Abolition (Insurrection Book 3)

by DJ Cooper

  The terrain was craggy beneath his feet and he huffed, climbing his way up the steep slope. Sweat trickled into his eyes, causing them to sting. He was pushing his men and, in the process, tormenting himself miserably. But they needed a lesson in who was in charge and he was gonna give them one, even if it killed him in the process. He could hear bits and pieces of bitching behind him and he smiled grimly.

  Finally, after pulling himself up over the crest of the hill, he gave the signal for his men to rest. A cruel smile crossed his lips when he watched them collapse onto the grass, many panting, and breathing hard.

  Eyes squinted, more from disgust than the sun as he peered down on them. “Talk about me will you?” He glared at them before glancing over and spying a downed tree, he walked over and sat tiredly on it, his eyes still scanning the group. Sloughing his pack off of his burning shoulders, he pulled out his water bottle and took a deep draw from it. “Ahhhh.” The audible sound of satisfaction could be heard. The water felt heavenly as it washed down his dry throat.

  “First Rank Vincent, sir, the men want to know if they can pull out their lunches,” one of the men asked.

  Vincent nodded. “Yes, give them the order for chow,” he muttered.

  “Yes sir,” he said, then smiled and hurried back to the men.

  Vincent watched his men. Clusters of conversation drifted to his ears as they ate their meager lunches. He swallowed hard on a piece of stale bread with some kind of mystery meat slapped between the slices. It angered him that he was sitting in the middle of this God-forsaken forest, swilling down tepid water and eating dry food with the flavor and consistency of sawdust. When his commander and other lowly soldiers were probably back at the garrison chewing on a tender steak right now. The more he thought of it, the angrier he became. When Johan strolled over to him with a smirk on his face, well that was all it took to send his temper soaring.

  “Sir? Are we setting up camp?” he asked, his voice still oozing with contempt.

  Vincent turned cold eyes to the man. “No! We will push on,” he snapped.

  Standing he pulled himself to his tallest height, nose to nose with Johan. So close, he could smell the other man’s putrid breath. He smiled coldly. “In fact, I have a task just for you,” he said, then smiled.

  The hardening of Johan’s eyes gave him pleasure in seeing that the soldier didn’t like the idea of a task after the grueling climb but didn’t dare say so.

  “And what is that sir?” Johan replied, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

  “The men need fresh meat; they can’t keep going on this. You and I are going hunting,” Vincent said, a raised eyebrow and chilly smile turning up the corner of his lips.

  “Can’t one of the others do that?” Johan whined. He suddenly had second thoughts about his disrespectful behavior toward the senior officer.

  “No, one of the other men can’t,” Vincent purred, enjoying the lower rank’s discomfort.

  Johan’s eyes flashed with anger before he quickly covered it. “Yes sir, when do we leave, sir?”

  Vincent pretended to think for a moment before answering. “Five minutes. That should give you time to finish your lunch,” Vincent replied.

  Inside he twisted with delight. Although he really couldn’t spare the fighting power of another soldier dying, he would manage. He envisioned just how he was going to kill the bastard, a bullet to the back of his head, quick and easy, would do the trick. Smiling, he grabbed up his rifle, stood, and stretched. Yup, one less man to have to worry about.

  Baylin

  In her usual arrogant fashion, Baylin tossed her hair off of her shoulder and smiled sweetly. The council sat behind a large half-oval table staring at her. Inside she seethed with anger, barely able to keep it in check as they threw one question after another at her. Her hands shook, and she hid it by smoothing the front of her skirt and picking imaginary pieces of lint from the silken fabric. Asha had done this to her and she would find a way to make her pay. The very nerve of her to go to the council and ask them to investigate her riled her up. Bile, hot and biting, roiled up in her throat and she swallowed hard, working to maintain her composure.

  “So you say this Kael from Rysa murdered an Honor Guard 1st Rank?” one of the women, her hair done up in the latest fashion of curls and braids, asked.

  Baylin nodded. “Yes, he did, and with no just cause to do so. He…” she paused. “I mean, Kael is a murderer.”

