Colony - Blood Kin (Colony Series Book 3)

by Gene Stiles

  She wanted only to die, to slip into the welcome grasp of unfeeling darkness. However, the Other would not let her. He knew exactly when to end for the day or the hour. He understood the limits of her endurance far, far better than she did. At times, he would not return for so long that Haleah would actually begin to miss him. Since that first day, he had been her one and only companion, the only one that fed her, wetted her dry, cracking lips with cold or warm liquids. He brought sensation and order to the timeless void that encased her. He even gave of his own self through a Lending when she had passed the boundaries of her strength. The golden glow of Healing emanated from his hands, crawling inside her veins and caressing her body. It closed the oozing wounds, joined the jagged pieces of broken bone, and mended the blackened and scorched layers of burnt flesh. Fitful sleep would overcome her then and pain would disappear.

  And always that voice accompanied him. Insidiously, it cooed and cajoled, whispering like a lover, filled with lust and dark passion. It promised an end to her suffering…if only she would tell all that she knew.

  And, in the end, she did.

  Then she was alone, more alone than she would ever have dreamed possible. She hungered for him then. Haleah screamed anew, but this time it was to beg for his return. He heard her not. She promised him there was much more to tell, things he needed to know. He heard her not. She cried out for him, her twisted mind creating stories and lies, anything to bring him back. But still, he heard her not. The torches were left to burn slowly to ash, not to be replaced or relit. Light, dim and flickering, fled the cell leaving only tiny sounds of dripping water to assail her ears.

  It was then Haleah knew, without the slightest doubt, she would never again see the light of day or feel the warmth of a summer breeze. It was then that she sunk into frightening despair. It was then that her body and mind shut quietly down. Now the darkness and silence was complete.

  Nuvan ran as if long-fanged demons nipped at his heals. He bounded over piles of boulders and downed trees, leaping through the forest like a frightened antelope pursued by a thin-ribbed pack of starving wolves. Fear was not what fueled the pile drivers of his trunk-like legs though. It was not mindless panic that pushed him through the trees and around the stones along the cliffs of the western mountains. Terror did not persuade him to drop his Polaris-Belt to the lowest setting to aid the speed of his journey.

  Pure, unadulterated fury drove him.

  His close-cropped blond hair barely rippled with the gale-like wind he created in his passing. A padded circlet of fur tied around the forehead of his round, rock-like head prevented thick beads of sweat from invading his narrowed, flashing, blue eyes. His bullish chest rose and fell with a constant, measured rhythm. White-knuckled, hammer-sized fists smashed the air in front of his burly, corded arms as if to rip the atmosphere itself away from his path. A giant black bear, fearing a competing brother had invaded its territory, rose on stubby, but powerful hind legs and bellowed out a challenge. Never slowing, Nuvan roared in return, the bear dropping to all fours and scurrying away into the thorny underbrush like a frightened mouse.

  Barely slowing his pace, Nuvan pushed dried strips of meat into his mouth, chewed and swallowed, agitated by his body’s need for nourishment. He had kept up his grueling pace since he entered the grove at the first crack of dawn, stopping only when he was forced to drink from a cold stream or to relieve himself. He knew even he would have to quit soon to rest, however, as long as the sun provided light so see by, he was more than loath to give in to the desires of his body. That light was running out though, and so was his time.

  The last thin crescent of a reddish sun fell behind the ragged, white-shrouded peaks with an almost audible crash. To continue his dash through the blackened forest would be a dangerous folly he could ill afford, so, cursing the night, Nuvan found a tiny clearing at the base of the cliff. He slipped his pack from his wide, muscled shoulders and withdrew a brown coat of soft fur to cover his thin, sweat-dampened shirt. He built a small wall of stone to hide the light from a meager fire and warmed water to make dinner of nourishing meat-flavored broth.

