Revolution (Cartharia Book 2)

by Spencer Reaves McCoy

  In the distance, a figure caught her eye. For a moment, Janice thought she was imagining it, because she'd just been thinking about him, but she was sure she'd seen Will's face briefly in the camp, "No," she said to herself, "Damn it, no!"

  "No?" Donut asked, walking back up towards her.

  "You've got something... right, you know, right there," Janice said to him.

  Donut wiped his face and then sighed at her, squatting back down with some effort, "I'm going to take these out, okay? Then we'll talk some more."

  Janice stared over his shoulder, trying to see Will's face again, to see if he was really there or not. Then Donut yanked the first of the metal rods from its resting place and Janice lost track of everything but that.

  Janice woke to the sounds of fighting in the camp. She didn't remember when she'd fallen asleep. She only remembered pain, excruciating pain. Donut was not a novice when it came to dealing it out. He stayed away from the typical lashes and blows one might expect when it came to torture. He preferred to keep his methods on a more creative wavelength.

  She shook her head a little, trying to clear it. That only caused a flare of pain in the back of her head. She remembered the blows on the way to the camp then. She wondered if she had a concussion. Shouldn't people stay awake with concussions? All of her medical training seemed to have deserted her now.

  Janice strained to see what was happening in the camp. It was too dark to make much out, but her vision had always been decent. After a moment, things started to sharpen in the blackness, and she could make out a bit of what was going on. There were two figures fighting with the soldiers. She thought she could make out Almost-Rafinnel just from his height.

  Despite herself, she felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of relief. She'd told herself she didn't want Sean and Will anywhere near the camp. She didn't want them risking their lives, not for her. Still, she couldn't help but feel a sense of elation. "They came."

  Sean was fighting with a staff that he'd carved himself. He'd always preferred it to swords. She watched him finish off one of the men; even though the man was using a large, broad sword. He moved onto another quickly.

  The smaller figure would be Will. The prince was a practiced swordsman and she watched him proudly as he fought off several men at once. A few times she felt her heart leap into her throat, and she wished more than anything that she could be out there helping them. There was nothing to do but watch.

  Janice shook her head once more as she watched the combat. It was terrifying, really, but somehow it was also beautiful. She thought she'd understood what friendship was, after spending so much time with Sean and Will, but now she realized she hadn't understood it at all. Not really. She hadn't know what it meant.

  It meant they wouldn't leave her. Not now. Maybe not ever.

  Sean leaned down, cutting the ropes holding Janice to the pole. He helped her stand, "Are you okay?"

  Janice held him tightly for a moment, her eyes still wet. "I'm fine. These men don't know anything about keeping prisoners."

  Sean looked down at her fingers, staring at the red-swollen tips and the speckles of blood. His eyes flashed angrily but he only nodded.

  "Did you kill them all?" Janice asked. She glanced around, looking for Will.

  After a swift smile, Sean took her hand -- but oh, so carefully -- and led her away from the pole, "Will's over here."

  Janice followed him, not bothering to look around the camp. It was full of the dead bodies of the soldiers Sean and Will had taken out. There weren't that many but there were enough to cause her to avert her eyes. Enemies or not, it was still a nauseating sight to behold.

  Will was waiting over by the edge of the camp. Janice's eyes rounded when she saw what he was standing over. Donut was on the ground, a sword in his gut pinning him down. He was alive but barely. Will was watching him slowly bleed out.

  "This is the man I saw hurting you," Will said, his eyes glinting. He gestured at Donut. "I remember hearing once that gut wounds are the worst. I remember you once killed a man with a gut wound. Fitting way for this pig to die, but you... you couldn't do it. Because you know, you were tied up. So, well, I did it for you."

  Janice shook her head. She stepped around Donut, picking up one of the axes nearby. It had obviously been used for cutting wood. She frowned down at the edge, wondering just how sharp it was.

  "Will," she said, "I appreciate the thought, but..."

  She turned to him, "You know that's not right. We may treat you like one of us, but you're far more than one of us. You're the Prince of Arinford and our future King. You know what I mean?"

  Will nodded and made a rude gesture at the man, "Fine, fine, alright. You're right. I'm sorry."

  Janice nodded and swung the axe high into the air, then let it fall. Donut's head rolled cleanly away from the rest of his body.

  She turned to Sean, ignoring the pooling blood and the droplets coming off the axe. "You came for me."

