Neeka Featherstone

by R. J. Lucas

  “You will if they are trying to rip your throat out,” says Braam and then winces when Amari touches his ribs.

  “It’s all the more reason for us to try and get out of here,” Isaiah says.

  I look at Amari to see if she reacts to this. I wonder if she will say anything, if she has any thoughts about our plan of escape.

  “Should we wait until she’s done to talk about this?” Braam asks.

  Amari tapes Braam’s bandages and walks over to her supply kit to gather more salve and wraps for Isaiah. She kneels beside him and jerks the large splinter from his leg before he realizes what has happened. He yells like a stuck pig and Braam laughs.

  “Are you serious about escaping?” Amari asks as she continues to work on Isaiah’s wound. “Because I know a way out of Arcmire.”

  None of us speaks, surprised by her words. She has transformed from a fantasy to a real person in an instant.

  Has she decided to come with us, after all?

  “Getting past the guards unnoticed will be difficult,” Amari continues. “But there is a secret tunnel on the south side of the arena under the stands. Hugo had it built for his personal use when he constructed this place. It leads out of the city for a couple hundred paces and exits the ground in a small hidden canyon surrounded by large boulders.”

  “How wide is it?” Isaiah asks. I can tell he is already formulating a plan before Amari finishes conveying the information.

  “Do you think we can trust her?” Braam wonders aloud. “I mean, no offense, but she lives with the fat man.”

  “Look at her face, Braam,” I say, furious. “That is what he did to her. Do you think she is loyal to him?”

  “Even if she does want to help us, can we trust her to keep a secret?” Braam argues. “Does she talk in her sleep? Would she give us up if she were tortured?”

  When I look into Isaiah’s face, I can tell he is thinking the same things. “You too, Isaiah?”

  “We can’t be sure,” he says and then shrugs and adds, almost as an afterthought, “But what choice do we have? I hardly know any of you.”

  Amari waits for us to have our argument about who can be trusted and why and in what circumstances. She doesn’t speak or advocate for herself. She appears to be patiently waiting for us to get these fears and suspicions out of our systems. When we are finally quiet and have accepted the need to rely on each other, she speaks.

  “So, first off, I’m right here. But please don’t hold back your feelings on my account.” Her sarcasm is thick. “And yes, you can trust me. I would like to get out of this place as well.”

  Braam attempts to explain himself, “Well, you have to understand—"

  “Quiet!” Isaiah shushes him as a guard approaches and opens the cell door for Papa. The guard scowls at us, but soon leaves, locking the door behind him. Papa ignores his foul expression as he is too excited with his newly found treasures he has brought with him in a cart. The cart is full of parts and tools and other scraps.

  “They had quad hinge joints as well as ball and socket couplers!” he says, a bit of the old excitement creeping back into his voice.

  As Amari continues to work on Isaiah’s leg, applying salve and a bandage, Papa removes my foot and begins replacing the hardware in my ankle socket.

  We continue speaking about escape, catching Papa up on what we have ascertained so far. We whisper in case the cell has listening cones built into the walls, which Braam says was a common practice for Lord Solomon in his palace.

  “We’ll get some rest tonight and plan the route to get past the guards tomorrow,” Papa says.

  “I shouldn’t have any trouble getting a key to the cell, but the guards will definitely be an issue,” says Amari. “There are two posted close to the cell and probably about eight more to get past on the way to the southside of the arena.”

  “If we can get the two cell guards close enough, we can take them out quietly,” Braam says just before the door to the cell unlocks and swings open.

  Cyrus steps in and grimaces at Amari. “Are you finished?” he asks. It looks like it physically pains him to have to ask her this, rather than tell her.

  “Almost,” she says, and I think I see the corner of her mouth twist into a slight smirk as she fastens a final bandage around the scrapes on my arm.

  When she leaves, I make a bed on the floor with the extra blankets. Papa deserves and needs the cot more than I do.

