Children of Enochia

by Luke R. Mitchell

  I actually felt bad for them. Not that they gave me much of a choice.

  I watched with a kind of morbid fascination, an outsider to my own body, as I dipped and twisted clear of innumerable grabbing hands and wild punches—my fists, elbows, knees, and boots all lashing out so fast I almost had trouble believing they all belonged to me alone. I felt the impacts of blows falling, felt the jarring in my own fists and feet, saw the same look of surprise in each face that stepped forward, sure they’d caught me only to find themselves crashing to the floor or into an oak table the next instant.

  I’d never fought so smoothly in my life. Not that I wasn’t still taking my fair share of hits too. But they all felt oddly distant—like my senses were too busy with the dance of weaving fists to properly register the pain right then.

  I was vaguely aware of Johnny yelling something nearby, but I couldn’t spare much more focus than a glance. He was on a bench behind our overturned table, shouting into his palmlight while kicking to fend off a pair of burly men trying to grab him. Apparently done with his palmlight business, Johnny curled his fingers closed, shouted, “You spilled my sweetfizz, you goat-groppers!” and scored a firm groin kick on one.

  My senses spun me clear of an incoming strike, and I almost staggered when I realized it was a knife I’d narrowly avoided. I kept rotating, caught the would-be killer with an elbow to the temple, drove a hosa kick back into his neighbor who thought to catch me distracted, then found the knife and buried it deep into the plastwall ceiling with telekinesis.

  I spun to meet the next enemy only to find there was no next enemy, or none that felt like taking a shot, at least. More weapons had appeared—knives, hardsteel knuckles, and even a few wooden stools held as unwieldy clubs—but for the moment, their owners all just watched warily. I looked around for Captain Man Glare, wondering if he would rouse them to a second push, and realized he lay unmoving in an overturned mess of tables and chairs I didn’t even remember having slammed him into.

  Noticing that the rest of the action had paused, Johnny and the guy he was wrestling with pushed apart to return to their respective sides in truce—at least until the guy took an impromptu swipe.

  Johnny ducked it and shoved him back into his camp. “Beardsplitter move, broto.”

  That action alone seemed to rekindle reckless thoughts in some of the onlookers. Luckily, before anyone could work up the courage to lead the next charge, backup arrived.

  “Party’s over people,” rumbled a low voice from the direction of the tavern entrance.

  I followed the sound and was relieved to see my favorite mountain of a legionnaire, Edwards, marching our way. He had two tavern-goers pinned by the necks, one under each arm, and was dragging the burly men along like they were nothing but unruly children. Behind him, more of the 51st Hounds were pushing into the tavern, brandishing stun rods and weapons grade back the grop off stares.

  For a few tense moments, the crowd hesitated. Then they parted without a word, some of them drifting off toward the back exit like they thought the legionnaires might not notice at all if they simply moved slowly enough.

  “You two okay?” Edwards asked as he drew up to us, still dragging along his two head-locked passengers.

  Johnny tilted his head at a burly bald man picking himself up from beside our table, clutching at his groin. “Well, that guy owes me a drink, but other than that…”

  Edwards grinned and only then seemed to remember the men tucked under his arms. He released the pair, who straightened and rubbed at their necks with indignant expressions. Edwards just hooked a thumb in silent invitation for them to beat it—which, after a traded glance, they did. Rapidly. Edwards watched them go, shaking his head, then turned back and surveyed the trail of brawlers we’d laid out across the tavern floor—some apparently unconscious, others just stewing in the pain or slowly trying to pick themselves up.

  “We can’t leave you two alone for five minutes, can we?”

  “To be fair,” Johnny said, “this place kinda sucks.”

  Still grinning, Edwards gestured for us to follow him, but I was still stuck in place, staring at the men I’d reduced to groaning heaps and the crowd of onlookers who were watching me like I was an alien entity that might explode at any moment. Behind the bar, the WAN caster was just finishing her update on Haldin Raish, Demon of Divinity.

