Guided by the light of the full moon, Seb looked out over the silver glow of the fog and the thousands of rooftops. Canvas, rusty tin, straw … Like the walls of the small huts, the roofs had been covered over with anything that would do the job.
Despite it being nighttime, many different beings walked the streets. They moved in the shadows with their attention on the ground, and no one spoke to one another. Maybe neighbours communed in the privacy of their homes, but from what Seb had seen so far, it looked like they’d entered a hideously antisocial planet.
The strong ammonia reek of urine and the heady stench of shit forced Seb to pinch his nose as he walked. To breathe through his mouth seemed like the best option. It banished the smell, but he couldn’t ignore the fact he had to inhale the noxious atmosphere instead. A slight funk lay as a stale taste on his tongue and he did his best to disregard it.
Although Seb had dumped his ski jacket, he still wore a thick coat. The chill in the air wrapped around his throat, so he zipped up against it. Fortunately both Gurt and SA had also brought coats with them. They might have been carrying enough weapons between them to topple a small planet, but because they hid them, they wouldn’t have to deal with the inevitable confrontation the open display of arms would bring.
The fighting pit stood so prominent on the skyline, the party didn’t need to talk to one another as they walked toward it. In the wordless streets, they needed to blend in. Behave like the locals and they’d remain invisible in plain sight.
The occasional cry of a small child pierced the air, only to be silenced by their caregiver with cooing and a soft voice. Seb caught smells of spices and cooking meat. Without the spice, it smelled as if the residents were eating tripe; fortunately, he smelled spice more often than not.
After a fifteen-minute walk, the group entered a square. Seb looked over at the pit on the skyline. Hard to tell in the foggy dark, but they seemed to have halved the distance between them and it.
The open space—the first one they’d seen since they’d entered the slum—looked like it would be used as a communal area for such things as trading. It currently stood empty, but no doubt saw plenty of activity during the day.
Then Seb heard something and he froze. He looked at the others, and they’d snapped as rigid as him. The heavy thud of boots spoke of an army descending on the square. The dark hid their approach, but as the sound of the marchers got louder, the red cloaks of the Crimson foot soldiers came in from every angle.
Seb’s heart jumped into his throat. He drew a deep breath and spoke from the side of his mouth. “I knew we should have hidden those bodies.”
Chapter 24
The team of four pulled in tight to one another and watched the sea of red descend on them.
“I think we should take the fight to them,” Seb said beneath his breath as he watched more cloaks step from the mist and enter the square.
Sparks shook her head. “We’re ready for it should we need to be, but let them make the first move; we still don’t entirely know where this will end up.”
“If we wait, we lose the advantage.”
“What if they’re not here for us?”
“They’re clearly here for us.”
The edges of Seb’s world had already blurred. He stepped forward and Gurt raised a halting hand at him. “Sparks is right, just wait a second.”
“What do you know?”
Before Seb could step forward again, a strong grip wrapped around his left biceps. Ready to throw it off, he turned to meet SA’s glowing stare and stopped dead. To have her touch him sent his heart aflutter. A heavy sigh and he nodded at her. She touched him because he needed to chill out, not for any other reason.
Five foot soldiers moved toward them. Tense and ready to go, Seb balled his fists, but the foot soldiers showed no interest in a brawl. Instead, they encouraged the four to step to the edge of the square with a gentle shooing motion of their hands.
“See?” Sparks said as they backed off. “They’re not here for us.”
The rest of the red robes walked into the square. They came at it from every side as if birthed from the low-lying fog that hung over the place. Once they’d all got in, they formed a ring around the edge. They left just enough space for Seb, his crew, and a few others to stand in the square outside of them. Whatever they had planned at that moment they seemed to have zero awareness of the Shadow Order.
A gap parted in the foot soldiers on the opposite side of the square to Seb and the others. Another two cloaked soldiers walked into the centre with a human boy between them. The kid looked no older than about ten. Skinny, pale, and clearly petrified, he had no defence against the guards on either side of him.
When they thrust him forward, the boy fell and yelped as his skinny knees crashed against the hard and dark stone. He’d landed at the feet of a particularly large soldier. He looked up and the light from the moon caught the glisten of tears against his cheeks. His cherub face hung loose with distress.
The large foot soldier in front of him presented a shiny curved blade to the boy. He offered it as if in reverence of the weapon. It glistened like the kid’s tears.
Seb’s breath caught in his throat and his stomach turned knots against itself as he watched the boy’s fear.
“No,” the boy yelled, his voice yet to deepen with the effects of puberty.
The foot soldiers’ crimson hoods hid each of their faces in shadow. Despite not being able to see their expressions, their body language—still and unrelenting—said everything it needed to. ‘No’ didn’t exist at that moment. They had expectations the boy needed to fulfill.
The pitch of the boy’s voice rose, the confidence of his previous assertion slipping away from him. “Please, I’m not ready for this. I’m only nine. I’m too young.”
The lead foot soldier continued to stare down at him. The entire slum seemed to hold its breath as the deep fog swayed and swirled around the place.
The screams of a woman broke the graveyard silence, the sharp sound making Seb jump.
