Bastial Sentinels (The Rhythm of Rivalry: Book 5)

by Narro, B. T.

  This had frightened Jek even more. He knew no matter what happened in his life, there would be danger. He’d dragged Lisanda into so much of it when he’d kidnapped her from the palace.

  “It’ll be dark in a few hours,” Calvon said, his voice rousing Jek from his thoughts. “Let’s start going back.”

  “But we didn’t do anything.”

  “That’s how most days are.”

  Jek couldn’t tell if he felt relief or guilt.

  “This place will make you feel like a rag wrung out,” Calvon said, emotionless. “Better get used to it.”

  Jek was eager to see Peter when they got back to the bunker. He hoped they’d have his company the next day.

  Calvon came with Jek to the infirmary to visit. Peter was laying on his right side, the back of his pants pulled down to expose his naked backside. The sickly white color was a sharp contrast to the rest of his tan body.

  “Might as well lie around outside and give that ass some color,” Calvon teased. “How’s it healing?”

  “Why don’t you look for yourself?” He waved a hand down over his rear. “I’ll need at least another day before I’m ready to prance through the forest again with you gentlemen.”

  Jek’s heart sank. Without Peter’s company, another dull day was ahead of him. He noticed something under the crook of Peter’s arm. “Is that the journal you found?” Jek asked.

  “Yes. I’ve been reading it all day.”

  “What are you talking about?” Calvon asked.

  Peter handed him the book. “We searched the skunks’ other tents after you left and found this. It contains the thoughts and experiences of one of the men.” He held a sad cadence, like a bard reciting a tragic poem. “Whoever it belonged to was a talented writer. We probably killed him. It might’ve even been me who did it.”

  “Is there anything useful in it?” Calvon asked without sympathy, handing the journal back. But Jek reached out and took it. He glanced at a random page in the middle as Peter spoke.

  “No, unless you think it’s useful to know that the skunks are just as miserable as we are. I think it was a young man. He refers to a woman he loves but hasn’t yet married. Many of the pages are dedicated to his feelings; some are even poems to her.”

  The page Jek had opened to was one of the poems Peter spoke of. He refused to read any of it. Giving the skunk a voice and a heart was something he’d avoid at all costs. But it looked as if this already had happened to Peter, the way his eyes held the journal as if staring at a ghost. Jek gave it back to him.

  “Do they bring you your meals in here?” Jek asked.

  “Yes, after everyone else has eaten. You should go to the dining quarters. The chances of a bigger portion are higher the sooner you get there.”

  Breakfast and dinner were served in the same vast hall. At long tables of crude wood sat men, many thirsting for beer and yearning for meat. Instead they were given lake water that had been boiled. Their appetites could only be satiated by bread, crackers, and mush. Some claimed the tease of a half full stomach made them feel hungrier leaving than coming in. Jek agreed.

  Micah and Tobkin were away when Jek retired to their sleeping quarters. His straw bed pricked his back, the course sheet he laid upon barely adding any comfort. Despair came at him, grabbing his shoulders, squeezing his chest, twisting his stomach, and he fought back with his thoughts. I won’t be here forever. We’ll find a way to get food in or we’ll give up. Surprisingly, he found both outcomes equally appealing.

  Micah still wasn’t back when Jek awoke from his nightmare with fresh cuts. But Tobkin was there. With deep breaths, he appeared to be sleeping, his straw bed too far away for him to have been disturbed by the sounds of Jek thrashing.

  At least I don’t scream out Lisanda’s name anymore, he thought. In the last few months, his darkness had returned to attacking only Jek in his dreams, no longer her, too.

  While Jek was cleaning and bandaging his wound, Tobkin sat up.

  “Sorry,” Jek said.

  “Will it happen every night?”

  “Yes, I’ll try to be quieter.”

  Tobkin’s face was just a shadow. “Sounds like you’re already being as quiet as you can. Don’t fret.”

  “Thank you. While you’re up, may I ask where Micah is?”

  “He must be going over the numbers with Raymess. We’ve been trying to determine how many enemies are still out there.”

  “Are you aware that many people lie in their reports about how many skunks they’ve killed?”

  “We are. And that’s going to stop. Each party is to report to Micah from now on, and I’m sure you know the man can sense lies.”

  “Do others know this?”

  Tobkin chuckled as he lay back down. “If they don’t, they will soon enough.”

  The next day with Calvon was just like the one before. They walked through miles of forest and found nothing but birds and bugs. Jek wondered how many skunks and frogs found each other each day. How many skunks died? How many frogs? How much food did they have left? Did the crates they found Jek’s first day even amount to more than one meal for twenty-five thousand men?

  He wished Calvon had fought in the Bastial Steel War. Then he could ask about his experiences, if war had been like this in the past. But it was ten years ago, meaning Calvon would’ve only been thirteen.

  It would be an awkward conversation, nonetheless. Calvon was from Zav. In the Bastial Steel War, he would’ve been fighting against Goldram with Waywen and Presoren.