  How could the Aam ever allow such a thing to happen? He seethed down to his very core to think that his brothers-in-arms would countenance such a vile action. It mattered not to him that the orders came directly from the council through Cronus. Truth be known, Nuvan was not at all certain where most members of the council stood on the issues. He was not even sure how much they were aware of all that was transpiring. There were rumors of much division and infighting within the council these days. It seemed that a foulness had infected the People, filling their hearts with contempt for those not of their blood. The decision to come to this world had been discussed, debated and finally agreed upon with much reservation. Now it was as if the People saw this world and its inhabitants as placed here only to serve them.

  However, slavery and torture, indiscriminate killing? Nuvan growled deep in his throat. It seared his mind to think that members of the Aam had engaged in such things. The Aam were here to protect, to secure the safety of the People. Mayhap, without an enemy to fight, some had been happy when Cronus created one for them. Still, it grieved Nuvan to know those he had called friend and brother would stoop so very low. How so many had attacked the Izon without him or Morpheus learning of the plan was beyond his comprehension.

  Now the Aam were divided brother against brother. No good would come of this to be sure. He knew that for a fact. The story was that the Izon had attacked those sent to protect them, killing many before the Aam fought back. It was a paper-thin fabrication, though, and took little time or thought to see through. Nuvan was ashamed to know nearly all of the People accepted this foggy fairytale as undeniable truth, affronted that the Clan would dare hurt those who took such good care of them.

  For those who cared to open their eyes and ears, there were many, many rumors of evil deeds heaped upon their charges. Izon had disappeared, supposedly reverting to their wild, untamed animal desires and fleeing into the wilderness. Others whispered in lightless alleyways that they were actually disposed of for refusing to do the bidding of their masters. Masters! Barely worse, in his mind, were the hushed tales of some of the People - those who protested too loudly – who had gone missing as well.

  The slithering serpent of fear was beginning to pollute the glittering lights of the new, pristine city in the past few weeks. Nuvan noticed it in the furtive glances of the People when Aam patrols passed them by. At first, he had missed the skittish way some scurried out of sight when seeing the guards. How had he not perceived the sudden drop in conversations, the hushed murmuring, the closing of doors and windows?

  He was humiliated to find he had been so sadly unaware of what was happening in his beloved city. However, if even he could be so blinded, he could easily see how so many of the People remained incognizant of the changes going on around them.

  Not for much longer though and this is why he ran. Roughly a day behind him was a troop of thirty, heavily armed warriors sent to retrieve the Izon. They carried nets and chains to drag their prey back to a life of slavery. Never had such an act been contemplated in all the long history of the People. Morpheus and the Clan must be warned!

  Nuvan was broken from his reverie not by a sound, but by the sudden lack of it. The forest had gone deathly quiet around him. No brush rustled with the passing of unseen creatures. The air lacked the constant chittering of insects. Stealthily he covered the dying embers of his fire and slipped into the dark shadows of a nearby thicket. Whoever or whatever approached him was good. No crackling of leaves or snapping of twigs marked their passage. He remained frozen, his ears searching the night for the slightest of sounds. When one finally came, Nuvan nearly choked on his own air.

  “You are good, but not nearly good enough,” the voice whispered at his shoulder.

  Nuvan spun, snapping his arm out in a crushing blow…only to strike cool, empty air. Adrenalin coursed along his bloodstream. He rose in one fluid motion,
planting himself solidly, and ready for the attack to come.

  Morpheus laughed softly in the darkness, “Careful, my friend. I would like to keep my head upon my shoulders.” He appeared as a wraith to Nuvan’s left.

  Nuvan let his breath out is a prolonged sigh. “You could have warned me,” he grumbled.

  Morpheus shook his head. “I am sorry, but I was not sure who we had found at first. Forgive me.”

  “We?”

  “Yes,” Morpheus replied. With a wave of his hand, a band of Izon detached themselves from the wood. Like ghosts, they encircled him, weapons held at the ready. Morpheus muttered something in a guttural language and their stiff stances relaxed.

  They gathered around the snuffed out ashes of the campfire, adding twigs and branches to the last lingering embers and returning them to flickering life. Knowing there was little time to waste, Nuvan jumped right into his report on what had occurred while Morpheus was away. Translating for the Clan, Morpheus listened to Nuvan with growing fury and dread.

