Feral Empires: First Spark

by Stephen L. Hadley

  Copyright 2018 by S. L. Hadley

  All Rights Reserved.

  Do not reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document electronically or in printed format. Unauthorized storage or recording of this publication is prohibited except by written permission of the publisher and/or copyright holder.

  First Spark

  Feral Empires

  Book One

  By Stephen L. Hadley

  Chapter One

  Liam had intentionally planned his escape on a moonless night. He’d expected the darkness to aid him in slipping past the perimeter guards. And, to be fair, it had. But it had also turned the surrounding hills into a minefield of jagged rocks and thorny vines. Even if he hadn’t been running for his life, it would still have proven impossible to navigate all the unseen obstacles.

  And he was doing it barefoot.

  At the sound of snapping branches, Liam froze and cautiously peered out of his makeshift windbreak. It took several long minutes of fruitlessly scouring the darkened forest before his nerves quieted. He returned to work, ears still searching for any hint of his pursuers.

  The soles of his feet were a mess and had finally forced him to rest. Rocks, splinters half the size of his thumb, and slivers of something that felt suspiciously like glass had all embedded themselves. And without the benefit of moonlight, removing the debris was an imprecise art.

  A painful one, too. Liam hissed as he continued brushing his feet with the backs of his fingernails. Though his wounds healed within seconds, they still bled freely in the brief span before his skin knit itself back together. The pain faded shortly after, leaving only the exhausted ache of his increasingly sore muscles. Even his supernatural abilities could only do so much to repair the non-traumatic wear and tear from hours of cross country running.

  Taking a final, steadying breath, he forced himself to rise and ducked out from the copse of pines. He set off at a light jog, traveling in the only direction that mattered: away.

  He’d gone less than a hundred yards when a howl erupted in the distance behind him. Whirling, he muttered a curse and sped into a sprint.

  He knew the Institute kept hounds, though he had no idea if they were for tracking or merely intimidation. In either case, if they were already on his trail, his absence must have been noticed less than an hour after he slipped free of his cell. Perhaps they’d spotted his blood on the razor wire. The possibility made Liam break out in a cold sweat.

  He couldn’t go back. He wouldn’t.

  Soldiers would be armed—that would be best. Hunters would be, well… the end result would be the same.

  No going back. Liam ran harder.

  So hard, in fact, that he nearly collided with the man before he noticed him. Stumbling, Liam hit the ground hard. He was on his feet again in an instant, a split-second before he noticed the rifle the man held. For a moment, they simply stared at one another.

  The man spoke first “Where—?”

  Liam charged. He expected the man to fire, longed for it even. Institute or not, the man had a gun. That meant he was just as dangerous. And yet, the man didn’t shoot.

  He didn’t have to. Faster than Liam could even see, the man spun. The butt of his rifle followed after, smashing into the side of Liam’s head. He felt, distantly, the impact of his body hitting the ground. There was no pain, but neither was there anything else.

  ***

  “You can quit pretending,” the man said. “I can tell you’re awake.”

  For a moment, Liam considered lying still. He’d woken only a moment earlier, the fact his head still ached assuring him that he’d only been unconscious for a few minutes. Those had been enough for the man to bind his wrists and ankles with a thin rope and, judging by the heat on his back, to light a small fire as well. Eventually, however, he decided there was no point. If the man knew he was awake, he’d already lost the element of surprise.

  Liam sat up, swaying from a sudden bout of lightheadedness. He turned as the man chuckled under his breath.

  “What’s so funny?” Liam muttered.

  “I was guessing. Only had to say it three times,” the man explained. He gestured with the pistol he carried. “You heal quick, son. Most would’ve been out a lot longer than that.”

  Despite the fire, Liam suddenly felt very cold. He said nothing, studying the man through the shimmering haze created by the flames. The man wore no uniform, merely a set of dark, sturdy-looking clothes beneath a patchwork cloak of greens and browns. There was no sign of the rifle he’d used to knock Liam out.

  “What’s your name, son?” the man asked.

  Again, Liam said nothing. Now that he could examine the man without fighting for his life, he was almost surprised by what he saw. Rather than the pale, slanted features of an Occ, the man’s face was weathered, tan, and square. Or, at least, the visible parts were. The rest was hidden behind an enormous, red-tinged beard and a tangled mop of brown hair.

  “Don’t have one,” Liam said. “And don’t call me son.”

  “Call you whatever I damn well please,” the man growled. Despite his tone, he seemed more amused than angry. “And until I’ve got something better, you’ll be Son, son.”

  Liam twisted his wrists, doing his best to keep the movement subtle. The man certainly knew his knots. There was no way he could untie his bonds in his current state and unless he felt like dislocating a few fingers, there’d be no way to slide free, either. Resigned, he lifted his hands to warm them.

  “Liam,” he said. “Or Fuyuan. Depends on who you ask.”

  The man smiled widely, sitting back and returning his pistol to the holster he wore at his hip.

  “Healer, eh? I’m guessing that’s more than coincidence.” He stared at Liam, eyes narrowed until he was practically squinting. “The name’s Scott. I’d shake your hand, but, under the circumstances…”

  “What circumstances are those?”

