The 6th of Six (The Legend of Kimraig Llu)

by J. K. (Keith) Wilson

  It would not take long to dispose of the members of the Council, they would be killed one after the other, and the blame shifted to Kimraig and his gang of misfits. A few well placed “V’s” cut into dead Superiors, then kill the Leaders who had not joined their cause.

  What would they all do without the Wicca? They would survive of course.

  Think about fun later, she cautioned herself. Who would be able to replace Charles and Marvin? She had to have another male, even a set would be better. Maybe she did not need a set, males tended to go their own way, shunning their female counterparts. And especially if that female had chosen to bear the Mating Ritual as she had.

  Leader Sala found that she had enjoyed the Ritual just as much as she enjoyed Breen or any of her many Hunters. Still, males felt isolated because they had no rights when even the dullest female had opportunity after opportunity if she selected an alternate life style.

  Then there was the female ex-trooper who had abducted her—willingly—from her favorite twenty-four-hour nightclub, where Sala had no business being. That woman had taken her places she had never been, then demanded—and received—Sala’s lapel pin, twisted lightning bolts of gold and bright blue. A trophy, the woman had said, of the first time she had seduced a Leader.

  Perhaps Breen would help her make a decision. Sala would not provide details, only ask if another male should replace Charles as the head of the Others, or perhaps a female would be better. Leader Breen had helped her many years ago.

  * * *

  Sala had been eleven when Breen helped her, small and delicate, but with pronounced breasts and swelling hips. As always, she had dawdled on the training concourse when she should have followed her battle group back to quarters. Tired of her dreaming, she started for the door.

  No one had waited.

  As she tried to push through the doors she found them locked. She had company, two boys laughing behind her. She turned and found Lower Level kids who did not belong here. She must have jumped a mile with relief as the door opened behind her. Then a hand felt her hair.

  “Nice,” a third boy said, obviously attached to the hand. “Not only that, we are happy you waited for us out here where we can all be alone.”

  “I did not wait. I do not even know you.” Sala was a little worried now since she was only half trained in hand-to-hand combat. She backed away as they started towards her.

  “Thing is, we came down here a couple of times and saw you wandering around.”

  One of them, the tallest one, was leering now.

  “What you say guys, shall we help this sweet thing out? She sure looks like she would love to give us a ride.”

  “I do not need help from any of you,” she said as the instructor’s lunch table hit her behind the knees.

  “You just relax now honey. We will each take turns first and then, as a special treat, all three of us will ride you at the same time.”

  They tore her clothes, tied part of them around her mouth. She screamed and heard nothing. Their hands were everywhere. Her legs were winched apart so wide it hurt. The tall one was pressing against her...there. He looked surprised as blood splattered from the sword blade pushing out his ribs, and the blade lifted him from her, discarding him to the ground.

  More screaming—the smaller ones this time. She drew up to a ball for protection.

  “Sala, little Sala. Up now, you must soothe your fear.”

  She could see it was the new Queen, Breen-1, who had helped train her practice battle group.

  “I have no clothes,” she gasped as she finally stood on her trembling feet.

  “You will not need clothes for this.” Breen-1 held her arm leading her to the two boys writhing on the ground. Both had the back of each foot sliced deep, crippling them. They were trying to scuttle away, but those bloody, flopping feet would not make purchase.

  “Here, take this sword and kill one.”

  The blood soaked hilt of the weapon slid in Sala’s hand. “But I do not wish to...”

  “Nonsense, they were about to do worse to you.”

  She sought to delay her action and then forced herself to pick one. Thinking of the training dummies, Sala imagined an X and struck down hard with the point. The thing twitched a little and was still.

  “Now the other,” Breen-1 ordered coldly.

  No hesitation this time, the imagined X bobbed about in her watering eyes. In a moment, it also lay still. The sword was whisked away to be cleaned and then slid back into the Queen’s scabbard.