  For the next couple of hours, we tell Papa the details of what happened in the arena. We each had our own version of how we beat the baldagaar. My tale was probably the best, though. At least, I’m sure Papa would think so.

  19 - Smoke-Filled Corridor

  I am jarred awake by explosions and the rattling of the cell bars. I’m not sure if the chaos is real or just a nightmare. When I open my eyes, I expect to see the fat man standing over me, stomping and banging and telling me I must fight, but there are only bright flashes coming from the small window to the outside. It is night, but the flashes are getting brighter. Papa, Isaiah and Braam are awake and confused as well, scanning the room, and peering out the window. Each of us look to one another for an explanation, finding none.

  “What’s going on out there?” Braam shouts, hitting the door with the outer edge of his fist.

  No one responds.

  “They’re gone,” he says.

  “Are you sure?” Isaiah asks.

  “Your mother was a plugtail,” Braam shouts, thumping his fist against the door even harder. “Hugo is a fool and Cyrus is his girlfriend.”

  He looks back at us and shrugs. “Nothing. Nobody’s there.”

  Papa stands and starts to speak when part of the ceiling above the corridor leading to our cell collapses. The vibration almost knocks us off our feet. Balancing ourselves, we realize everything is now illuminated by a bright light that shines through the gaping hole.

  “It’s cannon fire and spotlights from an airship,” exclaims Braam. “We’ll be dead soon enough if we don’t get out of here.”

  “Maybe we can pick the lock,” Papa says, rummaging through his parts cart.

  Isaiah kicks at the door and Braam throws all his weight into pulling on it like a madman.

  Then, just as quickly as it began, it stops. Everything is quiet except for distant screaming and yelling.

  Sounds of static and garble penetrate the air around us, originating from somewhere outside.

  “This is Commander Protector Atwood of the Royal Defense.” His voice crackles from the amplicones fastened to the underside of the airship. The sound is like buzzing insects on a hot day. It seems otherworldly and inhuman.

  “This settlement has been deemed unlawful and is hereby charged with the following crimes: unpermitted settlement; unpermitted battles for sport and spectation; unlawful imprisonment and destruction of baldagaars which are Lord Solomon’s property; and harboring known criminals of Eden. The punishment for these crimes is complete and total destruction of this settlement and all its inhabitants.”

  The loudspeaker fades out with a crackle and cannon fire resumes. Our sense of urgency to escape has increased exponentially. I kick the door with my newly repaired foot, but even with all the power I can generate, it refuses to yield.

  “It won’t budge,” Isaiah screams. Braam runs against the door, slamming into it with his shoulder and bouncing off without making so much as a dent.

  A fire has broken out in the corridor near the collapsed ceiling, causing smoke to snake its way through the bars and into our cell. In desperation, I decide our only chance is for me to kick the hinges loose.

  “Step aside!” I shout.

  Braam and Isaiah move from the door and I charge it, kicking the hinges with all I have. The door doesn’t budge, but one of the hinges pops loose. I step back and lunge at it again, bending another hinge.

  “It’s progress,” Isaiah says with enthusiasm. “Hit it again.”

  I back away giving myself more distance to run but stop when I hea
r jingling keys. The door opens and she stands there, backlit, her face glowing white.

  “Healer girl?” Braam groans, massaging his wounded shoulder.

  We waste no time running out into the smoke-filled corridor. Chaos consumes the large, partially collapsed hall as cannonballs continue to rain down. Fire has spread to the remaining support beams and is dripping red hot embers down around us.

  We make our way through the maze of destruction, dodging falling debris and frantic people that have no idea where to go. As we reach the end of the corridor, we find a section of the exterior wall completely obliterated.

  “This way!” Braam yells. We follow him toward the open space, but stop in our tracks when we see a dozen protectors outside, firing on innocent people.

  “We have to take the tunnels,” says Amari.

  “She’s right,” Papa agrees. “We’ll be target practice if we go out there.”

