by Casey Eanes
“Luken!” The soldiers were beginning to board.
He whispered, barely audible. “Be patient. I have friends who can help. Just do as they say.”
Five Elumite soldiers held their guns on the duo. One of them flashed metallic handcuffs around Willyn’s arms and led her off the ship. She glanced at Luken who stared back.
A thought burned in her mind, a thought that sounded like Luken’s voice.
Don’t make this situation any worse. Trust me. I’ll be there soon.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Every step was a new pang of torture. Kull’s ankle ignited with each movement he made as the party continued their monotonous march across the arid desert. His legs felt petrified as he willed them to keep up with Wael, Rot, and their driver, Arik, who were all walking steadily ahead of him.
Wael called back, "We need to keep moving, Kull. We can't stop."
All Kull wanted to do was stop. It took all of his willpower not to scream as the pain continued to ratchet up his leg. Nothing could sway Wael's firm resolve to keep moving through the shimmering heat of the Wasteland. He said nothing because in truth, he realized he had no choice. Stopping meant the possibility of another morel swarm. That would be the death of them without the truck for protection, like falling into a barrel of spinning razor blades. The thought of them made him quicken his pace as much as he could. They had made steady progress during the morning hours, but with the heat of the afternoon Kull wondered how much he could keep going. The abandoned vehicle was miles behind them, and as the hours passed by, Kull could not shake the daydreams of riding in that dented, unloved rust bucket.
The march was painful but uneventful. The landscape shifted in terrain as the day grew late. The desert dunes morphed into rolling rocky crags that pushed into a full valley of blistering red rock. Jagged walls of crimson rose around the road and shut out the wind and sun that had been beating down on them. Arik craned his neck up to gaze to the top of the canyon walls. His messy tangle of brown hair kept falling in his eyes as he spoke.
“Always felt small in my truck. Now I feel like an ant. Welcome to King’s Canyon, kid. Almost there.”
Kull forced a smile as he leaned in on his makeshift crutch. The ironwood staff he borrowed from Wael was an intricate totem of engraved symbols and runes etched deep into the dark grain of the wood. There was some sort of pattern to the pictures, but Kull could not begin to decipher their meaning. It was a wonder the old staff held up even after beating back the hoards of morels that attacked them the previous night. Kull’s eyes darted across its carvings as he hobbled along. It was unbelievable to think any piece of wood could come out of the last night’s chaos without a scratch.
“Hey Wael, how much farther?” Kull’s eyes mirrored Arik’s trailing up the high ridges of the canyon. “Not too crazy about being closed in. You know, just in case.”
He took one last look over his shoulder worrying that the thought might bring them closer. He kept pressing forward, waiting on an answer.
Rot bounded next to his master and looked back at Kull, but Wael did not answer. The party soon made their way through a winding valley, and Arik spoke to fill the void.
“Don’t worry, kid. I promise we are almost there. I have driven this road a hundred times. We aren’t far.” Arik pointed at a distant ridge ahead. “Just look up there; it’s the Hangman’s Pass. We will be there soon.”
Kull looked up at the cropping of rock that spread from one side of the canyon’s ridge to the other. Dozens of chains draped over the ridge, clinking in the breeze.
“Hangman’s Pass?”
“Yep. That’s the spot where the ol’ Grogans used to hang the prisoners of war they were finished with. Figured if someone wanted to invade they might think again after seeing their buddies hanging there. Pretty brutal, huh?”
Kull’s eyes shot back to the rocks, his mind fearing what he would find there. Visions of his father flew in his mind, his body hanging there off the overpass, dead eyes staring blankly at Kull. A nightmarish scene shouting of his failure, his cowardice. His father's mangled body, swinging in the wind, and his mother’s cries of agony. He shook his head, trying to throw the thoughts out of his mind, but he could not help but to gaze up into the waterfall of nooses overhead, sighing to see that each of them was gratefully empty.
I will not fail, he promised himself. They won’t take you, Dad; I’ll hang from that rock before you do. I won’t stop until I find you. His hand reached for his mother’s pendant, and he said a silent prayer for her. I hope Eva is taking good care of her. His mind flickered between his mother, Ewing, and Adley, but he ran from the homesickness that trailed him in the horizon of his mind.
