Robb knew that the Saintsday parade was a sham. A muddle of ideas brought together over thirty years ago after Premier Talis assumed power. Back then, the City States had been deeply divided by the Liberation Wars. Saintsday was manufactured by Talis as a show of strength and unity from the new Government. Only with hindsight could Robb fully appreciate how shrewd the Premier had been in those early years.
Three months into his reign, he paraded hundreds of nobles and aristocrats through the streets of Karasard. The masters of the old regime shuffled through the streets, stripped of their uniform and finery. The Premier revelled in their humiliation as they marched towards the gallows he’d built in the city park.
Any workers that turned out for the spectacle were rewarded with ale and freshly baked bread. The starving crowds of post-war Straybeck couldn’t afford to pass up such an opportunity. He was ashamed to admit that in his youth he had watched the executions and taken the food like everyone else.
The gunnermen no longer gave out free bread and the prisoners were no longer hanged. Instead they were paraded before a huge bonfire while fireworks erupted overhead and the crowd sang songs. Then they were escorted back to their prison cells for a more secluded death.
As Robb and Eliza turned onto Park Road, they saw a bottle neck of people filing through the main gates. Beyond that thousands more were on the grassy slopes, waiting for the parade to begin.
Robb could see a circle of gunnerman that formed a cordon around the enormous pyre. He had forgotten how many were drafted in from the outlying regions on Saintsday. It was the one occasion each year when checkpoints were un-manned and the ID cards un-scanned.
The last time Robb came to the parade was eight years ago. He hadn’t wanted to go, but back then he hadn’t long been off curfew and knew that it was wise to appear patriotic. He remembered seeing a group of workers getting too close to the fire. The gunnerman told them to move back, but no one listened and they weren’t in the mood for asking twice. Four of them waded in with fists and rifle butts, knocking the workers backwards. Ryan was only nine at the time, but Robb would never forget the horror on his face as the violence closed in around them.
As he and Eliza approached the main gates, Robb offered up a silent prayer for the parade to pass them by without incident. Then he searched the crowd ahead for any sign of his boys. To his left, a gunnerman shoved out when somebody strayed too close. The worker made some comment, a half-hearted protest that got him dragged from the crowd by the front of his coat. Like everyone else, Robb kept moving with his head down.
His boys were waiting on the path up ahead, one scanning the crowd with a smile on his face; the other eye-balling a column of gunnermen that stood nearby. Robb moved forwards, deliberately blocking Ryan’s line of sight.
“Where shall we stand?” he said with a cheeriness he didn’t feel.
John pointed halfway up the slopes. “Just there. That’s the best view.” Without waiting for an answer, he weaved through the crowd, dragging his mum by the hand. Ryan was planted to the spot though, staring at the gunnermen by the gate.
“Hey,” Robb said.
“What?”
“Cut it out.”
“What?
“You know what,” Robb hissed.
“So it’s illegal to look around, is it?”
“If they want it to be. Yes.” All they needed was an excuse.
Ryan stalked up the slope, half an argument eating away at him. Robb limped after him and eventually they found the place where John and Eliza were waiting. Down below at the bottom of the hill, the fire marshals were dousing petrol onto the huge stack of wood.
Robb looked around, checking for potential problems or anyone that looked out of place. His eyes settled on the enormous figures waiting at the very top of the slopes. Standing at regular intervals, they seemed like huge monoliths, guarding the celebration. Robb was comforted to know that the seveners were out in force tonight. He checked his watch. Seven-thirty. From across the park, a steady drumming struck up to mark the beginning of the parade. A line of torches flared into life and moved slowly through the crowd. The brass band walked behind them and the first of their Saintsday anthems rang brightly across the park. The procession split in half so that one section circled either side of the bonfire. It had been timed perfectly so that when the band finished its first song, the circle was complete. There was a moments silence and then applause rippled through the crowd.
Robb watched his youngest son clapping and cheering while the other stared mutely ahead, jaw clenched tight. Following his gaze, Robb saw two gunnermen shouldering their way through the crowd. They weren’t close enough to notice the stares of one angry youth, but even so, Robb’s pulse quickened.
The prisoners appeared at the edge of the trees in a carefully planned piece of theatre. The Premier used these doomed men to reinforce his same message each year. Dissent will not be tolerated. They were chained together to prevent escape and the chains were kept short so that each prisoner was forced to shuffle with stooped shoulders. Talis intended everyone to see them as a pitiful sight; never to be mistaken for heroes. It was a spectacle repeated throughout the City States, from Dark Harbour to Aftland.
As far as Robb could see, there were maybe forty prisoners this year, corralled by two lines of gunnermen. They would be forced to wait at the edge of the trees until the fireworks had finished. Sensing their arrival, certain sections of the crowd broke into an enthusiastic applause. The hypocrisy made Robb’s lip curl with disgust. Somewhere amid the cheers though, another sound took hold, mirroring the thoughts in Robb’s head. He heard boos and jeers piercing the applause and the mood of the crowd suddenly shifted.
