by DJ Cooper
“Commander, did you hear me?” his second asked.
Bevin shook his head. “I’m sorry, didn’t even see you come up beside me,” he muttered. The other man smiled a knowing smile then looked over at Millicent who’d fallen a step or two behind.
“I said, we got company heading our way, our forward scouts saw a group of soldiers about two miles in the direction we are headed,” he said quietly, keeping his voice low intentionally so as not to scare the others. Bevin stopped and swore softly under his breath.
“Honor Guard?” he asked.
His second shook his head. “No, not wearing the Honor Guard uniforms. But, they, whoever they are, are carrying heavy,” he replied.
“Okay, we’ll meet them head-on. I’ll reroute the group,” Bevin replied.
He glanced over his shoulder to Millicent and motioned for her to come forward. When she stopped beside him, he looked worriedly into her eyes. “We’ve got company coming toward us, not Honor Guard, perhaps soldiers of the village? I don’t know, but we gotta take these people,” he said, nodding back toward the group who had all come to a halt a few yards behind him, “and get them off this trail,” he instructed.
Millicent’s eyes hardened. “Leave it to me, I’ll get them into the woods,” she replied, her voice curt, all business. Turning, she made her way back to the women.
Bevin glanced at his second and shook his head. “Okay, go give the order,” he growled. Glancing toward Millicent once more, he watched as she and the women sprang into action. Soon the entire group disappeared into the surrounding woods.
Millicent
Millicent pushed the group hard through the woods. Her mind spun with memories as a tight fear gripped her heart. Turning, she motioned for several women. “Spread out behind us. If you see any soldiers following, kill them!” she snapped.
The eight women, all warriors, nodded and disappeared into the forest. Millicent turned her attention back to the group and sighed wearily. She knew what would happen to them if they were captured. She knew the horrors that the Honor Guard would subject them to. And honestly, she would rather see every one of them dead than to have to face that. Her eyes filled with tears as she glanced at the little faces of the children, the pinched expressions of the women. Her life had not always been with these people. These women she now thought of as her sisters and the children she thought of as her own family. She spied her blood sister up ahead and wondered if she were having the same thoughts, the same memories of a time long ago. Wondered if the memories haunted her also.
Their village, her village, had been far to the north, much further than Rysa. It was her home before Grandfather had found her and her sister wandering in the wilds, half-starved and nearly dead. It was during the beginning when the great cleansing was taking place. Cleansing! A bitter bile rose up in her throat. It wasn’t a cleansing; it was a systematic extermination. She had been so young then and her sister even younger. She remembered how the soldiers had moved into their village. She and her sister had hidden behind a trap door in the wall of her parent’s house. The horror of what she saw would never leave her.
Her mother’s screams had shattered the air, as she was disemboweled by one of the soldiers then shot in each leg so that she wouldn’t be able to crawl away. Her baby brother stuck on the end of a sword as his pitiful cries dwindled to silence. Her older sister, gang-raped as soldiers lined up, one after the other to take their turn. And her father, with his gentle Christian ways and his warm brown eyes, kneeling with his hands tied behind his back, forced to watch the torture before finally a soldier put a bullet in the back of his head.
Once the soldiers left, the village was razed with fire and destruction. Millicent grabbed her sister and ran into the woods, not knowing where to go, not knowing what to do. She remembered how they’d wandered for days in shock, thirsty and hungry; terrified that the soldiers would find them. But they hadn’t, Grandfather had. And he led them on many week’s journeys, bringing them to safety to live with the Keepers of the Light. She owed these people everything, she owed them her life. With a sob trapped in her throat, fighting the nausea that the pain of the memories brought, she pushed herself and the group harder. She would be damned if she would let them suffer the tortures which her own family had seen so long ago.
Bevin stilled his breathing as he watched the small group move forward. He saw they wore uniforms, military-style but didn’t know which army they were attached to. He saw the group stop and the lead man hold up his hand. Then a shout reached his ears.
