by J. J. Green
“I...don’t...care!” she enunciated loudly. “Don’t you understand? I want to leave. I’ve had enough. I thought if I joined up I might make a difference, but it’s been a waste of time. I don’t want to be a corporal. I don’t want to train other marines. I want to fight. The EAC are everywhere in the BI, and the Alliance has done nothing against them. They’re in every town, every village. They were even in Nantgarw-y-garth, for god’s sake. The only thing that lives there is sheep!”
A pause followed as he tried to figure out how to reach her. It would be a crime to let such a valuable person go, and, though she might not understand it, she would be more helpful to her cause working within the BA than outside it.
“Are you from that area?” he asked. Her file only stated BI as her address, probably because her town or village didn’t exist anymore, having been destroyed in the EAC invasion.
“Yes, I’m from around there,” she replied. “And I want to go back.”
“Sheep weren’t the only thing living on that mountain, though, were they?”
“What do you...Oh, the man you rescued. Yes, I suppose he was there, too.”
“Did you see him? As we brought him back, I mean.”
“No, I didn’t. The medics put me under for the trip. I didn’t wake up until after the operation on my back, and then he was in intensive care.”
“Hm, well, he was in a terrible state. He shouldn’t have been alive. I wouldn’t call his survival a miracle, I’d call it impossible.”
“That’s strange. No one in their right mind would be out on the mountain in that kind of weather. Do we know why he was there?”
Wright shook his head. “Not a clue, though he wasn’t in the open, he was inside a cave. We had to use the mortar to get to him, the same as we used it to free you. He began to regain consciousness the other day and I went to see him. He’s entirely recovered, fit and healthy, without any lasting effects, as if nothing had happened to him. But he seems dangerous, so I’m keeping him under sedation until Colbourn returns.”
“So, you’re wondering if I might have an idea about who he is, or what he was doing, as I’m from that area.”
“Right. Do you?”
“No, I can’t help you. After the EAC moved in, all my family and friends scattered. I’ve lost contact...” She swallowed. “It’s been so long.”
“You might still know something. If I had to take a guess, I would say the man was alone in that cave without food or water for a very long time, quite possibly years.”
“Years?”
“I know. It sounds impossible, right? Come over here. I want to show you something.” Relieved that he seemed to have broken through the barrier the corporal had been putting up, he found his cam recording from the day. With Ellis leaning over his shoulder, he played it.
Once more, he saw the pitch black cave interior, his helmet’s light slicing through the darkness. The picture shifted and bobbed as he moved in, reaching the stone platform in a few steps. On a second viewing, the dusty figure looked even more skeletal and long dead in the vid than it had appeared the first time around.
He heard the corporal suck in a breath. When he saw his own arms reaching out to pick up the man, he turned off the recording.
“That was what you rescued?” breathed Ellis.
“It was. And that is now one hundred and eighty-five centimeters and about ninety kilos of living, breathing muscle.”
“No, how can that be true?”
“Do you want me to show you? I could look up his medical file.”
She returned to her chair and sat down. “I’m sorry, I can’t explain it. I lived not far from there all my life, but I’ve never heard of anything like that. I mean, tourists would sometimes get lost and someone would have to go and help them, but...that’s as much of a mystery to me as it is to you.”
Her brow was furrowed, but, nevertheless, Wright had a feeling she was holding something back.
He decided not to push her. The patient in the sick bay wasn’t a big concern, and he’d achieved his intention of softening the atmosphere between them. “Ellis, I’m going to be frank with you. If you’re gone when Colbourn gets back, my life won’t be worth living. And please believe me when I tell you you’re going to help free the BI better up here than down there. I tell you what, you don’t have to tell me anything about the fight. I’ll speak to Abacha, and if he says you weren’t the instigator, we’ll leave it there.”
She went to say something, but he continued, “Wait here a minute.”
He left his office and went into the brigadier’s, which was next door. Colbourn had given him access to everything in there while she was gone. After a brief search, he found what he was looking for.
He returned to his room and handed the broken necklace to the corporal. “I think this is yours.”
The look of elation and gratitude she gave him as she took it told him he’d done the right thing. She teared up, and then ducked her head in embarrassment.
“Are you going to stay a Royal Marine?” Wright asked.
“Uh...” she replied, her voice thick. “I’ll think about it.”
Chapter Fourteen
A loud ringing, underlain by a dull roar, throbbed in Hans’s ears, and hot smoke filled his nostrils and throat, searing and choking him. He tried to get up but found he could not. A heavy weight was pressing against his back, pinning him down.
He quickly gave up trying to move. Each effort brought a feeling like knives stabbing his lungs. He guessed his ribs were broken. As he lay, face downward, in the remains of the meeting chamber, he began to assess his situation.
There had been an attack.
The dreadful whine of the approach of the first bomb remained vivid in his mind. Then the ceiling had exploded. Everyone who hadn’t immediately reacted to the warning shout from the military section—most of those present—had dived to the floor. But little could be done to protect oneself from the rain of dagger-like, burning shards of wood.
