“You’re lucky we came looking for you then,” the man states. “What happened to my men who went to Trimod?”
“Sent.” Sanet grins.
The man grins back, showing pointed yellow teeth. “You must be Sanet. My curam is Paulo. Is this my approshment gift?”
He motions to another crimson boy, no more than eighteen, who attempts to pull the rucksack from Bernard’s grip. At first, Bernard is easily too strong for the young boy’s pull, but Sanet shakes her head. Bernard, rolling his eyes, releases the rucksack, sending the obstinate boy backward and the crew into fits of laughter.
Recovering, the young boy curses and brushes himself off before reaching haughtily into the rucksack. He tosses aside wet clothing and Sanet’s pad—all those ruined thoughts—before pulling out two pieces of brass: the small fragment they found in Trimod and the other larger part they formed from the first two. Paulo reaches for the two pieces. He examines them and, without show, clinks them together, creating a single rounded piece from all three.
“Sur Cadwellion will be pleased. Take them below and set course for Carvinga.”
He walks off as they’re lifted away. Ethan yelps as they drag him by his broken leg, and Sanet swallows her pain as they yank her by the shoulder.
“Careful, Cadwellion will not approsh if you treat her ill,” Bernard warns.
Paulo sneers as they’re shoved across the deck to the darkened brig below.
❖❖❖
They’re placed into a holding cell below deck, and when the two crimson men leave, Bernard shifts his focus to Sanet’s shoulder. “It’s pretty bad. We’re going to need to pop it in soon.”
Sanet closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Please, I can’t cope with that right now.”
She opens her eyes again to see Bernard staring quietly. He nods with understanding.
Ethan sets himself against the back wall, pushing out his leg, mangled and bent. He tears off the upper portion of his pant leg to see a chunk of bone extending out. “Lincoln, that doesn’t look right.” Ethan leans his head back, focused solely on breathing.
After a few majors, an older crimson man with a cape halfway down his back climbs down the stairs carrying a small purse.
“Hello, good souls.” He opens the cell door. “Please, do not try anything heroic. I’m here only to see to your injuries and have no intention to harm any of you.” He steps inside and locks the cell door behind him. Bernard moves aside as the crimson man looks Ethan over first, then Sanet. Eventually, he turns to Bernard. “And how are you doing, Bernard is it?”
“It’s them who need help.”
“Yes, I can see.” He pulls from his purse some instruments and bandages. “I’ll need you to help me. Do you trust that I’m here only as a nurse?”
Bernard hesitates. Sanet knows his seething hatred for the crimson men, but he nods nonetheless.
“Then you’ll need to follow my instructions carefully.”
He begins on Ethan’s leg, having Bernard hold Ethan still, keeping him calm as he winces and screams between the cracks and pulls of the nurse’s treatment. Bernard attempts to talk to Ethan, asking him about Mercet and Undess.
“Of all people, I don’t want to talk about her,” Ethan says through his screams. The nurse continues to set the bone and finally wraps his leg. After Ethan, he turns to Sanet, checking her shoulder.
“Not as bad. We’ll need to pop it back in.”
Sanet looks Bernard in the eye and shakes her head. “Don’t say anything.”
Bernard presses his lips in a soft smile.
The nurse clutches her softly by the neck and either side of her body and snaps her shoulder, to which Sanet exhales a full-bodied scream. After more treatment, he wraps her arm in a brace and hands them both small balls of red medicines to swallow. In the end, he gives Bernard a tube of white oilment for their burned skin. He also hands him some red oilment for the swelling and deep bone fractures. “You three should rub both in every few hours, over your arms and faces. I’ll check on you in the morn, but you should rest for now.”
The nurse repacks his purse as Bernard looks over the containers of oilment. “Could this red oilment have worked on emorteen poison?”
“Perhaps. The cures of oilments are still new to most of us. We’re learning as we go what works and what doesn’t.” Bernard doesn’t respond.
The nurse leaves the cell and returns up the staircase. The kleep rocks softly in the drift, and Sanet, tired from the long day lost at sea, rests her head on Bernard’s shoulder and fades to sleep.
❖❖❖
Over the next few days, Sanet and Ethan heal acceptably to the nurse, who returns every morn and dusk to stretch them and check on their progress, insisting they keep applying the oilment to their burned faces. They’re fed small meals, which are enough to keep them alive, but not enough to keep them from being hungry. They drift in and out of sleep, with dawn and dusk jumbled. Sanet turns down repeated plans to escape or fight their way to take over the kleep. Bernard grows restless and bored and so sends Brute out the small window across the room while he listens to the crewmates holler and howl at the little frek stealing their food and small tools. On more than one occasion, Paulo comes down to the cell to threaten sending the creshwillow left.
“All for nothing, I guess?” Ethan states one morn, as he practices hobbling across the cell. “We could have done absolutely nothing, and it would have made no difference.”
“At least we know where the brass is, and I’m sure there’s still something we could do,” Sanet states encouragingly.
“How galling. I could be haynest with my son, instead of on this needless trip.”
There is no answer or response to Ethan’s lament. Like everything Sanet has been asked to do, it all comes back to feelings of manipulation and loss of control.
A week later, Paulo greets them, waking them from their sleep. “Come with me. We’ve something to celebrate.” They’re led outside to find the whole crew in various states of jarentness, laughter, and celebration. The moon is full, and the sea is calm. One of the men sets off a burst of celebratory lights into the sky.