  “How did they know?” I asked quietly, more to myself than to Johnny or Edwards.

  “We should probably figure that out back in the safety of our own fortress,” Johnny said, eyeing the sea of unsettled spectators. “And maybe find you a publicist while we’re at it.”

  “Come on, kid,” Edwards added, waving for me to join them. “Let’s get back to Haven.”

  I forced my feet to move.

  Johnny fell in beside me. “So when we tell this story,” he said quietly, “I think it’s only fair we say ol’ Johnny did half the work here, agreed?”

  He was just trying to pull me out of my head and lighten the mood after what had just happened, I knew. I tried to smile, but I couldn’t seem to move past all those shocked, distrustful stares, and all the hatred flowing from them. No more than I could stop thinking about how good it had felt in the moment to let myself go and wipe the walls with their ignorant asses.

  The very people I’d been fighting to protect all this time, and all they wanted was to see me hang. Had they not been paying attention when I’d equipped the Legion to retake Oasis from the raknoth and turn the tide of the hybrid war? Did they not understand what I’d sacrificed?

  I halted just short of the exit and turned back to face them before I could stop myself.

  “You people… You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

  They watched me, and I could see the fear in their eyes. They didn’t care what I’d been through. Didn’t care that I’d lost my parents, lost Carlisle. Didn’t care that I’d lost my freedom and any semblance of a normal life just so I could bleed in the fight to stop the raknoth from turning the entire population of Enochia into livestock. They didn’t understand. Never would. Not even if I spelled it out for them. To them, I was a demon, and they just wanted me gone.

  So I turned for the exit and didn’t look back.

  Outside, any notion of finding a moment’s peace was quickly washed away by the buzzing sirens of incoming enforcers.

  “Alpha’s wrinklies,” Johnny groaned as the first of the tan and black skimmers rounded into view a few blocks down the dull gray line of permacrete buildings, red lights flashing.

  “Not for five minutes,” Edwards reaffirmed, shaking his head.

  I watched the enforcers approaching, thinking that I should feel angry. But I just felt tired. Plain tired. How else was I supposed to feel? The persecution was relentless. Never ending. To think I’d actually believed it might get better when we’d exposed High General Kublich and the raknoth, and then again when I’d helped the Legion win their war...

  It had been a dream. A dream based in a world where people used their eyes and their brains to see and understand what was actually happening in front of them rather than blindly following the dogmatic word of a holy man who wouldn’t deign to even leave his White Tower to see with his own two eyes who and what he condemned to damnation.

  The first three enforcer skimmers set down nearby and promptly began disgorging armed pairs of grim-faced men and women who looked ready to see that that holy man’s will was done—although none of them seemed in any rush to hop to it before the rest of their considerable reinforcements began touching down.

  “Get to the transport, kid,” Edwards said beside me.

  I was about to ask him what transport when it crested the permacrete highrise above the tavern and began a hasty descent toward us.

  “Dillard’s orders,” Edwards added unnecessarily as the transport touched down and Ordo Dillard himself came striding down the rear ramp at a brisk pace.

  Elise was right on his heels, wearing one of those worried looks that I see
med to put on her face a little too often. When they reached us, I gratefully accepted Elise’s hug, but kept my eyes on Dillard over her shoulder. The ordo scanned the scene, weighing his options. He didn’t look happy, but I was also pretty sure the displeasure wasn’t particularly directed at me.

  “Ordo Dillard,” one of the enforcers called from the cover of their skimmers, “we have orders to apprehend the apostate Haldin Raish. We ask that you step away and allow us to proceed.”

  Edwards gave an amused huff, like he would’ve enjoyed seeing the enforcers try to take me away. Dillard hushed him with a look before turning to me. I waited patiently for his order. Rough as our working relationship had been at the start—admittedly thanks to my own stubbornness more than to any fault of his—I’d come to trust Dillard after everything we’d been through. He was a good man and a good ordo, and I was pretty sure he had my back.