  Sean gave her a fierce grin, and wrapped an arm around her waist. "I will always come for you," he promised, and then he kissed her.

  When the kiss was finished, Sean pushed her back gently, "However, I have some bad news."

  Janice lifted an eyebrow.

  "When we were staking out the camp, coming up with a plan," Sean said, "We overheard something. You're not going to like it. I don't like it much either. Matilyn isn't dead."

  "That's great news," Janice exclaimed, "Why would that be bad?"

  Sean lowered his eyes and let out a slow breath, "She's not one of us anymore, Janice. She didn't get killed, she deserted. And joined the enemy. She's part of the Lamonte military now."

  "Matilyn?" Janice said, shocked.

  "Matilyn," Sean confirmed.

  For a moment, Janice didn't know what to say. Then she pushed a strand of hair behind an ear, trying not to wince at the pain in her fingertips. "Come on," she told him, "Let's go raid their food. I'm starving."

  THIRTY-THREE

  With Golden Fire, Why?

  "HOW IS THAT YOU KNOW HOW TO use all of these weapons?" Penny asked as she stepped up beside Eldrin, picking up her staff. There was a large rack of weapons near him that had been set up by Mike. Eldrin had just shown his proficiency in each and every one of them.

  Eldrin rolled his eyes and ignored the question. He still ignored most of her questions. It was her third week training with him, and it had become some sort of faux tradition. Penny would ask something about his time in the guard, and Eldrin would ignore it.

  "I think you should teach me direct assault today," Penny said with a raise of her eyebrows.

  "You haven't mastered defense yet," Eldrin said with a shake of his head, "Until you are able to fully defend yourself against any weapon with your staff, we can't move on."

  Penny slid her hands along the staff, finding the hand grooves. She no longer had to glance down to do it. For the first week, she had merely waited until the blisters on her hands had screamed, "I thought you wanted to teach me."

  Eldrin rolled his eyes, "I am teaching you," he retorted, ignoring her jibe. He strolled around her, headed towards the weapon rack.

  Penny lifted an eyebrow and brought her staff outwards in defensive swipe that Eldrin had taught her. It was meant to be used against swords but she swung at his legs instead.

  Stepping over the attack easily, Eldrin swung around, bringing out his leg in a sideways kick. It caught Penny unaware and she tumbled off her feet. Snatching her staff up swiftly, Eldrin drove it down against her throat, "Dead."

  Penny glared up at him and then shoved the staff away. She ignored Eldrin's offered hand and stood on her own, snatching her staff back, "What weapon are you using today?"

  Eldrin considered a moment before finishing his walk to the weapon rack. He eyed them for a moment and then picked up a bow. The quiver that he picked up was made especially for training; the tips were rounded, padded, and blunt. They were still painful when they connected with flesh though.

 
"This one isn't possible," Penny said with a sigh.

  "You need to be able to focus more," Eldrin said, pacing back across the room and preparing an arrow, "You need control. You act too fast."

  Penny adjusted her staff again and moved her feet apart, readying herself, "That's not the first time I've heard that."

  "What?" Eldrin asked.

  "Ready!" Penny said with a roll of her eyes. Eldrin's smirk faded away and he was all business again, letting the arrow fly.

  Penny swung out with her staff, trying to stop it before it reached her. She felt the arrow slam into her shoulder. She knew the next morning, she would have a bruise there.

  Without pausing the dwell on the sting of pain, Penny quickly prepared for the next arrow. It came in seconds. This one struck her thigh. She grunted and then felt one bruise her collarbone.

  "You have to focus on the arrows," Eldrin called out.

  Penny shook her head, "I can't. They come too fast."

  "You have to be able to focus on just them, nothing else," he explained, "When you can do that, you'll be able to stop them. Then you can learn to do it as second nature, no matter how distracted you are."

  "They're a blur," Penny said, "I don't understand how you can focus on them."

  Eldrin shook his head, "I can't explain it. It's just instinctive. Try harder."

  "I can't," Penny said.

  Eldrin shook his head, stringing another arrow, "You can. Look at the arrow. Focus on it, right now. Watch the tip."

  Penny sighed and glanced at the arrow, as he said.

  "Focus," Eldrin said sharply.

  "I'm trying," Penny called back.

  "No, you aren't," he frowned, "You're focusing with your eyes, Penny. Focus with your mind. See nothing but the arrow. Think of nothing but the arrow."

  Penny bit her lower lip and shook her head. Once again, she looked to the arrow. This time, she made an effort to think about the arrow too. She forced herself to concentrate on it, trying not to let her mind wander. It flew at her.

