Neeka Featherstone

by R. J. Lucas

  Ah yes, those wonderful power cells. One of the only good things to come out of Fairebourne. Well, they actually came from the Blue Demons many years ago. Solomon controls the power cells now. They are hard to come by and expensive. Solomon keeps them locked away in a secret room somewhere. Although, he does share them freely with the Royals. I’ve been able to steal a few of them over the years, though. I’m sneaky like that, and my victims usually have no idea I was even there.

  It’s amazing how much power comes from something so small. They are only about the size of a pea and never run out of energy. Papa says the Blue Demons brought them here from their world. How Solomon ended up with them, I still don’t know.

  “I’ll be back before sunset,” I tell them.

  “Those pouches are a long way off,” Ambrose objects.

  Papa and I share a laugh. I do a few little bounces on my toes and close my eyes, breathing in the dry air. I reach down and pick up a hand-full of sand and let it fall between my fingers, feeling in my hand what I can’t feel with the soles of my feet.

  “You know what you’re doing, sweetie,” Papa says to me. “Be careful and if you see danger, do what you do best.”

  I nod and say I will. He gives me a kiss and tries to hide how nervous he is to send me back there, but I know I’m too fast for any bandit or baldagaar to catch me. And then, I’m off. The air is crisp and cool on my face, even in this scorching sun. The thin mist of sweat on my cheeks evaporates in an instant, my hair wild in the wind despite being bound behind my head.

  I’ve run at full speed many times in Eden, intermittently hiding behind walls, buildings, and shrubs. But never have I been able to open up like this. I’ve heard that in the old world, there were animals called gazelle’s that could run and leap faster than the wind. This must be what it felt like to be a gazelle.

  Minutes seem to fly by in an instant. I’m almost at the site of the battle when I see something unexpected. I slide to a stop and drop low, hiding behind a large rock.

  Bandits!

  6 - Not Me! Not Today!

  Did they see me? I dare not look yet. Hopefully, they will ignore the cloud of dust surrounding the rock that hides me, giving credit to the wind. The hairs on my arms stand up and I get the same feelings I used to when I was sneaking through the Forbidden Zones of Eden. After a couple of minutes, I find the courage to peek around the stone. I see the billowing white tails of their turbans flapping in the wind as they rifle through the dead bodies. They haven’t noticed me. Crouching low, I venture from my hiding spot to another one nearby.

  It’s a spike bush, dense enough to provide cover, but dangerous to touch. Its bark carries a poison that causes severe pain if touched. I hear it’s like holding your hand in a fire. I’d rather not experience that, so I keep my distance. I glance around the bush and take another look at the bandits. I count five. They surround the bodies like vultures, like parasites consuming the dead.

  They have a tow-leg cart nearby. The two mechanical legs are clumsy but strong, and the cart they pull has seen better days. They’re common in Coghaven, capable of towing small loads across rugged terrain, including sand and mud streams. Like most machines in Eden, they get their energy from power cells.

  I consider my options. I could sneak to the cart and take a few water pouches without them noticing or confront them and take their entire cart, but that would mean a fight.

  I’ve been preparing for a fight my entire life. For years, I’ve been training so when the opportunity presents itself, I can take down Lord Solomon. These bandits would be good practice to see if I am ready. But I also need to be smart. What if they have a blunderbuss or the five of them overpower me? If I die, so do Papa and Ambrose. I must be smart and silent rather than bold and aggressive. I decide to sneak in and take what I can carry and avoid a confrontation.

  I stay low and make my way to the cart. Without looking, I reach over and retrieve a couple of water pouches. Two won’t be enough. I reach over for more and recoil when I hear blunderbuss fire. The shot sizzles by, tearing through the edge of the cart. Wooden splinters shower my head, and a sudden burst of adrenaline makes my hand shake.

  “Halt!” I hear one of the bandits yell.

