Neeka Featherstone

by R. J. Lucas

  “Papa?” I interrupt her. I had been so caught up in the moment, I didn’t realize Papa wasn’t standing here with us when he normally would have been in a situation like this. “Where is Papa?” I demand as troubling visions try to overtake my thoughts.

  She buries her face in her hands again, sobbing and groaning incoherent words. I panic at the thought of them hurting Papa and my patience is gone. I snatch her hands from her face.

  “Where is Papa?” I yell.

  “They took him!” Her words are clear and hit me like a ton of bricks.

  “Took him? Took him where?”

  “To Eden. They discovered he was your father, and they took him. They said if you want to see him alive again, you should turn yourself in.”

  Anger boils in me and I feel the rage lift to the surface like a volcano about to erupt. I take off faster than a bullet leaving a blunderbuss. Within seconds, I’m in the loft of the barn gathering my throwing knives and a water bladder. I take a moment to try and calm myself to be sure I’m not forgetting anything, but it is useless. My mind is consumed with Papa’s safety.

  All I can think of is how those plugtails must be mistreating him. Images of Papa being shoved and punched and collared run through my head, fueling my rage even more.

  I’m going to kill every last one of them.

  Footsteps approach from behind me and I spin around, ready to destroy any protector who thinks he can ambush me. But I only see Braam and Amari. I know why they’re here, but I don’t have time for it. Besides, I want to be left alone with my anger. My purpose in life has been renewed and it is time to act. It is time to end this brutal regime.

  Without a word, I stride past them toward the door, but Braam grabs me by the arm.

  “Wait, girl. If you go now without thinking this through, you give Solomon exactly what he wants. You can’t do this on your own.”

  I turn to him, my eyes glaring. “Yes, I can! I’m going to kill Solomon and if I die in the process, I’m okay with that!”

  “Neeka, no!” Amari steps so close to me I can feel her breath as she whispers her plea.

  Braam refuses to release my arm which keeps me captive to his words. “You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met, but that doesn’t mean you can take on Solomon’s army by yourself. Especially when you’re so angry you can’t think straight.”

  “I’m going to kill them all!” It’s all I can think about. I want to end every last one of them for touching my Papa, killing Lydia and shattering her children’s hearts.

  “And if they kill you?” Braam questions. “What happens to your Papa then?”

  This makes me pause. I know anger is clouding my judgement, but it is so hard to see past it right now. “So, what should I do then? I can’t sit here and wait for news that they have tortured him.” The vision in my mind’s eye pushes me closer to the edge of uncontrolled rage.

  “We make a plan,” says Braam, releasing my arm. “We figure out the best way to get into Eden and get Jeremiah without anyone dying. But that’s for tomorrow. Tonight, we need to be here for Isaiah.”

  The thought of Isaiah and his kids dealing with the loss of Lydia becomes real to me once again. My anger fades to make room for sadness. Braam is right. They’re after me anyway, not Papa. He is just the bait. Isaiah, Cornelius, and Maggie need all the support they can get right now. I need to be here for my friends.

  I’ve seen a lot of death in my life but when it comes to those you care about, it is never easy. It’s not something you get used to. Every time it feels devastating. I can only imagine how Isaiah must be feeling right now…like his whole world has collapsed around him.

  I have calmed myself enough to feel Amari’s hand resting on my stomach. She is to my right and has a piece of my shirt wadded in her firm grip, as if holding me in place. I turn my head toward her and our faces almost touch. I wrap her in a hug so tight, our bodies could be one. And I weep.

  The tears flow from heartache, anger, exhaustion, and fear for those I love. After a moment, I catch my breath and collect my emotions. I need to tuck them away again and find my strength. I feel a strong embrace and realize Braam is holding both me and Amari tight. I smile and lean into him, realizing this big brute needs comfort and connection too.

  We spend the afternoon consoling Isaiah and keeping the kids busy, trying to keep their minds off Lydia. It works half the time, but they are in shock and emotional which is understandable. Offering an embrace and a shoulder to cry on when needed seems to help.

