Robinson Crusoe 2245: (Book 2)

by E. J. Robinson

  A sudden scuffle on the ground drew his eyes away from the fight. The stranger, Saah, was screaming at him, held back by Baras’Oot’s guards.

  “My son!” Saah shouted. “He’s in that building! You have to call your troops back!”

  “It’s too late,” Baras’Oot scoffed. His irritation with this man had reached the breaking point. “The battle has begun.”

  “But Jaras will die in there!” Vardan Saah screamed.

  “He fled with the girl on his own accord. This end is on him.”

  Saah saw he would make no more headway, so he ran for the field.

  Inside the terminal, the Aserra were itching to get to real combat. The ancient weapons had worked to even the numbers, but now they were starting to fail. from misfires and exhausted ammunition. It was time to take up the field before the Flayer king unleashed the larger portion of his army.

  “My Aserra brethren!” Chimosh shouted. “The Goddess has blessed us this day by bringing our enemies to our door! Let us honor her and all who have fallen in her name by cleansing the earth of them once and for all! For the people of the mountain!”

  The Aserra roared and charged for the doors.

  Robinson moved to join them until he saw Friday struggling to her feet.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

  “I will fight,” she said.

  “You can’t even stand. Stay here with Jaras.” She shook her head. “Dammit, Friday, for once in your life would you listen to someone else? You can’t fight. And the Flayers still outnumber us two to one. They need me out there, but I can’t go unless I know you’re safe. Please.”

  Friday looked into his eyes and felt their crushing weight. And then her stomach spasmed again, and she agreed.

  Robinson’s relief was evident.

  “I’ll be back as soon as it’s over.”

  He kissed her and left.

  Arga’Zul saw the Aserra break from the building.

  So be it, the war chieftain thought. We will meet you in the middle.

  The sun had just risen above the trees when Arga’Zul gave the order for a full charge. He and his army raced for the heart of the impeding forces.

  The roar of their confluence was deafening. Metal clashed on metal. Wood shields shattered. Crimson blood sprayed the air as arrows sang overhead. Grunts of exertion were punctuated with cries of pain and exhilaration. Man’s oldest symphony played on.

  The Flayers were ferocious warriors who relied on brute strength and force. The Aserra had technique and agility. Power against speed. Numbers against skill. It was an even match.

  In the center of the field, Arga’Zul held count against several Aserra, but none could parry the force of his attack. He splintered staves and crushed shields while defeating every foe who stood before him.

  Chimosh made a similar path, staining the ground red with the blood of his enemies as he and the Flayer chieftain moved toward each other in a date with destiny.

  Baras’Oot recognized the moment the battle had turned against his brother. No matter how much training the Bone Flayers had, the Aserra would always be better. He could have sent his own army to join the battle, but that would only have cost more lives. Instead, he gave the signal, and his men climbed to the top of the train car to uncover his special prize.

  Robinson looked up from the body of another vanquished foe just in time to see the king’s men whip the tarp away from a metal contraption. He realized immediately what it was: a cannon removed from a tank carcass at the City of the Pyramid. It was turning in their direction.

  The first blast struck where the fighting was heaviest. Blood and guts flew across the field. Those nearest the carnage were startled, but they never considered abandoning the fight.

  More shells rang in, killing warriors, regardless of affiliation.

  Arga’Zul had heard the shells and understood his brother’s decision. Had the situation been reversed, he might have made the same. All he could do now was take out as many enemies as possible, starting with the boy, whom he’d finally sighted.

  Friday had managed to sit through the initial attack inside the terminal. The sounds of war, the screams of death, and the clashing of blades were bad enough. But when the big gun erupted, she rose unsteadily to her feet.

  “No, Tessa,” Jaras pleaded. “Father’ll be back any second with the flier. You have to wait.”

  Friday’s pity for the boy no longer mattered.

  “I am not your sister,” she said. “Do you understand? She died. You must move past it or you will too.”