Unlike the boy, who’d been damn near paralysed with fear when he came into the middle of the square, the woman twisted and shook, writhed and kicked.
Nervous adrenaline dried Seb’s throat and heightened his nausea. He watched the woman get dragged along by the two foot soldiers. They stood larger than any of the others. The woman’s resistance seemed futile against their strength.
As the others had with the boy, the two foot soldiers threw the woman to her knees so she fell before their large leader.
The woman jumped straight back up again, ran to the boy, and enveloped him in a tight hug. Only then did Seb see the familial resemblance. “Damn,” he said. The embrace lasted just seconds before the two guards stepped in and ripped them apart.
The curved blade shimmered in the boy’s shaking hands. Seb leaned close to Sparks. “What the hell is this?”
Sparks didn’t respond.
A pregnant silence damn near choked Seb as he watched the woman in the middle take several steadying breaths before she turned her back to the leader of the foot soldiers, dropped to her knees in front of her boy, and looked up at him. “I love you, Zachary,” she said as she cried. “You have no choice but to do this. I want you to remember this isn’t your fault. You’re a slum dweller, and slum dwellers don’t get to make decisions. I love you with all of my being, little one.”
The edges of Seb’s world blurred again. If he needed to, he could break through the line of soldiers in front of him and take down the leader in the middle. But then what? Surrounded by the horrible crimson robes, he and the other three would fall within seconds. They might have been good, but two hundred to four didn’t seem like great odds, regardless of their skills.
The boy walked toward his mum with wobbly steps. The blade shone in the darkness. Both the boy and his mum cried freely. The mum looked up at the moon, presenting her neck to her son. “You’ll get through the training and become a foot soldier. When you have your t
urn, remember to keep the compassion that so defines you. Remember I’m your mother, not that Crimson bitch in her dark palace.”
Gasps ran around the ring from the previously silent foot soldiers and their leader cuffed the woman hard around the back of her head. The wet snap of it echoed through the square and knocked the woman over.
She remained on her side on the cold, hard ground and might not have moved were it not for one of the foot soldiers pulling her upright again. The same robed soldier wrapped a grip around her long dark hair and yanked her head back so she stared up at the sky. They’d given her the chance to do it on her own terms only moments earlier, but now they’d taken control.
Seb looked over at SA, who stared back at him, her eyebrows pinched in the middle as she bit down on her bottom lip.
The small amount of light in the sky shone down and showed the movement in the woman’s neck from where she gulped. Despite her clear discomfort, she spoke to her boy again. “Do it. You’ll overcome this. When you do, be the difference this planet needs. Change this so no one else has to suffer like we have.”
Heavy breaths ran through Seb to watch the boy. As someone who’d lost his mum, he wouldn’t let himself believe what could happen next.
Barely able to walk with his grief, the boy lifted the curved blade to his mother’s neck. His lips buckled out of shape and he mouthed the word sorry, his distress choking off his ability to speak.
The boy then yelled as he ripped the knife along his mother’s throat.
Seb’s stomach lurched to watch a spray of blood cover the boy’s front. The kid then dropped the blade and it hit the ground at the same time as his mother did.
The strength drained from Seb’s legs to see the boy crumple into a heap, grief robbing him of his strength to stand. A puppet without any strings, the boy sat slumped on the ground, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed.
Not even a minute had passed before one of the foot soldiers entered the square with the rattle of a heavy chain dragging along the ground behind it. Like with all of the others, Seb couldn’t determine the gender of the chain carrier as he watched them drag the boy to his feet and clamp a heavy metal collar around his neck.
For the first time since he’d entered the square, the lead foot soldier spoke. His deep voice seemed to come from every angle as if amplified by a PA system. It echoed through the dark walkways of the cramped place. “You have a new family now, boy. The Crimson brotherhood welcomes you into its fold. You’ll be a foot soldier like all of us or die trying. We’ll look after you better than you could have been cared for down here, and you’ll bow down to the mother almighty, the Crimson Countess.”
When every foot soldier in the slum repeated, “Crimson Countess,” Seb jumped back from the deep stereo sound.
During the ceremonial killing, more foot soldiers had appeared and surrounded the square. The fog hid the potential for even more beyond them. Even if Seb and the others had wanted to leave at that point, they wouldn’t be able to. This planet belonged to the Crimson Countess and it shouldn’t be forgotten. The residents would come and go when the Countess said they could. A quick glance at each of his friends, and even Gurt looked apprehensive. They had no control here.
Chapter 25
It felt like hours had passed, during which time Seb stood with the others as they watched child after child slaughter their family. They didn’t try to leave because of the foot soldiers surrounding them. To walk away would be to attract unwanted attention, so they behaved as everyone else did who wasn’t in the Countess’ employ—they stood by and watched.
Some of the children, broken from the first murder, had to slay mums, dads, brothers, and sisters. One boy had eight family members, and by the time he’d finished, he could barely stand. Even when they clamped the heavy collar around his neck, he fell limp. The children around him remained upright, and Seb looked at his flaccid form, asphyxiating because he couldn’t support his own body weight. All the while, the foot soldiers watched on with apparently zero emotion; several of them stared directly at him. Eventually the boy turned limp, throttled by his own body weight.