  Commander Bennett has several of his trainees build a pyre on a little hill just outside the outpost gates. It overlooks the entire community, the vineyard, the river and everything Lydia loved. It’s a perfect place to set her spirit free.

  When the sun sets, we gather around the pyre and hold a ceremony. Oreen takes the lead and tells us about some of her best memories with Lydia. At times we laugh, but more often than not, we cry. Several other members of the community speak out and I learn more about what an amazing woman Lydia was. It saddens me all the more knowing such a wonderful person was taken from us way too soon.

  When the last person has spoken, Commander Bennett lights the pyre. The citizens of Graven Pointe hum a soft tune in unison. It’s one I’ve never heard before, but it’s lovely, a fitting melody for a beautiful soul. The fire burns hot and lights up the night sky, and in the smoke and shadows, I can almost see Lydia floating away with the wind. I’m sure we’ll see her again someday.

  Once the ceremony is over and Isaiah and the kids have been escorted home, Amari and I meet Braam in the tavern. He is seated at a table with Commander Bennett and Oreen. The rest of the tables are empty, like the entire place was shut down to give us privacy. Braam puffs on his pipe, like an old man lost in thought. When I walk up, he offers it to me. I decline and Amari and I take a seat next to him.

  Commander Bennett unrolls a map of Eden and places it on the table.

  “I would like to offer my men,” Bennett begins. “But I think we would all agree a military style attack would be fruitless. We simply don’t have the men or the strength to take on Solomon at this point.”

  “It has to be done quietly,” Braam agrees. “The only way this works is if we can slip in and out unnoticed.”

  “So, how many men are you thinking?” Oreen asks.

  “Two…me and Neeka. We are the fastest, strongest and the only ones who’ve been inside the walls of Fairebourne.”

  “So, what’s the plan?” I ask. My eyes wander across the map, trying to remember anything I can about Fairebourne that may help. But my knowledge is limited. I’ve only been in the gardens and around a few structures. I have never actually stepped foot inside a building, though.

  Braam points to a spot on the back side of Fairebourne, the side that is hugged closely by the mountain and its sheer cliff walls. He explains it is most likely where Papa is being held.

  “It’s very similar to the one in Coghaven,” he says. “Where you were held, waiting for exile.”

  The holding cells in Coghaven…I remember them well. They’re contained in a long, narrow building. The interior hall is lined with solid, steel doors. Each door has a small opening that can be slid open for communication or delivering food and water. I shudder at the thought of Papa imprisoned again in one of these dark rooms, alone and possibly wounded.

  In the center of the building is a large room where the protectors are stationed. A couple of cells with bars for walls are there as well, where protectors can keep a close eye on them. Hopefully, that is where we will find Papa. They are more easily accessible.

  Braam shows us a few other points of interest on the map. Some, he describes as excellent spots that provide cover, others are places that should be avoided.

  “Once we are inside the walls of Fairebourne, the protectors should be minimal,” he explains. “After all, no one has ever broken into the Royal City, except a young girl who insisted on antagonizing the protectors.”

  I smile at
him and he smiles back. We share a mutual memory of a life that used to be.

  “So how do we get in?” I ask. “There are three different walls with heavily guarded gates to get past.”

  The outer wall surrounds all of Eden with Coghaven just inside. It will be the easiest as many people come and go, especially traders and supply carts. It’s guarded the least and we could possibly sneak in by hiding in a cart or disguising ourselves as traveling merchants.

  The Vanvale gates will be more difficult. We would need an official traveler’s license or stamped notice and the carts are searched before passing through.

  Fairebourne would obviously be the most difficult. We would need an official escort, or a notice of intent stamped by a Royal. Of course, I could distract them like I have in the past and sneak through, but that doesn’t help Braam get inside, or Papa get back out.

  “Forget about the gates.” Braam grins as if he’s the most brilliant person alive. “We go through the refuse chute.”

  “The Gehenna chute?” Bennett’s eyebrow lifts. “How do you expect to do that? Its lowest point is higher than any man can reach.”

