Broken Moon Series Digital Box Set

by F. T. Lukens

  Jakob’s features twisted in empathy as the boy cried out and his body jerked from residual shock. “It doesn’t hurt that bad,” he said, but his voice was thick.

  The soldiers brought the boy to the middle of the camp and dropped him. The leader lifted a bullhorn to his mouth.

  “Let this be a lesson to you,” he said, the words amplified and distorted. The bullhorn picked up the whimpers of the boy on the ground, and it wasn’t only Ren who sought comfort; Jakob scooted closer and pressed his shoulder hard into Ren’s side. “If you try to run away, we will stop you. If you don’t do as we say, we will hurt you. If you don’t fall in line, we will punish you. The next person who tries will get more than a nasty shock.”

  The camp was silent. Not a murmur broke. The only sounds Ren heard were his own harsh breaths and the sobs of the kid a few yards away.

  “Break camp. We’re moving out. We will reach the citadel within a few days.”

  Moving stiffly, on autopilot, Ren stood with the others. He dropped into formation as instructed with Sorcha next to him and Jakob in front. They marched past the boy on the ground, and Ren saw the soldier’s foot on the back of the boy’s neck and his face in the dirt, streaked with tears.

  Again, Ren pushed his own fears away, swallowed it down. If they thought this would break his resolve, they were wrong.

  He would escape, and he would take as many of the other kids with him as he could.

  Ren pulled his shoulders back and began the march to the Baron’s castle.

  3

  The farther they trudged, the more the landscape changed. The barren dusty plains gave way to gently rolling green hills. The hills grew steeper and the road grew narrower as it meandered through valleys and sometimes sliced through the terrain with sheer rock walls on either side. As they moved, Ren could occasionally see a ship rocket through the sky, burning through the atmosphere to worlds unknown. He wished he were on one, traveling away to a distant drift rather than marching on sore legs.

  They marched from dawn to dusk once again. They camped in a crescent, where a rock wall curved around them at three sides, the land hollowed out. There was only one way out and in, and the soldiers blocked it with floaters placed two deep. Ren didn’t talk much that night. Neither did Jakob and Sorcha. They were all too exhausted to keep their eyes open after a dinner of dried meat, bread and water. Ren fell into a hard sleep, once again piled with Jakob and Sorcha around a dying fire.

  There were no attempts at escape.

  The next day was the same. As was the next. And the next. The days and nights bled into each other until Ren only knew the haze of walking and the nothingness of sleep.

  On the sixth day, there was deep, lush grass on either side of the road and tall trees that cast cool shade. Ren lifted his gaze and on the horizon, he could make out the turrets of the citadel. The Baron’s standards flapped in the breeze, a slash of red and black against the blue spring sky.

  Relief and dread welled within Ren in equal parts. Relief won out, however, when Jakob stumbled and went down to his knees. Ren quickly grabbed the back of Jakob’s shirt and hauled him up, but his weight almost pulled them both back down.

  “Almost there, Jakob,” Ren grunted, helping his friend to his feet, keeping his own balance through sheer will. “On your feet; we don’t want their attention.”

  “So tired,” Jakob mumbled.

  “I know. I know, but we’ll be there by nightfall.” Ren licked his dry lips. “There might even be food, a welcome dinner or something for the Baron’s new guests. Or baths. I don’t know about you, but I could use a bar of soap.”

  Jakob laughed, a harsh, grating sound, as he staggered forward; his feet slid along the packed dirt path. “I never knew you had a sense of humor,” he said. “At home, you were always distant. Your body was present, but your mind was somewhere else.”

  “My stepfather said my head was always in the stars,” Ren said. He kept his hand on Jakob’s arm. It was awkward, but it kept them moving and kept the soldiers’ attention elsewhere.

  “I wish I’d known you better. We could’ve been friends.”

  “We’re friends now,” Ren said, squeezing Jakob’s shoulder.

  Jakob patted Ren’s fingers, a surprisingly gentle gesture. “At least for a little while.”