  Jek found himself curious about Calvon. Does he have siblings? Does he have feelings for a woman? What did he do before the war? But Calvon was a locked chest when it was just him and Jek. Any attempt at getting inside took force. It felt as if Peter was the key. When the three of them were together, Calvon was open. Jek reminded himself to ask Peter if he had the same experience with Calvon when they first started hunting together, just the two of them.

  He and Calvon visited Peter when they returned after another uneventful day. Although the infirmary was the saddest room in the bunker besides the bathing quarters, there was a palpable change in the air when the three of them came together.

  Calvon smiled for the first time that day. “You must be bored in here.”

  “That’s right,” Peter said. “I can’t wait to go back out there with a newly healed ass for skunks to shoot at.”

  “Have you finished the journal?” Jek asked.

  “I’ve read through it twice. The man can write. Either of you want to read it?”

  Jek and Calvon shook their heads.

  “They say we should know our enemies,” Peter added.

  Calvon spoke Jek’s thoughts. “I don’t want to know them that well.”

  Chapter 19:

  JEK

  A week went by at the speed of a crawl. Even with Peter back, the constant threat of skunks made them speak in whispers most of the day, and laughing quietly was like swallowing a sip of water in hopes of quenching a parched throat.

  Jek began to feel that his identity was stuck somewhere outside the forest, but every time he entered and then returned, some part of him wasn’t there like it used to be. He wondered how long it would take before he was a mindless soldier.

  They saw skunks a total of twice in the past week. Each time, arrows were exchanged and both parties fled. If any of Peter’s arrows reached flesh, they didn’t cause screams loud enough for Jek to hear.

  By the fifth day, Jek had noticed the forest was buzzing, a low hum that seemed to come from every direction at once. Sometimes it was loud, other times soft, but it was always there when Jek listened for it. He asked whether the others heard it. Peter scared him when he said there was no noise and that Jek was going crazy. But Calvon quickly told the truth.

  “It’s from zeet flies. I’m surprised you’re only just noticing it.”

  The name sounded familiar, but the fog in his mind had only become denser each day, making it more difficult to remember even the simp
lest things. Even the taste of meat was fading, trapped outside the forest, waiting for him with Lisanda. It felt like his life was on hold, ready to resume when he finished his work.

  “What are zeet flies?”

  “Nothing of importance,” Calvon said bitterly. “We have them all over Zav. They’re about the length of your finger, they buzz, and they squirt some sort of liquid when they fly away if you get too close.”

  Unsure why, frustration swam through Jek. “Well, what are they eating out here? Why don’t they just starve like us?”

  “I don’t know.” Calvon had the same frustration in his tone. “There’s probably some sort of plant they can eat that we can’t. Or maybe there’s something in the trees that we can’t reach.”

  Later, Jek got a good look at his first zeet fly. He’d seen them crawling up the trees, flying around, but he’d paid them no mind before. This one was on a low branch giving off an annoying buzz. Jek decided to kill it.

  Grabbing his dagger, he crept toward it.

  “What are you doing?” Calvon chided him.

  “It’s just going to squirt you,” Peter said.

  Jek could feel their eyes on him. He came close and slowly lifted his dagger, ready to impale the maddening bug. As he jabbed his weapon into the tree, the zeet fly jumped into the air to dodge his attack. It flew off, but not before releasing a surprising amount of clear liquid onto Jek’s face.

  Peter snickered as Jek wiped his face and resisted screaming.

  Jek left the infuriating bugs alone after that. He knew he could kill them with fireballs, but the exertion of energy would be idiotic and likely would alert enemies of their location. He came to hate the buzzing flies more than the gnawing hunger in his stomach.

  At the end of the seventh day, he received some terrible news from Micah.

  “The forty thousand men that Tobkin sent to retrieve food were scheduled to return today, but only two thousand have come back.”

  Jek listened silently, hearing in Micah’s tone that there was still something worse.

  “They brought food, but only as much as they could carry. From what they’ve told us, the world around us is changing quickly. None of the places we sent them to are completely loyal to Zav or Goldram anymore. At least half of every town and city has sided with Fatholl. They refuse to assist us or our allies, and we don’t have the ability to force them to.”

  “What happened to all the others who haven’t come back?” Jek asked.

  “They’ve either disbanded or joined Fatholl’s army.”

  “What does this mean for us?”

  “It means we’re running out of options. We don’t have much food left. We’ve lost about a third of our army. All we can hope for is that the same thing’s happening to our enemies, which actually might be the case.” His tone turned. “Fatholl’s Elves have taken over our enemies’ capitals as well as ours, so we still have hope.”

  Micah pointed to the map on the wall, his finger making a circle many miles south of the lake. “One returning group saw a massive caravan transporting countless crates. Outnumbered fifty to one and unsure if they were enemies or allies, our men didn’t engage them. Unfortunately, none of us can say who they are. They wore no colors to show their allegiance.”

  “That’s where they were found?”

  “Yes, somewhere around here, and they were traveling north…straight toward us.”

  “So they must be allies!” The thought of having a third meal each day made Jek salivate.

  “We can’t know that until we engage them. I was told there were about two thousand men and women, many in hoods.”

  Jek’s stomach twisted. It wasn’t cold enough for anyone to wear a hood unless it was to conceal something. “Could they be Elves?”