At some unseen signal, a hail of bottles, stones and coins rained down upon the procession. When Robb saw a gunnerman stagger backwards clutching one eye, he knew they had to get out of there. There was a sudden shout behind him and Robb turned to see Ryan launching a stone into the air.
“No.” He grabbed hold of his arm, but it was too late.
At the bottom of the slope, gunnermen were forming up for a sortie into the crowd. At the top of the hill, Robb saw a half dozen giants drifting down towards them.
“Get off me.” Ryan dragged his arm away and squared up.
For a moment Robb felt his temper bubble over and he grabbed Ryan by the jacket, shoving him backwards. “Enough.”
But Ryan wouldn’t be subdued. He bounced back at his father, chest out and arms wide. “Come on then,” he said. “Do it.”
Robb’s blood rose and his hands balled into fists.
“Stop,” John screamed, his voice shrill with fear.
Before either of them could act, a sudden wumph of air and burst of flame signalled the lighting of the fire. Over a dozen gunnermen were fighting with a nearby group of workers. Oblivious, the band began their second song just as two immense forms lumbered past and the seveners waded in. Only they had enough sway with both sides to stop the violence escalating further. The shock of their arrival gave Robb the breathing space he needed to snuff his anger.
“What’s happened to you?”
“What’s happened to me? What’s happened to you, you fucking traitor.”
“Shut your mouth,” Robb warned. Already people around them were staring. Traitor was not a word to be used idly in Straybeck. Ryan had lost all reason though and wouldn’t let it drop.
“I’ve seen it you know,” he shouted. “Your confession. How you betrayed everyone.”
With a growl of anger, Robb spun away. He knew that if he didn’t leave, Ryan would talk them both into a cell, or he’d have to shut him up some other way. As he limped towards the main gates, the sound of fighting reached a crescendo beside him. That was when he heard Eliza scream.
Chapter 15
Robb wheeled round expecting to see Ryan coming at him. Instead, his son was moving in the opposite direction, straight towards the melee of workers and gunnermen. Eliza had hold of his arms trying to pull him bac
k, but he shrugged out of his jacket and continued forwards.
Robb ran towards them, slipping on the muddy slope and cursing the stabs of pain in his legs. The clash had drawn in more fighters on both sides. The nearest gunnerman had his back to Ryan and was swiping viciously at those around him with a steel asp. Robb watched in horror as his son charged in, shoulder first, sending the gunnerman to the floor. A pack of workers set upon him with fists and feet while Ryan jumped skittishly back and forth, searching for another target. Robb grabbed him round the neck with one arm and spun him away from the fight.
“Go home,” he yelled.
Ryan twisted out of the grip, swinging his arms wildly. His fist caught Robb in the mouth and rocked him backwards. He responded without thinking and dropped Ryan with a solid right hook. His son hit the mud with a wet smack and they stared at each other, regret and shame meeting shock and contempt.
Ryan was up in an instant and then sprinted away. Robb called his name, but before he could follow there was a crunching blow to his back. He fell to his knees and twisted round to see a gunnerman with his asp raised, ready to strike again.
Robb curled up in a ball and felt the second blow strike on the meat of his shoulder. Somewhere in the distance he heard a scream but couldn’t tell if it was Eliza or John. Slowly he crawled towards them as the metal bar fell across him again. No attempt was made to arrest him though, this was punishment only. Once Robb had reached the safety of the crowd, the gunnerman re-joined the skirmish.
Eliza and John, both crying, helped him to his feet. He cradled his right side and took a few deep breaths. There wasn’t the same snagging that he’d felt the last time his ribs were broken, so maybe he’d been lucky. In any case, that was something to worry about later. He put one arm around Eliza’s shoulder and lurched unsteadily towards home.
Ryan had angry tears in his eyes as he shoved through the crowd. He hated his dad so much. Even more than that, he was ashamed and humiliated that he’d allowed the old bastard to knock him down. Ryan checked his watch. It was still too early to meet Alia, which was probably a good thing. He needed to calm down before then.
At the south gate of the park he saw the lights from a food stall and made towards it. He looked over his shoulder, but no one had followed. He’d half expected to see John running behind, begging him to come back. It would be just like him to side with their dad.
The stall was busy and when he reached the front of the queue, there was a man and woman sweating hard, surrounded by grills and hotplates full of meat. “What do you want?” the woman snapped.
“Burger.”
“Two coppers.”
Ryan passed her the coins and bit into the junk meat. It tasted good and he waited in the shadows, chewing robotically while he gathered his thoughts. Over where his family had been, the fighting seemed to have blown itself out and he could see a handful of seveners positioned like human shields between the gunnermen and the workers.
By the time he had finished his burger, both sides had dispersed and all eyes were back on the bonfire waiting for the fireworks. Accompanied by a gasp of excitement, the first sortie fizzed into the air with a sound like tracer fire. The rockets soared skywards and a huge explosion illuminated the park in reds and golds. Ryan moved to the edge of the pyre where he had arranged to meet Alia. The fire was at its worst there and even though the searing heat hurt his skin, Ryan refused to step back, staring down the hungry flames.
