Vahn and the Bold Extraction, The

by Mason, Shane A.

Melaleuca grew aghast. Did Harshon mean to tell the whole valley of what she suspected?

  ‘What are the other two tests?’

  Harshon looked away, staring through the forest.

  ‘You need not know.’ She turned back eyeing them with sadness. ‘I fear this Galelain will mean certain death for you. So sure you want to end it this way? Unless...’

  She trailed off, her silence begging the cousins to ask something more.

  ‘We can handle anything.’

  Harshon stepped down and spoke, hardness entering her voice, sounding more like one of the Discipliners and Pedagogues.

  ‘So be it. Understand children that more is at stake here than you can grasp. When you lie dying, remember that I offered you a way out. Strength be yours.’

  ***

  Harshon watched as they rode off, waiting until they could no longer see her, and then disappeared into the bushes, pushing through a small thick section. She came out onto a disused, over-grown track and headed down it. At the bottom of the forest she waded through a meadow, stopping when she met Captain HeGood, who had been waiting there all this time.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Nothing. They are just children. If Karena is their mother then something odd is about. They insist that their mothers were identical quadruplets. Karena had no sisters.’

  ‘All you sure.’

  ‘Of course I am not sure. I am not sure of anything.’

  Captain HeGood snapped her head about to face him.

  ‘Karena was involved with the Marauders last time. She threatened to return and create havoc.’

  ‘These are four children, not Karena.’

  ‘The Marauders are back. That is all I know. If I think you are hiding anything, well...heh...we all know where that will lead.’

  She eyeballed him back, shaking inside, feeling the time of throwing all caution to the wind fast approaching, and smirked.

  ‘How did you rid New Wakefield of them last time?’

  ‘I hope you are not slighting the office of the Inquisat. While you sleep and nursemaid the wet-heads, I take the brunt of the dirty work. And for that I will have respect?’

  ‘It is said M’Lord,’ Harshon said back, addressing him with a title higher than his rank, ‘that Lord Daquan, sorry, Overlord Ramathor now, assisted you and for that was banished.’

  Captain HeGood whipped his sword out, pricking the tip of it into her throat.

  ‘Watch your tongue. Should I run you through now, no one will question me. I was not the one banished to the great Golgotha-Land of the southern reaches. I was not the one who went mad and became a recluse.’

  He lifted the sword higher causing blood to trickle, forcing Harshon to stand on her tiptoes. Her face strained red. Through gritted teeth she displayed the hardness that New Wakefield had beaten into her.

  ‘If the Marauders are back...,’ she gasped.

  ‘AND THEY ARE!’ Captain HeGood bellowed at her, then more softly, ‘Really they are. I insist.’

  ‘If they are back,’ she gasped, trying to stand higher to stop the blade cutting deeper, ‘then this time...they won’t...stop until...’

  She coughed and started to choke.

  Captain HeGood dropped the sword, letting her fall to the ground.

  ‘Until what?’

  Harshon did not reply. She rubbed her throat and got her breath back.

  He sheathed his sword.

  ‘The outside world has weakened you. Both you and Matron Gertrude are up to something. I have my eye on both of you.’

  Harshon stared up at him with defiance, her eyes soft with a cultured compassion, rare in New Wakefield, yet strong in confidence. ‘Those who live by the sword shall die by the sword.’

  Captain HeGood mounted his horse, spitting at the ground near her.

  ‘Those who die by my sword, stay dead. Yeeeaarrrrgh!’ he shouted, and spurred his horse away.

  Harshon laid herself flat in the grass, and cried for the second time in her life, thinking how foolish the cousins were not to take her offer, yet glad that had told her little. Should she be tortured for information, she had nothing to tell.

  Nearby her horse neighed, bringing her back to her senses. She got up and mounted it, and rode off at a furious pace.

  Chapter 34 - Guns

  Crowds gathered around the edge of the amphitheatre, hundreds, if not thousands of them, waiting with great expectation for something to happen.

  ‘What's going on, Pembrooke?’ Melaleuca asked.

  ‘Today marks the start of the Thistle Ceremony.’

  ‘So why are all the people?’