  “How did Cronus learn of the Izon’s location?” Morpheus growled. “Only you, your brother and Anaxus knew where I was headed.”

  “This I do not know,” Nuvan responded. “My brother still searches for that answer. We felt it better that I reach you as quickly as possible with the news.”

  “I thank you. Now the question is what are we to do about it?” Morpheus relayed the problem to Guel. The Izon cursed and grumbled, asking more questions than there were answers. Most of them wanted to rush back to the Clan, to protect them while they fled into the lands beyond the water. Guel agreed they should go, he, however, insisted he would remain with Morpheus.

  “Guel, my friend,” Morpheus said, resting his paw-like hand on the man’s shoulder, “I thank you for your desire to help. Truly. However, I do believe you should protect your own people. I and my friends will deal with ours.”

  Red shimmering motes of fire seemed to dance in Guel’s dark brown eyes, nearly invisible beneath his thick brow ridge. “You forget. We are not here to fight your people – yet. We are here to find Haleah. Though you see her as yours, she is of the Izon. She is bloodkin. If we were to abandon her, we would be no better than your kind.”

  He spit out the comment with so much venom that it stung Morpheus like the crack of a whip. “We are not all like that,” he responded softly.

  “Besides,” Tusk interjected, thumping his spear into his callused hand, “there are but two of you. If a fight should occur, you will have need of us.”

  When Morpheus translated the words, Nuvan nodded in agreement. “They are correct and as they have already said, they know the trails better. If we need to make a hasty escape, their help will be invaluable. I do have a plan.”

  “We must protect the Izon. We cannot let the Aam reach them,” Nuvan stated flatly. “From the way you have described the trail to me I think it will take only one man to stop the Aam. The rest can go with us.” A wicked little smile creased his thick lips. “I have brought something that will make it extremely difficult for anyone to follow the Clan through the mountains, but we will also have to find another way to reach them on our return.” He opened his pack and retrieved a square, metal box. Inside were five smaller boxes, each with a switch and a small light on the top.

  Morpheus grinned without humor, his eyes sparkling in the glow of the flames. “Yes, my friend. These will do. They will do nicely.” A sudden icy hand clamped down upon his heart. He uttered the one last question he had feared to ask. “And what of Haleah?”

  Nuvan met his friend’s coal black eyes and held his gaze firmly. “Nothing. We have found absolutely no sign of her. It is as if she simply ceased to exist.”

  Stem finished the climb up the cliff trail before true dawn had finished clearing the last remnants of lacy fog from the lowlands. He lay prone on the hard, flat shelf overlooking the valley below. In his hands, he held the far-eyes Nuvan gave to him. He was awed to stunned silence the first time he looked through them and watched the One Tree draw ever closer with a simple turn of a dial. What a wondrous tool! Now he turned his gaze to the troop of silver-suited giants dismounting their sleds on the small plain at the base of the path. He growled deep in his throat, wanting to push the pile of small boulders at his side down on their shiny, unsuspecting heads. In his mind, he heard again that horrific scream of his little brother, writhing and twisting, flames blanketing him as he shrieked out his last dying, agonized breath. Stem smelled the stench of charred flesh; heard the high, shrill screaks of women and children; tumbled again through the burning grasses splattered with endless streaks of blood and body parts.

  He held himself in check with an iron grip. He knew well his part though he would play it a bit differently than the others had planned. Enok was, by now, clear of the passage and well on his journey to the cavern where the Clan waited. He would ready them for the exodus to the far island. Stem was supposed to follow him, but he would not. He had made a vow to himself and he would keep it. The last thing the beasts now working their way up the side of the cliff would see was his smiling, savage face.

  Stem waited patiently until the Aam were but moments away. He had shifted his position to just inside the cleft where he could note their approach without giving himself away. ‘Now,’ he thought. ‘Now is the time.’ A predatory grin split his thick, black beard, his cracked and yellowed teeth clenched tightly together. On silent, fur-padded feet, Stem raced up to the other end of the narrow defile. Hidden in cracks at the base of the slab of stone on one side, Stem found the first of the tiny boxes. The plan was simple. Guel had told him that these boxes would shatter the walls around him like a massive earthquake. He was to spread them evenly throughout the crevasse, hiding them from sight. When their enemies were close, he was to flick the switch on the one near the shelf then backtrack up the split in the rock, setting the others until he was clear and into the pass beyond.

