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

by CJ East

  A drizzling rain began to descend upon them. The sizzling protests of burning trees hissed in the Wilds.

  He advanced closer to Kinch. “The inequitable reality is every shade of black and gray already belongs to me - including your dull gray soul. I contend only for the rare white ones.” A slight tilt of his triangular head motioned towards the gate.

  “I’m flattered you believe we belong together, but I don’t think it will work out. It isn’t you, it’s me. I’m just not into being owned.” Kinch hefted a spear towards Drakon in his hand and examined his grip.

  The white mist flowed from Amica and surrounded him. Her inner voice guided him. “Change the will of the spear. Its purpose is to fulfill its nature.”

  A dark psychic wave crashed against Kinch, but did not make him reel from the impact. Drakon seemed surprised his attack had such little effect. Kinch concentrated on the dragon’s left golden eye. He pulled back the spear. He spoke to the spear, “You belong in that eye!”

  He released the spear with all his strength. Drakon roared hatred, jerking his head and body upward from the trajectory of the spear. Kinch plucked another sword into his free hand and charged as Drakon reared on his hind legs and tail.

  The spear tip embedded under the cheekbone fueling a hate-filled roar from Drakon. Kinch thrust his right sword into the thick underbelly scales. The blade stopped short as if it had hit a granite wall.

  Kinch pivoted as the underside of the beast began to come down upon him. He raised both swords and wedged them under his thick scales. Kinch thrust his arms forward as he ran under the falling dragon. Scales fell on Kinch like Spanish roofing tiles.

  “Three,” he spoke when his swords struck air. He leaped to the right as Drakon tucked his forelegs up and smashed to the ground. Drakon tracked Kinch’s blur and brought his tail whipping after him. Kinch sailed over the careening tail and continued to his weapons stash.

  He thrust his forearm through a long shield as an impulsive blast of fire streamed from the prone dragon. Kinch leaned into the shield as blazing currents swirled just beyond the white mist.

  Kinch threw down the shield and let fly another spear. “That eye!” he commanded. He pluck a large battle ax and rushed Drakon’s flank. The black behemoth was hoisting his weight to his forelegs to stand.

  Kinch raised the ax behind his head and lunged sideways into the creature’s rib cage. He struck down, shaving a downward arc of scales from his side. Thick plates ripped from Drakon like a fish being scaled.

  A roar of pain shook the ground as the body of the beast contracted around the wound. Head and tail whipped savagely toward the scathing blow. Kinch had cast aside the broken ax and leaped to the back of the writhing Drakon.

  He was in mid-leap in the direction of the gate weapons cache when he was hit. The end of Drakon’s tail, the thickness of a telephone pole slammed into his back. The impact batted him into the ground and bounced him in a loose tumble of flailing arms and legs. He rolled and skidding to a stop.

  His arms and legs crawled and scrambled forward, not sure of direction. The finishing blow would be on its way. He jerked his head from side to side looking for a point of reference. Drakon. He was heading toward the dragon.

  Kinch saw the tail’s returning pendulum swing and the momentum it was gaining. He spun, digging his toes deep into the Martian soil and sprang forward as far and high as possible. He stretched his body for the gate and the glowing forms.

  The rushing swoosh of air beneath him made his eyes clinch shut. He landed on his shoulder and tucked into a barrel roll. He came up running to the weapons cache and picked up the shield and sword. “Step six,” He exhaled.

  He slowed only to affix the long shield. He circled to Drakon’s rear watching the Leviathan struggle with small, shuffling side-steps. Kinch’s heart thumped as he watched the enraged beast lift his massive neck. A torrent of flame would engulf him in seconds.

  Amica’s inner voice instructed him. “Release the shield. The shield you hold is the Lord.”

  Kinch held the shield, but dropped the sword swinging his arm to propel him faster. Drakon exhaled a stream of fire cutting through Kinch’s path ten yards ahead. The dragon had led his prey’s flight, cutting him off and closing the gap.

  Kinch continued to run at the wall of dragon fire hurling for him. The flame smashed into him like a swollen river, rushing over the shield, over his legs and feet. He covered his eyes and ran bare-footed through the inferno within the insulating white mist.