  ‘To witness the first waters.’

  ‘And they are?’

  ‘Water falls from the sky into the amphitheatre. It marks the start. It will take about a week to fill up, then there will be the High Galelain, followed by the Thistle Ceremony. Now hop down and go and watch.’

  The four of them stood on the edge of the crowd, their view blocked by the hordes of people in front of them.

  Harshon appeared out of the crowd, with two older boys. ‘Come you are expected on the dais.’

  Under the Head Discipliner’s jutting-out office, a platform had been erected over the amphitheatre. Twenty mixed groups of boys and girls stood crammed onto it. As the cousins approached, the groups scowled at them.

  ‘Up here children,’ Harshon said. ‘You are the last entrants in the High Galelain.’

  The crowd started murmuring as they stepped onto the platform.

  Sah Task-Master Carrion along with the frail High Overlord Sector appeared on a small balcony in the Head Discipliner’s office. The High Overlord held his hands up to silence every one, stabled himself and then spoke.

  ‘I give you this year's entrants,’ he cried out, his voice echoing from the amphitheatre.

  The crowd roared.

  Jerkin Bod’armor stepped forward, raising two fists in the air, and out of the corner of his mouth taunted those on the platform. ‘Pity you will all die, though at least we know who will be the first to go.’

  All the competitors looked at the four cousins and smirked.

  ‘By the power conferred on me,’ Sah Task-Master Carrion cried out, ‘and handed down since the great departure, I command the forces of nature to declare this harvest festival started. Let the great filling begin.’

  A loud crackle rent the air, sounding like the sky itself split in two, followed by lightening bursting up from the Amphitheatre, arcing great bolts of light into the sky. The sky darkened as clouds rushed overhead and all at once gloom fell over the land. Moisture sucked out of the air and the cousin’s eyes became dry, and their mouths became parched and sandpaper like, and their bodies starting to feel hot and itchy. With the smell of water close, their bodies carried on getting dryer and dryer until a great thirst fell over them.

  ‘By Jupiter, by Titan, by Saturn, by Mars, by all the forces of nature,’ cried out Sah Task-Master Carrion, ‘let our water mingle with that from the heavens,’ and then spat into the amphitheatre.

  The crowd pushed forward, each in turn spitting into the amphitheatre offering their saliva in obedience. Soon, a fine mist gathered, swirling over the Amphitheatre turning gradually into delicate drizzle.

  ‘Those rods Ari saw,’ Lexington whispered, ‘I bet they are gathering water from the atmosphere and even us. Magnetic ionisation.’

  Jerkin Bod’armor snarled at them and said, ‘Shh!’

  Quixote pulled a face back.

  ‘Shush yourself.’

  ‘You won’t be so smart when I crush you to pieces.’

  Melaleuca threw her hand over Quixote’s mouth. He rolled his eyes and jiggled his head at Jerkin despite being muffled.

  As the crowd dispersed, the normal Vahn day began, though coughs, gasps and throat-clearings could be heard as the air continued to dehydrate them.

  ‘At this rate we will be sucked dry,’ Lexington said.

  ‘Get harder,’ said a grizzly looking boy no older than
themselves. ‘Worse is yet to come.’

  ***

  As they headed outside on a break, the dryness had gone out of the air, replaced by a rich, sweet, heavy smell of moisture, and to their surprise, the drizzle had turned to heavy rain, though it mainly fell into the amphitheatre.

  They walked across the field toward the Gork’s headquarters. Students of all ages encouraged them, by telling them to slaughter the others, or derisively mocked them, yelling at them to be slaughtered.

  Without being seen, they slipped into the run-down building and trod passed the crumbling piles, making their way to the “Wolf’s Lair.” Pushing on the sheet of tin, it gave way to an empty dark hole.

  ‘Con?’ Melaleuca asked, sensing something amiss.

  ‘They’re not here,’ Lexington said. ‘You don’t think that...?’

  Ari moved into the grey darkness.

  ‘It’s empty. Everything has been taken.’

  ‘Maybe they have been found out,’ Lexington said.

