Orphans of Middle Mars: Book One of the Chronicles of Middle Mars

by CJ East

  “Tomorrow at this time the five of you will meet me here. You will speak to me of the honor of your people and I will listen and learn. Go.”

  Three of the boys bent down to gather up Severus and began to break through the small crowd. Ferox raised his head and faced Kinch for a long moment, his face anguished with shame.

  “I have disgraced myself and my people when my words of honor do not match my deeds. I will be here tomorrow to teach you of the Coccino’s unquestionable honor, though I am not worthy.” He took in a deep breath and lifted his chin.

  Kinch stepped forward placing a hand on the taller boy’s shoulder and said, “understanding one is unworthy of honor is the first step in achieving honor.”

  An expression of redemption and relief filled Ferox’s face as he considered the words. He glance at Kinch and turned to rejoin his friends. Kinch watched him make his way through the crowd.

  Lucius stepped forward and put his hand on Kinch’s shoulder. He gave him a gentle shove toward home, “We need to go talk to Amica.”

  Restraint

  Kinch pushed back the metal plate filled with bread and stared into the patterns of the beautiful table. Its depth of color and grain enticed him into a world of tranquility and calmness he suspected only an autistic could know. His daydream was so completely sheltering and removed from the external world. This was where he wanted to be - away.

  So many events had occurred in the past few days. He needed to be alone, to be back at the farm. His anger had followed him, even to this new world. There was no turning back. Earth was at war, the colony was lost and he was sitting in the home of a priestess matron of orphans awaiting a behavior reprimand.

  “Is this true Kinch? You hurt the boy who pushed you?” Amica asked.

  He didn’t stir, didn’t care enough to move. “I’m sorry. I was thinking about something else. I trust Lucius has given you an accurate account of the events and will agree with his story,” he said.

  This tired lesson was going to be the same as always - don’t hit, don’t hurt. Every authority, besides his grandfather of course, always accused him of being out of control. They had no understanding of his capabilities and the extent of his restraint.

  “Lucius was not confronting the boys then?” She leveled a serious look at Kinch.

  “Actually, no,” he responded. “A testament to the control you have over him. He endured the boys torment. I was the one who shamed them,” he said with a hint of defiance. He thought how he would start walking to the market, and maybe stay the same alley where everything was ruined.

  He wouldn’t stay here and be controlled like Lucius. He would make his own place.

  Amica leaned back folding her hands into her lap and inspected Lucius. He lowered his gaze. She adjusted her position and examined her hands in thought.

  “Perhaps I am not adequately equipped to prepare two young boys to be men,” she said absently.

  Kinch sizzled with indignation, “I am thankful for the generosity and kindness you and your family have shown me by saving my life. However, I need no person to train me to be a man. I have had mentors far better than I can ever become. If any of those examples are lacking, I have four thousand years of Earth history to shed light upon that path. Do not feel inadequate for withholding that which I do not require.”

  Amica received the harsh words with grace, the working of her hands betraying the strain they caused her. She allowed a silence to fill the room.

  “Kinch, I understand you come to us from a foreign world with different customs. We are not so different from you. Are we not now speaking the same language? I will not be so bold to make demands of you, but I will ask you will try to understand and respect the rules of this house.”

  She softened her tone, “Lucius is under the Passive Oath, a long held custom of our religion for those who have chosen the Warrior Path. The Oath forbids initiates to engage in conflict until they are found worthy to be warriors. This is the path Lucius alone has chosen. It is not the path I would have for him. My reprimand is not his choice, my reprimand would only come as a consequence for Lucius dishonoring his holy vow.”

  Kinch observed Lucius’s distant expression conveying the truth of her words. This information forced him to reevaluate the entire market encounter in a new light. Lucius was not a henpecked youth, but a warrior in training.

  Amica bowed her head in respect, “I thank you for defending him, for he is as vulnerable as an infant in this season.”

  “I… I did not know. Lucius told me to stand down. He did nothing wrong,” implored Kinch, now understanding.

