Echoes of Ashener

by David Partelow

  The journey, at last, came to an abrupt halt. Serra could hear Janzen and the others forming to the rear of the vehicle. A quick order was given, and the rear doors flew open, illuminating the dark holding area. Hungry light poured in with great gulps, hurting the eyes of every captive.

  Instantly Janzen’s voice invaded Serra’s ears. “Rise and shine, slack-asses! I do hope your journey was a pleasant one. And to show there’s no hard feelings whatsoever I’ve a nice little surprise for all of you. It's the least I can do for such valued prisoners. Great bargaining chips you all or going to make.”

  The soldiers under Janzen’s command pulled Serra and the others out from the back of the transport and practically dragged them into a line. It took only a moment to take in the “surprise,” but the sheer magnitude of it stole the words from everyone. Serra gasped before she bit her lower lip. The soldiers forced the group down to their knees. Though the act was not hard to do, for everyone in Serra’s party looked as if the wind had been knocked out of them.

  With tears forming, Serra looked upon the largest military force amassed by Vallance in five years. There must have been over 13,000 troops and several hundred Axiter Ro’Nihn. How they had all gathered here or for what reason she knew not. To their backs was her home from home, Rahn. In front of them was a legion from Thorne that had to have been close to 30,000 strong. With nowhere to run and the fate of Rahn in their hands, Vallance had no choice but to fight.

  “My gods,” breathed Serra as she soaked in the view. They were miles west from the battle. The soldiers from the towns of Vallance stood their ground as an encroaching opposition lessened the distance that stood between them. Serra had a hunch that Wyndall of the Jacoi clans was leading the defense. A great distance directly south of the battle was a small pocket of soldiers and what appeared to be Thorne brass. One stood out as he gave orders to men who flashed signals to the battle groups.

  Without a shadow of a doubt Serra knew that the commanding officer had to be General Nathaniel Cresul. And while she had never laid eyes on him before, his name and reputation had left a scarred taint across her country. She clenched her bound fists in anger, for she knew that the military genius was savoring every moment of his own devices. She averted her eyes for a moment, sickened at what she saw. Cresul meant to break the back of Vallance once and for all in a single, decisive stroke.

  Janzen motioned to the Thorne forces as he eyed Serra harshly. “Your gods? Your gods? I can assure you god had nothing to do with this,” spoke Janzen with edgy, hoarse glee. “This is history years in the making and it was deserving of a proper audience. So please, sit back, relax, and enjoy the last moments of your failing, pathetic country.”

  Serra clamped her eyes shut as she shook as a fury swelled within her. “How any country can be proud of such atrocities is beyond me. You shame this world with your very existence,” she spat.

  Serra felt the cold clamp of one of Janzen’s hands around her cheeks. It had been painful, and she grimaced at the pain, but that was all she would allow herself to give to him. Janzen leaned closer to her, taking a handful of her hair in his other hand. Serra fought revulsion as he smelled her hair and ran a bristly cheek against her face.

  Relishing at the scent, Janzen smiled in recognition. “Ah, I remember you now. Five years ago, I would have had your life if not for the help of a little bastard heir of a son. But now I realize this is so much more exquisite. You get to watch us destroy everything he and his family stood for. I would even thank him had I not sent the little whelp to his maker.”

  “Leave her be you son of a-” That was all Voltaire got out before he was backhanded by Janzen. The others struggled in protest as Voltaire fell to the ground, his mask flying off his head.

  Janzen regarded the large Ro’Nihn in disgust, spitting upon the ground. “Shut up, lackey, your time will come soon enough.”

  “Leave him alone, you miserable excuse for a human being!” Serra refused to be intimidated anymore and saw no reason to hold back now. “Do your worst, cretin. I will not allow myself to be broken. There is nothing more you can take from us, or me.”

  Janzen grew quiet for a moment, looking into the air, as if lost in a thought. Finally, he looked again at Serra, the monstrous joy returning to his face. “Oh yeah?” he asked smugly. “Please allow me to disprove that theory.” Janzen turned and reached for the rifle hanging at his side. “Oh, Rynsik,” he said melodically.

