the Honor Guard. Her heart broke for those friends she had left behind.
The journey here had been hard, dangerous, and as she looked down on Creed’s now sleeping face, she wondered what would happen next. She wondered if Creed would leave her here now that he’d done what Grandfather had instructed him to do. He’d trained her to be a warrior and guided her across many miles of hard terrain to deliver her here to the Badlands where she would be out of reach of the Elitists. Her heart lurched with pain at the thought of Creed leaving and their time together being over. She couldn’t imagine not seeing his smile or feeling his hand in hers as they walked. He’d been tough with her, sometimes downright hurtful, but she couldn’t imagine her life without him. She’d come to care for Creed but hadn’t dared to think he cared too. Mixed emotions tore at her and she bent her face into her hands.
It was hours later when Kael entered the room. The sun was just setting behind a bank of dark clouds on the horizon. The air smelled like rain. “We’ve been requested by someone named Old Man for a meeting,” he said, an expression of worry pinching his brow.
Zyla got up from the chair she’d been sitting on and stretched her back tiredly. She glanced at Creed, his face relaxed as he slept deeply. “Old Man?” she whispered.
Kael nodded. It was as much of a mystery to him as it was to her. She followed him out of the room and into the hallway where she saw another man waiting for them.
The man smiled warmly at her. “Nice to meet you, Zyla,” he said as he extended his hand to hers. He grasped her warm hand gently.
“You are?” she asked.
The man grinned and cut his eyes toward Kael. “I’m Roswald,” he chuckled.
Zyla looked at Kael who was smiling as if privy to some inside joke he shared with this man.
“Okay, so I guess it’s off to see this old man?” Zyla asked.
“Old Man, that’s his name,” he replied.
The house Roswald led them to was a nondescript little cottage that more or less blended in with the cottages on either side of it. He walked up to the front door while Kael and Zyla stood at the dirt edge of the lawn, rapped lightly on the door, and motioned for the two to follow him.
“Stop looking so worried, Old Man just wants to have a chat with you two,” he murmured.
Zyla cast a glance at her brother before following him into the house. She stopped and let her eyes adjust to the dim light and jumped when she heard a husk
y voice greet her.
“Welcome, both of you,” a voice echoed, followed by the appearance of an old man, the oldest she’d ever seen, stood just on the edge of the shadows.
Behind her, Kael let out a shout of joy as he saw another man following close behind the ancient one. “Aeryn! Oh my heavens! I thought you were dead!” Kael yelled joyously as he pushed past his sister and folded the other man into a tight hug.
Zyla stood looking around, confusion on her face as she tried to take in what was going on. She quickly thought back to Rysa and couldn’t place ever seeing this man there.
“I thought I was dead too my friend, but I guess fate had other ideas,” Aeryn replied.
The old man stood watching the three of them and a huge smile emerged on his wrinkled face.
“Okay, my children,” he said with a chuckle, “come with me, let’s find a comfortable seat and talk,” he suggested as he ushered them into the living room.
He noticed Zyla hanging back with an odd look on her face so he grabbed her hand gently. “C’mon dear, you’re safe here,” he murmured.
After providing each with a cup of tea, sweetened with honey, Old Man sat down in a soft and comfortable chair. He listened as Aeryn and Kael talked quietly and let his eyes rest on Zyla. She looked so much like her great-grandmother that it just about took his breath away. The same flashing eyes, strong jaw, and turned up nose. Even her hair was the same color as her great-grandmother’s had been when she was younger. In fact, it was like staring at a younger version of Baylin. Except, Zyla lacked the hard bitterness that always had shadowed Baylin’s eyes.
Shaking his head, he coughed lightly to get everyone’s attention. “Zyla, Kael? Let me introduce myself,” he finally interjected. He mused for a moment how to talk to them but finally settled in his mind that he may as well just come out with it.
“I am your great-grandfather,” he blurted out, nearly shouting.