  Lucius drew back his shoulders a wounded expression on his face at the comparison of him being an infant. He leaned toward Amica, “There is something else. One of the boys at the marketplace, one was Severus.”

  A pounding on the courtyard doors sent a spike of adrenaline through Kinch’s veins. Amica leapt to the open window. “Stay here,” she ordered and ran toward the house door.

  Kinch watched her rush past. He turned to Lucius who was evaluating Kinch with the same expression Sully had in the infirmary. They bounced from their seats and followed Amica toward the pounding of the courtyard gate.

  Amica threw herself against the gate and shouted, “who is this and what do you want?”

  The roaring reply came from a man, loud and angry, “let me in woman! I shall speak with you or tear down this gate.”

  Amica retrieved a thick brace beam at the edge of the wall. She was running back to position the beam across the brackets when both doors flew open with great force, shattering the small wooden latch.

  Amica dropped the wooden beam and recoiled in fear. A huge Coccino man strode through the gate, taller and wider than the boys Kinch had seen. The man walked towards Amica and began to yell at her, “Tell me where it is, witch! Where is the white devil you have called from the deep?”

  Amica backed away from the advancing man and spoke in a calm and reassuring voice, “Please, calm yourself. There are no devils here. We are followers of The Way.”

  Lucius lunged at Kinch and grabbed him tight by the arm, “It is Severus’s father. He is a user of the lotus leaves. They intoxicate the mind, and give the user great strength and tolerance of pain.” With this news he pushed Kinch forward with both hands at the enraged man.

  Kinch shot a look of disbelief at Lucius. There was no time for questions. He turned and sprinted to the point he projected would be the intersection of Amica’s retreat and the raging man’s advance.

  The man’s open hand was high above his head, ready to slap the recoiling Amica when Kinch collided into him, wrapping his arms around the man’s chest. They twisted in the air, smacking hard on the packed courtyard soil, bouncing apart.

  Amica turned and screamed to Lucius, “Argus, restrain Argus!”

  The wolf had already bolted from his quarters and was tracking at full gallop to the floundering wild man. “Argus! Halt!” Lucius bellowed and the wolf skidded to a stop, his attention seared to the intruder.

  The Red man rolled to his feet with an aged dexterity of a seasoned fighter and faced Kinch who was already positioned in a low defensive crouch. “There you are, discharge of Drakon filth. Today I send you back to Hell from whence you came.”

  Kinch looked to Amica and Lucius for guidance. They stood shocked watching the scene unfold - he was on his own.

  He cocked his head to the side with a big smile. He relaxed his shoulders and strode towards the man in a calm demeanor with his arms wide and palms up, “This has all been a huge a misunderstanding. Let me buy you a Starbuck’s and we can talk about this.”

  The man stood to his full height of over eight feet, dwarfing the advancing Kinch. His nostrils flared with anger, “You are the pale whelp, who shamed my son in the marketplace? Am I a dog to be presented with this tiny bleached bone?”

  As Kinch advanced, the hatred in the man’s eyes struck him - a seething anger void of constraint or rational thought. Discussion was point
less, this was a Boolean choice between fight and flight. It clicked that there was no space for nuance.

  Kinch sprinted the distance to the man in three sudden steps, leapt into the air, drew back and punched the crazed man in the middle of his throat. The man gasped for air as both hands flew to his neck.

  Kinch landed at the man’s feet in a three-point stance, his right arm recoiled far behind his back. He jumped up again, bringing his fist up with all his might, connecting with a solid, organ-smashing thud in the man’s crotch.

  The man choked out a gasp as his hands flew from his neck to his pelvis. He took a stumbling step backwards and fell on his back. Kinch jumped after him and rode him down, both hands on the man’s immense forehead, Kinch’s knees pulled in beneath him.

  On impact Kinch slammed the back of the man’s head into the dirt, his knees digging deep into the red man’s abdomen. The explosion of air from the man’s lungs echoed a resounding “Ofgh!”

  Kinch slid forward to straddle the man’s chest, pinning the man’s arms beneath his knees. He heard the faint words “No!” in a fog behind him, but paid no heed.

