by Hotter Edge
Hudson came face to face with the stoic looking guard and realized this was where religion met advancement. Here in front of Hudson was a man with a semi-automatic weapon strapped to his chest, a tactical vest, and rows of Velcro pockets. And all Hudson had was his axe slung over his shoulder, and a cause that burned in his heart. Not much of an even match.
But Hudson steeled himself with the thought that a man couldn't eat his bullet-proof vest.
“Papers,” said the guard, his brow furrowing as he took in the sight of a woman, boy, and a baby. Not the usual merchants who went across.
“Oh yes, sorry.” Hudson began to pat down his chest pretending to be looking for his papers, though he knew exactly where he'd put them. “I had them right here. Where did they go?”
The guard ignored Hudson's bumbling as he assessed Lake and the crying baby she had bouncing on her hip. “You have a stamp for the baby and woman?”
“Yes, yes, of course. They're right here.” Hudson swung his bag off his shoulder. “Do you mind?”
He started unloading his bag and placing the items into the unsuspecting guard’s hands— apple, three pears, a small cloth filled with berries, and a large bag of apio vegetables.
The man's eyes widened at the booty. Hudson watched him swallow, then looked around to see how far away his fellow soldiers were. Fresh anything was a luxury. Fresh fruit was unheard of. A man could exist on corn meal and dried beans, but years could go by without him tasting a real apple or berry.
“Oh, here they are.” Hudson pulled out three papers and waved them in front of the guard. “Here, I knew I had them. I don't know what I was thinking bringing all that food to the portal. There’s no way that will make it across. Can I leave it here with you?”
Hudson knew he had him when the man started sniffing the pear and counting the berries. Hudson wasted no time, knowing if they could just get past the guard they could make a run for it. He stuffed the papers back into his bag and unceremoniously pushed Vonn in front of him through the check point.
The soldier popped a berry into his mouth and closed his eyes in uncensored bliss. Hudson took the opportunity to grab Lake, and in his over zealousness, pushed her tad too hard.
Just then a gunshot rang out. Every guard and remaining straggling merchants looked up and behind toward the sound. The horseman had ridden into the station, horse galloping, pistol raised into the air. “Stop that man. He's taking my wife!”
Everything happened in slow motion as Hudson watched his carefully stacked house of cards crumple to the ground. He watched as Lake unclasped Rider's hands from around her neck and placed their son into Vonn's arms. She spoke something in Vonn's ear and gave him a push toward the portal. Hudson watched the guard’s face as it re-cemented back into the stoic features of the uncaring and felt rather then saw, the rest of the merchants in line move away from him.
“Let me see those papers,” the guard said, reaching for his gun.
Hudson slowly pulled his bag off as he captured Lake's gaze with his own. With everything he had he conveyed one message. RUN!
Come on Lake, go.
He knew exactly when she was able to read his message. And knew exactly when she made up her mind, with a slight shake of her head, to disregard him.
Damn his wife. Would she never listen?
“Don’t let them through,” Syon shouted as he climbed down from off his horse.
Hudson sighed. Resignation weakening him like none of his fear before had. He pulled out the papers and handed them to the guard.
“There are only three stamps,” the soldier said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Syon tried to push his was to the front of the line, but two men with automatic weapons held him back. “That's because he illegally kidnapped my wife,” Syon shouted. “Those stamps are forged.”
Hudson watched as Vonn struggled toward the portal, shoulders and head hunched over, the screaming two-year-old in his arms. The energy force was like a gale wind whipping at his hair and clothes. Each step a painful, slow progression.
“Halt!” A soldier close to Hudson yelled as he caught sight of Vonn making a slow beeline toward the circular vortex. He raised his gun and followed Vonn's moving figure with the sight of his semi-automatic.
Hudson was already flinging himself toward the soldier as Lake placed herself in front of Vonn as a human shield. Hudson tackled him to the ground, but just as quickly was restrained by a group of soldiers that descended upon him like a swarm of angry bees.
There was a quick kick to his ribs, hands brought behind his back, but the whole time Hudson kept his eyes trained on Vonn. He watched the boy blow hard into his son's mouth and then covered the baby’s mouth and nose with one hand. Vonn then took a deep breath of his own and stepped through.
He sighed or was that a groan from another solid kick to his stomach? Lake was screaming something, but the low roar of the portal stole her words.
Hudson was brought to his knees just long enough to watch the butt of a rifle come straight toward him. Lights out.
Chapter Seventeen
Hudson woke on the dirt floor of a hut, hands secured behind his back, feet tied together. He tried to open his eyes, but one was swollen shut, the inside of his mouth the same texture of the white sand he was face down on. He must've groaned because someone threw water over him. He sucked the moisture off his lips, grateful for the small drink.
“Get him up.”
Someone helped him to his feet and then had to keep him steady as the rickety hut spun around him. A man with sunbaked skin and a graying buzz cut stepped in front of Hudson. His breath carried the hint of whiskey, but his gaze was clear and assessing.