  “What proof do you have of this?” another council member asked.

  “Calix, another member of Rysa witnessed Kael doing this,” Baylin replied.

  The councilman’s eyes narrowed. “And this Calix? Where is he now?” he asked.

  Baylin felt the heat rise in her face. The man knew damn well where Calix was, he was just trying to put her on the spot, to make her uncomfortable.

  “Calix fought in the arena. He did not survive,” she replied, her eyes flashing angrily. Her disdain for the proceeding echoed in her tone.

  “Let me see if I understand this. Kael, the prisoner. He escaped... and now we’ve got half our garrison scouring the hills for him? Is this really a good use of our resources, General?” The man asked, turning her eyes to the General sitting behind a desk next to Baylin. Baylin turned her face to the General, her eyes boring into him, warning him silently. He coughed lightly into his hand, his face splotched with red.

  “Yes, sir. This man, Kael, is a danger to the system. He not only murdered one of our Senior Officers, but he’s also instigated an uprising in the village of Rysa,” he replied, knowingly lying.

  He glared in Baylin’s direction, thought of what a travesty this had become, how his reputation and career were on the line because of her hatred toward Kael. If she’d have just left it alone, they would have taken care of the man back in Rysa. But no, she wanted to exact her revenge, she wanted to set him as an example, and because of that, this fiasco was taking place.

  The councilwoman sat scribbling onto a paper some notes. Without looking up she asked, “Oh? And this uprising? Have the garrison soldiers taken care of that?”

  The General nodded. “Yes ma-am, we have. We have rounded up the perpetrators and they are being marched here now as we speak. Once we do our investigation, those that took part in it or are responsible will be convicted and sent to the arena. They will be made an example to others who might dare go against the laws of the system,” he replied, knowing this would please her.

  Baylin smiled coyly, lifting her hand to hide it by brushing away an imaginary fly.

  “Okay, we’ve heard all we need to,” The senior councilwoman muttered, glancing at the others who formed the council.

  “We will reconvene in an hour after we’ve gone over your testimonies and Asha’s complaint,” she said, dismissing them both.

  Baylin stood, nodded her head, and made her way down the narrow aisle leading to the large oak door. The General followed close behind her. Once in the hallway out of the range of listening ears, she whipped around facing him, fury flashing in her eyes.

  “You had better find Kael fast!” she hissed, “Because if Asha has her way, we won’t be able to be rid of the little waif!” she growled.

  The General, his expression schooled into calm and cool, nodded. “Do not worry,” he growled at her, his eyes narrowing, “he’s as good as dead.”

  Baylin walked arm and arm with the General down the sidewalk. It would be good to spend the next hour decompressing at the Corner Kling Coffee Shop, sipping lattes and eating almond cookies while waiting for the council’s decision. She felt confident that she would be absolved, and they would deny Asha’s formal complaint of commoner abuse and throw the case out.

  Glancing sideways she smiled a coy smile at the General and thought of their tumultuous relationship. Although she knew he didn’t like how she had handled the situation with Kael, she also knew he would stand behind her one hundred percent. Excitement added bounce to her step and she squeezed the General’s arm, smiling up at him.
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  “Asha? What are we going to do about her?” she asked.

  He smiled coldly. “I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he replied, gazing down at her.

  Baylin smiled and nodded. This pleased her. Now she just needed to come up with a plan to shut that little bitch up. Asha was not going to ruin this for her like she’d done so many times before.

  Chapter Six

  Aeryn sat against the tree, taking a quick break and catching his breath. The wind blew fiercely and his mind was on the old man as he chewed the few paltry bites of jerky, his shaking hands held firmly in a fist. It wouldn’t fill his empty belly, but it would keep the growling, sick kind of hunger to a minimum. What he needed was to hunt, but he just didn’t have the energy. Sickness and infection had taken its toll, leaving him weak and shaking. He wasn’t even sure if he had actually seen the old man. Part of him wondered if he’d hallucinated the whole encounter. If the old man was real, he questioned where he may have gone and if he was coming back. He wasn’t sure if he should be afraid, leave, or wait for his return; that is… if he was real. He tried to get his mind to clear as it wrapped around each question... but fatigue pulled at the fogginess of his mind. Webs of hallucination... or memory, he wasn’t sure which, flitted to the surface, only to be spun away as another thread of thought came drifting in.