  Flames whipped over his body as he pushed forward. They swirled over his legs without biting into his flesh. It blew through his hair without singeing even a strand. He broke through the strafe of fire, dropped his shield, and ran headlong for the Wilds.

  The mist had protected him. An acrid smell of methane and sulfur filled his seizing lungs, but he was not burnt. He set aside his wondering as he concluded step nine could not work.

  He raised his sprinting focus from the weapons cache into the Wilds. He needed something stronger. Drakon lifted his forelegs and twisted to the Wilds. Pushed them down, lifting his hind legs as would a bull. He faced the Wilds and roared after the fleeing boy.

  The dragon’s voice boomed into the Wilds with a heavy baritone. “You may flee to the Wilds gadfly, but there is no safety in the Small Dome!”

  Kinch hurdled the bodies retracing his attack of the Damned into the Wilds. He scanned for the place where he vaulted into the trees. There!

  Kinch slowed and ripped his iron rod from the ground. He removed the red clay from its beveled edge and turned a menacing eye to Drakon.

  “Amica, how do I deflect a frontal attack of dragon fire?”

  “Embrace the white essence flowing through me. It is for you, I am merely the conduit. Accept the Truth of the battle as spiritual. The demon will be vanquished through you, not by you.”

  Kinch hopped into a run to circle Drakon. “If you could simplify what you just said, it would be helpful. How again do I not get destroyed by fire?”

  “The white mist. It is alive. It is power. Let it inside you to kill Drakon!”

  “Got it!” Kinch tucked the bar under his arm and ran faster.

  He tacked to his left in a course opposite where Drakon was moving to cut him off. The dragon dipped his shoulder to intercept him in a thundering gallop not fifty yards away.

  When Kinch saw Drakon was confident of his course, he again broke to a zig-zag in the opposite direction. The dragon roared in anger.

  He focused on the surround white mist which had grown thicker with Amica’s words. He leaned his neck down and inhaled the mist into his mouth. It sucked in like smoke.

  The mist tasted like incense. The pungent aroma assaulted his nose like the smoldering urn the priests waved at mass. He felt power push through his lungs and radiate through his body.

  Thirty yards from Drakon. Kinch ran straight at him. Drakon bellowed, his head lowered in a full sprint. Kinch lowered his head, tucked the bar closer and yelled in Latin. “Not prudence, but victory!”

  Drakon raised his colossal head and took a deep breath as he ran. He exhaled a forceful wave of fire at the feet of the running boy. An explosion engulfed Kinch as Drakon slowed to a stop. A flowing inferno exhaled from his savage maw.

  Kinch recoiled the bar as Drakon inhaled another deep breath. He released the bar and called after it, “Bite deep, cold steel!”

  He focused on the long scar of missing scales up the underside of Drakon. The rod sailed true as Drakon leveled his head for another long, fiery stream.

  The chiseled end of the bar plunged into the exposed dragon flesh and drove into the dragon’s bowels. Drakon convulsed in a shrieking twist of agony and fell to his side. Kinch charged, avoiding the pawing forearms of the beast and pulling out the six foot rod. He plunged again angled at the heart and lungs to wrench another howling screech. He thrust a third time when a hind leg threw him from the kill.

  Kinch rushed back at the monster with murder in his eyes.
Drakon raised his head and cried, “Stop. There is another way!”

  Kinch did not stop. He did not slow down, but drove the spud bar through Drakon’s chest and into his black heart. His wicked head jolted upright with a death cry. The screech echoed the Small Dome and died in Drakon's throat. His massive head fell with a great thud upon the glen.

  Kinch yanked out his staff. There was no movement from the great carcass. He wiped the blood from his face and eyes. The dragon’s black glow faded as the spirit bled from his body.

  An ominous quiet descended like the falling rain from the flickering torches of Arx. Kinch followed the wall down to the glowing white forms of Amica and the wounded soldier.

  He reached out to her. “Thank you Amica.”

  “I did nothing but lead you to the Way. There is much yet to understand.”

  “I can’t… I can’t go back.”

  There was a long pause. Kinch turned to the Wilds once more.