  As she focused, the arrow grew larger and larger. With desperation, Penny threw her staff forward. With a clunk, the arrow dropped to the floor.

  "There you go!" Eldrin grinned at her. He bounded across the room and picked up her, spinning her in a circle. It was such a surprise that Penny dropped her staff. She couldn't help but to grin herself. When he let her go, she snagged the arrow up off the floor.

  "Now," Eldrin said, stepping away and looking a little embarrassed, "You can learn to attack first."

  "What? All I had to do was stop the arrow?"

  "You had to show that you could focus," Eldrin explained. "Now, I'll switch weapons and then your real training begins."

  The next three weeks went by with alarming speed for Penny. She found herself constantly busy. Despite her original qualms about being in charge of the recruitment section, she soon realized it was not a job to be taken lightly.

  Some of the people she talked to listened. Some shooed her away as a troublemaker. Some promised their help. Penny doubted many of these promises as true.

  Chris Stone was the real savior for recruitment. With her youth, and bitter need for vengeance, she was the poster child for a rebellion. She brought people to join the resistance almost daily. With her help, the numbers swelled until they were doubled, and then tripled.

  As for spreading discord, the rest of Penny's team did their share of that. Posters were hung nightly; the soldiers took them down again during the day. Chants were written and muttered throughout the streets of Valishna. Fear swept the city but so did anger.

  Penny forced herself to go out the day after her meeting with Eldrin and face the death of Marcus Satter. It was even more gruesome than she'd expected, though quite like what he'd described. The soldiers promised to find the person responsible and cause them triple the damage.

  The second and third death sparked even more anger into the soldiers, but they were also beginning to show signs of fright. None of them travelled alone anymore. Curfews were set to an early hour, and Penny's group was forced to stop going out at night to put up posters due to increased security.

  Penny's highlights of each day was her time spent with George Simons. Despite her initial failure in front of the group, she found she had a knack for fire manipulation. The more she practiced, the more she was able to control the flames.

  "That's really good," George told her one day, after she learned how to start a fire with no spark. It had been a trying exercise; she was forced to go outside of her current knowledge and learn to control other substances in an area to create enough friction for a spark.

  "How do I fight with it?" Penny asked.

  George shook his head, "I typically don't teach fighting techniques this early on in one's training."

  Penny glared at him, "We don't have time for that. I need you to teach me! Please, George."

  "Fine," George said, "What you need to keep in mind when fighting with is control. There's a lot of passion involved in fire manipulation, as you've demonstrated, but it's easy to let that passion get out of control when you're in combat. This has led to a lot of issues on both sides of the war."

  "Control," Penny said with a nod. She breathed in deeply and said it again, "Control. Okay, I've got it. Let's give it a shot. Where do we start?"

  George drummed his fingers together, "Wait here."

  Penny practiced creating sparks in the air until George returned. He was carrying a large burlap sack and a handful of markers.

  "What are you doing?" Penny said.

  "You'll see," George told her. He went over to a fence post in her garden and pulled the burlap sack over it. He then used the markers to draw a smiley face on it. "This is your enemy. This is King Sullivan."

  Penny laughed.

  "It's not funny," George said. When Penny had her laughter under control, he continued, "We can't have you practice on a real enemy, so this is your enemy. You want to be able to attack him with flames, but not let those flames spread anywhere else."

  "Seems simple enough," Penny said. George held up both hands and stepped away.

  For the next hour, Penny tried different methods of sending her sparks at the burlap sack king. No matter how much she tried to control the flames, every time she exhibited enough anger to fuel her fire, she couldn't control it from spreading to the rest of the garden. George kept near, putting the flames out every time they spread.

  "Don't be discouraged," he told her after she'd finally stopped, "It takes a long time to learn. You need to practicing aiming your anger. I would suggest clearing your head when you have free time and just impinging a bull's eye and darts. Imagine shooting the dart over and over, right into the middle."

  Penny nodded, "I'll work on that. Thanks George." She turned to see that Robert had approached. He was accompanied by Erin, as usual.

  "Where are you going?" Robert asked as she quickly started back towards the house.

  "Weapons training," she called over her shoulder without stopping. "Have fun with George!"

  Eldrin was waiting inside with the usual assortment of weaponry. Penny felt her courage growing. It was going to be soon, the revolution, and her men were going to be ready. She was going to be ready.