How many had died there and then from the falling debris? Hans didn’t know. There had been no time to take stock, no time to take action to protect the still-living. Then a second bomb had hit, this time blasting open the wall on the far side of the chamber, where the Queen, Speaker, and Prime Minister had stood to speak.
A cacophony of screams of fear and agony followed. Those who were still alive and uninjured had run for the exits. It had been a stampede, a rout. The weakest and unluckiest had fallen underfoot and been trampled. Some of the military officers had tried to take control, but it had been hopeless. Terror had driven the Council members mad. They obeyed no order or instruction, heard nothing, in their primal instinct to save their lives.
Except Josephine. His secretary had been one of the few to keep her head.
Hans’s section hadn’t been devastated by the first or second explosion, but the aisles between the seats were soon thickly jammed by those trying to escape. His staff also tried to exit that way. The people already on the steps became crushed by others trying to join them. He hadn’t known what to do. He stood no chance of leaving via that route until the crowding eased, and meanwhile a third bomb seemed likely.
“Over the seats, Mr Jonte,” Josephine had shouted over the noise. “We have to climb over the seats. This way.” Lifting her skirt, she stepped neatly across the seat back in front of her. “Come on!” She held out her hand to encourage him.
Of course. In their panic, nearly everyone had reverted to habitual behavior. The usual way to leave tiered seating was via the stairs, so that’s what they were trying to do. Only a handful like Josephine had realized there was a much better way to get out.
He joined his secretary, and together they began to climb down.
Fire was taking hold in the wooden building. The panic in the room grew even more intense. People were in a frenzy as they tried to retreat from the encroaching flames. The place was going up like tinder.
Smoke and ash were obscuring Hans’s view of
the rest of the chamber. All he could see were shadows of fleeing attendees, and the far side of the room was entirely obscured. He wondered if the Prime Minister and Speaker had been hurt. It seemed impossible they hadn’t when their area had taken a direct hit. And what had happened to the Queen? Had she left after she’d given her speech and avoided the bombing?
“Please hurry, Mr Jonte,” said Josephine. “We might be hit again.”
The fact hadn’t escaped him, but others had seen what she and he were doing and had begun to copy them, causing the seating to become crowded with slow-moving seat hoppers.
Who was attacking them? It had to be either the AP or EAC. Why had his officers uncovered no intel about the strike? How had the bombers infiltrated BA airspace? Barbados was in the heart of BA territory. The assault was an insult, an outrage!
“Mr Jonte!”
Josephine had nearly reached the bottom of the seating, but she’d stopped and was waiting for him. Paradoxically, the area at the base of the seating wasn’t overwhelmed with people yet. Most were still fighting their way down the aisles, and if they now understood their mistake, it was impossible for many to leave their chosen escape route. They were trapped on the stairs, the fallen clogging the bases of the steps.
The fires crept closer.
A third bomb must have hit, but Hans didn’t remember it. One moment he’d been about to reach Josephine, and the next he’d woken up within roaring, choking chaos. He guessed the ringing in his ears was from the explosion of the bomb. He was relieved the flames hadn’t reached him yet, but he knew he didn’t have much time.
With a great effort and agonizing stabs from his ribs, he managed to turn his head.
Immediately, he came face to face with Josephine’s staring eyes. His secretary was lying mere centimeters away. The force from the bomb must have thrown them together as it simultaneously buried them under the destroyed seating. Josephine hadn’t survived the blast.
A twinge of sadness and regret hit him as he felt her loss. The woman had been more resourceful than he’d given her credit for.
That couldn’t be helped now. He had only himself to rely on to get out of here.
Though something was pinning his torso, his arms were free. Hans dug his elbows into the debris that littered the floor and tried to pull himself forward. It took a great effort, but he succeeded in dragging himself a centimeter or two. Whatever was lying across his back had moved with him, however. He wasn’t pulling himself out from under it.
He reached back with his right hand and touched warm metal. Feeling around, he discovered some kind of strut had landed on him. The chamber wasn’t entirely made from wood after all. A skeleton of metal had supported it. The warmth of the steel told him fire wasn’t far away.
Beyond the ringing of his ears and the roar of flames, he heard running footsteps. He listened, and they grew louder. He had no time to turn his head in their direction, but intuitively he shot out a hand, grabbing blindly. His fingers brushed fabric, and he gripped, hard.
A man crashed down, giving a shout of pain as he hit the shattered, smoking detritus from the explosions on the floor.
“Help me,” moaned Hans, not loosening his hold on the man’s pants leg. Through the smoke, he recognized a sooty, blood-splattered, military dress uniform.
The man kicked his leg, trying to make Hans let go, but his fingers were like iron, certain this officer was all that stood between him and death.
“All right,” the man growled, and reached over Hans. His face and hair were black with ash.
He felt the strut lying on his back begin to move, causing fresh waves of pain. He gasped, but he didn’t relax his grip on his savior. Grunting with effort, the officer inched the metal farther. Hans felt it slide onto his waist, and then lower, moving diagonally. When it reached his hips, he found he could wriggle forward, but in doing so, his hand released the pants leg.