  He pulled up his pant leg and looked at the healing wound of the pig bite. The skin was pink and puckered like an ugly grin. It was healing, the weeping, pus-filled, greenish ooze, now long gone. Relief settled his mind but he was still confused.

  He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sick. Wisps of time had eluded him. A sigh, from deep within him, passed his lips. It didn’t matter, he was alive and the last thing he clearly remembered was curling up by the tree, shaking and sweating, as chills racked his body. Then, flashes of a tattoo burned in his memory of the old man’s hand, a butterfly… no, not a butterfly. It was a dragonfly. With iridescent wings.

  The memory blurred and he shook his head trying to clear the thought. Convincing himself that it had to have been a dream.

  Although it was difficult, he pushed himself up from his sitting position, took a swig from his water bottle then tucked it back into the satchel. Slinging it over his shoulder he gazed at the hill ahead, steep, and tangled with brush.

  “A few more miles, then we can call it quits,” he muttered and pushed forward.

  The map tucked in his satchel was worn and tattered. He’d looked at it so many times he’d memorized the course he was to follow. There should be a river coming up on his left soon, according to the map. He planned to make camp along the bank for the night. His progress was moving so slow. But weakness from the infection had left him little choice. He was grateful to be moving at all. He noticed small changes in the soil and vegetation as he walked and suspected he was transitioning from the deep mountainous lush greenery, to the drier, more sparse terrain that bespoke of the southwestern border of Colorado.

  Dusk brought along the cooler temperatures that were common in the mountains and Aeryn made camp alongside the small creek. It was not the river he was expecting, the water was a mere six inches deep, enough to take a sponge bath and fill his water bottle. He dropped his satchel and sat on the muddy creek bank pulling off his boots along with his dirty socks. His body ached from his first travel day since the infection had taken him down. He felt grateful but also lost. His stomach growled painfully for food, but he had none to speak of.

  He took off his socks and plugged his nose to keep from gagging at the stench of them as he plunged them into the water, giving them a good soak. If he’d had a bar of soap he could have given them a proper washing, but he didn’t so a rinse would have to do. Once he felt like they’d been sufficiently cleaned, he wrung them out and hung them over a low hanging branch of a nearby tree. It was cool but not cold and he decided to strip down to his underclothes and get his pants and shirt clean as well. They smelled just as bad as the socks. The water felt cool. Heck, he might as well wash himself as well. He bathed as well as he could in the ankle-deep water and it refreshed him. Wringing his clothes, he headed to the tree to hang them. He was going to soak his feet and bite in a small pool where the water rushed over some rocks and perhaps have a little more jerky before heading to sleep.

  Just as he turned to head back to the creek to finish his bathing and soaking, something caught his eye. He stopped and stared in both shock and curiosity. There, on the tree in front of him, carved deep into the bark, was an image. He sucked in a surprised breath. He recognized it and a chill crawled down his spine. The Dragonfly. Just like the one on the old man’s hand. He gazed at it for a moment or two, trying to puzzle out if he was really seeing it or if he was hallucinating.

  He reached out his hand and let his fingers trace the image on the roughened bark of the tree. He wished he knew what it meant and why it was out here. Confusion made him dizzy and he wavered. Turning away, he grabbed the branch to steady himself. He had more important things to do than to gaze in wonder at a stupid dragonfly carved into a tree trunk that was probably a dream anyway. Birds called out noisily above him from the treetops, the air taking on a night chill. He needed to get his fire going soon, so much for his soak.

