She was right about that because as soon as the communal meal was over, the children and women went away and only the men remained. Reena was so full she could barely breathe; she had eaten heartily of the grain and meat, as well as the green leafy vegetables that had been folded around some kind of spicy taste.
Damien said to her, “I would like to know how it is that you became leader when there are those here who are older and stronger than you.”
If he had asked the question any other way, any less frankly or with even so much as a hint of a smile on his face she would’ve gotten upset. The truth was she didn’t know how she had become leader, and it wasn’t something she was comfortable with. She wasn’t sure she was making any of the right decisions, or that she even had the right to make decisions.
“It started because I was captured with my father. We were Outlaws and the soldiers caught us one night while they were out Culling. We were taken to the Arena to die; it is the sentence for all of my people you know. Only a weird thing happened and I accidentally killed one of the beasts in the Arena that was supposed to feed upon myself and the other people who were in the death cart with me.
“When I killed that beast the other beast jumped upon it and began to eat it, leaving all of us alive. I don’t know why that was or how, but it happened. It incensed the Governor. It made him so angry that he declared me the first female gladiator and sent me into the Arena to battle for the lives of everyone who was in the death cart with me. I was to battle for my father’s life during my last battle.”
Damien asked, “But you did not?”
“No, I never made it to my last battle.”
Damien leaned forward, his dark and expressive eyes glowing with firelight. “It has been many decades since one of my kind has been to the city from which you came, but I was under the impression that the only way to win in the Arena was either to be free or to die there.”
“It is still that way.” Reena hastened to assure him of his facts and then she looked down at her hands. “One of the men who trained me killed himself on a field of battle rather than face me. Not because he feared me so, but because he did not want to see me die at his hands. When that happened many other people helped me to escape. I was given a mission, a mission to find the sword…”
She pulled the sword from the scabbard and as soon as she did, all the men around the fire sat up straight. Several had been smoking long pipes, and they immediately put them out, scattering their coals across the sand and grass. They hastily put those sparks out and then they began to move closer, jostling each other like small boys as they all reached out with eager fingers to touch the sword.
Even Damien seemed absolutely impressed. He said, in an almost reverent whisper, “It is the sword of Arthur.”
“Is Arthur the leader of the city beyond the desert?”
Damien said, “He is the leader of the city to the East, yes. Or at least — he was once, many centuries ago. That is the sword. Tell me, how did you come about it?”
“I was sent to an outpost that had once belonged to the soldiers of the Governor. It sits at the mouth of the desert, right at the end of the great road. To one side was the woods, where we — the Outlaws — live.
“I suppose the best way to describe it is to think of circles. The city is one circle but there are many circles outside of it: there is the outer lands which is where the farmers who grow things just for the city live, and beyond that is the outside. The farmers who lived there grow for themselves that they pay a high tax to do so. They have more freedom, but higher taxes. Beyond that is the woods. The great road cuts through everything and unlike the farmland the road divides, quite sharply the woods from the desert. I don’t know why that is but it’s true.
“No one know exactly how big the woods are either; I have never heard of anybody ever going all the way to the ends of them. They are too many dangers once you get past the black trees to go any further.
“Anyway, I went to the outpost, and there I found a man who had the sword. He was… Empty. I can’t think of another way to describe him. He had done something to the soldiers, I don’t know what because I would never go and look, but he said he turned them into statues, into works of art. He was going to do the same thing to me. He had the sword, he said that he was bringing it to Aretula.
“He told me of the other city, he said that he was a criminal there but that he heard that if a man could cross the desert that he could be a god like Barkley.”
Damien nodded. “We saw him roaming about in the sand. It was obvious that he had the sickness; he must’ve come through the poison glands to the southeast of here. You must avoid those lands on your way to the city. If you’re ever going to make it to the city there is much you must avoid in this desert.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why do you live out here?”
Damien threw his head back and laughed. “Because here we are free. We are not bound by the laws of either of the cities that lie to both sides of us. We grew up here; our families have always been here. We know where the dangers are and we leave them be. We are happy; we know where this place is as well as the other, and we know how to leave it when necessary so that there will be plenty for us when we return.”
Reena asked, “Do you mean to say there’s other green and growing places like this in the desert?”
Damien nodded. “Yes, but do not be fooled by the desert. She will put things in your path that are not really there. The devil tricks as your friend called them. We call those things mirages. They have driven many a man mad, and fooled many others.”
“Thank you for telling me; how do we know the difference?”
You will see things in a desert, things that could not possibly belong. Cities rising fabulous in Golden above the Sands — those are never real. This is an oasis. I know of several of them. If you want to know if they are real or not you must walk towards them but always always remember this: never leave the path you are taking to try to make it to an oasis because it is most likely a mirage.”
“Is there one on the way to the city that were headed for?”
