The Wasteland Soldier, Book 2, Escape From Tamnica (TWS)

by Laurence Moore

  A dark eyed, skinny young man with a mop of greasy hair stood in the doorway and aimed a pistol at him, panting heavily behind a blue and white mask.

  The shotgun boomed and tossed the youth back into the street. His crumpled body lay sprawled in the dirt, chest matted with blood. The youth’s eyes were open and vacant. The sky peered back at him with no mercy. Stone crouched and prised the pistol from his hand. He looked around and saw that the Maizans – the Chattes – were already pulling back, disappearing into side streets and alleyways, sprinting across walkways and leaping over crumbling walls. He tugged down the scarf of the gunman he had shot and saw the face of a child looking back at him, pale skin with only the hint of facial hair. He had first taken life at the age of eight, fighting to defend himself, fighting to survive. It wasn’t something he even thought about anymore but as he got slowly to his feet, he was shocked at how sickened his inner turmoil had become.

  Emil pushed by him, without a word, rushing toward the demolished marketplace; men, women and children coiled in the aftermath of the twin explosions, many of them crying out in agony. He watched her through narrowed eyes as she used her gift beneath the swirling clouds of smoke. Many of the wounded were beyond her skill. She could heal the most horrible of wounds, chase away the most deadly of human diseases, yet she could not replace severed limbs.

  Melting into the shadows, he continued to watch her. The boy had been younger than Emil. Would someone tug down her face scarf one day soon? He thought back to the long and torturous nights in Tamnica and his eyes turned cold with hate at the pain buried deep inside. There were times he had given up hope of escaping that brutal regime and he not survived to simply exchange a Tamnican Warden for a Maizan one.

  He raised his eyes and glimpsed Beatriz engaged in conversation with Leon, showing him her custom made weapon. He saw Conrad and Nuria helping with the wounded, dazed expressions across their faces.

  Stone said nothing. He helped no one. He remained in the shadows.

  --- Twenty Five ---

  It was dark and Stone sought out the Map Maker.

  A funeral pyre had been built in the marketplace. Droves of Maizan citizens descended upon the area to pay their respects for the dead. A large number of armed men kept vigil but there was no hint of another attack. As the hours wore on and the flames died away people drifted back to their frugal homes, keeping loved ones close, sharing a paltry supper, consuming small amounts of water. It was a notably bleak existence with little beyond watching the sun rise in the sky the following day.

  The bald headed man lived alone in a brick outbuilding, in the back yard of the tenement Jarracos had brought them to. There were blankets and upturned crates and boxes of junk. Stone saw a fresh bowl of food and a corked bottle of drink. He towered over the man, noting beads of sweat trickling down his pate. The wind whistled loudly through the cracked brickwork. As the edge of a cloud nudged across the face of the white moon, plunging the outbuilding into near blackness, Stone rummaged around and found a box of half-burned candles. He lit several and made himself comfortable on one of the crates. He focused his gaze toward the Map Maker.

  “Where are your maps?”

  The bald man shook his head, chuckling acerbically.

  “Even after this,” he said, raising his arms. “All you care about is my maps.”

  “We’ll need them.”

  “We? Why?”

  “We can’t find Ennpithia without them.”

  The Map Maker raised his head sharply, making eye contact for the first time. Stone saw a flicker of hope in the man’s eyes but then it faded.

  “You’re mocking me, Stone. That’s sick.” He shifted on his blankets. “Leave me alone.”

  “Who chopped off your hands?”

  The Map Maker shook his head.

  “I won’t talk about it. Not to you. Not to anyone.”

  A gust of wind rattled the outbuilding door. Stone glanced at the untouched food and drink.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “No.”

  He picked up the bottle, jammed his teeth against the cork and spat it out. He swigged down a mouthful.

  “Conrad said Ennpithia is a fairy tale. A place created for children to believe in when someone dies.”

  “I don’t care what he says. Talk to Philip.”

  “I did.”

  Stone swigged from the bottle. The Map Maker stared at the long scar down his face.