  I fight the instinct to run. I know I can get away and I’ll be moving so fast these plugtails won’t get a single clean shot. But if I run now, I’ll be leaving without enough water. I stand up and face the bandit as he walks over to me with the blunderbuss pointed at my chest.

  “It’s just a little girl,” he snickers.

  His face is painted white, like the others. They use powder from the calcite rocks found west of Gehenna and mix it with whatever they have. Usually water, but sometimes spit or their own urine, and they cake their faces with it for protection from the elements. Being vultures means they will spend days out in the punishing sun to try and find dead bodies and abandoned equipment to scavenge. It makes sense, but it makes them look ghostly and strange, like they are haunting the Dread Wastes.

  “So it is,” says another bandit as he licks his white-caked lips.

  “Look, I just need a little water,” I tell them. I doubt they’ll negotiate, but it’s worth a shot.

  “I understand,” says the first bandit, “But you can’t just take what isn’t yours. You’re gonna have to earn it.”

  The other bandits snicker as they continue stepping closer. Their bodies are thin and sinewy, and their face paint is cracked and brittle. They walk like skeletons without muscle, as if every joint is pained. The Dread Wastes have been hard on them.

  “You didn’t earn it. You took it off the bodies,” I argue.

  “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” says the one closest to me. He is wearing a red piece of rope around his head to hold his turban in place. It matches the red of his eyes. He seems to be the one doing the most talking, probably the de facto leader.

  “Tell you what, you play nice with us and we’ll give you one of those water bladders.” He slaps the bandit closest to him on the shoulder and they both snicker at one another, like desert hyenas going in for the kill.

  I know what comes next. I begin to fume. I’ve seen men like this before. They think they can take what they want.

  Not me. Not today. I stand tall and strong.

  “You have made your intentions obvious, so I’ll do the same. I’m going to take all the water bladders and if you try to stop me, I’ll take your lives as well. Each and every one of you.”

  “Oh my, you’re a spunky little thing, aren’t you? I like that.” He tucks the blunderbuss into his waistband and licks his parched lips again. “Let’s have some fun boys!”

  7 - Blood-Stained Earth

  The first bandit lunges at me, his dirty cloak wafting behind him. He is careless, not an ounce of fear in his eyes. He thinks this will be easy.

  Once he falls, the element of surprise will be gone. They’ll know I’m not easy prey. But in the moment, their ignorance is my advantage, so I use it.

  I put my hand on the ground and kick my right leg up at the bandit. The heal of my mechanical foot connects just under his chin. I barely feel him. He’s like an insect crashing into the bow of a three-balloon airship. The sound of his neck snapping echoes across the parched earth. He collapses into an awkward heap in front of me, his legs folded backwards beneath him like an envelope ready to be delivered.

  The second bandit rushes toward me immediately after I drop the first. He’s not as cautious as I thought he’d be. Too bad for him. He’s either very confident or very stupid. I’m still crouching, coiled like a snake and ready to strike. I pull the hidden knife from my boot and stab him in the neck as he reaches for me. He too falls to the ground. Blood gushes from his neck as he gurgles and gasps for air.

  The third bandit tries to outflank me. He must be a little smarter than the others, but the fact that he hasn’t run away proves he’s no genius. I stand and face him, one leg behind the other, hands raised, palms open. When he runs at me, I giv
e him a low roundhouse kick, knocking his knee in a direction it isn’t meant to go. I hear it pop and he crumbles to the ground, disabled. He grabs his knee and screams in pain and I can’t help but grin at how easy it was to take three of them out.

  In an instant I realize my gloating comes at a price. One of the remaining bandits pulls a net cannon from the cart. He fires it and the ropes drape over me, knocking me to the ground. It feels like the arms of a hundred men pulling at me, keeping my body pinned down. I struggle, frantic and angry and I see the remaining two bandits run toward me.

  One of them brandishes a large knife and stabs at me. I manage to wriggle out of the way just in time as the blade plunges into the ground. He pulls back and comes at me again. I grip the ropes and slide left at the last moment. The knife misses and I reach around him, tangling him in the netting with me. I want to kick his head off, but the netting has made that impossible. How quickly they have neutralized my strongest asset.

