Hurricane (Street Rats of Aramoor: Book 2)

by Michael Wisehart

  I was almost afraid to ask. “What are we talking about, ten or fifteen from each tribe in attendance?”

  Reevie and Sapphire looked at each other and started laughing.

  I had my answer.

  After a very long and grueling discussion with Spats, I managed to convince him to free me of my imprisonment within the walls of the Temple. He agreed to allow me to train away from the duties of my new station. He was surprisingly open to the idea once he realized it would be used to help me win in the Pit for Hurricane. I was even encouraged to take food and supplies from Spats’s own table.

  Reevie and I ate very well over the next week. Spats made sure I had only the best. We had pork, wild turkey, smoked cheese, and not any of that hard stuff we were used to eating that tasted like it had been sitting in a dank cellar for too long. I was even afforded a bottle of spiced wine straight from Spats’s personal stock. I was more than a little jealous by the quality of food Spats ate while the rest of the tribe barely had enough to get by.

  Things were looking up, if you didn’t count the fact that at any time I could be marching off to the Pit to face off against Flesh Eater. I focused on running through my exercises and conditioning my body. I pushed myself harder than I’d ever pushed before.

  I even took some time to go see Master Fentin and Miss Orilla. They were both doing well. They had heard about the street skirmish, and when we didn’t come back by to visit, had grown concerned. But they were glad to hear that the two of us had made it through and were doing fine. Of course, I left out anything about how close we had come to dying during that battle or that I was being forced to have to fight for the honor of our tribe.

  I was beginning to agree with Reevie. Maybe I was cursed. It seemed like my life was made up of nothing more than one fight after another.

  I helped tidy up the shop for Master Fentin the best I could. The constant ache in his back and knees kept him from being able to clean like he used to. I wondered how much longer he and Miss Orilla would be able to keep it running. I was rewarded for my efforts with one of Miss Orilla’s famous mystery-meat sandwiches. It was a good day.

  I left the book shop as the sun was beginning to set, and by the time I reached the Temple’s gates, it was well after dark. The torches had been lit and their light dotted the top of the wall, casting ugly shadows across the already ugly looking creatures engraved there. I could see a couple heads peering out over the gate.

  “Password!” one of the kids shouted down from the top.

  I rolled my eyes and wondered if it was too late to try joining another tribe.

  “There is no chief as brave as Spats.

  All other chiefs are dumb as rats.

  If any wish to enter here;

  Stick out your tongue and then draw near.”

  I finished the childish quote by sticking out my tongue and walking toward the gate. Just like every other time, the watchers overhead started to giggle. Once I was within five paces, I could hear the heavy crossbar being lifted. The gates parted and I found myself facing an unexpected crowd.

  They looked strangely anxious. Everyone was lined up on either side of the walkway leading from the gate to the main building. There was a wide enough space between for two people to pass through if they stood shoulder to shoulder. Some of the kids were holding torches.

  I walked over to the front and got a look down the human corridor. There was a group of kids hobbling their way through the crowd.

  “What’s going on?” I asked one of the watchers standing near the gate—Toots, I thought.

  “They’s Avalanche rejects,” he said and then spit off to the side. “Trying to gain membership here in Hurricane. Like we’d ever let Avalanche rejects in here.”

  Most had scars and cuts that looked to still be healing, but the wounds were red and infected. Half were limping, while the others struggled to keep them on their feet and moving.

  Where was Reevie? I glanced down the row as far as the limited torch light would allow but didn’t see him.

  There wasn’t a single one of these kids that looked like they’d had a decent meal in weeks. The dark circles under their eyes said they weren’t sleeping either.

  “They was wounded in the recent battle,” Toots said. “And now they’s no longer considered fit for use. If you can’t perform your duties then you’s a burden on the tribe.”

  “Surely we can find something for them to do here?”

  “We can barely feed our own. You gonna give up your rations for ‘em? Besides, you think Spats is going to help the vermin who just tried to do him in?”

  “I guess not.”

  As the Avalanche rejects neared the entrance, I realized one of the bigger kids looked familiar. I knew him. He was the blonde kid with the club I had tripped with the crate. He was still limping from it.

  In fact, I realized there were quite a few faces I recognized. Two were part of the group that had tried breaking through the Guard to get their hands on Spats. One of them was the kid I had used as a stepstool in order to leap over the others.

  The tall blonde kid slowed as he neared me. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then he lowered his head and kept moving. The look of humiliation, hunger, and desperation in his eyes was upsetting.

  “What’s going to happen to them?” I asked.

  “Who cares,” Toots said. “No one’s gonna take ‘em in. Probably just go off and die, or end up in the dungeons or salt mines.”

  “Salt mines?”

  Toots looked at me funny. “The salt mines is where they send prisoners to work off their sentence. They pack ‘em up and ship ‘em over to the Isle of Delga.”

  I took a hard look at the faces of the Hurricane members as they watched the small parade of injured, starving kids pass. I saw no empathy, no remorse, no concern in any way, not even guilt. If there was a hint of emotion, it was revulsion. These castaway kids had become like the leper colonies on the Isle of the Forgotten. Once deemed unfit to work, or rejected from another tribe, it seemed their use to anyone else was permanently marred.