  “Who did that to you?”

  “Why do you think it took so long to find you both?”

  There was a lengthy silence between the two men. Stone rolled the bottle in his hands. The Map Maker stared at the night sky.

  “It was Dani,” he said, suddenly, his voice hushed. “They kept us in this apartment block. Prisoners. They beat me, teased me, humiliated me but for Dani … it was worse, she suffered the most. One morning, early, I tried to be the hero and free her. I knew no one was coming for us. She kept saying that Cristo would find her but there was going to be no rescue. I was boxed in. It was driving me insane. Every day I listened to her pleading for them not to touch her. She said that she had waited for Cristo and that he loved her and would find her again no matter what. That’s a fairy tale, Stone. I had to do something. I cut her loose and we managed to get out of the apartment but they caught us on the stairs and I never saw her again.”

  He lifted his arms.

  “It was Basile. The Chattes leader. His men held me down and he sawed through my wrists, gloating that I would never make another map again. They threw me out into the snow to die. They wanted the people to see how a traitor is punished. Basile likes punishments. Like how he left Cristo to die in the cold.”

  “He might still be alive,” said Stone, quietly.

  “I would have died,” sniffed the Map Maker. “I was bleeding heavily, in agony, in shock, but true Maizans found me. Emil should have hated me for stealing her away from Dessan. You know she told me she would never heal me, Stone. Every day we rode north she would say it over and over again about how she would let me die no matter what but the moment she saw me, delirious and losing blood, she healed the wounds and bandaged my arms.”

  He blinked away tears.

  “She has a pure soul. That’s why they call them Pure Ones, Stone. Their heart is clean, honest, not like yours, not like mine.”

  Tears rolled down the man’s face.

  “We drag the world into the dark, Stone. It’s where we belong.”

  Gingerly, Stone raised the bottle to the man’s lips, slowly tilting it back. The drink sloshed and rushed against the glass as the Map Maker gulped it down. Stone put the bottle down. The two men stared at each other. He picked up the food, hard biscuit. He snapped it into small pieces. As the candles slowly burned and the wind continued to howl he fed the handless man, pushing the dry chunks into his mouth, washing it down with another swig of drink. He took food for himself, crunching on the flavourless biscuit.

  “Thank you.”

  Stone nodded.

  “Tell anyone and I’ll chop your feet off.”

  The Map Maker grinned, head swimming with drink, and laughed.

  “So Basile has your maps?”

  The laughing died abruptly.

  “This is the truth of you, isn’t it? This show of kindness and compassion just to get at my maps. That’s all you’ve ever cared about. Always plotting to steal them from me. You want the power they hold, don’t you?”

  Stone waited, slowly shaking his head.

  “You believe what the fuck you want. I just don’t want to get lost.”

  He scratched his thick beard and rolled up his sleeve, showing the Map Maker the branding on his arm.

  “Fuck,” he said, flinching. “That’s horrible. You get the scar at the same time.”

  He nodded.

  “Tamnica,” he said. “Dessan gives – used to give – its people to Tamnica. In return they get left alone. Look, we don’t have to like each other; we just have to trust in what
the other can do.”

  The Map Maker shrugged.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t like you. But what can I do?”

  “Gallen has been shit for you. It’s not done too much for me, either. I reckon it’s time to find somewhere new.”

  “You said Ennpithia is a fairy tale.”

  “Conrad said it’s a fairy tale.”

  “Do you believe it’s there?”

  “Who knows?” said Stone. “Something must be there. Someplace better than this. Only one way to find out.”

  The Map Maker looked out the window. The city was silent.

  “Leon will never let you leave.”

  “He will.”

  “You can’t kill him. You’ll have all the Maizans after you. Especially Jarracos. You don’t want to tackle with that monster.”

  “I’m not going to kill him. I’m going to offer him a deal.”

  The Map Maker turned to him.

  “What kind of deal?”

  “One that involves getting everything we want.”

  “You’re more talkative than you used to be. I prefer you like this.”