  Quiet footsteps thudded toward them and the tin graunched open. Revile stood there, huffing a little, waving at them.

  ‘Come with me.’

  They followed him deeper into the underbelly, stopping by a metal trap door in the ground. Revile pulled on it, and then shimmied down a ladder toward faint yellow candlelight.

  Soon they stood in a small rotting-smelling, moss-infested chamber, deep enough in the ground that the outside noise hardly made it in. Con sat on his broken down chair. A large cloth hung behind it with the words, ‘resistance’ badly scrawled on it.

  Con beamed at them.

  ‘Ah, welcome.’

  ‘You have moved,’ Melaleuca said.

  ‘Is necessary. We regularly change our headquarters around to prevent discovery.’

  Ari asked, impressed, ‘How many hide-outs do you have?’

  Con pulled his lips back expressing a horridly deformed smile.

  ‘You want our trust, but will not tell us!’ Melaleuca said.

  ‘If you are captured and tortured, what you do not know, you cannot tell.’

  Ari nodded in agreement. It made sense.

  ‘The ships? Where and when?’ Melaleuca asked.

  ‘We Gorks are the plaything for the others,’ Con began. ‘They pay us little attention. Our destiny is to become the dirt mongers of New Wakefield.’

  ‘We know. You have told us before. The ship!’

  ‘Because of this, we are left alone, viewed as harmless. If we build a weapon, no matter how deadly, no one cares, for all know that we have neither the physical strength amongst us, nor the courage to wield it. Those that have tried have been struck down.’

  ‘The ship!’

  ‘On the coast lies the deserted marina. No ships come and no ships go. Legend has it that the great fleeing fleet laid anchor there thousands of years ago. There must be some truth in it, as it is a ship’s graveyard. Every year ships are assembled there. Every seven years extra special ships are built there.’

  ‘And you have one for us?’

  ‘Made by the blood of many taunted and brutalised Gorks. We have worked on it for many years, ridiculed but allowed to continue just for the humour of making us feel as stupid as possible.’

  His words became dark and rare forbidden emotions crept in. ‘But they did not know that one day we would fight back. Yes there is a ship ready, waiting, longing for such as yourselves to set sail in the High Galelain and to upset the High Command that tyrannises us.’

  He received a round of applause from the other pathetic looking French Resistance members.

  ‘So how do we get this ship? We want to try her out,’ Lexington said.

  ‘Like everyone else. On the day. They are floated up the Forunza River the day before hand and positioned on the Amphitheatre ready for sail.’

  Lexington pulled Melaleuca closer.

  ‘The day beforehand! We have one day to learn to sail a ship and fight on it.’

  ‘They just float on the lake. That’s all,’ Dunk said. ‘You are not supposed to see the ship until just before the competition.’

  Con looked annoyed at Dunk, and then said, ‘I am sure you will find a way to sail the ship.’ He smiled, winked and raised his eyebrows in a knowing gesture. ‘Besides you have other things to consider. It is rumoured that Jerkin is planning something big, something devastating, something that will make him unstoppable. He has to. This is his one and only chance to win the High Galelain. After this he leaves the Vahn for good.’

  ‘Then we need to find out,’ Lexington said.

  ‘I will find out,’ Quixote said.

  ‘I thought you might,’ Con said.

  From behind his chair, the sound of a muffled crying child came. Quixote leapt to Con, engaging him in a loud, animated conversation. The crying remained and each time it rose in volume, Quixote talked even louder. The crying became a whimper, and Dunk pulled the cloth on the wall back a little, yelling behind it, ‘Shut your mouths. Are you stupid? We have told you. Be quiet or you will be discovered.’

  A small voice cried back, ‘I’m scared and it’s dark in here, and the others keep on touching me.’

  An adult voice said, ‘I will try and calm her.’

  Con leant over the back of his chair, yelling, ‘Quiet or I will butcher the lot of you.’

  Silence fell over the voices.

  Quixote looked up at the ceiling, and then looked at the rough-shod door they had come through, then at the floor, then at the bric-a-brac generally lying around; anywhere but Melaleuca and the others.

  Melaleuca shuffled to her guilty faced cousin.