  With stoic, defiant eyes, Rynsik looked up as Janzen aimed the rifle at his head and pulled the trigger.

  The rifle blast closed the distance to Rynsik quickly. Rynsik darted his head with great speed but the blast still connected. Coming from a downward angle the blast hit the side of his face and shoulder, knocking the young Ro’Nihn back and off his knees. He crumpled into the ground motionless, his mask smoldering along with a soft, sizzling sound.

  “No!” Serra screamed frantically as she tried to get to her feet. And she was not alone. Anguish and fury poured from the whole group. The prospect of dying mattered less to the group, especially the Ro’Nihn. Each of them tried to get to their feet as soldiers kept them subdued.

  Janzen, greatly satisfied with his accomplishment, strode merrily back to where Serra knelt. Pumping his rifle again he aimed the barrel at Serra before looking at the others. “Oh, that was fun! Please, please, please give me another excuse to pull this trigger.” At the prospect of losing Serra the others quieted down and Janzen sighed in disappointment. “Damns the honor. Maybe next time.” He then eyed Serra once more. “Remember, you snobby little bitch, there is always, and I mean always something more to lose. I gotta let you breathe for another day because I know that you and few of these other clowns are going make some mighty fine bargaining chips. But rest assured, when the time comes, the last thing you will see in this world will be my smile.”

  Serra turned her eyes from Janzen, leaning a bit to see Rynsik where he lay. He was unmoving and his body laid awkwardly from the assault. From him Serra felt nothing and inside her a void grew that much deeper. Serra knew their chances of living were slim to none, but she would not risk baiting a psychopath anymore and jeopardize the lives of her friends.

  Janzen tossed his rifle to a soldier standing close as the young man brought a horse to Janzen. “Well sadly enough I must be getting on my way. I know you’ll miss me but there’s a blood bath going on. And I didn’t come all this way to miss it.” He mounted on the war horse, looking down at the soldier holding it steady. “Rogers, let them see the whole show, and then we’ll present them to Cresul. And don’t forget to bring the head of that one over there.” Janzen pointed to the heap that was Rynsik. His real eye burned coldly as he smiled. “And don’t wait up.” And with that he tore off toward the action.

  Serra gave in to the sinking feeling that threatened to engulf her. She looked again to Rynsik and still felt nothing. Serra looked at her captors and then to her friends. There were five of Serra’s bunch still breathing and 12 soldiers left to guard them. The odds were stacked against them as Serra fought hard to reclaim the defiance within her that had escaped only moments ago.

  The soldier known as Rogers must have picked up on this, for he now approached her. “Come now, pretty lady, just relax and enjoy the show,” he said. His right-hand caressed Serra’s cheek. “Just think of it this way. This long, drawn out war is finally coming to an end.”

  Serra jerked her head away before focusing her anger and gaze upon him. It had been all she had needed to rekindle her drive “Say what you will, for Thorne will never conquer Vallance or the will of its people. Enjoy your moments now, for they are short-lived. I would gladly accept death than submit to the likes of you, a frightened, weak-willed, and manipulated fool who cannot think for himself.”

  With a quick back-handed blow, Rogers connected with Serra’s face. She grunted as he took her face in both of his hands. “I shall enjoy seeing you broken,” he added with a relishing smile “over and over again.”

 
; Suddenly there was piercing sound as a soldier not far from Serra and the one known as Rogers grabbed at his neck. A sleek arrow invaded his throat, ending his life. He crashed upon the ground choking on his own blood. Mortified, Rogers began hollering orders. “Incoming! We’ve got snipers! Defend yourselves! Take cover and use the prisoners if you have to!”

  Esmie opened her eyes, revealing a glimmer of hope as she leaned her head to Serra. “It’s Fahn. She’s found help.”

  Another soldier fell as three arrows entered his torso. The soldiers of Thorne clamored about in a panic. Straining, Serra look over her shoulder and could make out figures in the distance. One of them was wearing the familiar green hues of Fahn and her clansmen.