“Olympus?” Damien shook his head. “No, this is the only one you will find on your journey there. If you are lucky you will find it on your way back.”
Reena did not really even have to ask but she did anyway. “And if I’m not lucky?”
“Then you will find nothing but sand and you will die out there.”
“Well, that is very encouraging.”
Damien laughed and reached out to touch her hair. Reena almost flinched away from him but at the last minute held still. She sensed that there was no danger toward herself and she was right; he merely wrapped the end of her braid around his finger and then removed his finger from the coil.
She remembered something he had said and asked, “You said this is the sword that was carried by the man who beat Barkley.”
Damien nodded. “Would you hear a tale?”
“I would gladly hear your tale.”
**
The Great War had come at a time when peace had seemed so imminent that many had forgotten that war could even exist. In the wealthy countries there was utter panic as the war machine rolled across lands once rich with farmlands and life, devastating everything in its path.
The cars of the panicking refugees clogged the freeways, jammed the tunnels and many died under the bright burst of the nuclear weapons—trapped in their metal shells as the end bore down on them.
Some managed to escape though—and to get far enough away from the city that the blast did not kill them. Some had gotten out but not far enough and they fell victim to the sickness: they lost hair and teeth then everything else—including their very lives. Many wandered in the deserts past the giant city, doomed and desperate as they searched for a place that was not poisoned and failing.
There was one land—a land rich with grain that still grew tall and non-poisoned. There were cattle there too, and water. Nobody knew why that land had escaped the curse that
lay over the rest of the land and they did not care to ask why—they took it as the god’s favor and settled there.
For several centuries the bloodline of the original survivors was sustained in this land, but eventually it was stripped bare and they had to move on. None of them ever forgot that bounty though, especially as they had to return to the burned out shell of the city that had once housed their ancestors.
The city was overgrown now, the little life within it incredibly and sometimes horribly changed. The survivors found themselves fighting strange and unusual beasts, and sometimes things that resembled men, but were withered and mutated.
After a century of attempts and much death on all sides the city was somewhat restored. The building that the citizens lived in had been repaired and many others had been torn down broken brick by broken brick.
The streets had all caved in and rotted but now a new series of streets were in place. Gardens grew in the spaces that had once been home to oddly shaped constructions, places where children had played and animals had been allowed to wander free.
There was Law, and the people obeyed it because it was Law that kept them safe, that kept them from being like the animals that roamed so freely along the edges of the city. Law made them civilized.
The Laws were made up as they were needed and changed when they began to cause harm rather than good. It did happen, and nobody wanted that.
Outside the city, beyond its farthest borders, there was still strife. Other cities had had rebirths of their own, and not all of those births had produced healthy or law abiding civilizations.
When the city fell the first time it was to a man who declared himself its savior. After years of his cruel rule many people decided to flee, to find shelter and to stay alive despite the odds.
Some of these people decided to fight back, to fight for their freedom and the freedom of the people within the cities. Others decided to become exactly what the man who had taken over the city was—a ruler who ruled by force and fear.
After the infighting between those people, and some were indeed women, was over the few left standing decided to let each other go their own ways. Out of the East came Barkley, a terrible man whose love for power was exceeded only by his love for death.
He was a warrior in the sense that he would kill anyone indiscriminately and he managed to stay alive in every battle that he participated in. He was willing to kill the people that he commanded if he felt that they were not following his orders to the letter, and he was willing to raze every small outpost and town he came to in order to gain bodies to fill his army’s ranks and keep those soldiers fed.
He had grown his reputation by conquering smaller cities and towns and using their people and resources to take down larger ones. By the time he came to the city now known as Old York, he had amassed a force that numbered in the thousands and his name struck fear into the hearts of all those who heard it, and with good reason.
The ruler of the city was a learned man, a man who had spent his entire youth scouring the city for books from before the war and once he had them he had begun to insist that children read and write as well. Many of the books he had found were written in languages none spoke—or at least, not anymore. He often puzzled over those books it was said, trying desperately to figure out how to break the code that would reveal their contents to him.
Old York had weapons, and a small army to protect itself if necessary, but none wanted to fight, not really. They had seen enough in their years and the day-to-day struggle to stay alive had infused them with a longing for peace. The motto of the city was, ‘Live Today For Our Children’s Tomorrow’.
When Barkley came to Old York he did not expect that aged and quiet city to fight against him. He did not expect to find in that place men who were learned beyond anything he could have imagined, men who were willing to use old magics against him if that was what it took.
That was what it took and Barkely was horrified to find that he was, in fact, rather easily defeated and that the people he had forced into service were more than willing to abandon him. He had thought their loyalty assured and it had been, but only as long as he had held his sword to their necks—literally and figuratively.
