Below the seating is a stretch of ground covered with pale sand. Upon it, three tables have been set up. Long and rectangular, a small boart with an apple in its mouth has been placed at its center. Around it is an abundance of food. Rich greens and brightly-colored fruits and vegetables circle it. Platters laden with branches loaded with small green globes cascade over the table’s edge. Midway down the length of the middle table is a chair. Gold in color and of some kind of reflective metal, the seat glows brightly in the sunlight. Ardorned with ornate jewel-like decorations, I assume the seat is a throne of sorts for the self-proclaimed King of the Urthmen, King Cadogan. Smaller round tables surround the ones heaped with food. They’re covered in a silky fabric I’ve never seen before. The fabric catches the morning light, glinting like liquid and resembling blood with its deep garnet color as it pools around the table legs.
We are guided to the food tables. No directions are issued. The humans with us know what to do and respond as if they’ve done it hundreds of times. To the right of the tables, another is set. It is a simple wooden table with a covering and holds plates, tankards and pitchers, as well as serving platters. They retrieve shiny metal steins. Pitchers that match the steins are filled with wine, the fruity, acrid smell pungent at this time of the day. The tankards are filled and returned to the trays before they’re picked up and held, on standby for the first Urthman who appears thirsty. Four robed humans stand stock-still holding them when the area suddenly falls silent. I slide June a glance as all eyes shift to the far left corner of the space. There, a portly Urthman draped in a bright-red cloak appears. Clad in the same material as the table coverings, he moves, waddling gracelessly as he makes his way to the ornate chair at the middle of the center rectangular table on which the food is set. Rolls of fat strain against his clothing. His legs are as wide as tree trunks and his feet look too small to carry his weight. He looks silly with a white bundle of curls perched precariously atop his head to compliment his garish outfit and corpulent build, but at the sight of him entering, a hush befalls the entire crowd. He stops midway to his table, likely to catch his breath, and allows his beady eyes to scan the crowd. The seats are as still as a tomb, responding with unquestioning silence. He resumes his trek and stops before his seat. He claps his hands together, interlacing his pudgy fingers and causing the hair he wears to slide to one side and his blubbery belly to jiggle. At any other time, the sight of this ridiculous creature would amuse me. But today it doesn’t. Today he is death incarnate.
As soon as Urthman King sits, about a dozen others scuttle like insects from the direction in which he came. They seat themselves at the round tables and immediately the wine is served. They drink and eat, not bothering to use their hands in most cases but opting instead to submerge their faces in plates they load with food from the tables. They snort and belch and pass gas as they gorge. I’m sickened by the sight, sound and smell of it. I follow the other humans, careful to maintain the illusion that I am one of them when I catch sight of a small figure near the edge of the structure on the left. Heart rocketing to my throat and hammering there, I see William. Tears have carved channels in the dirt that cakes his cheeks. Behind him is John. He looks much the same. I take a trembling breath that snags. Every instinct within me demands that I run to them. That I run to them and hold them and shield them with my body as we flee this awful place. My muscles twitch to life. The impulse to dash across the sand to them beats in time with my heart. I want to cry. To scream. To lash out at the multitude of blood-thirsty creatures around me. I am terrified and relieved at once. Over-joyed and depressed simultaneously. I am overcome. Overwhelmed. It takes every ounce of restraint within me to remain in place. The tray I hold quakes, the metal steins clacking against it. But I stay put. I must. For now at least.
John and William are shoved out of concealment. Small and frail beside the towering Urthman handling them, their hands are bound behind them. Vomit creeps up the back of my throat and tears sting my eyes. My babies. My babies are shackled and being lead to their deaths.
Once their feet touch the pale sand and the first Urthman glimpses them, a buzz begins. As they walk, what started as a weak hum transforms. It surges around the walls of the structure. Growling and rolling like a hungry beast, it echoes and grows louder the longer they walk. By the time they’re halfway to the center of the sand, the sound is a deafening roar. Even the walls vibrate. I’ve never heard such a commotion. Thunderous cheers, clapping, and stomping, all merge to create a rumble that shakes the earth beneath my feet. The sound is earsplitting. The tiers of seats that begin at ground level and rise high into the sky, Urthmen filling the benches, seem to sway. Most are on their feet shouting, stomping, pumping their fists, and flailing animatedly. There must be thousands of them. And their attention is focused on my children. On Sully. The roar, the screaming and chanting, all of it is for them. The crowd is calling for their blood to be spilled. They are calling for their deaths.