  Either way, I was done making messes of these things myself.

  “Get on the transport, Citizen Raish,” Dillard said, tilting his head that way.

  I didn’t hesitate. I turned with Elise and Johnny and started walking, not stopping when I felt the lead enforcers tensing behind us.

  “Ordo Dillard,” their speaker called, “if you disregard our orders—”

  “Do you mind explaining where those orders came from, Enforcer?” Dillard called back.

  I glanced back only long enough to see the enforcer’s wary look as he glanced from Dillard to me, and back. “Our orders come from the Central Justice, sir, as I’m sure you already know.”

  “Hmm,” Dillard said. “The Central Justice. Well, last I checked, you serve the Legion in times of war, which is exactly what this is, according to the Central Justice. And I have a Legion order right here that says Haldin Raish is to be returned to Haven, alive and unharmed.”

  “With all due respect, I believe settling the proper jurisdiction may be above our pay grade here, sir. If you’d prefer to help us escort Citizen Raish to the Central Justice, I’m sure we could…”

  I couldn’t hear what Dillard said, but I could feel that he’d closed ground with the enforcer, and I could only imagine it wasn’t to trade his favorite goja berry pie recipe. I suppose I could’ve looked back or reached out to better hear what passed between them, but I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know. Right then—plodding up the ramp with Elise’s hand in mine, the aching aftermath of my first tavern brawl beginning to well and truly burn across my knuckles and forearms and torso and pretty much everywhere else—all I really wanted was to get back to Haven and crawl peacefully back into my sad little prison.

  At least until I finished scanning the line of seated legionnaires and saw Dex sitting beside Four in the rear corner of the cabin with his hands bound behind his back, and my surprise pawed aside my somber fatigue.

  I looked confusedly from him to Elise. “You kidnapped Dex?”

  She directed a hard look at the weasley fix-it man. “Only after he tried to kidnap us.”

  I stiffened. “What?! Are you okay?”

  “We’re fine,” she said, guiding me down to one of the seats across from Four and Dex. “Like I said, we can handle one weasel. Especially one who thinks a couple locks are enough to keep me and Four stuck in a back alley hidey hole.”

  “Rookie move, broto,” Johnny said, shaking his head at Dex.

  The fix-it man gave a series of indignant grunts through his gag, and his shoulders and head heaved animatedly, as if he were trying to talk with his bound hands but the effort was simply migrating up the kinetic chain.

  “Did you learn anything from him?” I asked.

  “Not really,” Elise said. “We’re still trying to figure out if he actually knows anything or if we should just turn him over to the enforcers.”

  I hooked a thumb in the direction of Dillard and his new pals. “I bet those fine peacekeepers out there would be happy to take someone back to the Central Justice right now.”

  I doubted anyone was actually thinking about simply handing him over to the enforcers without asking more questions first, but Dex didn’t need to know that.

  Elise shrugged. “Ehhh, he must at least have some way to get in contact with our two raknoth if he thought it was worth trying to kidnap us.” She shot him a look. “He wouldn’t be stupid enough to do something like that on a whim.”

  Dex favored her with an unwieldy sneer from behind his gag, but I was pretty sure there was a hint of murderous glare in his eyes. He knew something. Maybe. Or maybe he was just angry at having run up against an opponent he clearly didn’t understand. Alpha knew I had the aches and bruises to prove that people tended to fear—and sometimes frantically pummel—what they didn’t understand.

  “Well,” I said slowly, “I’m sure he’ll be willing to point us the right way once he’s had a chance to think about what would happen to a man willing to sell his planet out to bloodsucking aliens for a few measly coins.”

  Dex mumbled something past his gag that sounded suspiciously like, “Go grop yourself.” Elise let me know with a look and a gentle pressure on my arm that she wanted to speak with me in the more private upper cabin.

  As soon as we were more or less alone, she wrapped me in a much warmer hug, kissing my cheek and stroking my hair with one hand.