  “Remember this. A young girl, you, foolishly forgot where she was and chose to forfeit the lives of three males to pay for her mistake. Now you are a woman, a woman who must live with the result of her actions.”

  “But they were going...It was not my fault...You killed...one.’

  “Silence now, walk back to your dorm.”

  “I have no clothes. And...there is so much blood,”

  “Go, they will see you and there will be questions. Say nothing, as will I. What they do not know, they will make up, and then the bodies will be found.”

  Sala went.

  The next morning, the three naked bodies lay amid her torn clothing and their discarded shirts and shorts. The training instructors thought they knew exactly what had happened. The jeers and hoots of the night before directed at a blood covered your girl, turned into a new respect. Sala became an instant hero who would not tell where she hid her sword.

  * * *

  Leader Sala swallowed the sour taste left by the memory of Mistress Ann abandoning her with this problem. She shoved it aside and glanced toward Breen who rode beside her on this trip.

  The seat was padded but the bumps in the uneven road still rattled to Breen’s very center. Even with her ravished body, she would have preferred to march again, rather than ride inside this SHORT.

  Its name should be Stabbing Pain instead of Short Pencil.

  Only when alone would she allow herself the comfort of retreating to her bitchy teenage self. Her bitch had seen her through the nine months of pain—seemed like years—during her pregnancy. That and the memory of the absolute pleasure jammed into her Mating Ritual. Every lover, more than she could count, had failed to match the passion she had enjoyed with Kimraig.

  As the years passed, the needs of her body became secondary to the essence of power hovering constantly out of reach.

  Just minutes ago, her young lover Sala, comes to her with this prize—help her make a pick. She wanted a replacement for Charles, someone to lead the Others. Oh yes, she would find someone to manipulate events. In fact, she had just the person in mind: herself.

  That was the only positive outcome of the meeting this morning.

  If Sala offered her the chance to be the face of the Others’ new government, she needed her own base. A building located far enough away from the Wicca, where she could use the title forbidden to her: The 6th of Six. In the near future, she could see an opportunity for an empire of her own. Kimraig’s army would help her do that. Sala and the Others would provide backing.

  For now, she would be Breen again, starting fresh without rank of any kind.

  Time was what she needed the most. Time to bend Kimraig to her will. Yes, love would mold him.

  She watched him sleeping upright on the bench next to her. As suspected, Mistress Ann had not sent him to meet her. In two minutes, she and Sala commandeered a fright elevator before another tank of liquid construction material could be loaded.

  It took forever to reach the roof, not quite as long to stare down his three guards. When they reached the basement, Kimraig, his twenty-one-crew members, and three hastily refitted SHORTS, joined Breen’s column headed for Number 6 Building.

  Breen knew she would pay for upsetting the 1st of One’s plan for Kimraig. She also knew she had her own plans, which, when complete, should satisfy “Her Highness.” Breen giggled in a fine parody of her mentor. Mistress Ann hated that nickname.

  Kimraig jerked awake at the sound, grinned and spo
ke. “We must stop meeting in these cramped spaces. I thought that old bat Mistress Ann had locked me in with herself again.”

  “Do you know where you are?” she asked.

  “Yes, in route to your Number 6 Building.”

  His voice held an edge she had not heard before. Whether she could control him or not would be decided now, here on these hard seats. She glanced to Leader Sala while giving a small negative twist to her neck, warning Kimraig not to continue. Breen would draw his attention elsewhere until they could talk in private.

  “It is our building, all of us belong here. I am simply Breen now. I intend to honor the commitment I made to all of you. Did I not support you before the entire council? I believe I was there on the roof with you and your people and made sure we all left Number 4 Building safely.”

  “You did all that, well planned down to the last detail. My neck is warning me not to turn my back to you as I did just a few days ago. Why is that?”

  “Kimraig, you will have to decide what is best for you. The Wicca would be more inclined to support a shared government if you help me with this.” She had called on him to defend his support for their government. There was no way he could turn that down.