Urthmen to the right rush out to the center of the sand carrying wooden blocks. Three blocks in all, they bear rust-colored stains and have leather straps affixed to either side. They leave them then scurry back out of sight.
The Urthman forcing John and William out to the center of the sand stops them at the block. “Get down!” he shouts.
John hesitates, tears streaming down his face. William lifts his chin, looking the Urthman directly in the eyes. He falls to his knees, never breaking eye contact. John follows suit, doing as his brother just did.
“Heads on the blocks now!” the Urthman barks. He kicks John in the back.
I whimper. In my periphery, June flinches, her hands flying to the large sleeves of her robe. She could kill the Urthman who just struck my son in an instant. I know she could. I know she wants to. I want him dead. I will live to see him die. I will have my vengeance on all who’ve laid a hand upon my children’s heads if it is the last thing I do.
Trembling veins of fury snake through my body. My children are made to kneel before the block, resting their heads to one side while they’re strapped in place.
They will be beheaded.
Beheaded.
Their smiling faces flicker through my memory.
Their laughter echoes in my head.
No! No! No! This can’t be happening. Nothing is worse than this. I need to act. Now.
Sully is brought out next. He looks my way and recognition flashes in his chestnut gaze. They widen. He looks shocked at first but then he winks at me with a smile that isn’t his trademark lopsided smile, but one that is sad yet hopeful. Hopeful that I will save them.
My heart quivers and the racing of my thoughts halts. This cannot happen. This will not happen.
I set the tray I’m holding upon the wooden table behind me. I retrieve a pitcher. I walk to June and in her ear, I say, “Get to them. I’m going to get him,” and clip my head toward the king.
I make my way toward King Cadogan. Urthmen intercept me, stopping me to fill their glasses with wine. I oblige, doing so numbly. My focus is limited to the King.
As I approach him, King Cadogan stands unexpectedly. The crowd stills and he begins to speak. “Fellow Urthmen,” he starts, his voice high-pitched. “We are gathered today for a monumental event.”
I inch toward him closer, sliding my feet forward and reaching up under my robe to where my dagger is sheathed at my wrist. Formerly at my ankle, I relocated it for easier access.
Ripping it free, I grip it in one hand and descend on the King. In one swift motion, I grab him around his throat, yanking him toward me so that his back wrenches painfully, and place my blade at his throat.
Several screams echo from the crowd before it returns to silent. All around me, the Urthmen guards draw their swords. I can feel the King’s labored breaths against me. Feel the sweat seeping through the silky clothes he wears.
“Drop the blades,” I warn them. “Or I slit his throat.”
The King trembles, setting his rolls of fat quivering like a
leaf in a windstorm. “You heard her!” His high-pitched voice cracks with fear. “Drop them!” The sweat from his back has saturated his shirt and dampens my robe.
I nod to June and she leaves the pack of robed humans—the slaves—and dashes to William, John and Sully. Urthmen advance, stepping toward her to accost her.
“Back off or I kill him!” I shout.
The King bobs his head. The white curls slide off his skull. “Just do what she says! I don’t want to die!” he screams frantically.
June continues to the boys and Sully. She cuts them free and takes John by the hand. Standing, Sully bends to grab a blade off the ground, one that an Urthmen guard surrendered. The four of them make their way toward me.
My chest rises and falls quickly, heaving fear-filled breath after breath. The closer they draw, the fear remains but it’s joined by another emotion: joy. My family is near. They’re within my grasp. Too fearful to ever dream this moment would be real, it remained a hope I harbored in the back of my mind. I just wanted to hold them. To see them. And here they are.
“Mom,” John says quietly as he gets close enough to recognize me. Tears fill his eyes.