  By instinct he began peppering the man’s face with strong, heavy blows from both fists as the man gasped for air and wrenched his torso to free his arms. Kinch relaxed his shoulders as the beating began to take on a rhythm, the man’s face erupting in blood around his nose and cheekbones. The sensation of tranquility and calmness returned to him, a comfort in repetition and pattern consuming him in a daydream.

  “Kinch! Stop!” Amica’s voice rang in his ears from close by. He did stop. He drifted up to see Argus hovering in anticipation before him. The rush of action had consumed him in a euphoric trance.

  “Get off of him!” he heard now closer. He looked down at the bloody mess which was the man’s face moments before. He pushed off the man’s chest and was tottering back when Amica shoved him away, causing him to stumble.

  Kinch shuffled backwards as Amica and Lucius ran to the downed man. Lucius stood over Amica, watching Kinch. His sad face foretold something bad was coming.

  PART FIVE

  Detention

  When the iron bars of the prison door opened, the two red soldiers stepped in with swords drawn. They were large men, not as dense as Kinch, but much taller with muscles bulging from their thin frames. Kinch had heard them enter the hallway, stop, and rehearse their escort plan in nervous tones. He would use their fear to his advantage.

  His mood had soured in the few hours he was left in the dank prison. He was done with these Coccino people, they meant nothing to him. Amica had made him go with the soldiers, but he knew how this would end. He was the “Other” - alien, foreigner, immigrant. It is natural for the herd to shun the one who is different, it is a liability to survival for the group. Different in the natural world is a death sentence, not a celebration.

  “Get up, prisoner!” the lead soldier commanded.

  Kinch sat brooding, his forearms on the knees of his dirty green jumpsuit. He did not acknowledge the guard. He kept his head down exposing the full, wide expanse of his neck and shoulders.

  The guard checked the position of the first soldier behind him and the other outside the door, “Up!” the man bellowed with bravado.

  Kinch peered up to surmise the man before him. His eyes darted to the second with a quick evaluation. He stretched, raising his shackled wrists above his head until the clanking chains drew tight to the wall. He placed his palms to his knees preparing to stand, looking up at the guard. He used a low, calm body voice, “You will find I respond much better to common decency. You delay your orders with your stupid intimidation tactics.”

  The guard squinted his eyes and stepped forward lowering his sword at Kinch’s neck. He glared down at Kinch, raising the boy’s chin with the sharp blade, “I hold the sword,” he said smiling.

  “For now, perhaps. Even in these chains I could make your chest the sheath for your bare sword. I ask very little of you.”

  “You will ask nothing of me because you can do nothing,” the guard laughed, his sword now flat against Kinch’s neck.

  Kinch joined the guard in a fake smile, “Think what you want. You are under orders to collect and present me. You are not ordered to kill or maim. I am under no such orders to protect your welfare.”

  The guard’s smile faded and became serious. “Then if it pleases your Grace, your presence is requested for interrogation by the Coccino Magistrate,” he mocked. He flicked the edge of his sword and shaved the underside of Kinch’s chin.

  Kinch stood as the jailer unlocked the wall chain from his wrist restraints. He looked past the guard, noting how the second guard shifted his stance backwards as he met Kinch’s piercing stare.

  The soldier who freed him from the wall took a few steps back replacing the large loop of keys and unsheathing his sword. “Where are your sandals, Heathen?”

  Kinch looked down at his bare feet and wiggled his toes. “They have parasites, I put them over there,” and pointed with both hands toward the far corner.

  “It will be an offense to the Magistrate,” the closest guard said looking back to the second guard. “Bring them.”

  The guard nodded at his instructions and sheathed his sword with a fluid motion as he walked over to pick up Kinch’s boots. He grabbed the uppers and pivoted. The boots dropped from his hands with a dull thud being much heavier than anticipated. The guard inspected the heavy objects and turned to Kinch in disbelief. Kinch was watching him with a sly, menacing smile.