  Jaras’s face twisted in a way Friday thought might mirror his mind. He reached out for her as she turned. Hot tears spilled down his face.

  “But Father can take us from this madness.”

  “This madness,” Friday said, “is where I belong.”

  After she was gone, Jaras looked around and realized he was alone. It had always been his greatest fear. His mother, his father, and now Tessa had abandoned him. He had nothing left. Nothing except the dagger he’d been given before the battle of Atlanta.

  He removed it from its sheath.

  Friday instantly took in the battle. The Aserra were winning, but the cannon atop the train threatened to reverse the tide against them. It needed to be stopped, but she couldn’t do it alone. Her first impulse was to find Robinson, but he would only try to force her to leave the battlefield. Instead, she went in search of Chimosh.

  Vardan Saah slipped across the battlefield like a thief. Maybe it was because he was unarmed or because there were worse threats to deal with. Whatever the case, he made it to the terminal uninjured.

  Once inside, he called Jaras’s name again and again. And then he froze when he saw a huddled figure lying still on the floor.

  “Jaras!” he yelled as he dropped to his knees to turn his son over. His shirt was covered with blood. His face was white. A dagger lay nearby.

  “No! No!” Saah screamed, pulling the boy to his chest.

  Jaras opened his eyes.

  “I tried to stop her, Father,” Jaras said softly. His mouth was dry. He had trouble forming words.

  “Who?” Saah asked.

  “Tessa,” Jaras said. “All I wanted was to keep her safe. Now, he’s taken everything from me.”

  “He? Crusoe? Crusoe did this!”

  But Jaras never answered.

  Saah wailed. In less than a year, he had lost everything. His land, his people, his title, his daughter, and now his son. And one person in the world was responsible.

  Robinson was just pulling his axe from the back of a Flayer when the ground darkened beneath him. He fell low as he spun and felt Arga’Zul’s massive cudgel rushing over him. Robinson reached for his pistol, but Arga’Zul batted it away. He swung the cudgel again, and Robinson barely had time to throw up his axe to parry it.

  Arga’Zul moved with a speed unnatural for such a big man, but it was his power that terrified Robinson. When two other Aserra warriors charged Arga’Zul from behind, he grabbed one and smashed their heads together, crushing the skulls of both.

  Robinson picked up a shield, but when Arga’Zul’s cudgel hit it, he heard the wood splinter. The second strike smashed it to pieces. He was stumbling back when he tripped upon a corpse. Arga’Zul towered over him, his wild eyes filled with bloodlust as he prepared his killing blow.

  And then, out of nowhere, Chimosh’s staff struck Arga’Zul across the chest, spinning him away. Another strike hit the giant’s arm, and Robinson thought he heard it crack. But as Arga’Zul rallied back, Robinson immediately understood he was too powerful, even for a warrior like Chimosh.

  So the fight ensued between the men. Robinson and Chimosh against Arga’Zul. Both struggled under the power of his blows. Both worked to use their talents against him. Robinson rotated around so they were on both sides of him, but Arga’Zul’s defensive instincts were unparalleled. he parried or deflected each strike. His feet moved across the ground with balance, efficiency, and dexterity
. He was a marvel to watch.

  But then Robinson risked a low strike and was rewarded when his axe cut Arga’Zul across the calf. He roared and swung his cudgel around, and Robinson was forced to dive out of the way. Chimosh’s staff hammered his shoulder and quickly struck his shin. But Arga’Zul kicked out as the staff was retiring, and he caught it flush. The staff cracked in half. Chimosh was defenseless.

  Friday had rushed to aid the Aserra at the eastern end of the field, but when she saw Robinson and Chimosh fighting Arga’Zul, she knew she had to help them. Her body had moved beyond simple exhaustion into that realm where everything felt heavy and numb, but as she trudged forward, she still hoped she could keep her promise and at least play some part in her sworn enemy’s demise.

