by DJ Cooper
Zyla gasped in surprise and Kael’s eyes widened as he protectively grabbed her hand, a stormy expression darkening his features.
He had expected the shock and anger he saw. Before either could launch into voicing their emotions, he held up his hand. “Please, let me explain.”
He sat and motioned for them to do the same. An exhausted sigh escaped, and he reached for his bandana to wipe the bead of sweat that had begun to trickle down his temple. Big leathery hands combed through his hair and he paused before looking up at their wide and questioning eyes. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he mused.
“You could start with why everyone left us to nearly die, time and time again in that village,” Zyla spat. Her arms crossed in front of her, she would have no part of this.
The look of pain shot through the old man’s expression. “You’re right of course,” he said. “We should have done something sooner. Perhaps when you hear the whole story you will understand some of what was happening.”
He sighed and began, “Long ago I lived in the city.”
Both of them gasped and he put his hands up for them to quiet and listen.
“I lived in the city with my wife….” he looked up at them. “Her name was Asha,” he continued.
Kael knew who Asha was but didn’t react. The old man continued.
“I made a huge mistake and it cost me everything,” he said, hanging his head. “I chose to spend time with Baylin, and this drove a wedge between Asha and me.” Kael began to speak but the old man continued. “This was before the social score went so off before there was even a so-called class system. We’d survived the war and had set up with other survivors in the city along with the small outposts surrounding it for watches and resources, one of these is now Rysa,” he said and paused to take a long drink from his tea.
“You see,” he began again looking right at them. “The social score is what started the wars. The classes, and the widely swaying emotions on such things, created a climate of hate. I have never forgotten the woman who, in only weeks before the war had brandished a knife, stabbing a woman because she failed to have her dog leashed. Screaming that it was socially ignorant, and she needed to be in jail. Extreme cases like this, where everyone thought others were responsible for the whole, led to the social score. When a person failed to leash a pet or missed a trash can, they were fined social points. These would forbid travel, cost people in financial situations, and then their status in the community.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair.
“We know about the score, ours is barely enough to stay breathing,” Kael said.
“It wasn’t always like that,” Old Man replied.
“What made it that way?” Zyla asked.
“I don’t really know,” the old man admitted. “I do know that the war was started by someone who, like the woman with a knife, lashed out at their perception of unfairness and killed a young boy simply because he wore a necklace with a cross on it.” He shook his head and wiped his brow again. “The wars were neighbor against neighbor, town against town,” he groaned. “Finally, other countries got involved and eventually we were left with devastation. In the city, there were those that thought the social score should be used to ensure that those who were in the small settlements didn’t come trying to take up space in the city and suddenly we were back at square one.
“How could they after all that?” Zyla exclaimed. “How could you?” she scowled.
“Oh no, no, no… I didn’t agree with that,” the old man said, raising his hands.
“I don’t understand,” Kael said, so why are you here? Why didn’t you come and save us?”
“Recall I spoke of a mistake?” he asked. “Asha and I argued over the social score. I swore I’d have no part in it and walked out. Baylin was waiting for me, she hated Asha. I didn’t know about their issues when they were younger. I was angry with Asha and went home with Baylin that night.” He sat shaking his head and put it into his hands and began to sob.
Kael and Zyla looked at one another silently and waited for him to come back to the moment and tell them more.
He looked at them, tears wetting his cheeks. His voice cracked as he spoke, “I went home the next morning,” he said shaking his head. “I was going to tell her and try to explain, but Baylin had already called her... and my things were outside in a small box. She refused to see me,” he sniffled.
“Look, this whole history lesson and stroll through your guilty past, hasn’t told us a thing,” Zyla snapped at him. “Why did you leave us there?” she shouted standing over him. Kael reached up for her arm and pulled her back to her seat, glaring at her. He wanted to hear the story.
“Honestly?” He put his head down. “I didn’t know, or I’d have sent someone,” he pleaded. “I didn’t even know about your grandfather until you were born. Baylin never told me that your grandfather was born, she didn’t want me to be part of his life for fear I would teach him to hate the social score. Turned out he did anyway and married a woman from your village. However, when she was still pregnant with your mother Baylin tried to have him killed.”
Zyla gasped, “His own mother? Tried to have him killed?”
The old man nodded, “It wasn’t until after this that I found out through a messenger from the village who he was. Of course, Baylin had disowned him when he went to Rysa. It was only through a phone call that she was overheard by a servant who sent the message about his identity.
He escaped the village and Baylin didn’t know your grandmother was with child. A friend stepped up and claimed her, however, grandfather made sure her mark was one of status and she was given his social score status but kept a secret.” He shook his head side to side, “So many secrets then.”
He rose and walked slowly to the table to refill his tea, while Kael and Zyla watched him silently waiting for him to get to them.
He returned to his chair, ran his fingers through his hair, and looked at them pausing on the back of his neck. “The tattoos began before the war and after they were used to keep track of those who’d survived, eventually turning into status.”
He turned around and lifted the hair on the back of his neck, showing them the symbol that matched his own. Kael reached for the back of his neck, “We’ve never seen any like ours in the village and mother always made us keep it covered,” he exclaimed.