  “Our best chance is to travel back down the main corridor and enter the arena through the prison entrance,” says Amari. “We can cut straight across the arena and make it to the tunnels. It looks like the airship is moving toward the east of the outpost anyway, away from the arena.”

  We re-enter the prison structure and head toward the cells that had so recently been our home. Guards lay dead in the hallway. Isaiah picks up a spear and Braam picks up a club.

  “Do you have keys to the door?” Braam asks.

  “I don’t know,” Amari says. “I planned on spending the day testing each key one by one. This attack was unexpected and took away any time to prepare!”

  As we approach the doors of the arena, we are shocked and relieved to see the doors are already open, swinging on their hinges like a flag on a breezy day. As we sprint toward the opening, we hear screaming and shouting coming from the cells we pass. Our previous cell mates are still locked within their bars, scared and desperate.

  “We can’t just leave them there,” I yell over the noise of the chaos.

  “We don’t have time for that,” Braam says as he continues forward without even a glance at the prisoners.

  I look to Isaiah who looks at the cell and then back at me before shrugging and following Braam.

  “Goatnuts,” I yell after them. “You cowards!”

  “Do you have keys?” Papa asks Amari. She looks down at the key ring in her hand that is full of dozens of metal keys.

  “Get started.” I tell her.

  I kick the bars, but they do not budge.

  Amari’s hands tremble as she tries the keys. Each attempt seems to take longer than the previous one.

  “Hurry,” one of the prisoners shouts.

  Sweat drops from my brow and my ears ache from the sound of death and destruction all around me. After what seems like hours, but is probably only seconds, the lock clicks and the door opens. The prisoners tumble over one another trying to escape the cell and scatter down the corridor like cockroaches in daylight.

  “Come on girls,” Papa says. He puts his arm around me and tugs Amari by the hand.

  As we approach the arena doors, I notice they have collapsed under the weight of a fallen cross beam. Braam and Isaiah stand beside the crumbled entrance waiting for us.

  “Ahh, how sweet. You waited on us,” I say, my sarcasm evident.

  “Just hurry up girl.” Braam says, using his body like a support beam to push up on the fallen entryway.

  The rest of us scurry underneath. Stepping to the other side of the door, he removes himself from under the framework and the entire entryway collapses. We find ourselves in the arena once again and there is no possibility of turning back now. Our backs are literally up against a dead-end wall that is quickly becoming rubble. This time, our battle is getting to the other side of the expansive arena without being shot by protectors or blown to bits by cannon fire.

  We aren’t the only ones caught in this circle of doom. Panicked people run about screaming, crying. One poor man runs across the open space, his body on fire, lighting up the night, like a torch being carried by death himself. He eventually drops to the ground and becomes silent.

  Blunderbuss and cannon fire echo across the arena taking people out at an alarming rate. The outer wall crumbles in various spots around us with every vibration of another cannon strike. At least it’s not a prison anymore. We just have to pick the right hole to escape through if we are to survive.

  “There!” yells Amari. She points to a rough opening on the other side of the arena. “That’s where we need to go.”

  We barely hear her over the chaos around us. People are screaming and dying. Protectors are yelling and firing their weapons. The arena is falling apart. Potholes dot the ground like it has been hit by a meteor shower. Bodies, some still burning, decorate the ground like the fiery spots that sometimes spring up from Gehenna. The whole scene reminds me of stories I’ve read about the old world, when they used to have great wars and thousands of people would lose their lives in trenches and mud-filled holes created by bombs.

  Braam picks up a large flat piece of metal to use for a shield before yelling at us to stay close.

  “I’ll distract them,” I say. “Go straight across. It’s exposed, but it’s the shortest distance and I will keep their attention on me.”

  Braam nods and I’m off running in an instant. I shoot out, away from my group of misfit friends like an arrow loosed from a bow. As I do, I hear the faint voice of Amari yell to me.

  “Neeka! Be careful!”