Once free of his rule many chose to flee back toward their homelands in the hopes of reuniting with their families and tribes. Others, knowing that Barkley had seen to it that nothing of their homelands remained, stayed in Old York—offering to work in exchange for their places there.
As for Barkley he was imprisoned and that was when he issued his famous challenge. He demanded the right to die as a warrior, to fight against the ruler of York himself. He knew, because it was no secret, that the ruler was indeed an intense man whose habits leaned less toward swordplay and more toward learning. His mind was absorbed by taking care of his people through learning new and old methods of irrigation and how to build sewers so nobody would sicken and die. Swordplay was not something he had ever studied. Barkley was certain he could beat him in a battle.
The day he stepped into the space designated for that battle with his sword in one hand, he had shouted to the crowd, “Watch your ruler die you dogs!”
Once again Barkley’s arrogance was proven to be just that. He was bested by a man who hated violence and refused to kill him. He did however exile him; he sent him West along with almost a thousand others, those who had stayed loyal to him and who had chosen exile over working in the city. Into the desert. Into what most thought would surely be death.
Barkley had wanted to be immortalized and he had been. All across the world—in the lands that ended at the mouth of an impassable and enormous wasteland—everyone assumed he had stumbled along in the desert until he and all of his followers had died. He became the stuff of legends—the archenemy, the terrible and corrupted villain defeated by goodness and light.
Reena looked up at Damien, her forehead wrinkled as she understood exactly what had happened. So the whispers were true: Barkley had not been a wandering hero intent on saving his people—he had had no people other than the ones he had commanded. He had been a criminal, a killer bent on a course of hatred and revenge.
“The Arena in Aretula, he found the books there and he began to force people to fight in the Arena because…” she could not articulate what she wanted to say but Damien could.
“Because he had never gotten over being defeated. Every time he went into that Arena against someone he deemed a criminal and killed them, he forgot a little bit more of that defeat. He was using the blood of others to wipe the taste out of his mouth.”
“But how did he keep from killing off everyone long before the city grew?”
Damien grinned at her, “You are a smart girl. That was the secret that nobody wanted known. In those days there were nomads in the desert, not just a few puny tribes like there are now, but entire great tribes of us.
“Barkley, so the legend says, began to kidnap our peoples. He knew we were in the desert because many of the tribes made the grave and great mistake of helping him and his band to survive. We lost many of our numbers to him and his ambitions, to his blighted and bloody city. They added greatly to the numbers of his followers; some say we lost thousands of our people to him.
“Not all were taken Reena. Some chose the city over the desert; some chose to go and live on that land. They had heard stories of the richness of life there and wanted to see it for themselves. Even now nomads will wander into the city, but these days we are considered to be as unwelcome as Outlaws and if caught and noticed as a desert dweller those who do go to the city die at the gates. The ones lucky enough to get past the guards and into the walls eventually die a different kind of death.”
“Was Aretula the city that the people of Old York lived in before they moved on?” Reena asked, her elbows scraping along the rough table’s surface as she leaned closer to Damien’s side of the table, all of her attention focused on the story he was telling.
He shook his black head. “No, not at all. That city was alwa
ys a place of haunts. Our ancestors called it the Lost City. It was said that when the Great War happened many cities fell, just crumbled but others were somehow …sent elsewhere. That the blast of the machines literally caused shifts in the earth’s surfaces and that some places slipped over the edges and were lost forever. Some were moved.
“The city that became Aretula was never in the desert, not in the beginning, nor was it on the other side of it. Either the desert was created by the war or the city was moved. Nobody will ever know for sure—there are some things only the gods know and should know. In either case, it is not a city that belongs where it is and one day it will fall because it must.”
Fear made her blood run cold. “What of the people within it?”
Damien said calmly, “That is for the gods to decide too. A city built on blood and sand cannot stand Reena. Eventually the blood will cause the very sand to shift, to weaken and crumble. Everyone knows that.”
Her throat closed. What good was it to overthrow the corrupt government of Aretula if it would just fall anyway? Why was she here, trying so hard to understand all these things if, in the end, they would not matter at all anyway?
Damien interpreted her expression correctly. “There are things which we cannot answer nor ask. There is a tale of the man who was called to lead his people out of a city filled with the same things that you see in the city that you are running away from, and may very well find in the city that you are running to.
“That man journeyed across the great desert, at least that’s what the legends say, to take his people to safety. He was faced with a great many trials and tribulations in order to do so.. I can’t say why you’re here, the gods who decided your destiny are not here to answer for it. Perhaps you should pray, or ask for a vision.”
She could not keep the bitterness out of her voice. “I doubt that would do any good.”
“How would you know if you would not try?”
Reena hung her head, ashamed. “I think the gods have deserted me.”
“Or perhaps they’re only testing you.”
Battle Cry Page 8