Sick to his stomach, Seb stood in the metallic funk of spilled blood. The pool in the centre of the square had grown so large, the entire floor glistened. The spilled essence of the families, mixed with the sewage that ran down the hill, flowed through the slum to the forest beyond. ‘Let the streets run red’ seemed like a phrase reserved for monologues in movies, but now he’d witnessed it with his own eyes …
Utterly helpless, Seb’s head spun as he watched every execution. Something compelled the kids to do as they were forced to, and every time another one stepped up, he prayed they would fight it. But they didn’t. Each and every one of them—broken to the point of oblivion—killed the people most dear to them. Would he have done the same in their situation? Impossible to comprehend, he thought of his mum and his eyes burned with tears. Bad enough that fate had decided her time was up, what would it have done to him if he’d been the one to end her existence?
When he looked over at Gurt, Sparks, and SA, he saw they’d looked away and he couldn’t blame them. But he watched on. If those poor children had to feel it, surrounded by monsters devoid of emotion, then he would feel it with them. If he ever needed a reason to fight on this planet, he’d just witnessed it. Whether they had to rescue some rich imbecile or not, the Crimson Countess’ regime needed to be toppled.
By the time the foot soldiers had finished, the line of chained and pale children stretched around the entire square. Fifty to sixty of them. Seb looked at their colourless faces and glazed stares. Whatever the Crimson Countess had planned for them, it had to be stopped.
During the process, Sparks had moved closer to Seb. She now stood so near to him her shoulder rubbed up against his hip. Normally, it would have bothered him and he would have edged away, but truth be told, he needed the touch of a warm body probably as much as she did.
The chain used to shackle the children rattled as one of the Crimson foot soldiers grabbed it and gave it a sharp tug. The guard then led the children away. As impassive as they’d been the entire time, the foot soldiers in the square watched on as the new slaves trudged toward the elevated city in the middle of Caloon.
Once the square had been emptied of both boys and soldiers, Seb released a long sigh. For a moment, the group of four stared at one another. He had no words. It seemed like the others didn’t either. Their blank stares said enough.
Surrounded by the shadows of the slum and the reek of blood and waste, Seb screwed his nose up. With the foot soldiers gone, vanished into the thick fog, he felt the bite of the cold air again and shivered. He then swallowed against the hard lump of grief wedged in his throat like a golf ball, and said, “Come on, let’s make our way to the pit. The sooner we get to the vicious bitch who runs this place, the sooner we can slit her throat.”
Chapter 26
The group hadn’t spoken to one another as they walked in a line through the tight walkways of the slum to the fighting pit. Fog swirled around them and the occasional grunt, roar, or wail shot across the otherwise silent space. Every time Seb thought he’d grown used to the smell of waste, the stench of it seemed to wind up another notch. When they’d entered the slum, the slope had been steep enough that it helped the waste drain away toward the forest on the edge of Caloon. The further in they’d ventured, the flatter the ground. Pools of urine and shit had collected at various points. A foam of stagnation sat on top of them like hardened cream on curdled milk.
Seb had managed to avoid standing in the mess, but with such poor light and an ever-increasing amount of still water, that would undoubtedly change.
As the largest structure in the slum, it remained easy to make their way toward the pit. The closer they got to it, the more beings they saw heading in the same direction. A pilgrimage toward violence. “There must be a fight on,” Seb said, his voice croaky for not having spoken for some time. “Although, it seems odd that they’d fight in
the middle of the night.”
“Maybe it’s the only free time they have,” Sparks offered. “With such poverty, I’d imagine it’s all about the hustle during the day.”
It seemed like a logical explanation.
The four had to slow down when they got to within about fifty metres of the place. The journey toward the pit’s entrance had ground to a shuffle. The fighting pit in Caloon seemed as popular as it had on any other planet Seb had been to. Although it had clearly seen better days, it stood as a massive structure to clearly accommodate a huge swathe of spectators who would want to attend. Made from wood, it looked like it had been patched up on more than one occasion. Large panels of differing colours had been nailed to it in random spots like plasters over wounds.
By the time they arrived at the entrance, the press of bodies wedged so close sweat itched beneath Seb’s collar. He unzipped his coat to let some of the heat out.
Two Crimson foot soldiers stood on the door. So tall they loomed over most of the clientele. Their hoods hid their faces as they watched the spectators enter.
The button presser in Seb wanted to provoke their silent control, but he kept it to himself. He didn’t need to jeopardise the mission because of his ego.
When they entered the packed arena, they had to sit in the back row. The seating ran on such a steep angle it made Seb’s head spin. At least it allowed them to see over the people in front of them. He sat down next to SA and nodded at the being on his left. A small creature—about the same size as Sparks—he had white waxy skin that looked like it would peel off him were he to walk in the sun. Very little hair remained on his round head, and he wore a deep scowl when he stared down into the pit as if he needed glasses. Not that they’d be provided on a planet like Solsans.
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