“We mean you no harm.” Bevin froze, his eyes communicating to the men nearest him not to move.
“We are from Zone One,” the voice shouted. Bevin looked at his second in command and nodded. Standing, he moved out of the thick brush, his men at the ready just in case. Standing on a patch of the rocky trail he waited for the group to move forward. When the leader reached him, Bevin nodded and gazed into the other man’s cold blue eyes.
“Are you Bevin?” the man asked.
Bevin nodded. He saw a smile of relief light the other man’s face. “I’m Mikah, we’ve come from Zone One, pleased to meet you,” the man said, introducing himself.
Bevin shook his outstretched hand. He saw Mikah glanced over his shoulder with an expression of confusion on his face. “We heard you had more people with you?” he questioned.
Bevin nodded. “They are here, you just don’t see them,” he replied.
Mikah grinned. “Ahhhh, good job then,” he said then smiled.
Bevin motioned for his men to come forward and introductions were made. He listened as Mikah told him of the Zone One Village, of Old Man, and of how Bevin’s runner had informed them of the trouble heading their way. “Old Man wanted to make sure you and your group made it safely to our village,” Mikah finished.
Bevin felt a rush of relief and gratitude at hearing this. That meant that they would be welcomed into the village. He then filled Mikah in on how close the Honor Guard was and how the warriors had split off to slow them down. Mikah’s eyes filled with steely determination as he listened. Bevin then turned to his second and he instructed him to send a few runners into the woods to bring Millicent and her group back.
He issued a stern warning. “Make sure they shout out often if I know Millicent she’s got her warriors positioned in the rear to ensure the group's safety,” he said.
His second grinned. It was exactly what he would do in her position.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kael, Aeryn, Ecker, and a group of soldiers transported weapons by many truckloads into the village from the depot. Upon seeing the massive building with its rooms filled with every weapon imaginable, Kael looked on in shock. When Aeryn had told him about the place earlier he thought his friend was exaggerating. But seeing it, he couldn’t help but stare with a gaping mouth.
“There is enough here to arm every single man in the world,” he stuttered.
Aeryn grinned. “Well, perhaps not every man in the world, but enough to arm all the soldiers and many others.” Grabbing one side of a large box of ammunition, he motioned for Kael to grab the other. “Stop drooling and get to work,” he teased.
The sun was moving slowly toward the mid-day mark and they still had plenty of equipment that needed moving. As he hauled one box after another, loading them onto the trucks, his mind drifted to Mischa. The expression on her face broke his heart when she was carried by stretcher from the hospital and loaded for transport. He could see the fear in her eyes as he held her hand and murmured his goodbye. Shaking his head, he pushed this thought away. He would see her again; he made a promise to her that he intended to keep.
Back at the village, Zyla and Creed worked on a series of hand weapons. Creed was wrapping arrowheads and shafts with gasoline-soaked rags that Zyla was preparing. Above them on the wooden fortress walls, soldiers were mounting catapults, something called a trebuchet, and hauling up deadly looking round balls of material that when set on fire could be launched at
the enemy. Crude weapons, but effective. Not only would they use modern firepower such as guns and hand grenades, they also employed more ancient tactics such as catapults, bows and arrows, and lastly, pit traps. It was a merging of the old and new.
Zyla looked up, wrinkling her nose from the odor of the gasoline that coated her hands. She watched as a dozen or so soldiers dragged a heavy carpet of spikes across the road and placed it in front of the fortress door. If the Honor Guard managed to push through the heavy door, then their vehicles would be incapacitated by the steel, spiked carpet on this side, causing a bottleneck. Glancing down the main street of the village she saw Old Man walking toward her and Creed. Her heart gave an uneasy thud. So much had been revealed to her and Kael over the past few days. Almost more than she could wrap her mind around. This man, this old man, was the center of her entire existence. She didn’t know how she felt about that. Sighing softly, she handed Creed another gasoline-soaked rag.