  I watched the injured rejects pass through the gates and struggle up the stone path in the direction of the merchant shops. I followed Toots and the other watchers back to the gate. “Have you seen Reevie?”

  “He left before supper. Said he wanted to make it home before dark.”

  I decided to head back to the granary as well. “Mind if I borrow that?” I asked, pointing at the torch in Toots’s hand. “I’ve got a long walk. Don’t want to break my leg falling in a pothole. Spats might be a bit upset if his prize fighter was injured before he ever stepped into the ring.” I smiled.

  Toots started to laugh. “You’s got a point there,” he said and then handed me his torch. “I don’t envy you none going to the Pit, but I don’t mind tellin’ ya I’m right excited about the prospect. I heard this Flesh Eater is quite the beast.” He cast a wary glance at those still mingling around the gate before taking a step closer and leaning in. “I wouldn’t go spreadin’ this around, but I put half my earnings this month down for you to win.”

  I placed my hand on his shoulder with a reaffirming squeeze. “You’re probably the only one.”

  Toots’s smile seemed to slide a little. He told me I’d better watch my step on the way home. I doubted it was my safety he was really concerned about.

  I could hear the gates shut behind me. The heavy thud of the crossbeam echoed into the night. Once I reached the end of the stone path leading from the Temple back to the main road, I extinguished my torch and melted into the shadows ahead. I didn’t want anyone on the gate to be able to see which direction I was heading. Besides, there was something I needed to do before going home, something I was sure would land me a nice scolding from Reevie.

  “What the flaming bunions are you bringing them here for?”

  Reevie stood in the granary’s doorway with his nightshirt hanging clear down to his ankles, not the most intimidating presence I’d ever seen. In his ha
nd, he threatened the small group of outcasts with the cudgel he normally kept stashed under his pillow.

  “They need help, Reevie.”

  “What they need is to get back on the road and keep walking until they reach the bay.” He waved his night stick in a circle over his head. “And then keep going.”

  I stood there in silence for a moment, completely taken back by his response. “What sort of thing is that for a healer to say? Just look at them,” I said, lowering my voice so the others wouldn’t hear. “They’d be lucky to make it to the street corner without keeling over.” Three or four of the kids were sitting on the ground unable to stand on their own, and those that had been carrying them were too exhausted to move.

  “Can I see you inside a moment?” Reevie asked as he motioned with his head for me to follow. He kept a close eye on the rejects, making sure they didn’t try anything. Once inside the warehouse, Reevie turned and pointed his stick at me. “What do you think you’re doing? Do you know who they are? Avalanche’s rejects. I bet even Hurricane wouldn’t be willing to take them in. No one wants Cutter’s rejects. He makes life difficult for anyone who tries to help those he considers too unfit to survive. How’d you end up with them in the first place?”

  “I stopped by the Temple looking for you and when I got there, they were . . . well, being kicked out.”

  “There! You see?” Reevie said, bringing his cudgel up once more. “Hurricane won’t even take them, and they have the most lax policy of all the tribes when it comes to accepting members.”

  “They’ve got nowhere else to go,” I said, hoping to find some way to reach Reevie’s normally compassionate nature. I had thought one look at the sad state of these kids and the healer in him would have taken over.

  “What’s that got to do with us?”

  I sighed and shook my head. Something about this situation brought back memories of my own banishment. In a way, I was just as much an outcast as these injured kids. “It should have everything to do with us. What happened to that boy with the gimp leg who decided to help a poor wounded kid lying in the middle of the street, the boy who took me in, dressed my wounds, fed me, and spent countless hours nursing me back to health? Where’s that boy? ‘Cause from what I can remember, he didn’t know me from a piece of loose cobble.”

  Reevie lowered his stick and let it bump against the side of his leg. “That was different.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  “Well, for starters, you weren’t a former member of Avalanche.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t know that.”

  “One look at you and anyone would have known that,” he said with a smirk. “Besides, there was only one of you. There’s nearly two dozen of them out there.”

  “It’s not like we don’t have the room,” I said with a quick gesture to the empty building. I could see he was starting to crumble. “You’re a healer, for pity’s sake. Don’t you have some healer code about helping those in need?”

  Reevie chewed on his lower lip.

  “Look, it will only be for a couple of days, and who knows, they might be of some use.”

  Reevie raised a single brow and gave me a hard glare. “They’re rejects, Ayrion. Worse, they’re injured rejects. What sort of value could they possibly have?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sure we’ll think of something. Every life is worth something.”

  “That’s ironic, coming from a would-be assassin.”

  I ignored his jab, true or not. “The problem with the other tribes is that they place their value on the needs of the whole and not the individual. It seems to me that any society that holds this type of a mindset is doomed to eventually follow the path of only the strong surviving. If there’s a weak link, it’s severed. If the actions of a single member are seen as being contrary to the rest then that member is swiftly shown the error of their ways. I should know. That’s the way of the Upaka.

