Abolition (Insurrection Book 3)
Page 9
“I don’t know any Kael,” Creed moaned.
Vincent shook his head. He knew better, and besides, this was really fun... this unbridled experience of torturing the man. He felt the warm blood coating his hands and a rush of power flowing through him. He’d watched his commanders in the past torture criminals but had never been allowed to take part in the activity. Now, with no one to stop him, he found the lustful temptation almost too much to contain.
The snap of a stick behind him brought his head twisting around just in time to see a ragged, savage-looking man standing a few feet away. Before a growl could leave his throat, a hatchet soared through the air. The blow brought him to his knees where he stared in stunned surprise.
“Wha…?” he gurgled then sank to the leafy ground.
Creed
Creed moaned as the stranger cut him loose from the base of the tree. The minute the ropes let loose he felt himself falling and then was held by strong arms. He glanced up at the man.
“Zyla?” he moaned.
The stranger smiled. “She’s safe. We’ve got her, Creed,” he replied.
Creed slumped weakly against the man as he helped him to the same nearby log the soldier was sitting on just moments ago. He felt a buzz of faintness fogging his mind and bent his head, swallowing hard. The stranger sat on the log beside him, hands at the ready in case he passed out. Pain throbbed, it seemed, from everywhere on his body.
“We can’t remain here; the soldiers will come.”
He grabbed Creed beneath his arm and hoisted him up. Half-helping, half-dragging him, they hurried through the trees to an outcropping.
The man set him on a large rocky area near the stream before sitting next to him. “I’m Mikah, I come from a small settlement on the outskirts of Zone One, just inside the Badlands.” the stranger muttered, introducing himself. “You can thank that girl of yours, Creed,” the man chortled and slapped him on the back. “She insisted I come and find you,” he finished.
Creed nodded, straining to produce a weak smile. “I’m sure, let me guess, she threatened that if you didn’t, she would... right?” Creed whispered.
Mikah chuckled. “Ayup, she’s, ummmm, let’s just say, insistent?” he replied.
Mikah then got up and retrieved his pack from the ground nearby where he’d dropped it. Digging in it, he pulled out bandages, wound disinfectant, and other medical supplies. He would have to patch Creed up before they could even attempt to travel the rest of the way to his village.
“Okay, this ain’t gonna be pleasant but I gotta get you patched up,” Mikah said. Creed sighed and nodded.
“Do it, I can’t promise I won’t pass out on ya though,” he muttered.
Chapter Fifteen
Kael felt the burn in his shoulders as he pulled the stretcher with Mischa’s unconscious body. Occasionally she would groan as he bumped her over rocks and brush. The morning fog had burned off and the sun shone brightly through the canopy of leaves above him. Each time Mischa moaned, he winced as if her pain was his own. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he brushed it away. He felt so helpless, so damned helpless. Nothing he’d done had broken her fever or eased the cough that wracked her body through the night. He gritted his teeth, feeling the ache in his jaw as he plowed ahead.
According to the map, there should be a town nearby. He prayed he’d make it in time and they would have someone there who could help Mischa. He didn’t care anymore that he was a wanted man. He’d gladly give his freedom in order to save her. He’d gladly suffer the punishment of the Honor Guard just to help her.
Setting the stretcher down, he rolled his shoulders to ease the withering fatigue. The slight burning had turned into a full-fledged fire between his shoulder blades and he hissed as the pain radiated to his neck. Bending down, he ignored the pain, pulled the water bottle from his pack, and tried to force a trickle between Mischa’s parched lips. He sighed hopelessly as the water trickled from the corner of her mouth. He raised his face to the sky and groaned something between a plea and a prayer. He didn’t believe in God, why should he? What had God ever done for him or any of the citizens of Rysa? Nothing, nothing at all! But he prayed anyway.