  Arga’Zul rushed Chimosh while he was defenseless. The Aserra warrior moved so quickly, his strikes were so clean, that he couldn’t allow a threat like this to become armed again. He felt the boy circling around behind him, but he too was tired. If he could kill the Aserra, the boy would follow easily enough.

  Chimosh clambered back over the field of fallen bodies. It took everything in him not to trip. He avoided the giant’s heavy blows that came in faster and faster. He marveled how any man so big could move so quickly.

  Then he saw the sword protruding from a fallen body. He knew it was his best chance to get back into the fight. So Chimosh feinted left and dove right. His hand reached out and took hold of the sword, but when he tried to pull it out, he realized his unfortunate mistake. The sword was stuck in the chest cavity of a dead Flayer. Bones and flesh conspired and refused to let it go.

  Chimosh turned just as Arga’Zul brought his cudgel out of the eye of the sun. He felt his hand sever at the wrist. Arga’Zul brought his weapon up again for the killing blow. That’s when he heard the boy scream.

  “No!” shouted Robinson as his axe dug into Arga’Zul’s back.

  Arga’Zul turned, the boy’s weapon still stuck in his flesh. Now he had the true target in his sights. He would not let him go.

  Twenty paces away, Friday gasped and fell to her knees. Her vision blurred again, and she thought she was about to pass out. But she’d seen Chimosh fall, and now Robinson was in retreat. She needed to get to him. But when she tried to stand, her legs would no longer obey her commands.

  Arga’Zul howled once more as he rushed after Robinson. The boy stumbled back into others engaged in battle. The Flayer chieftain batted them out of the way as if they were made of straw. Robinson danced backward, avoiding that massive cudgel, which came closer every time. His hand clawed for weapons on the field, but he could not take hold of any.

  And then Robinson tripped and fell. He landed on top of a blade, but there was no way to bring it around in time. Arga’Zul towered over him, his face covered in sweat and blood. His chest heaved. But Robinson thought he saw him smile.

  So this is the way I die, thought Robinson. Pity. If only he’d had once last chance to see Friday. To hold her. It would have been worth it.

  And then, with fate’s sweet, cruel kiss, he heard her voice. Not in his mind or carrying over the field. But next to him. By his side. She was one of the fallen bodies that lay around him.

  Time slowed immeasurably as she turned her head to look at him. He heard Arga’Zul inhale. He saw the chieftain’s body compact as he raised his cudgel into the air. And somewhere, he remembered the words, “A man’s greatest weakness is the thing he loves most.”

  Without hesitation, Robinson reached over and grabbed Friday and pulled her across him like a shield. Arga’Zul froze. He held his weapon aloft, hardly aware of the boy at all, even when Robinson pulled a blade out from behind him and drove it into his belly. Only when the boy stood, pushing the weapon deeper and deeper, did Arga’Zul understand he had lost.

  The giant fell. Robinson turned, about to rush back to Friday when he heard the whistle. The explosion catapulted him away.

  Robinson came to his senses a moment later, but there was too much smoke on the battlefield, still too much confusion. He had no idea where he was. He called Friday’s name, only to feel someone grasp his arm. He turned, ready to fight, but found the lithe female waiting.

  “Help me,” she said in her tongue.

  Robinson looked down to see Chimosh still alive at her feet. Torn, but with no other options, he helped her carry him off the battlefield.

  Friday understood what had just transpired. Robinson had used her as a tool of defense. But she did not begrudge him for it. It worked. It would have worked on him too.

  A few feet away, she saw Arga’Zul lying prone on the ground, his chest rising and falling despite the blade piercing his stomach. She looked around and saw a small knife and crawled to him. He looked at her and then the knife in her hand and grinned.

  “My queen,” he said as his mouth filled with blood. “When I am gone and you have no one left to fear, what will drive your anger then?”

  “My anger,” Friday said, “dies with you.”

  He hoped for her sake it was true.

  “Keep your promise,” he said.

  Friday lifted the blade and did.