“We seem to have a problem,” he said. “The Elder outside says you stole his wife, but the woman insists that she belonged to you first. We checked her Mark, but we have no way of knowing if the Elder stole her from you or not. Or if your name is even Hudson Black Creek Land. Personally, that Syon prick gives me the creeps. Tattooing is one thing, but anyone who burns his name into the back of his woman doesn't deserve one. However, I don't make the rules, just uphold them.”
Hudson was really interested in the conversation, he really was, but his vision kept going in and out and the next thing he knew there was more water in his face.
“Damn, how hard did you hit him on the head?”
A burly man with a square-shaped head helped him to his feet and then tapped him on each cheek. “Come on, bro. You gotta get your head in the game. They're gonna make you fight him, and he looks like he's in pretty good shape for an old dude.”
Gray-haired, buzz-cut was back in his line of vision. “See, I have a problem. I can't just let either one of you have her. Need to uphold some type of law around here. So here’s the thing. You’ll both fight. Winner takes all.”
He smiled showing a yellow line of worn-down teeth. “I guess he has a slight advantage since we’ve already kicked the crap out of you, but you can't attack a soldier like that and get away with it.”
Hudson swallowed to find his voice. “Do I have to fight him with my hands tied behind my back?”
Buzz-cut nodded to the man behind him, and soon Hudson's hands were free. Sharp pinpricks of electricity coursed through his fingers as he stretched them.
“So here's the thing,” Buzz-cut continued. “We took away his gun. Not really a fair fight if we hadn't.”
Hudson focused through his one eye. “Really? Did you give him a concussion also?”
Buzz-cut ignored him. “You can have your axe back and anything else you need. We would have declared winner to the one who drew first blood, but that Syon prick wanted none of that. Man wants your head on a stake.”
Hudson laughed. “The only way one of us is walking out of here is if the other is dead. That’s the only way this is going to end.”
Buzz-cut nodded. “That's what I thought. We'll give you some water and your axe when you get outside.” He stopped at the door, then turned toward Hudson.
“Hey, just in case it helps, we're all rooting for you. And a word of advice, end this quick, not sure how much longer you'll be able to stay on your feet.”
And with those words of confidence, Buzz-cut opened the door to the outside. Sunlight streamed in with a sharp burst of pain inside Hudson’s skull, and for the third time in one day, he saw the ground of white, hot sand come rushing toward him.
***
Lake lost ten years off her life as she watched Hudson fall face down in the sand. Two soldiers, one on each side, picked him up and dragged him out to where a small group had gathered. Lake made to run to Hudson, but the guard, with meaty hands and a limited vocabulary, stopped her.
As the soldier holding Hudson called for more water, Lake watched Syon prepare for the battle. This man may have years on Hudson, but he'd had a steady supply of microbiotics and no injuries. After two years in his home, she knew this man. She knew that Syon thought he’d already won—maybe he had.
His confidence was in every movement. How he disrobed into just his brown homespun pants. How he drew his sword out, slicing it through the air, the quick movements emphasizing years of training and instinct. There was a cold, calculated presence that gave Syon the edge. He didn't let emotion cloud his judgment. Anger and hate didn't pump through his blood, but deliberate cruelty.
And Lake knew something else—Syon could inflict pain. He knew how the human body worked. How to torque a sword just so to cause the maximum amount of damage. He fed on men's screams. On the fear that sprang up into their eyes when they realized that their death was imminent, but never painless.
Hudson was roused, though it took a long time for him to come up off his knees. Finally on his feet, he indicated he wanted a drink. From a pail he sipped some water, swished it around in his mouth than spat red onto the white sand at Syon's feet.
Syon lurched as if to strike Hudson down where he stood. A guard stopped him.
Hudson glared at Syon with a lopsided smile. He straightened, stripped down to his pants, then used a small tie to secure his hair back.
It had been years since Lake had seen Hudson naked in broad daylight, and her nightly dreams hadn't done him justice. His shoulders were broad and tanned from years in the sun. His arms were corded with strength that rippled under his skin like a skipped stone across a stilled pond. His waist narrowed into the flexed demarcation of his abdominals. His pants rode low on his hips showing off the corded male muscle that separated the proper from the indecent.
A soldier handed him his axe and a long knife. He moved both weapons like they were extensions of his body. Each whistle through the air was music to Lake’s ears. A rusty nail to hang her hopes upon.
Her husband wasn't just sexy, he was a warrior.
Syon's body looked pale and weak in comparison, but Lake knew the truth. Underneath his frail-looking frame laid the coiled strength of a snake. He would parry and strike and wear down his opponent and wait for the best moment to attack. Lake could only hope that Hudson would be able to withstand the wait.
***
Hudson read the anticipation in Syon’s dark gaze that told Hudson he was done playing. Syon was readying himself for the kill—Hudson’s to be exact.
Not that he wasn’t near death already. Syon had spent the last thirty minutes inflicting quick nicks to his arms, ribs, and chest. Hudson felt like a human pincushion, and he knew Syon was just getting started. Sweat poured into Hudson's one good eye, and he kept having to swallow the blood from where he’d bitten his tongue to keep from passing out.
The problem was that Syon was quick. His sword flashing like lightening and striking just as fast. There was a bright flare of pain as Syon's sword found his ribs...again.