  Ren mustered a smile.

  However, Ren was wrong. They made it to the castle in the late afternoon. The dark splotch of stone became larger and larger until it blotted out the sinking sun, casting the caravan into shadow. Ren craned his neck; his gaze traveled over the structure, taking in all the details he could. Any information would aid in their escape.

  The castle was the biggest building Ren had ever seen. The towers scraped the sky. The stone walls loomed, menacing and impenetrable. Squinting, Ren could make out the figures of guards marching along the battlements. As they neared, shouts went up, and the massive doors of the main entrance creaked open on iron hinges. And beyond, Ren could see the blueish sheen of a force field.

  Eyebrows raised, Ren watched as the head soldier, the one who had had his boot on the neck of the boy so many days ago, punched a code into a keypad built into the stone. Ren was too far away to see the string of numbers, but he was close enough to hear the field power down and see it flicker out. Ren stood on his toes and peered beyond the arch, where a raised wooden platform stood in the middle of a courtyard.

  The soldiers ushered the captives into the castle grounds. Wide-eyed, with his hand still wrapped around Jakob’s elbow, Ren stared up at the arch. He tried to discern the points of origin for the force field. His slow pace earned him a sharp shove to the back, and this time it was Jakob who kept Ren upright as they stumbled into the courtyard. Once the entire group was inside, the force field hummed back to life, and the doors closed solidly, echoing with finality.

  Ren gulped.

  If they were to escape, Ren doubted it would be through those doors. They’d have to find another way.

  Jakob nudged his side. “Looks like we’re getting a welcome after all.”

  Ren turned around. He spotted Sorcha in the crowd in front of them, close to the raised dais, where a man stood. He had the bearing of an official with his spine ramrod straight and his shoulders held back under fine clothes of red trimmed in black, an echo of the Baron’s standards. His severe gaze swept the crowd, and the setting sun cast an orange haze on his pale skin. His iron-gray hair was shorn close to his head, his beard was neatly trimmed, and he stood on the platform like a general assessing an army. He reminded Ren of a hawk; his nose hooked like a beak and his eyes were sharp, and Ren felt like prey.

  Their body armor dusty from the trip, the soldiers flanked the man. Looking around, Ren saw other guards surrounding the captives, herding them closer to the center of the courtyard. After the shuffling, Jakob and Ren were near Sorcha, and she took Jakob’s hand, twining their fingers.

  “Welcome,” the man said, his voice booming across the square. “I am General Abiathar. You are now guests of Baron Vos of Erden.”

  “Humph, guests,” Jakob muttered.

  Ren elbowed him when they received a sharp look from a soldier.

  “You are here to aid the Baron in fulfilling his grand destiny. Some of you will do so as servants in the castle. Others will become soldiers. If you follow orders you will do well. If you do not, you endanger yourself and the villages you came from.”

  A low murmur rippled through the crowd. The threat hung in the air. Ren shuddered as an image of Liam, bloodied and marching, popped unbidden into his mind’s eye. He shook it off.

  “Each of you will be vetted for your talents and assigned to an area. Then, you will be given food and allowed rest.”

  Abiathar gestured, and the soldiers moved through the crowd, manhandling the prisoners into a line. Ren moved as he was directed, not resisting the flow of the bodies. He lowered his head so
that his dark hair fell across his face, but he kept one hand on Jakob’s back.

  As the progression moved, each prisoner walked up the stairs and faced Abiathar.

  “Soldier,” he said to a tall boy from another village. One of the guards unlocked the cuffs and pushed the boy toward a corner of the enclosure where a smattering of guards stood.

  And so it went. Young women and young men were dispersed into different departments.

  The line moved slowly forward until, after an hour, Sorcha moved up the stairs. She shot a glance over her shoulder at Ren and Jakob, and Ren held his breath.

  Abiathar looked her over. He fingered a lock of her blonde hair, and Ren felt Jakob stiffen in front of him.

  “Kitchens,” Abiathar said.