  “That’s the real reason why I was banished. It wasn’t so much that I had killed the Primary’s son, anyone who witnessed the fight could see it had been an accident, but what they really couldn’t abide was that I was different from everyone else. I didn’t fit the mold. It was the excuse they needed to get rid of someone who stuck out. When you’re raised from birth to believe in the unit, it’s hard to see the value of the individual.

  “Just look at these kids,” I said, pointing back to the open door. “They’re wounded in battle, but instead of being cared for and treated with respect for their service, they’re thrown into the streets like soiled rags.

  “I don’t want to live like that. I’ve seen firsthand what it does. Everyone is worth something. Everyone should be given a chance to make something of themselves.” I laid a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t think of anyone more capable of taking what other people deem worthless and turning it into something worthwhile. Just look at me.”

  Reevie fiddled with his cudgel. “I suppose we could put them in some of the empty rooms in back. But only for a couple of days, mind you. We aren’t running some charity house here. I don’t want to see you bringing home strays for me to take care of every time I turn around. The point of being over here on this side of the Maze was to get away from the tribes, not so we could start our own.”

  My head lifted. “Why not?”

  “Why not what?”

  “Why not start our own tribe? I’m sure there are plenty of other rejects looking for a home. We could bring them here.”

  Reevie stared at me in dumb silence, no doubt trying to think of an appropriate curse. “Have you gone completely brain mad?” His cudgel was back in the air and swinging wildly. “Just the very thought of starting our own tribe would bring the other tribes down on us faster than you could say Ayrion the idiot.”

  “They wouldn’t have to know. We could keep it a secret.”

  Reevie started to laugh. “And how long do you think that will last? In order to survive, we need food and clothing, medicines, bedding, warm blankets for winter, lanterns, not to mention weapons for defense. Where do you suppose we’re going to get these things? A benevolent faerie? Just as soon as they head into town to start picking, you don’t think the other tribes are going to take notice?”

  “Not if they go where the other tribes won’t.”

  Reevie’s eyes widened. “Absolutely not! You can get that notion right out of your head this instant. There’s a reason there are no tribes in the west quarter. Every time they’ve tried, they’ve failed, and usually with the vast majority of their members being hauled off to the dungeons or the salt mines. I don’t plan on rotting away in a dungeon cell because you got some romantic idea of playing the protector to a bunch of rejects. You’re going to have to learn you can’t save everyone.” Reevie turned and headed for the front door. “Come on, let’s get them inside and looked at. You’ve already got me up out of my bed, might as well be doing something useful.”

  I decided not to push the matter further, at least for the moment. I needed more time to consider the ideas that were now racing through my mind. The very thought of taking the other tribe’s castoffs and using them in a way that proved that every life is worth something was a challenge I found exciting.

  Over the next couple of days, Reevie and I stayed around the granary as much as possible as he treated the rejects. He had me make a few runs into the Temple to get supplies from the stash in his office. I didn’t complain since it gave me a chance to spend more time with Sapphire. I also made sure to report to Spats on the condition of my training. Mostly, he just wanted reassurances that I was going to beat Flesh Eater. He needed someone to hold his hand and tell him everything was going to be alright.

  Even with the influx of injured rejects, Reevie still made sure to check in on his Hurricane patients as well. Their injuries were healing nicely, having been treated much sooner than those at the granary. Even the worst of Hurricane’s injured, those unable to wield a weapon again, were almost well enough to join the ranks of the watchers or the cleaners. So
far, to Hurricane’s credit, they hadn’t turned out any of their fallen comrades. However, I didn’t believe for a moment that Spats would have thought twice about evicting the wounded if he deemed them of no further use.

  The Guild had yet to set a date for the fight. According to Sapphire, there were already significant wagers being dealt between the tribes. No one bet on who would win or lose, but on how long I would last before Flesh Eater devoured me. Some were even betting which parts he’d chew on first; others, what parts he’d leave behind. So naturally I took what was left of the money Spats had given me in order to purchase supplies for my training and placed a wager on myself to win. The boy handling the bets actually laughed. Looking at the odds, if I did manage to beat Flesh Eater, I’d have enough coin from my winnings to keep the granary stocked for some time, long enough for those living there to get back on their feet. And if the worst happened and I lost, then I figured I wouldn’t be around long enough to worry about it.

  “Ayrion.” Sapphire’s voice pulled me from my musings and I lifted my head to see her walking toward me.

  She skirted Egla’s fountain and made her way toward the large white oak where I was sitting. I still couldn’t get over the life-sized image of the naked faerie. One of these days, I was going to find her a warm coat to wear.

  Sapphire stopped in front of me, blocking the afternoon sun. I had just taken the first bite of my apple when she finally said something.

  “Spats wants to see you.”

  I moved the piece of chewed apple around to one cheek in order to respond. “What for?”

  “I didn’t ask. But I bet it has something to do with the head of Sandstorm arriving while you were helping Reevie with the wounded.”

  “Noph is here? I didn’t know tribal heads made house calls.”

  “They don’t. At least not usually. Must be important.”

  “Then I wonder why they want to see me?”