The old man nodded to them, and the realization of what this meant began to grow. “Your mother’s birth was kept a secret from Baylin because it would mean that her precious social score had a blemish. Grandfather wanted to get you from the village and had been working to do so but the Honor Guard… They watched you two. Someone told Baylin about your mother and eventually you as well. That was why life was so hard, but as long as your mother was alive, she was a threat. You two proved to be much stronger than she thought.”
“But….” Zyla protested.
“But why didn’t we come and get you?”
“Yes.”
“It was in the works but then Kael killed Akakin and was sent to the arena. There were simply too many in the Honor Guard to rescue you, every attempt ended in execution. We couldn’t just keep sending people to get killed, we had to have a plan. Eventually, Asha helped us and it all came together, Grandfather had to send you each out separately to keep the guard split. They stayed behind to protect your escape. I only hope they will be here soon; we’ve had reports of soldiers still chasing you. She will stop at nothing to protect her damn score!” His voice raised in anger and his hand slammed down onto the glass table. “Even try to have her own son, my son, killed.” He stood and paced across the floor. “We have a surprise for her, I’ll tell you,” he said, turning back to them. “You will prove her status and end this damn social class and social score forever.”
Kael and Zyla sat staring at the old man without words for a moment. “Mother knew?” Kael finally asked.
“Yes, she knew. But she was trapped... just like you.”
Kael and Zyla sat
silently looking at him, He watched them for reaction and was curious if they had anything else they wanted to know, but the two were silently considering all he’d said while staring blankly into their glasses.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The young soldier drove like a wild man; dodging boulders, downed trees, and treacherous corners to accomplish his mission. A sense of importance, one that Bevin drilled into him, clung to his thoughts like tangled webs. Fear of failure rode shotgun by his side as he pushed the four-wheeler to the absolute limit of its speed. He breached the gates of the village in the wee hours of the morning, the light still hours away. Bringing the screaming engine to silence, he glanced up at the sentries on the top of the wooden wall.
“Hail! Hear me?” he yelled.
A voice shouted back. “We hear you! State your business!”
He paused for a moment, swallowing a fearful lump in his throat. Although he couldn’t see the men above him, he could feel the bull's eye on him. “I bring news! Important news! I need to speak to whoever is in charge,” he yelled.
At first, he thought those above would gain him no entry. He feared they would launch whatever weapons they had against him. “What is this news? And who sent you?” a voice echoed through the darkness.
“A commander, his name is Bevin!” He paused and heard nothing. “I come from Rysa and I am traveling with the Keepers of the Light. Your village is about to come under attack, I am here to warn you,” he explained, his voice cracking from fatigue and thirst.
He waited. Silence filled the air. As he was about to shout again, he heard the clanking of rusty hinges and the squeal of protest as the large gate was slid open for him to enter. Breathing a sigh of relief, he pushed the four-wheeler through the gate.
Two men met him inside the gate and he offered no resistance when they roughly frisked him for weapons. Finding one sidearm, his rifle, and two military knives, they stripped him of them.
“Who is this that you say is going to attack us?” a low voice growled. He turned his head and stared directly into the coldest pair of eyes he’d ever seen.
“The Honor Guard. Both from the capital city and from the outlying village districts. They’ve already burned the village of Rysa and now they are marching here,” he replied. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and his stomach churned uneasily.
“And why would they be coming here? To the Badlands? It is out of their territory,” the sentry replied.
“Because they are looking for two people. A man and his sister, and they will stop at nothing to find them,” he replied. He watched as the sentry's facial expression changed quickly, going from bored interest to intense anger.
“Come with me!” the sentry snapped and grabbed him by his arm.
Before they left, the sentry turned to the other guard. “Get Roswald now!” he snapped.
The man led him through the quiet streets quickly. It was dizzying with all the lefts and rights they took. He finally stopped in front of a little cottage that sat nestled among some trees. The sentry tapped lightly on the door and waited. It wasn’t long before the door opened, and the silhouette of an old man stood in the doorway with the light of an oil lamp behind him. The sentry nodded twice and then turned and motioned for the rider to come onto the porch.
“Tell him what you told me,” he commanded. He nervously repeated what Bevin had instructed him to say. The man in front of him, eyes that cut through him with sharp intelligence, nodded.
“Come in, you must be weary,” he said after he finished. Glancing at the sentry he smiled. “Have you informed Roswald of this?” he asked. The sentry nodded.
“Yes sir, I’ve already sent for him,” he replied.
“Good, send him over to me when he’s ready,” he replied. The old man then glanced in the direction of the rider who looked almost terrified. “You, why don’t you rest a bit and I’ll fix you a warm drink. Coffee?”
“Yes sir, please,” he replied as he folded himself down onto a chair. Tiredness crept over his body and he struggled against heavy eyelids. Soon his head dipped and swayed as a light doze forced his eyes shut.