They kept walking, and after another hour Kull was glad to put the grim ridge behind them. Wael stopped without warning and turned to Kull, his face calculating. Even after fighting off a horde of morels and leading them through the desert the man still seemed fresh and full of energy. Kull read Wael’s face. Something was wrong.
"What is it, Wael?"
The monk spoke. “We have a problem, Kull. There’s something we must do to continue safely.” Rot, in a show of strange understanding, let out a high-pitched whine.
“Problem? What kind of problem?” Kull asked.
Wael’s response was quick and calm, “You, Kull.”
“Me?” Kull was shocked. “What do you mean?” His thoughts swirled to his defense. “If I am such a problem, why did you even bother to bring me in the first place?!“
Wael placed a hand on Kull’s shoulder.
“Calm down. You are a Lottian. Your appearance is that of a Lottian. Hangman’s Pass marks the border of the Groganlands. You have no reason to be here in a time of war. Arik is a licensed transporter and my source of transportation. He is known, but you, Kull...for you I had no answer for your presence. Until now.”
Wael unsheathed his knife and unrolled his white, pristine outer robe. He cut at the robe’s seams.
"What are you doing?" Kull asked as he tried to examine Wael’s handiwork.
Wael finished cutting and handed the long stretch of cloth to him. “Put this on," he said.
Without notice, Wael ran his hand through Kull's thick brown hair. “Next we need to cut your hair. The Alephian order commands one must keep their head shaved.”
In that moment Kull resigned himself to what was happening. If he was going to go any farther this would be the cost. Better to be bald than on display, strung up on Hangman’s Pass.
He nodded. “Do it. Whatever it takes, let’s just hurry up and get there. I don’t want them dragging Dad to that ledge.”
"As you wish." Wael held out his blade and raked it over Kull’s head with skillful precision.
Kull could not feel any more out of place standing beneath the shadows of Rhuddenhall’s massive gates. He was bald, his head shining like a beacon in the desert sun, with ash smeared across his face, wrapped in the strange white garb of a monk. They slowly approached the massive city built with rock, cement, and steel. Gods above, what an ugly place. The Red City baked like a scab in the desert sun, keeping its watch over the once contested border of the Groganlands and Riht. Beyond the Red City, filling the horizon with gray giant peaks of treacherous mountain ranges, laid the Groganlands. This country was nothing like his own; all of it looked dead, dry, inhospitable, and barren. His only comfort was the weight of his rifle strapped against his back.
The canyon gate was empty. There were no guards posted and no border patrols to contend with. In fact, it appeared that the gate was abandoned, its doors standing wide open. This was not what Kull expected. Fifty foot gates weren’t made to stand open unguarded.
The three stood stunned as they examined the gate, confused by the lack of military presence until Wael spoke up. "Stop here. Wait on my command."
They stopped meters away from the gate. No one spoke. No one moved. Kull’s eyes darted across the canyon walls, searching for a sign of a hidden sentry, but he saw nothing
. Something wasn't right.
The snap of gunfire broke the silence. One round gave way to another as a fresh burst of violence filled the air. Screams followed the gunfire and an explosion echoed off the canyon wall, adding to the chaos. Kull and Arik scrambled for cover, but there was none to be found. They were trapped, and there was nowhere to go. Kull lay prone on the red dirt and fumbled for his rifle, only to see Wael still standing, a tall pillar of resolute peace.
"Get up." Wael lowered his arm down to Kull and pulled him up to his feet. "Those shots were not meant for us."
"What?"
Kull tried to make sense of the sounds as another shot popped off. Wael spoke again. "The violence is coming from within Rhuddenhall.” The monk’s face was grave. “We must hurry."
Wael waved for them to press through the gates. Kull gingerly sprinted behind Wael, Rot, and Arik as they dove through the open mouth into the Groganlands’ capital. He was ready for whatever was waiting for him; anger and adrenaline fueled his resolve.