Old Man directed the preparations and as he was walking toward the entrance to the village, he spied Zyla and Creed. He made his way toward them.
“Good, good,” he said as he watched Creed prepare his own weapons. Earlier he had offered to have one of his soldiers give them each a quick lesson on how to use the assault rifles at the academy but both had declined the offer saying they had their own weapons they were more skilled and familiar with. He knew from past visits with the Keepers of the Light that their warriors were highly skilled and trained with the more archaic weapons of bows, staffs, knives, and clubs.
“We will be going high, Old Man, that’s where we have our best advantage over the enemy,” Creed said looking up at him.
Old Man smiled and nodded. This young man had taught Zyla well and for that he was grateful. He cast his gaze down at her and his heart filled with warmth. She had turned out to be a beautiful woman. “Carry on, my children,” Old Man said, then stepped off toward another group. There was still so much to do and he feared they were running out of time. Glancing up at the sky he wondered how close the Honor Guard were. He chewed his lip in worry. He hadn’t heard from any of the runners he’d sent out, hadn’t gotten word on where the resistance was, or even if they were making their way toward him. He was sure that they would show up. He just hoped it would be in time to save his village.
By sundown, the entire preparations for war had been made and the village fortified the best it could be. Kael, Zyla, Creed, and Ecker all sat tiredly eating their evening meal. The garrison cook had done a good job of preparing for the many soldiers of the village. A woman, about Zyla’s age, sat with the group. She was in charge of triage and medical. Zyla had helped her throughout the day setting up the small triage area and running supplies from the hospital to supply it. From what the woman told her, there would be a dozen battle-trained medics, two village doctors, and herself treating the wounded. And there would be wounded.
“So, how did you get trained?” Zyla asked her, between mouthfuls of food.
The woman smiled. “Well, it’s not formal schooling, if that’s what you’re asking,” she replied, “I wanted to become a nurse so I asked Old Man if I could study under one of the doctors. He thought it was a great idea and set up a program for me and others who wanted to learn medicine and other skills,” the woman replied.
Zyla’s eyes shone with hunger as the woman spoke. She had always dreamed of learning medicine so that she one day could help the people of her own village. But in Rysa, dreams were squashed early on. Hope rose in her heart hearing this woman’s story. Maybe she could study medicine after all. Maybe she could practice healing after all this was done, if they won this war... she barely dared to imagine how her life would change. She tried not to get her hopes up too much, but the thought had been planted and once again her dream of being a healer reared its head.
“I hope someday I can learn medicine,” she replied. She didn’t see the look of tenderness, the look of pride on Creed’s face when he overheard her.
“You can, after this is all over, I will help you,” the woman replied.
Zyla smiled up at her as she rose from the makeshift table. “Okay, I gotta get back to the medical tent. I’ve still got a lot of organizing to do,” the woman murmured.
Before she turned to leave, she placed her hand gently on Zyla’s shoulder. “I will help you, I promise,” she said kindly.
Zyla nodded and her heart flooded with tender hope that someday this woman would be able to fulfill her promise. But Zyla also was realistic enough to know that tomorrow was never promised, she sighed, picked up her cup, and took a sip of the strong coffee inside of it.
Baylin sat with her legs curled beneath her on the overstuffed easy chair. She gazed out the window and down onto the clean street as twilight drifted across the city. Her mind chewed on the failure of Thindrell to take care of Asha. She hadn’t fallen for his ruse of taking her out for tea. A burning hatred simmered in her heart for the other woman. She would be the last remaining thread that tied Baylin to her past.
She smiled bitterly as she glanced down at the note sent by Thindrell and dropped to her by one of his messengers. They had been successful with the assault on Rysa. The village had been burned to the ground and every remaining survivor exterminated. She had cleansed the nation of one more stain. No one would ever know of the attack and no one would ever know that she had orchestrated the whole plan. She had been very specific with her orders and Thindrell had been more than happy to comply.