  The Gehenna refuse chute slopes from the high cliffs on the eastern side of Fairebourne; spans across the sandy terrain below and terminates just above the lava pits of Gehenna. At its highest point, it attaches to the Fairebourne cliff wall on a pivoting mechanism.

  Inside the enormous tube is a conveyor belt that transports the city’s refuse to the fires of Gehenna below. About every hundred paces along the underbelly of the chute, you’ll find large pillars that support the massive structure. The base of each pillar is attached to oversized wheels that allow the chute to move back and forth so the garbage can be dumped over a wider area, allowing it to burn more efficiently.

  “What you don’t realize,” Braam says to Bennett. “Is there is an access hatch where the support pillars meet the chute. Neeka and I can climb up and enter through one of these hatches. Once inside, we’ll follow the tunnel up to the refuse doors at Fairebourne.”

  “What about garbage in the chute?” asks Oreen.

  “There won’t be any,” Braam replies. “Refuse is always loaded in the morning and by sunset the chute is empty and shut down and left completely unguarded.”

  “Sounds like we have a plan.” I say. “When do we leave.”

  “Noon, tomorrow.” Braam places his hand on my shoulder and glares into my eyes. “We’re gonna get your Papa out of there. I promise you that.”

  34 - The Unseen

  Braam and I sit with our backs to the base of the cliff, just beneath the refuse chute. Stretched out in front of us, the chute points toward the red valley as if giving us directions to a painful death. Gehenna glows crimson, matching the sky above as the sun sets in the distance. The stench of sulfur, decaying bodies and garbage fills the air. I’ve smelled it before, but never to this level of disgust. It takes all I can do not to gag, but I still do occasionally. At least Braam finds it amusing.

  We both wear ragged kanduras to help us blend in with the riff raff seen wandering the edges of the lava flows. The garments cover us from head to foot, concealing our weapons, totepacks and identities, not that anyone here would recognize us anyway. All I see are the diseased, lonely and hungry. Most of them are simply trying to survive off whatever they can find.

  There aren’t many roaming around, but enough to make you wonder why these people starve and spend their days rummaging through garbage, when just above us the privileged waste more food in a day than the unseen eat in a week. That’s what they are called…the unseen. They are ignored like a desert beetle one would step over without noticing. Better to be unseen, though, than tortured or dead at the hands of Solomon and his dullards.

  In the distance, a baldagaar roams through the glowing valley. Apparently, he wandered his way through the maze before getting lost amongst the fiery pits and slow-moving streams of lava. He bends over, picks something up and eats it. I don’t want to even try and imagine what it must have been.

  I turn to Braam. “We ready?”

  “The sun has not set fully yet. We need it to be as dark as possible.” He turns to me and speaks in a soft tone. “Patience. You will be with your Papa again soon enough.”

  Papa has told me often to be patient, but I never seemed to catch on to the idea. And right now, I’m anything but patient.

  I reach over to adjust Braam’s kandura at the shoulder. The double-sided axe he is concealing beneath it protrudes through a tear in the garment.

  “There,” I say. “All fixed.”

  He nods, not seeming to care what I’m talking about.

  The axe belongs to Isaiah. He tried to come with us when we left Graven Pointe earlier today. He was hell-bent on vengeance and determined to be a part of the mission. When anger didn’t work, he tried pleading before finally ending his beggary with humor.

  “You aren’t going to break up the Furious Three of Arcmire, are you?” He said it with a smile, but there was only pain and desperation in his eyes.

  “We are saving justice for another day, Isaiah,” Braam had told him. “And on that day, you will have your chance at revenge, or justice or whatever you want to call it. But today, we have to be smart and calculating. We are doing only what needs to be done, and what needs to be done is freeing Jeremiah.”

  I added to Braam’s argument, “If we get caught, they will kill us and they will kill Papa, but that will be the end of it. We have no family for him to go after. If you were with us, they wouldn’t stop at killing you. Cornelius and Maggie would be cut down as well.”