You came to my home and burned it to the ground. You murdered my people. You stole my father from me and wrecked my life. I am here to return the favor.
Wael whispered to Kull as they made their way down the main cobblestone street, “Stay close to me! I have no idea what we are running into.” Rot’s hackles rose as he kept up with his master.
Arik spoke in disbelief as they made their way through the ruined and littered streets, his voice filled with fear. "What happened here?"
The sound of gunfire and explosions bellowed again as the three pressed down the long street lined with single story cement structures. Pillbox buildings dotted the streets and led to a massive courtyard that was glowing red with fire. The heart of the city was in flames.
Rot’s back arched fully and a rumble of growls escaped from behind his fangs. Wael pointed to a side street, directing them to follow him as they darted for cover. Arik and Kull followed close behind Wael and Rot as they traveled deeper into the city. The street offered a narrow alley between the cement boxes that ran parallel with the main street. A small channel of dark, oily water ran down the center of the alley through a shallow trough dug between the buildings. The narrow channel was littered with debris and trash; boxes, garbage, and scrap bits of broken machinery. At the end of the alley Kull could catch a glimpse of the churning chaos taking place in an adjacent courtyard.
Civilian men and women were firing onto armored guards who stood above them guarding a massive complex overlooking the square. The rioters created a barricade of burning vehicles, a wall of fire that covered the square with a blanket of smoke. The smoke made it difficult to lock onto any one figure as they darted across it, slipping in and out of view like gray phantoms. Each of the men and women wore strips of tattered red cloth across their face or arms.
Some of the Red Cloths fired on the army that was gathered at the far end of the square while others lay dead in pools of their own blood. The attackers were not any part of the Lottian forces. They were not from Elum, or even Riht. They were some new entity, but from the look of their features they appeared to be Grogan. The reality left Kull speechless. The Grogans were killing one another.
Kull pushed next to Wael and spoke just loud enough to be heard, “What is happening? We were only out in the desert a few days. This is insane!”
Wael’s wide eyes were full of dread. “I don’t know. This is not what I expected.” Kull's fears escalated into panic. What were they going to do? If they were killing one another, what chance did his dad have?
Wael glanced back down the alley and then to Arik.
“Arik, did you hear anything on the radio about this on our way in?”
“The radio?” Arik tried to smile, “That ol’ truck hasn’t had a working radio for years.”
Kull slipped back to the edge of the alley to glance back out over the square, hoping to uncover a clue as to what started the infighting. Kull spoke over the chaos, his mind full of disbelief. “They wage war on all of Candor, and it's still not enough for them. So now, they kill each other.”
A strange voice answered, “You’re right. We don’t mind killing anyone. Not even a child, such as yourself.”
Kull spun around to be greeted by the barrels of five pistols trained on him. A man with a red bandana wrapped around his face grunted and lifted his gun toward Kull’s face. His bright green eyes bore into him. Kull glanced quickly back. The Red Bandanas surrounded them all in a flash.
Their leader spoke, still holding his gun at Kull’s head. “How about you explain to me what a Preost monk, his runt, and some Lottian slug are doing in Rhuddenhall before I put a bullet in your brain?"
Wael answered, “We are here for peace. We seek to speak with…”
“Shut it, monk,” the man interrupted, “I want to hear it from your punk kid and his smart mouth.”
Kull’s mouth went dry with fear. The bandanna man laughed. “Oh…now I see your lips are not as loose. The cat must have gotten your tongue.”
The man’s eyes were filled with hateful fire and pride. Kull knew that this man would probably enjoy killing them and then go about his day killing his neighbors without a second thought. Kull stepped forward and locked eyes with the masked man, looking past the gun's barrel aimed at his forehead.
Wael tried to step forward and put himself between Kull and the interrogator.
“I will speak for the boy. I am his elder. He does not understand.”
One of the larger grunts beside the leader swung the butt of his rifle into the side of Wael’s head and sent him sprawling to the ground. Rot lunged for the soldier, pinning him to the ground and flashing his fangs. Low rumbling growls paraded out of the dog as the man below him screamed in a panic.