His words haunted her ears. “My men need to release a little steam,” he’d said to her as they lay in her bed after an arduous afternoon of lovemaking. The way he’d whispered it, hungrily, savagely was intoxicating. It filled her with cold chills but also a slight admiration. He was like her and she knew it. In his younger years, Thindrell had a reputation for savagery. One that was only kept in check by the social score, and she had turned him loose like a junkyard dog to do her dirty work.
“You exterminate the entire village, then move on and wipe from the face of this earth those savages in the Badlands. The only ones I want to be brought back alive are Kael and Zyla,” she’d told him. What he did with the others she didn’t care, but those two, they were hers. She got up, dragging her nails down his torso, and moved into the kitchen.
Asha, the last remaining thread. She’d have to take care of that one herself.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The first shouts of warning woke Zyla from a sound sleep and were followed by explosions that rocked the ground. She jumped out of bed, her heart racing, and her throat constricting with fear. She felt Creed’s steady hand on her shoulder as she moved frantically through the darkness.
“It’s time,” he cooed into her ear calmly. He handed her their bows and grabbed the duffel bag stuffed with arrows. She could hear shouts and rushing footsteps in the darkness as Creed led her out into the chaos. Waiting for this had been fraught with tension... but this was worse, far worse. Another explosion rocked the ground beneath her feet and she screamed as the center of the village was lit with a fiery light. Creed gripped her hand tightly as they ran for the fortress wall and began climbing.
“You stay beside me!” he shouted as he hauled her up behind him.
The Honor Guard was unleashing mortars into the village and the soldiers atop the wall were falling like logs of wood as shrapnel, shards of wood, and bullets tore into them. Screams erupted amid the smoke and haze, as the village soldiers unleashed the catapult with its fiery missiles down onto the enemy. The smell of charred bodies wafted through the air. To his left, Creed saw Old Man directing groups of soldiers, his arms waving wildly as he shouted orders above the noise of the explosions and gunfire. Already bodies littered the ground, some still alive and screaming in pain while others lay still as death took them. He grabbed Zyla’s face, turning her eyes toward him as he watched an expression of horror cross her face. A man below her position had been struck down, his intestines spilling out of a gaping hole in his belly.
“Focus!” he growled.
Zyla nodded. Tears shone in her eyes as she nocked the first arrow onto her bowstring and lit the bundle of rags on the end of it with the small pile of tinder Creed had ignited in the pot beside them. She steeled her gaze on a truck that held a minigun in the bed of it with two Honor Guard soldiers manning it. With a deep breath, she zeroed in on them and let her arrow fly.
Kael, Aeryn, and Ecker moved as one with their group. Taking up a position outside of the fortress wall, they hunkered down low in one of the ditches. Pulling his rifle to his shoulder, Kael looked up on the wall and groaned in misery. The Honor Guard was pounding the hell outta the wall with mortars and gunfire, as well as lobbing hand grenades at it. He knew, as heavy as the structure was, it would not hold up to that kind of firepower. He turned and glanced at Aeryn a few feet away, and even through the darkness could see the fear in the other man’s eyes.
He slid his body sideways to get closer. “We’ve got to take out those vehicles,” he shouted.
Aeryn nodded, pulling his backpack toward him, Kael reached in and grabbed several bricks of explosives, shoving two at Aeryn and two at Ecker.
“Okay boys, we know what to do,” he muttered, as he got to his hands and knees and crawled toward the nearest Honor Guard vehicle. He held his breath, waiting for a bullet to slam into him as he crawled. It was a suicide mission, and he knew it. But that didn’t stop him from volunteering for it. Earlier in the day, he’d talked to Creed about it, making him promise not to utter a word to Zyla and also making him swear to God that should he die, Creed would always look after his sister and Mischa.