  We tussle on the ground for a moment before he manages to overpower me and pin me down, his upper body, much stronger than mine. He drags himself across my chest and pushes the knife closer to my face. His breath smells like death as he screams between rotted teeth. Drool falls from his mouth and spatters across my cheek.

  I start to panic. I jerk and shift my body under the weight of the crazed lunatic. And just as the tip of the knife hovers closer to my right eye, my right leg untangles, and I seize the opportunity, plunging my knee into his groan. He lets out a cry I thought could only be produced by a pig at the slaughter and drops his knife, the last mistake he’ll ever make. I grab it and drive it through the base of his chin.

  Blood spurts from his nose and mouth and his eyes freeze in a harrowing glare. His blood is everywhere, covering my face and arms, making my hands slick, and soaking the ground around us.

  This time I don’t stop to admire my work. I quickly turn in search of the final bandit and see him running toward the blunderbuss which is still firmly positioned in the first bandit’s waistband.

  In a state of panic, he fumbles for the weapon like a starving mouse scrounging for morsels of food. He manages to free the weapon and turns to me in haste.

  I shift my position and roll the dead bandit in the direction of the last one standing, forming a barrier between me and the blunderbuss. He is heavy, but I use my legs for leverage just in time. Two rounds enter the back of my human shield and I can smell the sizzle of his flesh. It is a sick smell and I twist my face in disgust. I hear a click and realize he’s out of ammo.

  I roll the shield of flesh and bone off me and see him running toward the cart, maybe for another weapon. As I continue to struggle with the net, I see him pull a large iron bar from the cart and rush over to me. He swings down hard, and I block the blow with my right leg. The iron bar bends on impact. With another kick, I knock the bar out of his hand.

  He steps back and stares at me, his eyes wide and mouth gaping open.

  I lay there waiting for his next move. He looks around at the aftermath of the fight and his fallen companions. He takes it all in and I can see him playing different scenarios out in his head as his eyes shift from one dead body to the next. He takes one final look at me and decides his best option is to run away.

  I exhale and relax. Staring at the sky, I laugh…and cry. I turn to the corpse by my side, and its eyes seem to stare through me.

  What have I done?

  Years of training never prepared me for what it would be like to actually kill a man. It doesn’t feel like anything I could’ve ever imagined. I’m not proud for his death, but I am proud for defending myself. I wipe the tears from my eyes.

  Then the anger comes back, flooding my mind. These men got what they deserved. There’s no telling how many women they have probably raped and murdered. If I had not been able to defend myself, I would have been their next victim. Never again, will I shed a tear over scum such as this. I will make it my mission to not only rid the world of Solomon, but also defend those who are unable to defend themselves.

  No. This wasteland won’t take me. I have too much work to do.

  My emotional mentation is interrupted by the sound of a bandit yelling.

  “Wait! Don’t leave me here!”

  I look over at him and watch as he crawls away from me, his hand outstretched toward his fleeing friend. His busted leg leaves a pattern in the sand like a teyrelsk dragging a dead snake.

  I manage to free myself from the net and walk over to the cart. I take big gulps of water from one of the pouches and quench my thirst from the heat; from the battle; from the panic. The bandit gives up calling for his friend and turns his attention to me.

  “Listen, my knee is really messed up! You really messed it up!” His face twists and he tries not to cry.

  I pull a piece of meat jerky from the cart and take a bite, but I don’t speak.

  “What are you going to do?” he asks. “Are you gonna kill me? Please don’t kill me.”

  We’ve come a long way in only a few minutes. He wasn’t talking to me like this before when I was the one trying to negotiate. He wasn’t talking like this when he thought he had the advantage.

  I look at him and think about killing him, but quickly push the thought out of my mind. There has been enough killing today, I decide.

  I walk around and pull on the lead rope of the tow-legs and they quiver with life.