"Call your dog off, monk!" the green-eyed leader commanded.
Wael calmly called for Rot, and the beast left the man lying on the ground and returned to his master. Wael stood, holding his head with pain.
The leader spoke. "If that dog lunges again, all of you are dead. Do you understand?”
Wael said nothing, but nodded, still holding his head. To Kull’s surprise, the leader grabbed Wael’s attacker and stood him up, only to throw a hard fist in his face. He fell to the ground as his leader sent a barrage of blows over him, cursing him. The man was lying on the ground in a heap until his leader gave one final swift kick to his ribs that let out a deafening crack of bone.
The leader turned back to the party and spoke, “I apologize for my colleague’s rudeness to you, monk, but I told you I want the boy to speak. Now this is your last chance before you all die.”
Wael conceded and nodded at Kull. Kull stepped forward with the weight of their lives on his shoulders. His answer would either bring them closer to his father or kill them.
Suddenly the words flowed out of his mouth like a cool stream. Kull heard his voice, but his mind felt as if it had taken a backseat to whatever was happening. “We are here for peace. We have come to seek counsel with Hagan, leader of the mighty Grogans.”
The alley fell silent. The sound of explosions and gunfire was absorbed by the vacuum caused by Kull's strange words. Kull looked around into all the attackers’ faces and saw something he had not expected: shame.
The leader of the pack blinked and lowered his pistol. "Hagan is dead, boy. The Grogan Council has placed surrogates over our Realm and they have exiled General Willyn Kara."
That name. Where had Kull heard that name? As Kull tried to register what he had been told, Wael spoke again, ignoring the small river of blood flowing down his forehead. "And who do you represent? Whose cause have you taken?"
The masked man let out a low chuckle. "Isn't it obvious? We support the rightful rule of Willyn. We would have killed you had the boy not mentioned the name of Hagan. The Grogan Council has crossed the line. We believe they killed Hagan and now are trying to dispose themselves of Willyn. We, the Grogan people, will not stand for such treachery."
The men around them nodded their heads
and shouted, some firing their guns into the air. Their anger, solidarity, and frustration reemerged again in full force, and Kull glanced at Arik. He could see the fear growing on his face.
What is Wael doing?
Wael ignored the displays of aggression and continued, “Have you had any talks with the Council? Have any terms been set?"
The Red leader strutted up to Wael and pulled down his bandana, revealing a long trenched scar crossing his face. He spat, his whole body vibrating with rebellion.
"What does it look like to you, monk? No, there have been no talks with those traitors. They motioned to surrogate and all of Rhuddenhall erupted into chaos. Even now we have armies marching down from Candor's Spine to retake the city and put Willyn Kara on the Sar’s throne. There will be no talks until all of the Council hang from the Pass. We'll let Aleph sort them out.”
Laughter and snickers filled the alley, but Wael still showed no signs of anxiety. Kull wondered what could make this man so brave in the face of this bloodthirsty mob.
“You speak of Aleph. I am Wael, and I serve as the Mastermonk of Preost. Aleph is my master.” The air’s electricity was grounded. “As my protégé said, we come to bring peace to this land, and bring it in the name of Aleph. Name your terms, and I will meet with your Council. I come on Lotte’s behalf, but I will represent your party as well, if you will have me.”
Silence flushed the alley. The Reds stood, glancing at one another as the volleys of bullets and explosions continued to erupt in the background. All of the Reds looked to their leader, watching him as he stared at Wael, considering his response.
The Red leader spoke, “What then, Mastermonk, do you suggest?”
“I would suggest that you and your men cease fire immediately and allow me and my party to convene with the Grogan Council members. Name your terms to me and I will represent you. You must give peace a chance.”
No one spoke as the leader stared into the dirt in front of Wael’s feet. He raised his head with a furrowed brow and spat on the ground. “There will be no peace. My men will ensure your safe passage on our territory, Mastermonk, as a matter of our respect for you, but we do not seek your representation. Go and represent Lotte, but you will not represent us.” The leader then stuck his finger in Arik’s direction, “And what of this one? He doesn’t look like any monk to me.”