“You’re fine now,” said the officer. “You can do the rest yourself.”
The next second, he’d disappeared into the haze and drifting ashes.
Hans swore, but in his heart he didn’t blame his reluctant helper. He would have done the same in the circumstances.
But perhaps the officer was right. Perhaps he could rescue himself now.
Pressing his palms against the floor, he tensed his stomach muscles and, grimacing at the shouts of protest from his broken ribs, levered himself upward. The strut slipped off him and clattered somewhere behind.
He was free.
He staggered upright. Instantly, a wave of coughing overcame him, sending him to his knees. The air was unbreathable. He began to feel faint and nauseated.
He started crawling.
Where was the way out?
He had no idea in which direction he now faced, and nothing he saw was recognizable any longer. Dead bodies lay in his path. He could hear cries for help, but he ignored them. He was only able to save himself, and even that was looking uncertain.
If only he knew where the nearest exit was. He had to find it before he suffocated or the fire reached him.
Suddenly, his arms and legs gave way, and he sprawled on his face.
As blackness edged in, narrowing his vision, he understood it was all over for him. He was going to die, and all his schemes and intrigues would come to nothing. The Britannic Alliance was going to remain a monarchy, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
Then, like manna from heaven, a powerful jet of ice-cold water hit him. He shuddered at the sudden icy wetness, but he was jubilant. He might be saved yet. The fire service had finally arrived.
But he was too exhausted and too stifled by smoke to halt his slide into unconsciousness.
Just before darkness closed around him, he heard someone call out, “The Queen! The Queen is dead!”
Chapter Fifteen
The stairs to the top of Dwyr Orr’s private tower curled in a spiral around its outer wall. She had no idea why the stone steps hadn’t been built on the inside, sheltering the climber from the elements. The castle’s origins were unknown, though she surmised it had to be at least three thousand years old, built during the age when stone edifices were the only protection from attack. Long, tedious wars had ravaged nations in those ancient times, a constant vying for land, wealth, and power.
As the Dwyr lifted the hem of her heavy gown and mounted the steps, she wondered if things had really changed that much in the intervening millennia. Perhaps it was only that fewer players participated in the great game now. The Britannic Alliance, the Antarctic Project, and the Earth Awareness Crusade were the only major powers anymore, and they all wanted the same thing: Control.
She turned the first curve of the spiral, which brought her to the ocean-facing side of the tower. A dark sea churned before her, and the wind swept her river of black hair away from her face. At the horizon, the sky was lightening, fading out the stars in the east and gilding distant waves in the busy water.
Touching the stone rail, she paused to take in the view, assessing the strength of light from the as-yet invisible sun. She still had plenty of time.
She continued to climb.
No doubt each point of the triangle of powers that fought for Earth believed their cause to be just, she reflected, but at the same time she was confident the EAC was the only righteous one. Her order was the only organization that held the planet herself in the heart of its doctrine. The living Earth was a sacred being, and she, with the help of her followers, intended to ensure its proper treatment in perpetuity.
What cause could be more pure and noble?
Unfortunately, along the way, sacrifices had to be made. Joining forces with Ua Talman meant temporarily allowing the AP’s violation of the Earth’s sanctity to continue. But if it meant that, together, they could put an end to the BA, it would be worth it. As long as she did penance, the imbalance would be redressed, and when Talman and his deluded disciples departed, the world would be whole once more and for eternity.
Wh
en she’d nearly reached the door at the top of the tower, she halted her climb for a second time. Now she faced inland, where the castle’s ramparts rose tall, wide, and strong, surrounding the inner courtyard far below. Beyond the fortification, the green mountains of West BI spread out as far as she could see, gaining color at the approach of the sun.
It was a beautiful land, and she was glad she had wrested it from the BA’s hands. Had the country remained under their government, they would have continued to exploit it, prioritizing the needs of their citizens over everything else. Now she was its guardian, she would reassert the natural order.
She climbed the final steps.
The door to her sanctum at the top of the tower was never locked. Everyone who lived and worked in the castle knew that entry to anyone except herself was strictly forbidden.
She grasped the iron ring at the door’s edge, turned it, pushed open the heavy wooden door, and stepped inside.
The side of the tower wall that faced inland was solid stone; the other half, facing the ocean, consisted of stone struts between empty squares. The cold sea breeze blew strongly at the top of the tower. Kala’s skin rose into goosebumps, despite the thickness of her robe.
Propped against a wall was a short staff that had long, lithe silver birch twigs tied around one end. The young shoots had lost their fresh, green shine and were coated brown.
Kala unfastened the lacing at the front of her robe, loosening the tightness around her waist and hips, and allowed the gown to drop to the floor. She stepped out from it, naked. Reaching down, she undid the laces of her shoes and pulled them off. The brown-stained, granite-tiled floor was icy beneath her bare feet. She began to shiver, and her teeth chattered.
She stepped to the birch switch and picked it up.
After returning to the center of the circular room, she moved her discarded clothing and knelt down on the cold floor, facing the sea. She pulled all her hair forward so that it spilled over her knees, leaving her back bare.