  “They will not share power with males. They only want to lure me with more false promises.”

  “Can you blame them for seeking assurances?” He had surprised her with his first negative remark against the Wicca. She was thinking fast now, unwilling to lose her advantage.

  “We are castaways on this damaged slice of a nation thrown away decades ago by a government consisting almost entirely of males. A shared government is something different. We must find a way to make it possible.”

  When she sensed he was unconvinced, she added her last tidbit. “I know. The government in AD had no luck with that. This will be different if it is us.”

  Breen watched him fight within himself. She waited. There was one more angle to explore, where they were going as a couple, but she might need that later.

  “If you say, ‘do it for me,’ I just might throw up.”

  He had that charming grin on his face, the one that had caused more than one reluctant female to drop her clothing.

  Breen half smiled. “If it would work, I will say just that. This time, it is my turn to muddle through.” She allowed a wicked surge of triumph as she used the words he had used himself.

  “No need, I would not believe you anyway. No matter, I gave the Wicca my word long ago. I will not go back on my commitment now.” His grin disappeared. “I will work with you, for my friends, they need looking after.” He paused, then threatened, “Be careful.”

  “Fair enough,” she said. “Those friends you brought with you, is that your army?”

  “You know better. Spies reported almost to the man how many we are.” He was deadly serious now. “Your estimates are so large you could not attack us in any one building without the other buildings’ knowing. In less than a day your fancy battle groups would cease to exist.”

  He had no idea why he was explaining the facts contained in Mistress Ann’s report to the Wicca. Had the Leader of Leaders not shared with their newest member?

  “My fancy battle groups were trained by you. There will be heavy losses,” Breen said, forced into defending her troops. This was new information to her and probably not true. Just a week ago, Mistress Ann had assured her that their report on his army found nothing new worth noting.

  “Training is one thing, experience another, and loyalty—that is something else again. None of that matters now. When your troops joined me to rescue our delegation at your Number 6 Building, I became the focal point for the Wicca. My ability to lead the rebellion became secondary. I am simply too visible.” He sighed, resigned to some inner voice. “Now, someone else will lead.”

  “Who will lead?”

  Breen had trouble keeping her voice steady. There may be someone in the four SHORTS following them, ready to take over.

  “We are broken into small, expendable cells, each unknown to the other.”

  “Well, that was effective in the war that left only us in this small space,” Breen said.

  “It was very effective,” Kimraig said, grunting a short laugh. “It was so perfect it destroyed the mad man who spawned it.”

  Breen felt her ride slow and come to a stop. They were about to approach her building when new doubts began to shake her. The Outsiders may have returned to occupy the building. They may have to take it back again. The Crossers had gone ahead and were setting a trap for them. His troops, or Others, could be mixed in with hers and they would mutiny.

  Well, we shall find out, she thought.

  “Mistress...forgive me...it is just Breen now,” he said with sarcasm branding the last phrase. “I suggest you let my teams take point. Your groups rely on armor, spears and shields that we will need if withdrawal becomes a necessity. We will use light body amour and Atl-atls.”

  Kimraig thought for a moment and smirked, he would not tell her it was an ancient hunting weapon.

  “Proceed.” She would observe, not ask what an Alt-alt was.

  “Sala let Kimraig out.”

  “No need,” he said as he moved, bent over, to the rear bulkhead and lifted the short front-facing seat. With a quick movement, he jabbed his hand down into a small space and held it there as he turned back to her.

  “Since you split my people with Brody-1, Hunters Curtis and Cullen between the other carriers, may I suggest you ask them to stand aside as we deploy.”

  “Already done,” she said as if he should have known. Blocking her use of telepathy from Kimraig, she quickly passed the information to her Queen and Hunters.