  The soldier took off her cuffs and she rubbed her wrists, moving toward an arch in the courtyard where a gathering of women and younger boys stood.

  Ren sighed in relief.

  Jakob stepped up the stairs and Ren stood at the base of the dais.

  “Soldier,” Abiathar said, waving Jakob away.

  “Wait,” Jakob said, as the cuffs fell from his wrists. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

  Jakob wasn’t the first who had spoken. Some of them had pleaded to be sent home. Others asked to be with members of their village. All requests had been denied. Ren wondered if Abiathar took a sick pleasure in crushing the captives’ hopes.

  Abiathar raised a steel-colored eyebrow at Jakob. “Explain.”

  “My father is on the council of our village. He ensures that the Baron receives the supplies he needs from us. I’m his only son.”

  “I see,” Abiathar said. “I thank your father for his sacrifice.” He addressed the soldier behind Jakob. “Make sure this young man has the appropriate accommodations.”

  Ren couldn’t see Jakob’s face, but he saw the straightening of his shoulders, and the protest brimming in his body language. Ren heard the static charge of a prod, saw the shift of the guard’s body and raced up the steps. Though his hands were cuffed, he clasped his fingers around Jakob’s upper arm.

  “Don’t.”

  There wasn’t much room to maneuver on the wooden platform, and Ren pressed against Jakob’s side.

  Abiathar’s blue gaze landed on him, and Ren felt like a worm on a hook.

  “And who are you?”

  Ren swallowed the fear rising in his throat, and his mouth went dry. He didn’t have to answer.

  “This is the one, General.”

  The twitch of Abiathar’s eyebrows was almost imperceptible, but from where Ren stood, he could track every nuance of Abiathar’s expression. Interest and curiosity were evident in the slow curl of his lips and the glint in his eyes.

  With a nod of his head, Abiathar signaled for Jakob to be removed from the dais, and, though Ren attempted to hold on and Jakob grabbed Ren’s hand, the soldier pried them apart. Jakob was forcibly escorted to the group in the middle of the training yard, which was ringed by weapon-wielding guards.

  “Your reputation precedes you,” Abiathar said, slowly.

  “My what?”

  Ren’s question was ignored. “How many prods was it that you disarmed?”

  Confused, Ren’s mouth fell open. His palms went clammy. “I… I… what? None. I didn’t do anything!” His voice cracked.

  Abiathar hummed. He gestured to Ren’s cuffs. “Take those off.”

  “I can’t. I don’t have the electronic signature.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  Ren looked down at them, heard their energy source thrumming, saw the lights blinking around the bands. Ren jerked on his wrists. Nothing happened.

  “I can’t.”

  The movement of Abiathar’s hand was so quick, Ren didn’t register it until claw-like fingers dug into his jaw. Abiathar yanked Ren’s chin, forcing his gaze up from his wrists and into the uncompromising will in Abiathar’s eyes. Ren couldn’t pull away. Abiathar’s grip was bruising, and Ren stared into rings of blue around black pupils.

  “You will unlock them.”

  Ren flinched. Abiathar’s voice echoed in his mind and slithered in his ear, and Ren found his body swaying unconsciously, reacting to the sound against his will. He blinked with sluggish eyelids, and he shook his head.

  “What are you…?”

  “Unlock them.”

  A shiver worked its way down Ren’s spine. It felt wrong, having another voice in his head. Everything was muted but Abiathar’s words, sharp and pulsing in Ren’s skull.

  Unlock them. Unlock them. Unlock them.

  Ren’s senses tangled. He could taste color, touch the words that resonated throughout his body. Something warm and golden tingled in Ren’s fingertips, and it raced down Ren’s limbs.

  He gasped.

  The cuffs fell away.

  Abiathar let him go, and Ren staggered back. Reality snapped back into place. His head spinning, his chest heaving, Ren looked around to see everyone staring, most with pale faces, and with undisguised fear.

  Abiathar smiled, his mouth a red slash across his face.

  “Very good.” He nodded to the guard over Ren’s shoulder. “Take him to the iron cell. Be careful with him.”