  ‘Quixote, can you add anything to this?’

  Bleph poked her head out.

  ‘We really are hungry,’ she said, and then burst out toward Quixote. ‘Qweety! Have you come to play again? Everyone, Qweety is here.’

  Soon a small rabble of about twenty children appeared, their heads poking out of the curtain.

  Bleph’s parents appeared as well, though they tried to usher the children back behind the cloth.

  ‘These are the recent kidnapped kids,’ Ari said. ‘Quixote? You are the kidnapper?’

  ‘Well…no…I mean…sort of.’

  Melaleuca and Lexington both shook their heads. Melaleuca rubbed her forehead, paced away to calm herself down. This…this…this is almost unforgivable.

  ‘And when were you going to tell us?’

  Quixote’s face paled and his normal cheekiness flickered, unsure whether to stay or go.

  ‘Ah...after the boat fight?’

  Melaleuca grabbed Quixote and hauled him outside the door. With a ferocious glare and a quiet voice that threatened him not to lie, she said, ‘Tell me everyone in there does not know you are a Marauder!’

  Quixote shook his head, his cheeky smile crumbling under Melaleuca’s intense gaze.

  ‘As a Marauder I saved them and left them with Con. It was he who brought them here. I visited as me.’

  She looked deep into his eyes and could see he told the truth.

  ‘Good for thinking smart then,’ she said relaxing. ‘You need to tell us what you are doing, have done. Even if you think we might not like it.’

  He nodded.

  Back inside, Lexington knelt before the children. She pawed through their faces in the poor light, exploring them with her eyes. Little older than five or eight, most of them appeared like scared kittens, and some had scars, burn marks, grazes, and all smelt bad.

  Melaleuca felt Lexington’s horror at the suffering before her. Despite the children’s harsh training at the Vahn, their fragile body’s suffered now under their abject isolation. The children knew they were alone and in a worse place than even the Gorks.

  Their faces alone told their story; Melaleuca not needing to delve into their minds. She placed her hand on Lexington’s back.

  The children looked at the girls fascinated by their unblemished, soft appearance. Bleph reached out, and using her fingertips, she touched Lexington, feelin
g how soft her skin felt.

  ‘We will help you, eventually,’ Lexington said. ‘But for now, you must remain here. If you are found out, you will most likely be killed and worse we will be discovered as well.’

  ‘Better to die, than to remain in hiding like a coward,’ came a voice still hidden in the darkness.

  Several voices, belonging to older children and teenagers, intoned their agreement from the darkness as well, though Bleph’s parents said, ‘You don’t know what you are saying.’

  ‘Who are? Show yourself,’ Lexington said.

  Gregand shuffled forward, his shadowy face a mass of healed steam burns. He looked bitterly into the pretty face of Lexington, disdainful of her gentleness. ‘I should have been left to die. A Marauder bewitched me, healed me, but I stopped him before he could complete it.’

  ‘No one is stopping you leaving,’ Melaleuca said incensed.

  Panic ran across Con’s face, and he moved forward to block the door. Ari held Con back, assuring him with a knowing look not to over react.

  Gregand stood his ground, the conflict of wanting to leave warring with some other emotion holding him back. His eyes blazed forth the glazed look of a hardened spirit. With his will he pushed against Lexington and Melaleuca, expecting, like all other girls, they would give way, though his face became gripped by a deeper emotion clawing to be let out.

  Lexington could see beyond his mask, into his conflict, into the shame that mixed with his lidded pain.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Lexington said. ‘You don’t have to die. None of you do anymore.’

  She reached out to Gregand. His desire to flee to his doom, gave way to a small, soft spot, thinly covered by his shame at being rescued. The sweet scent of flowers wafted off Lexington’s hand tantalising Gregand with forbidden feelings.

  Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes, as his guilt brimmed up.

  ‘I am ashamed,’ Gregand said through gritted teeth. ‘I have shamed all my forebears, forsaken our ways. I should be dead or in the Wastelands.’

  ‘Your ways?’ Ari said. ‘Exactly what are your ways?’

  ‘The way of hardness, of strength.’ He choked on his words.