  With that realization, Isaiah conceded. He nodded at both of us, swiped at a tear before it had time to slip from the edge of his cheek, and handed his axe to Braam.

  “Take this,” he said. “It will do you well.”

  I look up and notice a few stars shimmering in the black sky and turn to Braam.

  His eyes meet mine. “You ready girl?”

  I nod and we make our way over to the closest pillar.

  “Ladies first,” Braam says waving his hand toward the base of the ladder.

  The first rung is about twenty-five hands from the ground, and I wonder how Braam is going to be able to reach it. I easily jump up and my feet land on the bottom bar. I climb a few rungs and look down at Braam to see if he can make it. He pulls out Isaiah’s axe and steps back a few paces. With a running start, he leaps and uses the axe as an extension to grab onto the bottom rung before quickly pulling himself up.

  “Well, that was creative,” I grin.

  “See, I’m not all brute,” he says. “I’ve got ideas.”

  I smile at him before continuing my climb. Sometimes, I find him cute, like a child that gets excited over silly accomplishments. I reach the top of the pillar and open the access door. I turn back to Braam to be sure he is behind me but find him still at the bottom of the ladder.

  “What are you doing?” I shout to him in a whispered voice.

  “I’m doing the best I can.”

  Then it hits me. He’s hesitating on the ladder just like he hesitated on the airship, refusing to come close to the railing.

  “Holy lobcocks!” I exclaim, trying to keep my voice low. “You’re afraid of heights.”

  “No,” he says, looking up and down. “Just reasonably concerned.”

  “Just don’t look down,” I tell him. “Look straight in front of you and climb one rung at a time.”

  Several minutes later and after some persistent coaxing of the big guy, we find ourselves inside the refuse chute. The smell in here isn’t any better than it was outside. Thankfully, most of the garbage has found its way to the end and there isn’t any left inside the enormous tube other than a few pieces that have gotten stuck along the walls and beneath the conveyor belt.

  We inch along the top of the belt, making our way up toward the oversized metal doors that lead into Fairebourne. Although the tube is large, it feels small as if it’s closing in on us in the darkness. In t
he quiet stillness, Braam lets out a screech like a frightened little girl, causing me to jump and the hairs of my arms to stand on end.

  “What is it?” I yell with a loud whisper.

  “Something ran across my foot. I think it was a rat.”

  I relax and drop my shoulders. I can’t help but smile. “Seriously, Braam?”

  “Just keep moving,” he grunts at me and kicks at the air before moving forward.

  When we finally reach the top of the tunnel and Braam opens the door, a rush of fresh air seeps in and fills my lungs. We jump down into the refuse holding area and I take another deep breath. Even though there are piles of garbage lying around, the smell is a thousand times better here than it was inside the tunnel. The area is well kept, and the refuse seems to be organized into different piles. One for general waste. One for metals. One for wood. One for hoses and what appears to be other flexible-type items. Thankfully, there are no protectors in sight. After all, who would try to break into Fairebourne through the refuse chute?

  Just ahead is a wall that separates this area from Fairebourne. No one wants to see garbage obviously.

  We walk forward, slow and cautious, and enter a normal size service door next to a large gate. It’s like walking into a different world. Everything on this side of the door is immaculate. Not even the branch of a shrub is out of place. The trees are all the perfect height and well-groomed. The grass is green without any bare spots to be seen. The buildings are all in perfect condition, showing no signs of wear or age. The brick walkways are symmetrical and appear to be polished, if that is possible. Several rectangular water fountains line the walkways and a statue of Solomon, surrounded by colorful flowers at the base, stands erect in the middle of the main courtyard.

  A light breeze passes by and I sense the smell of garbage on my clothes and sweat from my body. Suddenly, I feel dirty. The perfection of this place makes me self-conscious and the social stratification inherent in the existence of Fairebourne comes back to me all at once. I am reminded that I am merely a Pleb, unworthy to experience such nice things. This place has a way of controlling you, reminding you of just how contemptible you are if you aren’t a Royal.