  Reeling, Ren didn’t fight when the guard grabbed his arms and actually leaned into the touch to steady his body. He half-stumbled down the stairs and, when he looked at the line of captives waiting for their audience, he saw a line of cuffs at their feet, as if they had all fallen off, malfunctioned simultaneously.

  Another guard joined the one holding him. On shaky legs, Ren walked where he was led, sometimes pushed, and when he passed the group of soon-to-be soldiers, he saw Jakob. His eyes were wide and his mouth open. He stared at Ren as though he’d never seen him before, and Ren didn’t know what that meant.

  * * *

  “Where are you taking me?” Ren asked, panicked once he came back to himself. Two soldiers flanked him on either side, their hands on his arms as they guided him into an archway. The temperature was significantly cooler in the shade of the stone, and the light was dim. Heart in his throat, Ren squirmed, turning to look back at the sunlight. “Where are we going?” he said again, voice small.

  “To the iron cell. You can’t manipulate tech in there.”

  “I can’t what? What do you mean?”

  The soldier pressed his lips together and shook his head. The other remained silent.

  The innards of the castle were a crisscrossing maze of corridors, and Ren couldn’t keep track of the route to wherever it was they were going. He didn’t know if this was purposeful, if the route was meant to confuse him, make it harder for escape, or if the castle actually was a labyrinth. As they moved farther into the stone bowels, going down steep steps, taking turns at crossroads, their way was lit by glowing tech lights built into the walls.

  Ren marveled at the construction. His home in the village was made of wood and dirt, and the only tech were small gadgets with their own power sources, like the touch lights they used at night, and the cold box for their food, the one extravagance his mother had purchased from the space docks. Here, tech fit seamlessly into stone.

  They finally stopped at a large wooden door with a metal latch. The guard pulled out an old key, fitted it in the keyhole and, with a grunt, opened the lock. The door swung outward, and waiting just on the other side was another flickering force field. A passcode punched into the keypad powered it down, and the soldiers escorted Ren into the room.

  The light on the far side of the dungeon was out, casting half the space in shadow, but Ren could clearly see the two prison cells that sat side by side.

  Ren swallowed hard, studying the iron grid and the massive lock, and the lonely room that was to become his new home.

  “Why are you putting me in here? I don’t understand.”

  One of the guards swu
ng open the cell door and the other pushed Ren in. They closed it. The sound of the door rang in the small space.

  Ren stood at the front of the cell with his hands wrapped around the iron. “Don’t leave me in here. Please.”

  “Piece of advice, kid,” the soldier said, standing on the other side of the force field. “Do what Abiathar says. You seem like a nice kid. I’d hate to see what happened to the last occupant of that cell happen to you.”

  “What happened?” Ren called, as the door creaked closed. “What happened?”

  There was no answer.

  Ren stepped back.

  Lonely and afraid, Ren ran his hands down his arms and looked around. The cell was a square. A hay-stuffed mattress sat along the back wall. A bucket and a tin plate were the only other contents.

  Ren looked down at his shaking hands; his fingers were dirty, caked with dust from the march, and bruises ringed his wrists from the shackles.

  The shackles.

  They’d fallen off.

  Abiathar’s voice had done something to him. He’d coaxed him into… into… making the cuffs unlock. But how did Ren do that? How was it possible?

  “What did I do?” he whispered, flexing his fingers. “Why am I here?”

  “Because you manipulated tech.”

  Ren reeled backward, falling to the ground. He scrambled to the far corner of the cell, pressed his back against the stone and clutched the hay mattress underneath him.

  He trembled. “Who’s there?”

  He heard a shuffle of feet from the shadows of the other cell, and then a man stepped into the light. He leaned on the iron grid that separated the cells with his arms bent above his head and his fingers dangling. The sparse light cast a halo on his greasy blond hair. His clothes were finer than anything Ren owned, but they were worn and dirty from the cell. He was young, probably a little older than Ren but not by many years, and his body was lean, stretched out along the slats.