  “Are you okay?” she asked softly, still holding me close.

  “Just a few cuts and bruises. I’ll be fine once—”

  “That’s not what I meant, Hal. I’m talking about having an angry mob turn on you. I’m no expert, but I can’t imagine that’s a pleasant feeling.”

  I shrugged, pulling back to show her I could smile about this. “Not really so bad after you’ve experienced the thrill of a hoard of feral hybrids roaring for your blood by name.”

  She searched my face, and I felt my smile cracking under the weight of her scrutiny. “Okay,” she said finally. “But you know you don’t have to put on a brave face for me.”

  I pulled her close again. “I know.”

  “And next time,” she said against my chest, “maybe you find a way to avoid punching out half of Divinity and confirming all those nasty stories about you.”

  “I tried to get out, Lise. Those assholes rushed us before we had a chance.”

  This time, she was the one to pull back and fix me with those knowing blue eyes of hers. “They tried to rush you because…?”

  “Probably because the wrong punch-happy scudhead saw the most unfortunately timed WAN feed in history.”

  She tilted her head. “Annnd because you were there at all. There at the tavern.”

  “Where I could keep an eye out for the all-too-likely trap you were walking into.”

  “But where you actually ended up punching out half the tavern while Dex was trying to kidnap us—which, by the way, we handled ourselves without breaking a sweat.”

  I stared down at her, wanting to say that wasn’t exactly fair, feeling like I should be angry at her implication, or at least apologetic that I’d ended up not being there when I could have actually helped. I definitely shouldn’t have felt like laughing. Yet, as we held each other’s eyes, I couldn’t help it. I let out a soft chuckle.

  Maybe I’d taken more blows to the head than I’d realized. Only I wasn’t alone. Elise’s cheeks twitched in a losing war to hold down her growing smile.

  “Lesson learned,” I promised, cupping her quivering cheeks and pulling her in for a kiss. “I love you.”

  Her smile won the war. “And I you, my brave brawler.” She stroked my cheek, her expression sobering. “But we can’t let something like this happen again. The Sanctum’s already looking for a reason to demand Glenbark deliver your head. When they find out you slipped out of Haven for a field trip…”

  I grimaced, knowing she was right. Sure, I’d refrained from blatantly throwing my powers at them. I’d done my best to keep it as subtle as I could. But even if half the tavern wasn’t currently flocking to the White Tower crying demon, it seemed naive to think the High Cleric wouldn�
�t eventually hear about this little incident.

  Glenbark wasn’t going to be happy.

  “Let’s just focus on finding these last two raknoth,” I said, turning to look down the stairs to the main cabin when I heard Dillard’s voice, along with a distinct lack of shouts or gunshots. Had he talked the enforcers down, then?

  “Once we’re sure Enochia’s safe from them,” I added, “then we can worry about properly pulling my ass out of the Sanctum’s holy fire.”

  She gave me that look. The one that told me I was being shortsighted, or naive. Or both. “And if those flames spread faster than we expect?”

  Dillard appeared at the bottom of the stairs, looking tired and—once he’d cleared the sight of his Hounds—more than a little troubled. The look didn’t wane when he met my eyes.

  I looked back to Elise. “Then I guess I’d better find some fireproof pants.”

  3

  Details

  “Interesting turn of events today.”

  On the other side of the four-inch thick nearly indestructible polymer window, somehow looking pristine and unruffled even after several days of imprisonment, Alton Parker watched me with a bored expression. Even in his dull brig grays, he managed to look like the suave businessman he’d once pretended to be.

  “Forgive me,” he said in that smooth tone of his, “if I’m not stirred by what you might consider interesting.”

  It was pretty much what I’d come to expect as Standard Parker from the few conversations we’d had since he’d arrived at Haven six days ago and freely turned himself over to the Legion. Or, more accurately, to the Solemn Nation of Haldin Raish. Even now, he was apparently refusing to speak so much as a word to anyone but me—though, of course, he wouldn’t say why.