  “The one where a half-dressed man attacks me in the middle of nowhere.”

  Oh. That had happened, hadn’t it?

  Liam offered his wrists with an exaggerated smirk. “An accident,” he said. “Wasn’t trying to attack you. Untie me and I’ll move along.”

  Scott shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”

  Truth be told, Liam hadn’t expected Scott to accept his offer. But hearing it out loud settled the matter. He sat up straight, placing his bare feet close to the fire as he began to rub the numbness from his toes. He could feel Scott eying him, but the man said nothing until Liam began to casually work at the knots looped around his ankles.

  In a split-second, the man had his pistol out once more.

  “None of that,” Scott said.

  Liam ignored him. In fact, he didn’t even look up until he heard the click of a hammer being drawn back. Lifting his head, he found himself staring down the barrel.

  “Stop.”

  Though his heart was pounding, Liam did his best to look unconcerned. And, honestly, he was far from terrified. Sure, Scott could probably kill him—even Liam didn’t know if he could heal from a gunshot wound to the head. But, even so, he’d only managed to travel for a few hours and the Institute could be close behind. He couldn’t afford the delay.

  “Go ahead,” Liam said, meeting Scott’s gaze. “Do it. Better you than the Institute. Course you’ll have to deal with them when they track down the gunshot. They’re already out looking for me.”

  Scott hesitated, risking a glance at the trees surrounding them. Dawn was still a few hours away, and the campfire would be visible a long ways off, despite its small size.

  “One shot is hard to track,” Scott countered, thou
gh he sounded far from confident. “Besides, maybe I’m working with the Occs.”

  “Occs?”

  “Occupiers. Institute. They’re the same thing.”

  Liam snorted and slid one ankle free of the rope. The other followed after and he turned his attention to the ropes binding his wrists.

  “You’re not one of them,” he said. “If you were, I’d be dead already.”

  Sighing, Scott holstered his pistol—again—and cautiously made his way to Liam’s side. “Here,” he said. “Let me see.” With a few swift, practiced tugs he’d loosened he knots and pulled the rope free.

  There were a few spots of inflamed skin where the bonds had rubbed Liam’s skin raw. In seconds, the irritation had faded. Liam noticed Scott staring, though it was so dark he wondered if the man could have even spotted the subtle change in coloration by firelight.

  “So,” Scott said, dropping back down to squat beside the fire. “Fuyuan. Why are the Occs hunting you?”

  Liam shrugged, massaging the ache from his legs. He needed to be moving on. Should have been running the moment his limbs were free. But the warmth of the fire was addicting and he wanted nothing more than to curl up beside it for a lovely, foolish nap.

  “It’s a long story,” he said, rising.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Liam sat back down.

  ***

  “So you escaped from the Institute,” Scott said.

  “Mmhmm.”

  “How long were you there? Do you remember anything from before? Parents?”

  Annoyed by the near-constant interruptions, Liam didn’t even hesitate as he bit into another mouthful of roast cat. How long had it been since he’d tasted meat? A year? Maybe two? And Scott seemed insistent on wasting time that could have been spent savoring on pointless questions.

  “A long time,” he mumbled. “Years and years. As long as I can remember.”

  “But you escaped?”

  Liam scowled and tore his attention from his skewer of meat just long enough to give the man a significant look.

  “Obviously.”

  “Sorry, son—Liam. I meant, how?”

  Liam shrugged, returning to his meal. Some part of him resisted the urge to confide in the man. Though, if Scott really was an Occ, he couldn’t possibly share anything they wouldn’t already know. Besides, it had been too long since he’d spoken to someone not from the Institute. That span he did know: Five and a half years.

  To hell with secrets. He’d probably be dead within a week, anyway.

  “Like you said, I can heal,” Liam explained. The memories turned his stomach and he quickly pushed them aside to keep from disturbing his appetite. “I waited until the guards were gone and escaped. Slipped out of my chains. Climbed the razor wire. That sort of thing.”

  “And nobody noticed you?”

  Liam shrugged again. “I made it this far. They’ve probably noticed I’m gone by now.” He laughed once, quietly. “To be honest, I thought you were a Hunter.”

  Scott didn’t laugh, but instead whistled softly under his breath. “Hell of a story, son. I’ve been stationed here for six years now and you’re the first escapee I’ve seen.”

  “Stationed here?”

  Scott ignored the question and climbed to his feet with a grunt. Once there, he gave a playful salute. “I may not look it but I’m actually with the Free States Militia.”

  “The what?”

  “The—” Scott sighed, chuckling. “Really been living under a rock, haven’t you? The Militia fight the Occs, sometimes even behind enemy lines. Has been for almost half a century.”

  Liam grunted and returned to his cat. He knew he ought to feel bad as Scott’s face fell, but he just couldn’t muster the energy to fake it. Who cared about fighting the Occs when surviving was hard enough? Waiting until the man took a seat again, Liam set the last remnants of his food aside.

  “So,” he said. “You fight the Occs. What does that mean for me?”

  “Don’t you want to fight them too?”