  The soldiers began firing in the direction of Fahn and her companions. Most of the focus of the Thorne men was now toward the distance. Voltaire looked at Esmie and then Jozlyn, clearly wanting to know what their move was. Esmie glanced at Rogers, waiting to see his reaction. She saw him reach for Serra, pulling her up by the hair before spinning her around in Fahn’s direction and using her body as a shield. Esmie ever so slightly shook her head at the others.

  Serra found an arm around her throat as Rogers pressed against her. He aimed his weapon toward his enemies. Serra grimaced as his heavy, booming voice shook her eardrum. “Go ahead! Shoot me! Take your best shot. She’s coming with me, you hear? I’m taking her with me!”

  Suddenly, from the corner of Serra’s vision, from a dire moment temporarily forgotten, the miraculous happened. Presumed dead and with no one watching his actions, Rynsik surged at the chance. He was up on his feet in a breath, hands somehow freed. He took a few quick steps before placing his left foot on the kneeling Voltaire’s shoulder, launching himself toward Serra and her captor. He was upon them in a second, Driving his forearm into the right temple of Rogers. Rynsik’s momentum sent the three of them crashing to the floor.

  Rolling and regaining his feet, Rynsik raced toward a soldier taking aim at him as his mask still puttered smoke. The soldier had time to fire once, but as he did his blast was deflected. He pumped his rifle for the second shot but Rynsik was upon him. Driving the barrel down and away with his left arm, Rynsik drove his half-closed fist into the throat of his adversary. The second blast tore at the ground not far from Serra, but she remained unharmed as another native of Thorne met the soil as well as death.

  A few more soldiers were felled by arrows as another soldier lunged his bayonets at Rynsik. Effortlessly Rynsik avoided the strike, somehow disarming his attacker while reversing the bayonet’s direction before driving into the abdomen of his foe. As the soldier fell to his knees, Rynsik saw an item the soldier had taken for his own as one of Jozlyn’s pistols rested in his belt. Grabbing it, Rynsik flung it in gunslinger’s direction before dodging another rifle blast. “Jozlyn!”

  That was all the gunslinger from Morganne needed. As soon as the weapon reached her hands it was alive and ablaze. Shot after shot rang out, downing soldier after soldier. Jozlyn fired twice in front of her, put her gun near her head and fired behind her before twisting her body to follow her weapon’s path and fired twice more. In a span of a breath four soldiers of Thorne lived no longer.

  As this transpired, Voltaire also surged into action. As Jozlyn unleashed her fury, he burst from his kneeling position and blasted his shoulder and weight into the soldier nearest to him. Landing on top of the winded man and being one of the prisoners with his hands tied behind his back, Voltaire began driving his head into the face of the man below him. It took three blows before the soldier stopped fighting. Dazed, Voltaire collapsed upon him.

  Esmie too was now on her feet. She hopped into the air, bringing her bound arms from behind her to the front. A soldier tried to stab her only to be shot by the last round in Jozlyn’s gun. As he lost his footing, be collapsed into Esmie only to be redirected to the ground. Esmie made a step before yelping in pain. A swift laser bolt seared into her upper thigh, knocking her down. As she fell forward, hands on the ground, she looked up. Some 12 feet in front of the fading prisoner line was the last of the Thorne soldiers. He was on his knees, 4 arrows sticking out of him.

  And he was setting up for his second and final shot.

  “Esmie!” Serra screamed.

  But Rynsik was one step ahead of Serra, running toward the dying soldier, screaming as he went. At the last moment he caught the soldier’s attention who in turn redirected his focus on Rynsik. As he squeezed the trigger, Rynsik’s forearm swatted the barrel away in a downward, sweeping circle. The blast sailed wide, missing Esmie. Rynsik collided full force into the soldier with a forearm mashing into his face. Both crashed onto the ground. As the dust settled, both lay motionless.

  Fahn had finally reached them by then. Jumping off her hover cycle even before it had stopped, she began to look over the others. “Are you guys okay? Serra?”

  Serra nodded. “Yes, but Esmie needs help.” Both hustled to Esmie, trying to make her comfortable. Jozlyn was busy freeing Voltaire and Vonack of their bonds. In the distance the battle carried on fiercely.

  “I’m fine, young ones, aye, thank you.” Esmie graciously let them help her as Fahn tended to her wound.