His voice is a benediction. The ache in my chest is profound. I do not trust my voice to speak and I fight back tears. I smile at my boys. At Sully. But then must harden as I glare at the Urthmen.
Slowly, we back away, retracing the steps that led here toward the grassy square we crossed. “If anyone follows, I will kill him, do you understand?” I threaten.
The Urthmen around us freeze in place. I thrust King Cadogan forward, the blade of my dagger pressed against his fleshy neck, and we walk out of the structure, down a narrow lane and across the courtyard. Past the courtyard and on the pale, paved path, I see a vehicle with a uniform-clad Urthman beside it. The engine is running and he’s about to climb inside.
“Hold it right there!” I scream. “Step away from the vehicle!” I order.
The Urthman turns and sees me. He curses, the fact that I have his King in a choke hold and a knife pressed to his throat doesn’t register. But when it does, his small eyes, as black and hard as volcanic glass, widen. He backs away with his hands raised to chest height and his palms facing me. The children and June climb into the back seat and Sully slides into the driver’s seat. I’m about to wedge the King and myself into the front seat when the King rears, using the whole of his considerable weight and jerking his head back simultaneously. His skull connects with my nose before I’m knocked off my feet. The crunch of bone is heard the split second before a supernova of pain explodes in my face. My eyes tear and warmth gushes from my nostrils. I fall backward, landing against the ground on my back hard with the King on top of me. The back of my skull knocks against the pavement with a pop. The wind is knocked from my lungs and I feel as if every organ in my body has been crushed under his weight. The dagger falls from my hand.
Shocked and covered in my own blood and with pain smarting through every cell in my body, I shove my hands forward, propelling King Cadogan off me reflexively. He rolls to his side and scrambles to his feet. As soon as he’s standing, he shambles forward.
The shamble turns to a labored jog and he begins shouting. “Kill them!” he screams over and over again. “Don’t let them out of Elian alive!”
Struggling to remain conscious, darkness teases the edges of my vision. The image that flickers to life then dims is one of a barrage of Urthmen headed our way.
Chapter 17
Firm hands grip me under my arms and yank me hard. Pinpricks of bright light still dart about in my field of vision, scattered like constellations in the night sky but moving like comets. I lift my chin and through the jumbled mess of speckled light, I can see my sister. June has me. She’s pulling me backward, dragging me toward the vehicle.
“Avery, come on!” she screams. Her voice is a frantic pitch, straining as she tries to drag my uncooperative body.
I clumsily shuffle my feet and position them beneath me, standing. I take unsteady steps, hurrying my pace until I reach the vehicle. I half-climb and am half-shoved into the front seat. Before the door is even closed, Sully shifts gears and stomps down on the gas pedal. The engine roars and we rocket forward.
Sully speaks to me, his voice is audible but rises and falls, swelling like a great tide and echoing at times as if I am underwater. What he’s saying is indecipherable. I struggle to keep my eyes open. The darkness encroaching on my sight seeks to snuff out the pinpricks of light and lull me to oblivion. The notion is tempting. If I just close my eyes, the white-hot pain in my skull will subside. The agonizing throb of pain at the bridge of my nose will cease. I’ll be able to rest. To be cradled in a warm, dark embrace of velvety silence.
I close my eyes for a moment, sampling the darkness. I open them but my lids are heavy. It is an effort to keep them open. My head feels as if it’s being drawn back into the headrest and my body feels as if it’s being gently rocked. I begin to fall away from myself. To fall away from the pain. I feel myself fade. Thick silence smothers all sound. Darkness encroaches at the edges of my vision, narrowing it until just a pinhole of light is visible. And soon, the pinhole fades to shadow. I’m submerged in complete and utter blackness, utter stillness.
“Mommy! Mommy, are you okay?” A familiar voice echoes through the darkness, reaching out to me and tracing the back of my neck with wispy, vaporous fingers. Nebulous at first, it grows louder and more panicked. It beckons me, transcending darkness so thick and stifling it smothers me. That voice...it is a part of me. Part of the essence of who I am. I feel a pull to return to it. It summons me, imparting me with a sense of peace and happiness so complete, so filling, tears glaze my eyes. I’ve never wanted anything more than to be closer to the voice. To return to it. Every cell in my body is warmed by it, pulled to it as though it is magnetic fire, heating me and drawing me simultaneously. I fight for it.