  Breen watched as his hand pushed sharply down. A catch released and the back of her SHORT tilted out from the top and banged down to the ground. The ramp it formed was large enough for a double line of troops to exit at top speed.

  Dust settled slowly where the ramp hit. The opening formed a picture frame around what had once been a large square, with lawns, and flowerbeds, and pebble walkways. Now it was dust and silver ribbons of pebbles, with machines at the ready, troops deploying. At one end, a depression that might have been a large lake, bone dry for a long time. All surrounded on three sides by buildings. Two of which they would occupy.

  Outside, the other three vehicles had pulled into an X with their backs to one another. She watched as his workers spilled out leaving her Troopers gapping in the doorways. They formed into four circles of six, all unarmed.

  “Please sit,” Kimraig ordered. He watched to make sure, then stabbed down again.

  The center of the floor slid away revealing a storage area fashioned between the chassis rails. There were several bundles of thin dart-like spears, lying atop small battle shields. Alongside was a short padded bag about the size of an arm from shoulder to finger tips with two more bundles of thin spears tied to it. The final item was a box of swords.

  Breen observed the other three carriers. The seventh person from each, males and females, moved quickly to the circles, each lugging a padded bag in one hand and the box of swords in the other. The circle opened and closed. No one went back for shields or the remaining spears. One group waited expectantly, eyes toward Kimraig. She realized he would bring their weapons.

  Breen looked to him, her eyebrows arching in question.

  He answered, sensing before she asked, “First defense; prepare to repel an attack, then set up your offense. Watch and learn. You may face an army armed like this.”

  “Brody-1 and her Hunters are headed this way. I suggest you and Sala arm yourselves.” He started down the ramp with both hands full.

  She watched as he entered his circle of troops to unpack the padded bag. Inside was Atl-atl. As if demonstrating, Kimraig and the three carriers in the middle of the other circles, lifted what looked like metal tubes, cut in half—long ways—the length of a man’s arm from hand to shoulder. The tube included a wooden frame, allowing purchase for the user’s hand. Until the
y fitted the dart-like spears—half again as long—flat on top of the device, she had not realized that the butt of the spear slid into the cupped end, holding it lightly in place.

  They removed the dart for the next test. Now each cradled the frame and tube in one palm, index finger crooked over the open top of the tube, simulating holding the dart in place.

  Each, male or female, had their own method for testing the device. They used a motion like throwing a ball, the index finger snapping away at the top of the arc so the dart would fly straight and true. Only Kimraig did not like the feel of the weapon. He slid his palm along the hand frame, tested the balance, and tried again. She watched him nod as if he had found a solution. He must have, since he simulated two more throws with his hand in that position.

  Kimraig stumbled, pulled straight and paused. Face white as a Leaders robe. Teeth clenched under tight lips. The injuries to his chest and ribs cried for comfort.

  Each circle broke and formed into a box, with the new weapons at the center. In one circle, a female worker moved in. Selecting one bundle of darts, she strapped it high to her back where the butts stood upright, then returned to arm each of the remaining workers. The throwing darts became short spears. Male and female—armed equally.

  One lightly armed war machine in a box and a padded bag.

  “Runners, retrieve shields and swords. On my mark, go.” Kimraig yelled with that strong parade ground command they all had heard so often. He wavered a bit as pain shot through his chest.

  “Troops hold,” he yelled again, reacting to a small flag waving from the rubble nearest the left side of the square. Figures began to appear, with instant recognition, he shouted again. “Runners continue arming your circles. Troops stand down.”

  Unable to hide the pleasure he felt, he walked, unarmed, toward the rubble where the flags continued to wave.

  Breen watched that Crossers woman, LaJay, step into view.

  “Our new best friends have made the trip after all,” she muttered. She continued to watch as the black woman took Kimraig by the shoulders and then bent to kiss his forehead. He put his arms around her and, ignoring pain, hugged. He leaned hard against the woman with more than friendship. After separating, they held hands for just a second as their eyes met.