  Her inner voice was soft and full of understanding. “Go straight, follow the Tiber River to the center of Small Dome. There on the banks you will find rest in the Dead City.”

  He slipped into the Wilds, darkness surrounding him. A fearful silence echoed from the high walls of Arx. It was shattered by the hopeful opening of the gate and the reunion of Amica to her family.

  Jabs

  The Wilds were dark inside the forest. Kinch walked ten feet before slamming into a tree. He waited, allowing his eyes to adjust. In the quiet, he felt the power of the white mist still inside of him. It lingered after Amica had severed the bridge when she returned to Arx.

  He blinked with a slow purpose. The forest was not completely devoid of light. A dim winding path stretched into the wilds. Kinch couldn’t decide if it was worn smooth because of travel, a break in the canopy cover, both or neither. He wasn’t able to determine the source of the illumination.

  The rain sloshed through the canopy in irregular patterns like spouts, distributed through a Rube Goldberg maze. He knew it was possible to predict exactly where a rain drop would fall. A scientist would only need enough time to observe, measure and test. Everything had cause and effect. There were no miracles. Miracles were explanations based on a lack of information - filling in the fact gaps.

  These thoughts comforted him. He had not been able to relax since he awoke in Middle Mars. He was forced to accept everything as it was presented. He did not have the luxury of questioning this reality and was determined to question it now.

  He started his inquiry. “Does Middle Mars exist?”

  A cold feeling of doubt filled his mind. He ran his hand over the rough bark of a tree. He remembered the sharp agony of the sword sliding through his chest. The Neuromorphine stage deck could not reproduce these sensations. They could reproduce the thoughts, the ideas - even the belief, but not the sensory stimulus. Taste, touch pleasure and pain was a dull shadow of reality through the drug.

  Logic demanded acceptance of Middle Mars as reality. He was tired. He was hungry. His back hurt from Drakon’s tail swatting him like a fly. As unsettling as it seemed, Kinch had to accept it as real, he couldn’t hold out any longer. The paradox would rip him apart. He committed to believing his senses.

  Kinch peered into the high canopy. No light broke through. He looked down at the path glowing with just enough light to distinguish it from the darkness. Another equation unsolvable without knowing all the variables.

  The sound of movement jerked him to a halt. He sunk to a low, staggered squat. He pointed the bevel of his rod toward the noise. It was a constant rustling sound like something large rolling. He waited. The sound continued, consistent in cycling patterns - a river rapids.

  * * *

  Justinius turned to watch Lucius sprint down the wall shouting to open the gate. The god Drakon, who had defeated armies of men, was killed by a boy. The prophesy was true - “Not even demons will stand against the Wrath of The Right Hand.”

  The Coccino Council stared in disbelief at the corpse of their oppressor. Justinius turned to them with an expectant look. He scanned each man, piercing them with his gaze. Each one returned a nod of affirmation. When he noted the response of each Council member, he made a sharp turn to the Patrician.

  Otho was waiting for him. “Justinius. Heed my words. The rains have already started. Hell is coming. These walls are the only barrier between us and the events about to occur. Rogue dragons have waited for centuries to fight for this kingdom. They will hold that boy responsible for deicide!” Otho flung an accusing finger toward the Wilds.

  Justinius spoke to his old companion with patient resolution. “And yet we follow our Liberator into the Wilds. The Great Contract is now void. The Coccino no longer will exchange their liberty for security.”

  Senator Flavius pushed aside the General and set his wild eyes at the Magistrate. “You can’t do this. You don’t have the authority!”

  Justinius inflated his aged chest in indignation. “We do - contrary to you, Senator, possess the authority to dissolve this contract. Would you establish our slavery with the violence of a decree? Only a slave lacks self-determination!”

  Flavius lurched forward, but froze to an imperial touch on his shoulder. He swung aside at the authoritative nudge as would a well-oiled door. Patriarch Otho walked forward to meet the sincere eyes of Magistrate Justinius. The two politicians exchanged many unspoken words in that moment.