  The combat boots had a black leather exterior and were styled like military issued jump boots. Beneath the black leather a titanium support was crafted like the reinforced hull of a submarine, weighted to increase resistance for the low gravity of Mars.

  The guard hoisted a boot beneath each arm and labored out the cell door. Kinch followed barefoot with his head held high and the guard close behind.

  They arrived at a large wooden door. It was covered with iron plates depicting battle scenes of large ground forces, burning cities and dead and dying soldiers. Kinch stood standing before the door, reading the murals as the guards talked behind him.

  “I will open the door when they are ready for him,” the lead guard said. “Do not talk to him,” he ordered, tapping his finger on the other soldier’s breastplate. “The mouthy one with the strange accent will need to save up his words for the Magistrate. His life will depend on his words.”

  Kinch looked over his shoulder at the guard, and offered the same menacing smile.

  The guard stepped into Kinch, “And you will have those boots on your feet when the door opens or I will slay you where you stand.”

  “I will remember your words,” Kinch said turning back to the battle reliefs on the large door. The guard dropped the boots on the polished stone floor with an echoing thud. The lead guard walked down the hall on his mission, disappearing around the corner. There were no windows, only dim lamps to light the prisoner entrance.

  The timid soldier had drawn his sword after throwing down Kinch’s boots. Kinch looked at the long sword pointed at him, the length of a man’s arm, thick and strong. He lifted his bound hands, nodding at the metal restraints on his wrists, “A little help?”

  “Tinnius has the keys. You will manage,” the guard said with little confidence. The sword was still pointed at Kinch’s mid-section. Kinch sighed and sat down, pulling the boots to himself. He worked the steel mesh uppers over his feet with his bound wrists.

  “I don’t supposed you have a shoe horn on you?” Kinch said as he strained a lifted leg into the air.

  The two guards looked at each other in confusion, swords pointed into Kinch’s back. He paused in mock exhaustion, the first boot secured.

  “No, I don’t expect you would, being a sandaled-shod people. You know, I’m told Google paid $23,000 for these babies,” He loosened the cable laces and pulled out the tongue of the second boot. “I’ll give you a look at them once I get them on. Tai got a great look. Not sure he liked th
em though. He didn’t have much to say.” His foot slid into the boot.

  He placed his palms on the cold marble floor and leaned towards the door, his feet pulling in under his body. The door unlocked with a clank as Kinch looked to the soldiers behind him. Both guards were a body length away, their swords directed under his rib cage.

  He rose to find the lead guard had returned from his mission and was inspecting his footwear in the open doorway to a large room.

  Kinch smirked. “Just as you ordered, Tinnius.”

  Tinnius shot a look of rage at the second guard, whose eyes went wide with fear. Tinnius drew his sword and stepped to the side, clearing the doorway. “Move!” he barked at Kinch.

  “Easy Tiger. Let me just tuck in these laces. You were so efficient, I didn’t get a chance to tie them.”

  “Move now, prisoner!” Tinnius bellowed rushing towards Kinch. He grabbed Kinch by the arm and slapped the flat blade of his sword on Kinch’s stomach. “Or your bowels will spill to the floor.”

  “Sure Tinnius, no problem.” He started to walk forward. “You know, I had to take some sensitivity and conflict resolution classes in training. Not really my wheelhouse, but someone like you could totally benefit from the resolution framework. I’m just saying.”

  “Shut your face-hole,” Tinnius whispered in a harsh voice as they entered the great hall.

  Kinch scanned the long hallway, stunned at the opulence. All the structures and furnishings were polished marble and gilded iron and gold. The room was long with high terraced bleachers on both sides. A squadron of soldiers behind him blocked a massive set of metal doors at the far end of the hall. He looked up at the ceiling four stories above, painted with epic battle murals.

  Tinnius pushed his shoulder to quicken his pace towards the elevated stage and table at the end of the hall. He passed rows of seated red spectators. They whispered and pointed as he strode past. Kinch held an aloof gaze focused on the far end of the hall, but his neck burned with anger at their whispers.