  “Where are you going?” he wants to know. There is anger in his voice. He is used to people like me listening to him. “You can’t just leave me here.”

  I don’t answer him. I don’t want to speak with him. I don’t even want to look at him, but panic has taken hold of him and he can’t stop talking.

  “I can’t walk. You’ve crippled me. Please don’t leave me here. I’ll die.”

  With the tow-legs humming and vibrating with life, I let the guide rope hang loose and walk over to him. I lean down and take a bite of the jerky.

  “You were going to rape me,” I say. “You and all your slimy friends.”

  “No. I wasn’t. I was going to stop them. I swear.”

  “And after you raped me, you were gonna what, leave me for dead? Kidnap me so you could have me for later?”

  “It’s not like that. We were just having some fun. It does stuff to your mind out here. You don’t know what it’s like—"

  “I’ve seen men like you before. Think you can take what you want. Prey on the weak or those less fortunate than you.”

  “Please,” he screams. His final plea for mercy is pathetic. “I can’t walk!”

  “I guess you better start crawling then,” I say without feeling a modicum of remorse for him.

  I return to the tow-legs and make sure the supplies are secure. His whimpering fades into the background as the cart lurches in the direction of Papa and the rocks where we’ve made camp.

  8 - Meat Jerky

  It is almost dark by the time I get back to Papa. He and Ambrose sit next to a small fire, holding their hands out for warmth. It’s starting to get cool but will get even colder through the night.

  Papa runs to embrace me, thankful I’m safe. When he sees the blood on me, he panics.

  “Neeka! What happened? Are you okay?”

  I reassure him I am fine, and the blood is not mine. I try to think of how I can explain what happened, but the words evade me. I don’t know how to tell him I have just killed three men and left another for dead.

  “There was a fight,” I tell him.

  “Was that big brute there?”

  “No,” I say. “There were a few bandits from the Dread Wastes who were scavenging when I got there.”

  “A few?” Even though he knows how powerful and deadly my enhanced legs can be, he is still shocked to hear the story about how I took them out one by one. I don’t get into the grizzly details, but I do tell him that I killed them.

  I think he will be upset or try to tell me why killing them was wrong, but he doesn’t. He embraces me and holds me.


  “We are not who we were yesterday,” he whispers to me, and I know he is right.

  He lets go and clears his throat, sniffs back the remaining tears and starts rummaging through the cart. “Let me see what we have here,” he says, letting his natural sense of curiosity take over.

  I walk over and sit by the fire, next to Ambrose.

  “How is it a little thing like you can take on a group of wasteland bandits and survive?” Ambrose wants to know.

  Aside from Papa, no one has any idea of my proths’ enhancements or that I have spent the last few years of my life training myself to fight and use makeshift weapons.

  “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” I tell him.

  “I guess you do.”

  Papa walks over and sits beside me, handing us each a piece of meat jerky.

  “So, what do we do next, Papa?”

  “For now, we are gonna rest. Thanks to you, we have enough water for a couple of days and the jerky is nice too. In the morning, we’ll head south toward Eden and hopefully find a civilized settlement along the way.”

  “What if we run into a baldagaar?”

  “Well, you know what they say: ‘When a baldagaar attacks the campsite, you don’t have to be faster than the baldagaar. You only need to be faster than the slowest camper.’” He looks at Ambrose with raised eyebrows.

  “Very funny, Papa,” I chuckle and playfully punch him in the side.

  “I’m faster than you think.” Ambrose says. But he is laughing too.

  “What about Blue Demons?” I ask.

  Where baldagaars are big, dumb brutes, Blue Demons are extremely intelligent and cunning. Rather than crush and kill you like a baldagaar would, they will torture you for days. I heard a group of them once captured a Royal and removed her face while she was still alive. They wore it like a mask while they sacrificed her body to one of their made-up gods. Other than the one I saw at the trial in Eden a few years ago, I’ve only heard stories of them. One of those stories being they roam the outskirts of the Dread Wastes, looking for victims that are dropped from the airships.