  Stone rolled his eyes.

  “If we get your maps back will you lead us to Ennpithia?”

  The glint was back in the man’s eyes and this time it remained. He nodded. Stone patted the Map Maker on the shoulder.

  “What about Emil? What will you do?”

  He was silent for a considerable time.

  “Answer me one question. When you showed up, all fucked up, was she with Leon?”

  “She was here. She saved me. You know that.”

  “No, was she with him?”

  “I don’t know. She was fighting with them. I don’t understand what you’re asking me.”

  “Was she with him before she healed you or after?”

  The Map Maker nodded.

  “That came after.”

  Stone took the bottle, reached for the door handle.

  “How’s Sadie?”

  “Her belly is fat with your baby.”

  He hesitated.

  “We can go south instead. Back to Dessan. Do you want that?”

  “We can’t,” he said. “Sadie could never understand, Stone, but you might. You have lived a long life. You know this world isn’t right, don’t you? All the pieces have become fractured. When or why isn’t important anymore.” He rubbed his stumps against his head. “All that matters is my maps. Fitting it back together. You can help. You understand, don’t you? I used to tell Sadie all the time that fists and bullets count for nothing. Power is in knowledge and my maps are filled with knowledge. I cannot turn back now. I have to make that sacrifice, Stone. I have to take us out of the dark and lead us back into the light.”

  Stone frowned at the strange comment. Shrugging it aside, he pushed open the door.

  “Is she okay?”

  He stepped silently into the wind.

  Candles were burning but there was no one around. Stone could hear grunting, laboured breathing and gasps through the ceiling. His hand brushed against the hilt of his sword. He stepped outside into the street, where Conrad and Nuria were sharing a pipe, the grey smoke curling away on the wind.

  “Have they finished?” asked Conrad, sweeping back his long hair. “It was getting a bit noisy for us.”

  Stone said nothing and surveyed the devastated marketplace. Beyond the blackened funeral pyre he saw small fires burning inside buildings where families were huddled together.

  “I don’t like it here,” said Nuria, passing the pipe to Conrad. “Stone, what are we going to do?”

  He sat and shared the bottle between them. Nuria leaned toward him, blue eyes sparkling brightly. She lowered her voice as several young men went by, wearing blue and white, armed with rifles.

  “I don’t trust Leon. One moment he’s painting himself whiter than white and the next he’s saying we can’t leave and we’re all new recruits.”

  “Beatriz has asked to stay,” said Conrad, dragging deeply on the pipe. “She told Leon she can make him weapons.”

  There was an ear piercing shriek from behind them.

  “Does that mean we can go back into the warm?” said Nuria, shaking her head.

  The three of them stepped back into the tenement building. Nuria dropped into a chair, head spinning from the pipe - she had no idea what Conrad had packed it with. She stretched out her legs, crossing her ankles, felt her eyes begin to slip shut. Through a sleepy haze she glimpsed Leon and Emil coming downstairs. Conrad was half dozing, too, but Stone was on his feet, leaning against the wall, arms folded, headed tilted to one side.

  “My new soldiers,” grinned Leon, body slick with perspiration. “I saw you fight today, man. I’m proud. You took one of them down. Now you know what we’re up against.” He slapped Emil on the rump. “Go get food, man.”

  Hair tousled, Emil padded into the back room. Stone heard her rummaging around, gathering rations and drink.

  “And Nuria, fuck, Emil told me I’m in the presence of a General, man. A fucking General. You got a military brain. I need to tap into that.”

  Stone suddenly drew his sword, the blade flashing in the candlelight.

  “Do you know what happens when you chop off a head?”

  Both Conrad and Nuria sat forward sharply, the fog clearing from their heads.

  “We got a problem, man?”

  He stood barefoot, chest rising, tattooed arms loose at his sides, wearing a pair of baggy and shapeless shorts, his pistol upstairs, by the bedside, Jarracos nowhere to be seen.