“C’mon baby, just take a swallow, a little sip,” he pleaded, bending the bottle back to her lips. Tears stung the back of his eyes and he rubbed at them angrily. He couldn’t lose her. Not after all they’d been through over the years. The suffering they’d endured, the pain of starvation, of the beatings given at a whim from the hands of the Honor Guard, the imprisonment and near death they’d all faced. His heart shattered with an ache so deep it nearly took his breath away.
“Mischa!” he snapped as he slapped her cheek lightly trying to wake her up. “Don’t you dare give up, we are too close to freedom!” he moaned. He saw her eyelids flutter as she tried to swim her way up out of the dark fever that coursed through her body. He gently shook her shoulders.
“That’s it, baby, come on, I know you can do it,” he crooned, tipping the bottle again to her lips. This time she parted them slightly and let the water trickle into her mouth. A cough spasmed through her as she tried to swallow. Kael quickly sat her up and held her as one cough after another exploded from her mouth. Panic swamped his heart as she choked and sputtered.
“No, noooo,” he cried. Her lips turned a sickly blue as she fought for breath. Not knowing what else to do, Kael whacked her on the back with an open palm, trying to clear her airway. A whooshing breath of release exploded from his mouth as he watched her draw in a deep breath.
“Okay, good, breathe Mischa,” he muttered. Laying her back down, he rocked back on his heels, a sob caught in his throat. Hopelessly, he stared at her. He didn’t know what to do anymore. He didn’t know how to help her. Tears coursed down his face and he bent his head into his hands. His shoulders rocked with grief and he cried. Waves of guilt poured through him. He was helpless to save her after she had saved him. He loathed himself at that moment, an anger so deep, it made him want to just curl up and die.
“Self-pity ain’t gonna help her,” a stern voice said close to his ear.
Startled, Kael jumped to his feet and pulled his knife from his side sheath. He looked directly into the eyes of an older man who was awkwardly gazing at him. Turning his head, he spied five more men, all of various ages standing behind him. His eyes widened in surprise. He admonished himself, “Stupid… I was stupid and not paying attention.” He looked from one to the next, taking a quick step back as he weighed his options.
“Put the weapon away boy, we ain’t here to hurt you,” the older man bellowed, then he glanced down at Mischa, turned his face to one of his men, and nodded. “Help her,” he commanded.
Kael took a step closer to Mischa, his eyes flashing with warning, the knife lashing out in every direction, and feeling his muscles tense with adrenaline.
“We are here to help,” the man said.
Kael looked into the eyes of each of them, searching for signs of deception. He saw only concern. He took a step sideways to let the man move closer. The man bent down over her, slung his pack onto the ground, and began digging through it. Kael was surprised to see him pull out assorted medical supplies and place them on the ground next to Mischa.
“She’s dehydrated, I’m going to run an I.V., and give her some medicine to help break her fever,” the man said, only quickly glancing at the old man then to Kael.
“How long has she been sick?” he asked.
Kael thought before answering. “About four days,” he replied.
“Tell me about her symptoms,” the man snapped as he inserted an I.V. port into the vein on the top of her hand. Hands flying, he obviously knew what he was doing, he attached tubing to the port and a bag of fluid to the other end of the tubing. In moments clear fluid-filled the line.
Kael stuttered, “She started out with a bad cough, then got feverish and weak. She’s been struggling to breathe and says her chest hurts,” Kael replied.
He looked around at the men in the
group. They wore uniforms similar to the Honor Guard, a deep blue top with gray bottoms. Except instead of the stripes to distinguish ranking, on the shoulders of these uniforms was a symbol that looked like a dragonfly. The man that seemed to be the leader had the dragonfly symbol, but above it was three silver stars.
Kael curiously shook his head. “Who are you?” he asked.
The man who appeared to be the leader grinned.
“Kael, we are the Journeymen,” he replied.
Kael grimaced. “Journeymen?” he asked, then followed it up with a tilt of his chin, “And how do you know my name?”
“Oh,” the man chuckled,” We know a whole lot about you, my brotha,” he replied.
Kael looked at the man with a confused expression. “I am not your brotha,” he hissed.
Irritated, he turned back toward Mischa and watched the other soldier working on her.