  Tossing a twig into the fire, Liam tried not to let anything show. A chance to make the Institute pay for what they’d done… it was a tempting offer. A part of him did want to fight, but there was no way in hell he was going put his trust in a man he’d only just met. A man who, after all, had knocked him out within seconds of meeting.

  “It’s because I can heal, isn’t it?”

  “No.” Scott shook his head. “I’d ask even if you couldn’t.”

  “Why?”

  For a second, Scott didn’t answer. He stared into the fire, pulling his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. There was a look in his eyes, something unidentifiable that Liam had felt every day, as long as he could remember.

  “You… weren’t free,” he murmured. “Now you are. I know what that’s like. It’s why I joined the Militia to begin with. It’s why I’ve spent the last six years here.”

  “That’s—” Liam sighed. He hadn’t expected Scott’s words to affect him, but he found his own coming haltingly. “Fine. What did you have in mind?”

  Scott stood and offered his hand. Liam took it carefully, allowing himself to be hauled upright. There was a gleam in Scott’s eyes that he recognized as well. He’d felt it the moment he tumbled through the Institute’s razor wire and landed, bloodied, onto the ground outside. It was comprised of many things—rage, long-endured pain, but most of all, determination. Victory or death; there were no other possibilities.

  “You’re free now,” Scott said. “So let’s keep you that way.”

  Chapter Two

  Bowstring drawn taut, Liam exhaled slowly and waited. From the hair standing up on the back of his neck, he could tell Scott was still behind him. A month ago, his presence would have been enough of a distraction to send him scrambling. But now—

  Liam released the string, feeling the jolt clear to his shoulder as the arrow hissed away. Faster than he could blink, the arrow flew several inches over the deer he’d been aiming at, and buried itself loudly in a tree thirty yards away. The sound startled the animal and it darted away.

  Liam swore violently and heard Scott echo the curse as well, though quieter and far less vehemently. The man laid a gentle hand on Liam’s shoulder.

  “You’ll get the hang of it,” Scott assured him. “I know it’s tough when the target’s moving, but you’re still thinking too much. Just relax and—”

  “Would you stop?” Liam cut in, shrugging away from the man’s touch. A part of him wanted to chuck the bow he carried, but something else held him back: An irrational fear that his tantrum would set the man off. So, instead, he leaned the weapon against a tree and folded his arms. “I don’t understand why we can’t just practice with rifles.”

  “Rifles are loud—”

  “We’re miles from the Institute!”

  “—and where do you plan on finding more ammunition? That shit’s worth more than gold this far from the DMZ.”

  Gritting his teeth, Liam stomped off to retrieve his arrow. It wasn’t Scott’s explanation—or his being correct—that bothered him. He was used to that by now. It was how the man’s self-assured answers reminded Liam of how little he really knew about the world. Up until a few weeks ago, the entirety of his education had consisted of eavesdropped conversations and a few basic lessons from his childhood.

  Lessons from before the Institute had judged him unsalvageable.

  Liam’s face grew hot and he felt the familiar ache begin to throb below his breastbone. He forced the feelings back down and instead focused on working the arrow from the bark without damaging the precious, bladed head. Somehow, he’d managed to wedge it deep inside a natural crevice in the tree. Grumbling, he drew the knife he wore on his belt—both gifts from Scott—and ineffectively tried to whittle back the edges of the wood.

  “Liam,” Scott called.

  Ignoring him, Liam continued to saw at the tree. He could feel the crevice beginning t
o give way, the shaft of the arrow beginning to wriggle as he worked it back and forth.

  “Liam!”

  There was desperation in the man’s voice that sent chills down Liam’s spine. He whirled, nearly losing an eye in the process. Something, little more than a blur of greens and pinks and browns, barreled over him. As it passed, it sliced a gash across his cheek from nose to ear. Too stunned even to cry out, Liam toppled backward as its weight caught him in the shoulder.

  A split-second after hitting the ground, he was already scrambling back onto his feet. His face burned as though resting against burning coals but he ignored the pain and the blood dribbling along the curve of his jaw. As his eyes found Scott, however, the thoughts flew from his mind on their own.

  Scott slumped against a tree, mouth ajar as he stared at the branch with which he’d been impaled. The wood was as thick around as his wrist and rotated slowly as it slid deeper into his abdomen.

  Standing over him was a girl. Liam couldn’t make out her face but her hair was black and hung down far enough to cover virtually all of her back. The rest of her was concealed by a bizarrely woven wrap comprised of ferns and vines. There seemed to be nothing holding the garment together.

  Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Liam wondered at this. As he stepped forward, he got his answer. The girl whirled and fixed him with a frigid glare. Her eyes were an icy blue and flashed dangerously. Then, as she lifted one arm, the implied threat became clear. Several sharpened spines of wood and entangled, budding vines rose from the ground and swiveled toward him like a multi-headed serpentine beast.

  The entire sight was so disconcerting that Liam nearly froze. As it was, he hesitated only briefly. Then, fingers tightening powerfully around the textured hilt of his knife, he charged.

  With the slightest flick of her wrist, the girl sent the wooden javelins hurtling toward him. Liam grunted as they impacted, one catching him in the thigh, another shattering several ribs as it pierced through a lung.