  Gathering up rocks from the creek bed, he carried them to his camp to build a fire ring. The night promised to bring chilly temperatures with it and his clothes were not yet dry. A few sticks and some vine and he quickly made a rack for his clothes to be closer to the heat of the fire. He was exhausted and dug in his satchel. He brought out the last of his jerky to nibble on while he reviewed the map to see where he was and what was coming up.

  His clothes only took a short time to dry and he was dressed again, all but his stinky socks. Feeling warmer and at least a little better he leaned back with a heavy sigh, ignoring the hunger pains coursing through his stomach. He laid comfortably and gazed up through the canopy of leaves at the dark sky and the stars that blanketed it. Exhaustion overtook him and he relaxed into a daydream as the warmth of the fire flowed over his bare feet. He let his thoughts drift to Mauri and Jorin. He desperately missed his family. Someday he vowed he would see them again. He didn’t know how, but he would. He’d rescue them from Rysa and bring them far away to where they would be safe from the system that oppressed them. A poignant ache tugged at his heart as sadness weighed heavily on his shoulders. Finishing his jerky, he curled up on the ground next to the fire and let sleep take him away.

  The old man

  Hunched over, the aged figure stood over him and smiled. His teeth long gone from age, his gums gleamed with the width of his toothless grin. He watched Aeryn sleeping next to the fire, curled up with only his ratty jacket for cover. He’d been following him all day. The poor bugger hadn’t put on many miles. He was so slow and the old man could keep up with him easily and even struggled to hang back and remain unseen. He was concerned because he knew the young man was still weak from his infection. He shrugged and thought that at least he had made a nice campfire before passing out, perhaps there was hope for him.

  He moved closer, his feet falling on the earth silently. No sound from his feather-light steps announced his presence. Standing close to the waning fire he warmed his hands, rubbing them together briskly. He turned and rubbed the warmth on his backside before spinning back around and gazing at Aeryn. He swiftly gathered a few sticks of wood and placed them into the fire, then quietly dropped his pack and took two out skinned and gutted squirrels along with a smaller bag containing berries and some pemmican. He quietly laid them on the stones near the fire for the man to find once he woke. The tough jerky he had been chewing on couldn’t possibly offer the energy he would need to complete the journey ahead of him.

  He stood and gazed at him, shaking his head at how inefficient and inexperienced Aeryn was with foraging and survival. Many times throughout the day he watched as he walked past the plants that could feed him, not giving them a second glance. Wild spring violets and garlic shoots, cattails poking
up through the swamp water, their brown heads bowing in the wind. All foods that would nourish a hungry body. And Aeryn had walked by them, not knowing that they could have eased his hungry belly.

  With a chuff of dismay, the old man shook his head. “These young people….” he scoffed. “Has no one taught them that food was available in these forests and swamps? Edibles are abundant, if a person knew where to look, they would never need to be hungry again.”

  When he first stumbled upon him a few days ago, the man was fevered and sick from the pig bite to his leg. The old man had considered leaving him to die. For all these many years he’d been traveling back and forth between the desert and these mountains, he’d watched many a man and woman succumb to the sometimes harsh conditions. This one was no different and he really didn’t know why he’d bothered. There was nothing special that told him to help the young man, other than the book.

  The old man had found the book in his satchel when he’d rummaged through his meager belongings. This book and a map were neatly packed together. He knew of them and knew that these had both been hidden many years ago waiting for the right time and person to come along and find them. Having those in his possession spurred the old man to action. He could have just taken them, but he was not the right person. He was too old to complete the task. He felt that this young man could be that right person. The one who would help to unravel the secret that would give the people a fighting chance. He who would find the document that had been buried for so many years that would show the people freedom, lead them back to the beginning... before the social scores. Reveal a time when the sweat of your brow and the work of your hands brought hope and prosperity. That is if he survived these mountains. If he survived the Badlands, then his accomplishment would be a great wonder. Helping him would be the task for the old man, and he knew it would reveal all and end the tyranny.

  Stepping away just as silently as he had entered, the old man moved back into the woods. He was tired, and rest was just a nest on the ground away. With a smile, he made his way through the darkness and woods with ease.