Old Man smiled as he turned to give the young soldier his coffee and found him sleeping lightly, his head on the table. Setting the cup down on the counter he walked to the front door, opened it, and watched Roswald walk toward him in the dark. Closing the door behind himself, Old Man moved to one of the wooden chairs on the porch and sat. If what the young soldier said was true, then they would have to prepare the village for the attack. His mind spun with all that would need doing, and when Roswald sat on the chair next to him, Old Man turned his face toward him and smiled bleakly.
“We got war coming,” he murmured.
Roswald nodded. He felt a coldness push through his veins and a chill goosebump his arms. “I’ll send runners. If what that young soldier says is true, then we are going to need all the men we can get to fight them off,” Roswald replied.
The old man nodded. “Also send out a small party to bring Commander Bevin and his group in safely,” he instructed.
Roswald silently nodded. His soldiers were ready for this fight, he knew, they’d been training and gathering forces for years. But still, it had been an awfully long time since any threat had come their way. Training to fight versus the real fighting were two completely different things. Turning his eyes to the old man, he grimaced. “So did that young buck in there say how many or when we could expect this army?” he asked.
Old Man chuckled. “Nope, he did not,” he replied.
Roswald groaned. “Then I guess we’ll be calling in every available man and woman we have. This is shaping up to be looking like an exceedingly long day.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The village people moved as one, with one purpose only. Old Man, at the center of the beehive of activity, directed and shouted orders. Trucks were loaded with supplies and disappeared through the gates. Women gathered up children, household items, and other items that they would need for an extended stay in the nearby mountains. Word of the imminent attack had spread throughout the village like a wild and raging fire but strangely most everyone remained calm and worked with purpose. They had all planned for this, trained for this and the move was executed with a military smoothness.
Zyla sat by Creed’s bedside, part of her attention on him, part of her attention on the activity around her. The doctors, nurses, aides, and even the housekeeping staff were busily packing supplies and getting patients ready to move. Her head spun with confusion. So much had been revealed, and most of what Old Man had told her and Kael was shocking. In the past few months, her life had changed drastically and left her almost breathless. She glanced at Creed and felt her heart soften. She loved him. Plain and simple. She’d fallen under the spell of love; it was there although she couldn’t figure out how or when it had happened. But she doubted he felt the same way about her. In fact, most of the time he treated her as an annoying little sister. And little sister she was not! Reaching her hand out, she smoothed the hair hanging over his brow and pulled her hand back quickly when he opened his eyes.
“You’re awake?” she murmured, feeling her face flush.
Creed smiled. “Been awake but you seemed so deep in thought that I didn’t want to bother you,” he replied.
Wincing in pain, he pushed himself into a sitting position. The noise of the activity outside the door caught his attention and he shook his head. “What’s going on?” he asked.
Zyla stood up and poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside stand and handed it to him. “The village has had word that the Honor Guard is heading this way. They burned Rysa, Creed,” she said, her voice cracking with unshed tears. She hadn’t had time to really process the information, so much hitting her all at once.
Creed growled with anger. “And they are coming here?”
Zyla nodded. “Yes, the villagers are preparing to move out to the mountains. The soldiers will stay and fight,” she replied.
W
hat she didn’t tell him was that she intended on staying as well. She had discussed it with Kael, and although he tried to fight her on it, wanting her to go to safety with the villagers, she’d made up her mind. She believed that if not for her and Kael, the Honor Guard would not be coming here. It was their fault that Rysa had been burned to the ground and their fault that now this village was in danger. She would stay and fight. She owed the villagers that. The hospital staff would move Creed and Mischa to safety, she would not be following. It startled her when Creed swung his legs over the edge of the bed. She rushed to his side as he shakily stood on wobbly legs and grabbed his arm to steady him.
“What are you doing?” she squeaked.
Creed shrugged her hands away. “I’m getting up, I’m not staying in this bed like some invalid!” he hissed.
Zyla shook her head. “You’re still weak, you need to let others fight this fight, Creed,” she pleaded, watching him as he searched for his clothing.
He clumsily rifled through the bag at the bottom of the closet, pulling out his clothing. Zyla watched helplessly, knowing from the set of his jaw, the determined glint in his eyes, that he would not be talked out of leaving the hospital. He whipped his head around and glanced at her.
“You need to be ready to leave. I don’t want to have to worry about you being here when the Honor Guard attacks,” he said softly.
Zyla shook her head. “No, I’m staying. This is my fight too,” she replied.
Anger darkened his eyes and she could see the fury in his expression. She steeled herself for the argument she knew was coming. “No,” he replied, straightening up, “You are not staying to fight. You are going with the villagers. I didn’t drag your ass all the way across those godforsaken mountains for you to be captured or killed in the safety zone!” he growled, his tone deadly.
Zyla sucked in an angry breath, feeling her stomach clench. Her eyes flashed with fury. “You don’t get to tell me what to do! You did your job and got me safely here and I guess that’s all that matters. All that I mean to you is a job well done! Well, let me tell you something Creed! You are not my keeper, I will do as I want and you nor my pig-headed brother are going to stop me!” she yelled, her fury now at a full and rolling boil.