“That is a discussion for a later time,” the man replied, motioning for his men to grab the stretcher.
“Let’s go home, Kael,” he sighed.
Kael looked at him, bobbed his head, and followed.
The day brought them deep into territory that looked alien to Kael. The terrain leveled out, becoming rockier and grittier than the cool mountains he was used to. The four men easily managed the stretcher which held Mischa. Kael walked beside her, his hand curled around hers. Throughout the day, the group stopped several times to let the medic tend to her. Replacing the plastic bag of fluid and injecting more medicine in it each time. Kael noticed her breathing, which had been labored earlier, was smoother. Her face still carried the flushed and fevered sheen but she looked more comfortable than she had been only hours ago.
He listened to the men, who were talking quietly, as he walked. A tap on his shoulder made him turn his gaze to the older leader of the group.
“Here,” the man said, handing Kael a bottle of dark liquid.
Kael looked at the bottle and then to the man with a questioning expression.
“It’s soda pop,” the man replied. “Have a sip.”
He grinned seeing Kael tip it up to his mouth and take a long swallow. Kael’s eyes widened in pleasant surprise as the sugary sweetness coated his tongue. He had never tasted anything quite so delicious. Grinning, he tipped the bottle again and took another long draw.
“This is good! What is it again?” he asked.
The man looked at him oddly. “You’ve never had soda pop?” he asked.
Kael shook his head. “Nope,” he replied. To him, it was like a magic elixir, fizzy and sweet.
“Wow, well, there’s plenty more where that came from,” the man chuckled. Then with a warm expression, he held out his hand. “The name is Roswald, figured I’d better introduce myself.”
Kael looked at him with a question forming on his lips. “These Journeymen, are there more or just these five?” He asked.
“No, not just five,” he laughed, “we are an army, Kael.”
Fear crossed Kael’s face as visions of the Honor Guard clouded his thoughts.
Don’t worry bro’, we’re made up of many. Journeymen, that’s us, are from the Badlands. Then there are our brothers to the south, the Alliance, and our brothers to the north, who are The Keepers of the Light. Together we make up the Brotherhood of the Dragonfly.”
Kael, shocked, turned wide eyes toward Roswald. “How many? In this brotherhood?” he squeaked in shock.
“Thousands, Kael, thousands,” Roswald murmured.
His gaze scanned the horizon as if seeing something no one else could see. “Thousands?” Kael huffed.
Roswald smiled tiredly and nodded. “We are finally complete, Kael, finally able to come together in a force that is strong enough to once and for all end the brutal regime of the Elites. You... and all your people, shall finally see freedom, my brother,” he sighed.
Kael found his words too good to believe. He couldn’t wrap his head or his heart around the thought of an army large enough to finally beat the Elites. Ending years of suffering, years of slavery. He shook his head in shock. “And who is this great leader that commands this army of thousands?”
Kael scoffed. Roswald turned to him and grinned. “Well, your great-grandfather, brother,” he replied.
Kael stopped, feeling as though he’d been gut-punched. His breath, trapped in his lungs as he looked at the other man with an expression of sheer horror on his face. “You’re insane!” he hissed, although deep inside he hoped against hope that the man wasn’t lying. Shaking his head, he took a step to catch up to Mischa on the stretcher. His mind spun with frantic thoughts. He had a grandfather and a great-grandfather? “I don’t believe you,” he muttered.
Roswald chuckled. “You don’t have to believe me, just know it to be. We were ordered to find you and have been out looking for you for days,” he replied.
He patted his hand on his shoulder and moved ahead of Kael and the stretcher, leading the group down the hill into the village.
Kael’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked down over the small village. From the outside, it looked to be a very well-constructed fortress. High walls of wood lined with spiked barbed wire surrounded the town. Smoke drifted lazily into the air from the cookfires and woodstoves while people bustled along the village streets. No one, it appeared to Kael, looked scared or nervous; quite the opposite. Everyone looked happy. As they moved closer to the barricaded village, Kael couldn’t help but suck in a surprised breath. People milling about the streets waved and smiled at the group and him, mothers with children looked well-fed and happy. So different from his village of Rysa.