  This was not what Stem planned, however. Before he left the ledge, he flicked the switch on the black box hidden in the pile of stones, making sure the light glowed red before burying it. Then he set the one on the other end of the passage, flicking hidden switches as he worked his way back to where the Aam would enter. He wedged his body into a dark crack on one side and waited, the blackened tip of his wicked spear invisible but at the ready.

  Not a wisp of air escaped from his wide nose when the first of them passed him by. The dim light of their torches did not intrude into his deep hiding place. With supreme confidence, they marched forward, never looking around them, filling his nostrils with their foul stench. Wait. Wait until most of them were inside, the last of them standing on the ledge beyond. Now. Now is the time. Howling, Stem erupted into them, slashing and stabbing, knowing they would not fire their weapons in these tight confines. He knew his attack would not last long, just long enough to draw them together. Within a few breaths, he was pinned against the wall by sheer numbers. Amid their shouts and screams, the Aam did not hear his satanic laughter echoing around them. What they did hear was the explosion tearing the ledge from beneath the feet of those outside. They did hear the wailing of their comrades as they bounced against jagged rocks on their way down, stripping cloth and meat from their hides. They did hear the rippling thunder cascading around them as, one after another, the remaining boxes burst with fire and smoke. The last thing that rang through their cowardly ears was their own howls of shock and despair as the rock above rained down, entombed them and crushed the life from their shattering bones.

  Far to the south, Morpheus, Nuvan and the Clan halted their breakneck pace through the forest to stare up in stunned wonder at the cliff face behind them. Fire, rock and smoke belched out of the tortured mountainside. Tremors shook the ground and sent shockwaves rippling up their legs. Was it only imagination or did their ears detect faint, terror-filled screams echoing in the morning air? The party stood dumbfounded as a huge chunk of the mountain detached itself and rumbled down in a massive avalanche that leveled the trees belo
w in a wide swathe of dust-filled devastation.

  “Creator!” Nuvan whispered in horrified reverence.

  “I only wish that had happened before we ever entered this cursed place,” Guel grumbled.

  Morpheus well understood his feelings. After all that they had endured, he did not blame any of the Izon for their hatred. He silently promised himself he would do all in his power to correct this atrocity. Aloud, he ignored the comment, saying only, “We cannot wait. Without doubt, Cronus will send scouts to find out what has occurred. Hopefully, they will think it a natural event or an accident.”

  Guel nodded, “Either way, they will have to find another way around the mountain.” He reached out his hand to Nuvan. “Please tell him, Morpheus, that he has saved the Izon. I shall not forget.”

  Nuvan took the gnarled, scarred hand in his and shook it firmly. His blue eyes were not wet with pride, though. He knew it was necessary still his great heart was heavy at the loss of so many lives. He turned without another word, leaden feet resuming their ground-burning pace.

  Night descended with the suddenness of a dropped blanket once the pale glow of an invisible sun died beyond the ridge of the cloud-capped mountains. Thunder rolled from one end of the valley to the other. Bright, jagged streaks of lightning ripped raw the underbelly of the boiling, angry masses that seethed above them. For the last two days of their journey, the Creator had punished them with torrents of windswept rain. It slashed at them like the sharp claws of some demon-spawned beast, slowing their pace to a crawl at times. For long, wet hours, they were forced to seek even the smallest of shelters from their torment, waiting until the worst fury of the storm passed them by. Only once had they found a shallow cave large enough for all of them to rest in. A pile of dry branches from the abandoned nest of some large animal graced the back of their haven, allowing them a warm meal and a chance to dry soddened clothing. They rested as if dead, exhausted after fighting their way through the grove, its massive tree branches bowed with the weight of millions of rain soaked leaves. Thankfully, the storm was a warm one. Furs stayed in the cave, so loath were they to return the extra weight to their weary bones.