  Vardan Saah watched the girl finish off the savage chief. It was a cowardly killing, but he expected no less. He had hoped to get revenge on Robinson Crusoe, but he had disappeared in the smoke. Striking out at the girl he loved was the next best thing.

  Friday was trying to gain her feet when she felt a bite at her back. She wheeled around to see the man called Saah holding a pointed tube between his fingers, its end wet with green fluid.

  “Now, he’ll know what it’s like to lose everything he loves,” Saah said. “But it won’t end there. Oh, no. The real show’s just about to begin.”

  Saah turned and disappeared through the smoke. Friday reached for her back and came away with a spot of blood.

  Baras’Oot had seen his brother fall. Cannon fire had stopped the Aserra in their tracks. Now it was time to end this war for good.

  “Prepare my army to join the battle,” he said to his commander, smiling. Everything had gone according to plan.

  And then something curious rose above the trees to the west. Smoke. Where could it be coming from?

  Robinson knew the battle was lost. He only returned to the field to find Friday in hope she was still alive. But just as he was to reenter the fray, a shrill scream broke out over the battlefield. It was like music to his ears.

  Boss sat at the controls of the engine, having shoveled as much coal from the basket into the feeder as possible. The train was moving at nearly fifty miles per hour. She pushed it to go faster.

  As they passed the terminal, Boss nodded to her men, and, one by one, they leaped off into the dirt. Mr. Dandy leapt last, holding on way too long. Boss hoped he wouldn’t get lost on his way back to the others.

  In the end, she couldn’t abandon the kid. There was just something about him that made her feel human again.

  “Well, this was stupid,” she said as the train sped on.

  Baras’Oot recognized the Big Hats’ train, but he couldn’t understand why it had returned. For a moment, he thought it might be bringing more men, but when it passed the terminal, he grew even more perplexed. The leader of the Big Hats was known for gambling, but she never bet on a losing hand. And yet, here she was risking life and limb. For what?

  And then, in a moment of horrific clarity, Baras’Oot understood: both trains were on the same track.

  Baras’Oot yelled for the engine to be started, but there was no time. His men below watched in confusion, unable to hear his orders over the shrill whistle. Baras’Oot considered running, but he knew it was futile. His train was stockpiled with cannon shells and gunpowder. He didn’t know how it had all gone so wrong.

  Baras’Oot sat back down as the train bounded in on him. The last image he ever saw was a flash of white as someone leaped from the train.

  The trains met with the concussive force of a volcano eruption. Both engines canted skyward like a book opening up before a
second blast shook the field and released a tidal wave of fire that sped over the fleeing Flayer army until there was nothing left.

  Arga’Zul’s remaining Flayers watched from the battlefield with horror and dismay and were soon racing for the trees with the Aserra in hot pursuit.

  Robinson breathed for what felt like the first time. Now, he only had to see if Friday was alive.

  Epilogue

  Nothing is Written

  The Aserra had been quick to treat their wounded and raise a party of warriors to hunt down whatever Bone Flayers they could find.

  A great pyre had been raised to honor the Goddess and their dead as she welcomed them into her forest.

  Robinson stood over Jaras’s body. He’d hated the boy for much of his life, but now he felt nothing but sadness. Jaras had never gotten the chance to grow up and determine his own fate. Most likely he would have followed his father’s path to tiership and oppression. But things might have turned out differently had fortunes turned in his favor. In the end, Robinson buried Jaras per the customs of his people.

  Friday stood and watched Robinson fill the dirt in. He had lost much of the loquaciousness of his youth, but he dredged up a few sentiments he thought appropriate.

  “Here lies Jaras Saah, son of Vardan Saah, Tier of Ministry of Defense, and Janal Saah, Tier of Medicine. He died today of a broken heart. He was not made for this land, but may he, at last, find peace.”

  Outside the terminal, Boss waited. An Aserra healer had wrapped her shoulder in a sling. She groused about it not being white.

  “I knew you’d come back,” Robinson said when he and Friday found her.