  The Patriarch turned to his subjects and proclaimed his decree in a loud voice for all to hear. “Let it be known, let it be written. The Coccino people are released from the Great Contract. They are no longer subject to its statutes or protection. Let no man hinder their departure from the city which will be through the Middle Gate, tomorrow at midday.”

  Otho had been both an ally and an adversary to the Coccino people. Justinius studied him, musing which role Otho was playing. He raised his red palms and bowed his head in gratitude.

  * * *

  It was the long channels separating the vegetation-covered cliffs which hinted to Kinch he was no longer in the Wilds. The cliffs loomed six feet away on each side of the pale winding path. The channels broke the walls at regular intervals.

  The drizzling rain, the complete darkness and his exhaustion had obscured the realization he was inside the Dead City. He stumbled to a stop facing a structure. A broken front door leaned from its hinges.

  Kinch turned from the building to the subtle path at his feet and continued his walk. Rain soaked through his body, the deep shivering awaking his alertness. He had to rest. This was dangerous.

  Ahead the path turned a corner through a high broken arch. Inside the arch the path disappeared into a deep blackness. The tangible darkness of this night was thick and greedy, yielding enough light to view one step ahead at a time. The rain continued to pop protesting droplets on the vegetation around him.

  Kinch bent low, his staff swaying before him for touch and threat. He stalked forward, an adrenaline spike pushing through his bloodstream. He stepped up a slopping hill and hit his staff against a vine covered tree. His eye caught something as he walked past - a pattern. Straight equal-distant vertical lines. This wasn’t a tree, it was a stone column.

  The rain stopped. The soil and plants under his feet gave way to cold stone - smooth, cut stone. A large smooth wall blocked his progression until he found two large iron doors flung open. The slap of his bare feet echoed through a large distance.

  To his right he saw a large basin of porous rocks which had a smell of oil. He fumbled under it to find a compartment with a flint and steel. He struck sparks into the basin. On the seventh attempt a small flame swayed a shy dance before consuming the bowl of rocks into a glowing cauldron of fire.

  The rapid change in light blinded him to a retreat. When he winked one eye open he saw an immense room with five story Roman columns. The murals of Coccino warriors stretched behind him to the gilded iron doors of the Dead City.

  * * *

  Cloudy morning light broke through the window a
s Dulcia pulled a cloth doll from the group of scarlet dolls waiting to be packed. This was her favorite. This doll did not have black braided hair. This girl was made with a golden fabric, curly white hair, and big black eyes. This was what her baby would look like.

  She turned to Amica. “Can I carry Auria with me? I don’t want her to be scared in the bundle.”

  Amica crouched down until their heads were even. She caressed Dulcia’s pink face with her deep scarlet fingertips. “You love her, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. The same way you love us. I’m her mommy.”

  Amica looked to the pile of red Coccino babies on Dulcia’s bed and blinked away tears. “Yes. You can carry Auria with you. This is a very special day for the Coccino and for our family - especially for you.”

  “For me? Why me?”

  “Dulcia, my sweet girl, after we leave this city we are no longer under the laws of Arx. This means the Coccino will have no laws higher than God’s laws.” She stared deep into Dulcia’s crystal blue eyes as her voice began to waver.

  A single tear broke from the corner of Amica’s eye as she stroked Dulcia’s black hair. “And God’s laws make no condemnation of the color of a little girl’s skin, or hair, or eyes. God made every person with a perfect purpose and beauty. He did not make any mistakes, Dulcia. Not one, do you understand?”

  Dulcia’s lip began to tremble. Amica pulled her close and hugged her as the little girl searched the familiarity of her room. “Will we be safe without the Auri, Amica? Out in the Wilds?”

  Amica blinked upward laughing, “My precious child, there is no safer place than following where the Lord leads you.” She pulled the girl back and leaned in with wide eyes as if to share a secret. “The adventure of your lifetime awaits you! The things you will see, the places you will go! I can’t imagine what God has in store for us.”

  * * *

  Patrician Otho leaned forward with interest in his seat on the large platform before the main gate of Arx. Lamia was seated to his right and Senator Flavius to his left. They surveyed the oncoming progression flowing from the Coccino District. A young Auri boy ran to Flavius and whispered in his ear. Otho closed his eyes in agitation.