He squeezed Mischa’s hand. “Oh I wish you were awake to see this Mischa, you would be so amazed,” he murmured.
He glanced down at her. Her skin appeared a bit less flushed, her breathing more relaxed. The medicine, whatever it was the medic had given her, seemed to be working. He breathed a long sigh of relief.
Chapter Sixteen
Millicent sat with her back against a boulder. Relaxed, she scanned the hill on the other side of the meadow, waiting. Her eyes missed nothing. Not the movement of a chipmunk on a nearby tree or the rustling of a bush as a quail and her babies huddled under it. She saw three men watching the camp. One behind a large pine, peeking his head out every few minutes, another lay flat behind a scrubby bush, and then the third, high up in the branches of another tree. They all appeared relaxed, not threatening. They were observing the camp below. She knew her warriors were moving up behind the men, unseen. She knew they had been taught well, because even she, knowing they were out there, couldn’t see them.
One of the men moved, she straightened and nocked an arrow into her bow. However, the man, rather than move toward the camp, retreated into the woods. She lowered her bow with a deep release of tension. A moment later she saw the other two men follow. Rising, she brushed the dirt off the seat of her pants and walked slowly back to the camp. Tension ached between her shoulder blades.
“Okay,” she whispered to one of the women, “they’ve left for now. We need to move the camp.”
“Yes, I agree,” she replied. Turning, she walked toward a cluster of women milling around and gave the order. Like a well-oiled machine, they scattered and began pulling up tents, packing camp supplies, and gathering the children. Millicent sat on a log near one of the cold fire pits and pulled out the map. She traced her finger along the route that would lead deep into the woods. About five miles west was a cave. She would lead them there. It was perfect. If there were others following them, then the cave would be easily defendable. She joined her sister and shared her plan.
“Good idea. I don’t know what those men wanted, but I don’t want to hang around and find out either,” her sister murmured.
Millicent nodded. Neither did she. Just as the group was ready to leave the camp, they heard a long low moan from a horn. Millicent gazed toward the hill where the sound came from and smiled.
“Looks like we’ve got company, ladies,” she squealed.
Bevin
Bevin led his band of weary men down the dusty hill. The sun churned out big, fat, black storm clouds overhead, clouds that promised thunder, lightning, and heavy rain. He hoped for it. It would cleanse the air of the humidity. A heaviness ached in his heart not to have Mauri there to see them. A gut feeling told him before all was said and done he would be honoring many deaths in the upcoming weeks. He let a sigh ripple through him.
“Send one of the village warriors ahead,” he spoke over his shoulder... He didn’t want a volley of arrows meeting them. Although if he knew Grandfather as well as he thought he did, the old man probably knew they were coming long before the descent down this blasted hill. Smiling, he picked up his pace. He knew the warriors were ready to reunite with their women and children. As they entered the camp, Bevin watched a tall, shapely woman approach them. He nodded as she stopped directly in front of him and gazed boldly into his eyes.
“I’m Millicent,” she said then held out her hand.
Bevin clasped it warmly into his own. “Bevin, at your service, Millicent,” he replied.
The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. “You Honor Guard?” she asked, taking in in one glance the uniform he wore. She knew some of the Honor Guard had helped the warriors defend the village.
“Yes and no, I used to be Honor Guard, but now? Now, I guess I am leading my own army,” he replied.
Millicent nodded. “Well, welcome. And thank you for bringing our warriors safely back to us,” she said and shyly looked down.
Bevin smiled. “My pleasure,” he replied.
He glanced at the top of her bowed head, his eyes lingering on the cascade of her deep, thick auburn hair and how it fell softly over her shoulders. He felt his gut give an unfamiliar nudge and he swallowed hard past the sudden lump in his throat. Coughing softly, he turned his gaze away from the woman and glanced around the camp.