There was a tap on his shoulder and he turned to find Alia smiling nervously and shielding her face with one hand. She was wearing a woolly hat pulled down over her ears and dark brown hair poked out from underneath. She had big, bright eyes and looked beautiful.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” More rockets burst overhead and they both craned their necks to stare at the sky.
“Did your brother enjoy the parade?” She spoke the words into his ear and he felt her cheek brushing his own. The nearness sent a thrill into his belly. When he remembered the fight with his dad though he let out a humourless laugh.
“What’s up?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Ryan said. “When did you get here?”
“I got here nice and early,” Alia said with a cheeky smile. “I think I was a bit nervous.”
Ryan liked that. “Me too,” he said, surprising himself with an honest answer. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.”
Alia ducked her head with another smile but then caught sight of the lump on Ryan’s face and gasped. “What happened?”
He dabbed at the cheek with one finger, noticing for the first time how swollen it was. He didn’t want to go back over it though. He knew it would only make him angrier. “It was just a bit of a scuffle. Nothing serious.” Once the words were out, he loved how cavalier it made him sound.
“It doesn’t look like nothing,”
Ryan shrugged. “Do you want to walk for a bit?”
He steered a path through the crowd and felt another jolt in his stomach as Alia took his hand in hers. They weaved between several families, some with small children riding high on their parents’ shoulders. Others were waving their sparklers at the band as if conducting the music. Ryan circled slowly around the fire, enjoying the touch of his fingers entwined with Alia’s. They found a small break on the far side of the cordon where the fire hadn’t caught as well. Together they stood by the rope and watched the flames in silence. As the heat prickled at his face, Ryan’s thoughts predictably turned back to the fight.
“Do you get on with your family?” he said after a while.
Alia didn’t answer right away and when he turned he found that the smiles had gone from her face and been replaced by the familiar look of sadness. It was an expression he noticed all too regularly on her face.
“My family’s complicated,” she said. “My dad…he’s dead…and my mum’s not coping.”
“I’m sorry.” Ryan closed his eyes, angry at himself for asking.
The fire distracted them with a loud crack and golden embers shot skywards. The fireworks had ended and over the chatter of the crowd, Ryan heard the band leader count to four and then the trumpets blared out the opening bars of their last song. The music sent a chill down Ryan’s back. It was A song for the Damned which meant the prisoners had run out of time.
From the woods to his right two columns of gunnermen appeared; each one about thirty strong. As they approached the fire, Ryan saw that they were flanking the sorriest group of men and women he had ever seen. It was a collection of the condemned, victims of the Premier’s law, shortly to pay the ultimate price. They wore chains at their ankles and wrists, while a long length of rope looped them together at the waist.
Ryan realised that he and Alia were standing directly in their path and he was suddenly seized by the urge to do something. He gazed at the prisoners with their ragged clothes and gaunt faces, knowing that he could no longer ignore them. Instead he stared down the first gunnermen, chest tensed, fists ready. He remembered the shame of his father’s confession and a flash of anger gave him all the courage he needed.
Chapter 16
Alia had been watching Ryan with sly, sideways glances. Her appraising look studied every part of him, from the set of his lean but broad shoulders, to the beginnings of stubble that showed on his face. He was – she decided – very handsome. As soon as she acknowledged the thought, she realised how close they were standing and that sent a shiver of excitement through her spine. It was a new feeling, one that scared and excited her in equal amounts.
Then the procession appeared from the woods and Alia slid out the way like everyone else. Only when it was too late did she realise that Ryan was not with her. She glanced back and saw a solitary figure standing before the approaching column.
“Clear the fucking way!” The lead gunnerman yelled, breaking step and going straight for him. Ryan never flinched, even as one gloved hand grabbed him round the throat, and the other struck the side of his head.
Al
ia saw him brace his legs and for a moment he stood firm against the older man. Then the gunnermen yanked Ryan’s head down, meeting it with a solid knee. He managed to turn his face at the last moment, but then another gunnermen waded in and threw Ryan to the floor.
Alia flung herself between them using her body as a shield. A boot thumped into her head and the world tipped sideways. She heard screaming, although she couldn’t be certain if it was her or someone else. Clambering to her knees, she reached out for Ryan, only to be knocked down a second time.
As the procession passed them by, the gunnermen evidently felt they had made their point and re-joined the column. Ryan pushed to his knees, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, and dragged Alia up too. He cut a path through the crowd until they were within sight of the prisoners who were standing meekly on a platform behind the bonfire.
Alia’s head was still spinning and she held onto Ryan for support. His whole body seemed to resonate with anger and through his jacket she could feel the tension in his muscles. He was staring up at the prisoners, his mouth curled into a snarl.
“Fuck,” he yelled, drawing wary glances from those around them.
“Ryan,” she placed her fingers onto his cheek, trying to steer his face back to hers.
“Why aren’t we stopping them?” He stomped away and Alia couldn’t tell if the comment was aimed at himself, or her, or the thousands of people gathered around them. She ran after him, scared of what he might do next. When she finally caught him at the very edge of the crowd, he was still cursing the gunnermen.
“Why can’t they see it? If we all stood up together, they wouldn’t be able to stop us. We’d be rid of them forever.”
Straybeck Rising Page 9