He must be bleeding like a stuffed pig by now. His movements were slow, and the grip on his axe slick with his own blood.
Hudson knew he was going to lose this fight. It was inevitable. His arms were like two wooden sticks tide to his sides. His axe couldn't seem to find its way past Syon's sword. He either had to end this now or…now. He was out of time.
Hudson took a step back and disengaged. He just needed a moment. One breath to get the feeling back in his arms. To clear his vision.
Someone was weeping in the distance. Lake? The thought of what Syon would do to her once he was dead should've given him the burst of anger he needed, but nothing seemed to penetrate the dullness in his head. He'd lost too much blood. It was amazing that he'd lasted this long. He had a minute, maybe thirty seconds, before this whole thing would be over. Before he'd be face down in the sand again, but for the last time.
There was a grain of self-gratification as Hudson watched Syon wipe the sweat off his brow. Well, at least he hadn't made it easy for him.
Hudson knew what he had to do. There was no other option left open for him...for Lake. He had to get Syon's damn sword out of the way, just for a second, one small opening, and he could make his move.
He watched Syon to make sure he was ready, then Hudson rushed forward, arm high, torso totally exposed, and watched as Syon's sword got out of the way…by going deep into Hudson’s gut.
Chapter Eighteen
Lake had thought she'd used up all her screams during the last half hour she'd watched her husband get hacked to pieces. Each sword thrust, each cut was a knife in her heart. A blow to her soul. She already knew how this would end and had long since sunk to her knees. She'd thought she'd given up on the religion of her youth. Given up on God, but as she watched Syon thrust his sword deep into Hudson, she sent a desperate plea heavenward. “Please God, help him.”
In that moment, she watched Hudson's knife come up and slice Syon's throat. They both went down in a spurting of blood. Lake was up running before anyone could stop her.
Syon had rolled off, clutching his throat, trying to stem the flow of red. She quickly checked Hudson. He was breathing. There was still time.
She carefully pulled the sword out of Hudson's body, then used his shirt to stop the bleeding. “Don't you die on me. I'm will fix you, but you must stay alive to fight.”
Hudson made no move, just the stilted gasps that told her his body was shutting down.
She pulled her pack off her back and dumped the contents on the ground until she found them. The small vials of white powder. Microbiotics.
But before she could use them she had to disinfect the wound. She turned to the men standing around her. “Quickly, help me get him inside.”
A few men just stood and stared at each other until the man with gray hair came over and grasped Hudson underneath his arms. Another man took his feet. They quickly got him into the hut and on a table. Blood pooled underneath, but Lake paid no mind. “Give me some clean towels and your supply of whiskey. Hurry.”
They brought her the supplies, and with a shaky hand and a heartfelt apology to Hudson, she poured the stuff on his opened wound.
His back bowed. His scream hoarse and animal-like as if he were burning alive, but Lake couldn't afford to falter now.
She quickly took a small amount, combined it with oil, and poured it into the wound. She forced what she had left down Hudson's throat. And when he started to fight, she held his mouth and nose until he swallowed.
Finally, he passed out into darkness where even the liquid fire of the alcohol couldn't reach.
***
Hudson woke to a hazy veil of red. His insides felt like they'd been burned out with a hot poker. It hurt to breathe, move, blink.
Was this death? For some reason he thought it would be better, more comfortable. Maybe a hundred virgins tending to his every need. The thought was strangely funny, but when he laughed the pain was so intense he almost went under again.
“Hudson?”
His vision cleared and a woman with white hair, blue eyes, and damning full, red lips hovered above him. By the goddess, she was beautiful. Maybe death wasn’t so bad.
“Hudson? It’s me, Lake.”
How pretty. He liked the name, reminded him of strawberries and su
mmer picnics.
“How are you feeling? Are you in much pain?”
Pain? He couldn't feel anything else. Was there another sensation?
“I can give you something for the soreness, but I wanted to try and keep you up. Give you some water. Do you think you can sit?”
He was going to say no, but the pushy woman didn't wait for an answer, just lifted him and forced water past his lips. He didn't even try to be brave; the fire that burned his insides was too intense. He groaned.
“I know...I know. I'll give you some whiskey for the pain.”
But he had to know something first. “Wh- Who?”
“Who am I?” She smiled, her eyes softening into the bluest of skies. “Why, I'm your wife. Don't tell me you forgot about me again?”
His heart stopped, then did a double thump. He grew dizzy, his stomach dropped, and even in his condition he recognized the signs.
How many times would a man like him be lucky enough to experience the powerful, all encompassing, head over heels, falling in love sensation again?
He gave her a weak smile. “Not a chance.”
Epilogue
Twelve years later
Lake waited in the wagon under the shade of the cypress tree. Even though the spring was warmer than most in the past, she pulled the dark shawl lower over her hair and kept her face toward the shadows.
For the hundredth time she surveyed the vacant landscape and strained her hearing for sounds of danger, nothing, just the whisper of the wind through the trees and the slight swaying dance of the grass in the meadows. She allowed herself a small reassuring breath that lasted until the next time her head came up, gaze alert and assessing.