  “They could be.” Micah’s face took on an expression that Jek had seen only when he was about to say something he wished he didn’t have to. “I’m sending you with five thousand men to locate this caravan. If they’re Elves or other enemies, you have orders to kill them and seize any food.”

  “What are the chances they’re allies?”

  “We would likely know of a group of two thousand bringing us food…if they were allies.”

  “So you’re saying there’s no chance?”

  Micah straightened his back as he took a breath. “I think it would be best to assume that there will be a battle.”

  “Who’s going to be in charge of these five thousand men?”

  “A number of officers are going. If there’s a battle, they’ll give the orders. But I want you to look for any chance to stop the fighting before it begins. Something’s not right about this.” Micah lowered his head, silently asking if Jek understood.

  “I’ll do everything I can.”

  “I know you always do.”

  Chapter 20:

  JEK

  As they gathered outside the bunker the next morning, it wasn’t long before every frog knew what was going on. This was their last attempt at successfully fighting off the siege.

  All but five thousand men stayed at the bunker in case this was just an enemy plan to flush them out. Jek took to the front, feeling the weight of the task on his shoulders. On one side were Peter and Calvon. On the other was the officer who’d come to the enemy camp to retrieve the carts. Jek still hadn’t learned his name and didn’t feel right asking him. With a flat mouth and skeptical eyes, the officer looked as if the slightest annoyance could infuriate him.

  Based on the caravan’s direction and last seen location, it was estimated they would reach it by midday. Jek felt half in a dream, his head as empty as his stomach. It wasn’t like him to be nervous, but to feel nothing at all was strange. He figured it was because he knew too little about what they would encounter.

  No, he realized he did know. They had to be Elves. Why else would they have hoods? But they were last seen going straight toward the bunker. No enemy would be so stupid, unless it was part of a trap…or an all-out attack.

  Jek felt Peter pulling on his arm to slow him. The three of them separated from the officer.

  “Is there something you know that we don’t?” Peter asked.

  “No,” Jek said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because this doesn’t make sense,” Calvon replied. “And I don’t want to die without knowing why I’m really fighting.”

  “You know as much as I do. More, even, if you know anything about the officer I was walking next to. What do you think he’ll do when we get there?”

  “All I know is that he won’t be happy if anyone but him talks to the caravan leaders,” Calvon said in a hushed voice.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Harold. Why are you worried about him?”

  Jek didn’t know. “Just a sense I have.”

  Calvon’s mouth turned, clearly thinking Jek’s answer meant nothing. But Peter leaned in with a curious look. “How often are your senses right about these things?”

  “Fairly often, which is why I’d like to stay in the front.”

  Peter caught Jek’s arm as he turned away. “Those who came back say the Elves are psychics.”

  “I’ve told you,” Calvon interrupted, “there’s no such thing as psyche.”

  “I used to think that same thing.” Jek gave Calvon a serious look. “But I’ve seen their use of psyche lead to the death of many men.”

  As fear came into Calvon’s eyes, his boyish face looked devastated. “But we can’t fight against psyche.” His tone was like a child who has just realized everything in the world isn’t always fair. “You’re certain of this?”

  “Yes. I don’t know how it works, but they can cause crippling pain by just aiming their hands.”

  “But the farther away they are, the less effective it is, right?” Peter asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Then I’ll shoot any Elf I see before he can get close.”

  “Just make sure it’s really an Elf. Don’t mistake a hooded man for an enemy.” Then Jek rea
lized his true fear. It felt like they were about to battle allies, and it was up to him to stop it.

  He wondered where this theory came from, straining his mind as they caught up to Harold in the front. If this caravan of food was being brought to our enemies, they wouldn’t risk going straight toward our bunker. But what kind of allies would surprise Micah and Raymess? With hunger distracting him, he kept losing focus as he tried working his way through it. All he could determine was that killing those transporting the food without giving them a chance to speak was wrong.

  “Harold,” he said tentatively.

  The officer shifted his eyes down at him.

  “What’s your plan?”

  “Assess the situation and get us that damn food.” His apathetic tone revealed nothing.

  Someone came to Harold’s other side. “We spotted skunks, sir, but they ran.”

  “Where did you see them?”

  “To the west. We believe they were trying to count our numbers. There were only a few of them.”

  Jek completely changed his mind in that moment. It had to be enemies coming from the south. It had to be a trap. But was the trap meant for the five thousand of them or everyone else back at the bunker?

  It was too late to matter. Jek noticed something coming toward them through the trees.

  He stopped with Harold as the officer called for archers.

  “Ready arrows but do not aim,” Harold commanded, taking two more steps to the front while a hundred archers thronged.

  The forest was too dense for the armies to face each other in clear view. The battle would be messy.

  Like water dripping through a saturated towel, hooded men and women seeped forward between the trees and shrubs. Their clothing was gray and unmarked, many of their faces pale, giving them a frightening likeness to forest ghosts—a popular supernatural creature immortalized in many songs and stories, always hooded, unable to be killed. Jek searched for a cargo carrier of some kind but found nothing.