  The sound of her voice feels like a warm blanket enveloping my chest. Does she feel the same way about me as I do her? I can’t think about that right now. I must focus!

  Thankfully, the airship is no longer hovering directly above us and I only have to deal with a dozen or so protectors scattered about the area. I know I can dispatch them easy enough if I keep moving. There’s no way they can hit a target moving this fast and sporadic.

  The first one I meet was not expecting it. He didn’t even have time to widen his eyes before the heel of my new foot punched a crater into his skull.

  That got their attention.

  The protectors turn to face me in shifts as they become aware of my presence. Another one is caught off guard when the impact from my foot catches him under the chin. His head flips back with a crack almost as loud as a blunderbuss.

  They are all eyeing me now. Firing their weapons in my direction, but I am too fast. By the time they take aim and fire, I have already moved on, away from where they thought their target should be.

  I leap at another protector, ready to deal another lethal blow, but just before I hit him, he falls to the ground with two holes in his chest. I look over my shoulder and see two protectors staring at each other, their mouths hanging open as if to say, “what have we done?”

  Friendly fire. I like it. A streak of luck I hadn’t counted on.

  I quickly pick up the blunderbuss from the fallen protector and fire off two rounds at the confused protectors. I miss both times.

  Bobblegash!! I guess I need practice. If only I had my knives.

  I drop the blunderbuss and launch myself into the air landing about ten paces from the two protectors. With a quick handstand and spring flip, I drop the first one with a huge gash across his forehead. His body writhes on the ground as he holds his head and cries out in agony.

  A split second later, I shatter the knee of the second protector and as he falls, I kick him in the chest, driving his body hard against one of the nearby boulders. He slides down and hits the ground. Blood flows from his nose as he claws at the sand, trying to catch his breath. His eyes wide, and his mouth agape.

  I hurdle over a small boulder and hide behind a larger one, taking a moment to access the situation. I peek out and see the remaining protectors approaching me. They are cautious and unsure.

  A bullet reflects off the boulder beside me and I quickly tuck myself back into my hiding spot. I glance over the other side toward our meeting spot and see Papa and Braam waving me over.

 
It worked! The distraction worked!

  I wave back and tell them to go. I take one last glance back at the approaching protectors and see they are within twenty paces or so, which is in striking distance. I don’t need to waste time, so instead of fighting them, I turn and leap from my hiding spot, soaring over the boulders in the direction of our exit tunnel. My feet hit the ground in a full out sprint.

  I am standing next to Papa within a couple of seconds and together we scurry into the secrecy of the tunnel like mice hiding from a barn cat.

  “We made it,” I sigh with relief.

  The tunnel is dark and still. Isaiah removes his shirt and wraps it tightly around a stick. He leans out of the safety of the darkness long enough to borrow some fire from a burning support beam just outside of the tunnel entrance. Braam uses his club and hits the burning beam with all his might, causing it to snap and collapse the tunnel entrance.

  “Only one way out now,” he says.

  As we walk through the tunnel, small portions of dirt break loose from the ceiling every time a cannonball hits its mark. A coating of dust settles in our hair and on our face. We cough the cloud of particulates from our lungs as we continue our escape. The sounds of explosions and blunderbuss fire grow fainter with every step.

  No one speaks for the first couple of minutes.

  “I feel a little dizzy,” I say, stumbling forward.

  Papa catches me. “Neeka, are you okay?”

  Amari searches my body, pulling up my shirt, examining every inch of me. I smile as she does so. The touch of her hand is soothing against my skin. Their faces begin to blur, their voices slurry. I’ve waited for this ever since I met her, longed to feel her gentle caress. The last thing I hear before drifting off is her sweet voice echoing through the tunnel.

  “She’s been hit!”

  20 - Voodoo Magic

  I wake to the sound of muffled voices arguing. I open my eyes and see particles of dust floating through small beams of sunlight that penetrate the ceiling above. Amari and Papa are by my side, watching over me, unaware I am regaining consciousness.