  “Are we not cool? My man saved you this morning. Chattes were swarming all over you and …”

  “The body drops,” said Stone, smiling, slamming the sword to the floor. “But it doesn’t die straight away.”

  Emil stepped into the room. Leon clenched and unclenched his fists.

  “It twitches around, convulses on the ground, and then it dies. Sometimes, a crazy man gets the idea of sticking a new head on the body to bring it back to life so you have to make sure that doesn’t happen. You need to cut the body into bits so no one can stick a head on it.”

  He cut the sword in quick, slashing movements.

  “But you don’t destroy the parts because you need to use them.”

  The atmosphere thickened. Emil held her breath. Leon stared at him, wide-eyed, and said, “What the fuck are you on, old man?”

  Stone sheathed the blade. There was a collective sigh of relief.

  “I’m offering you a deal,” said Stone. “I want a car with a tank of black energy. And the three of us decide not to enlist.”

  “I’m not going with you,” said Emil, annoyance in her tone. “I told you I’m staying here, Stone.”

  “I wasn’t asking you to come.”

  He turned his back on her. Leon squinted, feeling the tension between Stone and Emil. She had spoken of him as a great warrior, a ruthless and dangerous fighter that you never wanted to cross. He looked into the bearded man’s eyes and saw a coldness that chilled even his blood. He wasn’t afraid of the man. He wasn’t afraid of any man and he wasn’t afraid to die but his fight for Maizan was one he wanted to win. He wanted to smash the Chattes and drive them from the city so he could rule and rule the right way. He was intrigued by what the old man could offer him.

  “You’re asking for a lot, man.,” he said, rocking on the balls of his feet. “What do I get in return?”

  “I’ll kill Basile.”

  “Any man can kill Basile,” said the Brute, casting a long shadow into the room. “Finding him is much harder.”

  He peeled off a heavy coat, thick with dust, and set down his weapons. He saw Emil standing with a plate of food and a bottle of drink. He grinned and took them from her, dropping down into a chair with a loud crash.

  “What have I missed?”

  “The old man was swinging his sword around a moment ago, trying to cut a deal with us, Brute.”

  “Killing Basile?” said Jarracos, stuffing food into h
is mouth, lips smacking as he chewed. “That’s your deal? You will not find him. He is well hidden.”

  Leon clicked his fingers. “I get your story, man. I get it now. You cut off the head and the head is Basile. I get it.”

  “Kill Basile and someone else will take his place,” said Jarracos, crunching and swigging.

  Nuria grimaced at the noise. The pigs at Tamnica had eaten with more dignity.

  “Brute has a good point,” said Leon, gesturing with his hands. “Say you’re lucky enough to find Basile and kill him - how do we take over the rest of his men? We’ve been killing each other for years.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” said Stone.

  “He’s right,” said Nuria, getting to her feet. “You will figure it out. They’ll still want some of what Basile gave them so you’ll need to find a balance. You said you wanted to tap into my military knowledge then here it is. When you kill the leader of an army watch how quickly the men lose the will to fight and die.”

  Leon nodded thoughtfully and extended his hand toward Stone.

  “You got a deal, man. You take out Basile and you get all you asked for.”

  “How are you going to find him?” whispered Nuria. “You don’t even know what he looks like.”

  “We’ve got our own secret weapon,” said Stone.

  The door creaked on rusty hinges. The Map Maker looked up at them. It was still dark.

  “Now?” he said.

  Stone nodded.

  --- Twenty Six ---

  The air was thick with the smell of burnt corpses and Stone imagined this was not the first time a pyre had been lit in this part of the city.

  Passing the wreckage of the Maizan marketplace, moonlight illuminating streaks of dried blood and a large number of footprints, they threaded a path through the ruined city, the Map Maker leading the way. He was slow paced and out of shape, gesturing with his stumps as he recalled parts of the route he had staggered - bleeding, nauseous and delirious - taking him from the tenement block where he had been tortured and mutilated into the arms of Jarracos. Stone was an impressive tracker and pathfinder but even he had to bow to the Map Maker.