  Suddenly Serra’s attention refocused elsewhere. “Rynsik? Rynsik!” The others looked his way where he remained motionless.

  At last, Rynsik used his hands to raise himself up. He found his feet as he slowly stood, smoke still emanating from his mask. Rynsik’s back was to the others as he faced the raging torrent of battle. He looked back over his shoulder at them before looking on the battleground once more. Rynsik then took a long, deep, and resigning breath.

  Reaching up, Rynsik of the Jacoi unfastened the strap on his mask. Grabbing at just below his left cheek, he lifted upward, and the mask slid easily from his face. His hand went down to his side, and even from the distance, Serra could see the mask had been designed to add contours to his face. With wild, dark hair blowing free in the breeze, he turned to face the others for the very first time.

  But what Serra saw then was nothing that she had expected. There were no scars, no indications of a ravaging sickness. Just an honest sincerity long kept hidden from sight. And in that very moment her breath was stolen as her chest collapsed upon itself. A surge of overlapping, overwhelming feeling consumed Serra as she looked on a face that she loved, a face that had haunted her dreams for five long years. As their eyes met again, Serra Landring finally knew the truth.

  Serra was looking upon the face of Norryn Ashener.

  -46-

  “Norryn.” Serra was quickly thundered into silence.

  Facing her now, in the armor and hues of the Jacoi warrior clan was Norryn Ashener. His mask, long worn to hide an undeniable truth dropped from his hand. No one else could find words as the son of Alderich and Enora approached. The moment seemed to hover on the brink of hours. Serra found her chest so tight that breathing was difficult, and her insides raged as color again flooded her cheeks. She still could not believe what she was seeing.

  Even Vonack was not impervious to the captivation of the moment. Esmie forgot any pain she had been feeling. Even Jozlyn fell to her knees, mystified at this sudden turn of events. Finally, Norryn stopped quietly before Serra. Serra looked upon his face, a face that was new yet as familiar as every memory and every dream had etched it. Norryn’s eyes wore the gravity of acceptance, yet still there somehow was the defiance and vitality that she had so missed. Serra could say nothing as tears welled within her eyes.

  Wordlessly, Norryn looked upon his childhood friend. Reflexively she reached out to touch him, disproving her fear that this was some dream. Her fingers trembled at his chest before he squeezed them with his own. Norryn’s right hand touched her face, fingers running easily across her cheek. Serra still could not believe her eyes. Involuntarily her head shook slightly as disbelief nudged at her insides. A sad smile crept across Norryn’s face as he squeezed her shoulder.

  Gently Norryn’s left hand went to Serra’s chest, grabbi
ng hold of Ashener’s Calling. Slowly he raised it over her head before placing it around his neck. Finally, Serra’s hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder as if her senses finally believed that this was all true. Her lips trembled as tears finally burst free and down her face. “Norryn,” she whispered.

  Norryn looked at each of the faces looking at him. Finally, his eyes met those of Esmie. “Stay with her, Esmie. Keep her safe,” he said. All Esmie could do was nod.

  Norryn reluctantly broke free of Serra as he turned to face the battle raging before them. He walked to where Fahn’s cycle had come to rest. His eyes stared at the outnumbered defenders fighting for Rahn and Vallance’s survival. And then he set his sights on the hill in the distance. In that moment the young heir of the Ashener bloodline made his decision, knowing what he must do.

  “Rynsi . . . Norryn!” Norryn turned toward the voice of Fahn. Wordlessly she tossed his staff to him. Somehow, she had kept it safe. Norryn caught it easily, nodding to her as he secured the staff onto the cycle.

  Norryn then turned again to the violence before him. Taking a long, knowing breath, the young Vallance heir settled upon the hover cycle, bringing it back to life. In another moment he gunned the throttle and rocketed forward. Serra and the others observed wordlessly, still mystified at the recent turn of events. Further and further in the distance, Serra watched as the young man she had hunted for, longed for, and refused to believe had perished charged forth to what very well may be his death. Serra could feel him again, and somehow, she knew without knowing how his intentions.

  Norryn Ashener was heading for the hill that held Nathaniel Cresul.