Resisting the part of me that’s lured by the peaceful oblivion, I push against it, raging with a part of me that isn’t tangible. A part of me that isn’t corporeal.
In an instant, my eyes open. Blinding light, vibrant and bold, floods my surroundings. Blurry and indistinct at first, the space in which I find myself is an eddying bombardment of movement, color and sound. But quickly, it comes into focus. The world explodes on a sonic boom. My son. My son, William. His voice called to me. I am in a vehicle with my children, Sully and June, the world beyond the windshield rushing at us.
With a whimper of pain trapped in the back of my throat, I turn in my seat and look at John and William. They both smile, their expressions as pure and radiant as sunlight from the sky. I smile back at them, knowing fully that mine is more of a blood-stained grimace. But I can’t help it. I love them and am grateful to see them. Chancing a look beyond them and beyond the back window, I expect to see a convoy of Urthmen vehicles pursuing us. To my surprise, there aren’t. There will be soon though, I’m sure of it.
I turn to face forward again. Sully is speeding toward the edge of Elian. As we approach the city limits, we see a gathering of Urthmen. They’re closing the gate to trap us inside Elian.
“Oh no,” Sully says,
June’s head pokes forward between the passenger and driver seats. “They’re going to lock us in the city,” she says.
“They aren’t closed all the way yet,” Sully says.
Turning suddenly, the Urthmen see us. They freeze as they realize we are racing toward them.
“Hold on!” Sully screams seconds before the front of the sturdy vehicle barrels into the partially-open gate. Wood explodes on impact. Instinctively, I cross my arms over my face, but still peek through the space between them in time to see an Urthman body land on the hood with a thud before rolling off onto the ground where it remains, unmoving.
Sully guides the truck-like vehicle over debris and bodies, shooting down the paved road without a destination as far as I know. A few times, his gaze leaves the road. His eyes link with mine and unspoken words are shar
ed. We are reunited but the relief in his expression is fraught with worry. His smile is tight, still there’s warmth within it. Tenderness.
“I never thought I’d see you again,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. Though my vision is blurry, I can see that his eyes shine with unshed tears. He reaches out and takes my hand in his. He lifts it to his lips and places a kiss upon it. “I’m so glad you’re alive.” A single tear slips down his cheek.
I am left without words. Overflowing with emotion and heart feeling so full my ribs struggle to contain it, I give his hand a gentle squeeze.
From the back seat, June returns once again. “Where are we headed?” she asks. “There isn’t a place left for us to go. All of our people have been killed.”
Her words are stark and true. Where will we go? No one is left with whom we could seek shelter. Every human city has been attacked.
“I know,” Sully replies solemnly. After a moment of driving, when all we hear is the hum of the engine and the roll of the tires passing over pavement and bits of rock, he says, “We could head to old Las Vegas.” His lips are pursed in thought for a moment. “There’s no way the Urthmen could’ve brought their army across the desert and through the Uganna Lands.” He looks at me, my hand still in his and resting on the console.
I shake my head. Crossing the country would be hard. Next to impossible. But entering Uganna Territory? That would be suicide. I remember the Uganna well. Remember that their viciousness exceeded any creature I have ever come across to date. No, we aren’t going there. We need to stay here, to find whoever is still alive and fight.
“We can’t do that.” I turn my head so that I’m facing him. The movement makes the world around me spin. “We have to see if any of our people are alive,” I say.
“I thought they’re all gone,” he says.
“There must be some left.” I say. I have to believe. I have to have hope. “Riley, Oliver and Lark may be somewhere out there. Alive.” I look past Sully to the world rushing by beyond the windshield. Though humans lived without worry for the better part of the ten years of peace, they still possess the will to survive. Some could’ve escaped and relied upon that will. And instinct. Many of us avoided the Urthmen all of our lives up until the Peace Treaty was signed. “We have to search for them. Search for Prince Garan. And fight for our right to exist.”
Extinction: Planet Urth, #6 Page 20