“By now, the Roar should have made his way into Carvinga and the war started.” Around them, there are great cheers and calls for celebration. The three are given mugs of ale. “Drink, drink, we should all be celebrating!”
Sanet and Bernard exchange looks, taking small sips. Ethan, defiant, pours his out.
“Now that’s a waste there, boy,” Paulo says.
Sanet puts her hand on Ethan’s shoulder. She looks around and sees Brute hanging on one of the crimson men’s shoulders, digging through his hair. A feeling of helplessness courses through her. Neither Ethan’s defiance or Brute’s indifference seem to fit her mood. Perhaps, I just want to live the simplicity of Bernard’s night gardening.
“Since it’s been a few weeks,” Paulo continues, raising his mug, “I’ve decided to allow each of you to roam my kleep freely. Of course, if you try anything, I’ll be forced to send you left. But it’ll be you first,” he points to Ethan, “then the old man. And finally, we’ll have to keep you below decks,” Paulo finishes, staring directly at Sanet. “Sur Cadwellion doesn’t want his daughter sent left anytime soon.” He grins without teeth.
Brute suddenly catches sight of Bernard and dashes over to hug Bernard’s neck. “On seconds, it’ll be that cog of yours that’s sent first, old man,” Paulo says with indignation.
“Not a cog,” Bernard grits beneath his breath.
Paulo shrugs and calls for another round of drinking.
❖❖❖
The kleep continues along for another two weeks, sailing in various weather states, but with more control and stability than Johan’s. Ethan continues to recover, first needing full crutches and then only the help of others to move around. Eventually, he’s able to limp across the deck on his own. The crimson men laugh and jest and cheer him as he does. He waves them off.
Over duskmeals, Pa
ulo is cheerful and pleasant, inviting the three to dine with him. He implores them to share their stories of obtaining the brass pieces. They respond with hasty and uninspired tales. Bernard continues to plot what they might be able to do once they arrive on the shores of Carvinga, each scenario madder than the other. It would require unexpected luck and most likely end in someone being sent.
Ethan suggests that at some point they should find the brass and toss it over, but at every turn around the kleep, they’re being watched with a careful eye. Every hour, every minute, a crew member has eyes on them, and when caught, they nod with knowing smiles.
After days of trying, Paulo makes Sanet laugh. He jokes about the ranpart’s incompetence, and she comes to discover that these crimson men are half believers and half coinhires. Sanet asks Paulo about his thoughts on the Roar, but he gives her little information. Just as she’s unwilling to part with any truths she knows, Paulo treats her with the same distrust. Bernard is still disgusted by the whole of the crew and looks ready to strangle them all.
“Why do you even follow the ranpart?” Bernard asks Paulo.
“I don’t follow him. The man pays me. And if that’s the labor, I don’t question his action. That’s the choice I’ve made, and because I’m good at it, I’m content,” Paulo says with little modesty.
“But the man sends people left. He’s killed for his own twisted foretales. Do you want to be associated with someone like that?” Sanet asks.
Paulo doesn’t answer and instead shrugs off her question with another sip of ale.
❖❖❖
On another morn, Sanet becomes sick and spends the evening in a relief chamber. She sits alone in the room for hours on end feeling nauseous as the room spins unceasingly. She mentions this dizziness to Ethan, who holds her hand and, unexpectedly, rubs her small rounded stomach. “Do you mind? Have you felt any different lately? Physically, I mean?” She nods. In the past few weeks, her stomach has felt fuller, even though her appetite has increased. Ethan, at first, takes the disclosure without answer, then speaks. “It’s likely just a bout of Johan smiles.” He brushes a piece of hair over her ear. “Nothing to worry about.”
Days later, on an unusually warm morn, a thin sea mist burns away to reveal the shoreline in the far distance. The men aboard cheer and yell, enthusiastic to finally see the Land. The rest of the day is full of chatter about sleeping without a rocking bed and the foods and men and women they’re going to indulge in. Paulo is the only one to lament the sight, clear his joy is with the sea. Ethan, fully recovered, races crew members across the main deck, the tensions of boredom and being among enemies thin and untraceable.
“We’ll need to put you back in the cell,” Paulo tells them.
“Afraid we’ll escape?” Bernard smirks.
“Like you wouldn’t?” Paulo nods for a few crewmates to bring them down below.
The three are then led into their familiar cell and small metal bracers are placed over their wrists. Once the crewmates lock the cell door and leave them alone, Bernard begins to pace once more. “So, what’s the plan?” He looks to the others with hopeful, eager eyes.
“Pretty sure that’s going to be all up to what happens when we get to shore,” Ethan states.
Bernard is unimpressed with such uninspired logic.
They wait, unable to view any details from the small window on the other side of the room. After a few hours, they dock as the entire kleep wobbles and then comes to a diminished rocking.
A commotion rises outside, and they hear crewmates start to jump kleep, splashing down into the waters below. The sound of a large thunk hits the main deck, echoing across the room, and things draw quiet after everyone has left.
Bernard steps up to the cell door and begins to shake it.
“Keep calm, Bernard. They won’t keep us down here,” Sanet says, holding Bernard by the shoulder.
“I could probably pry this door off if we need too,” Bernard states plainly, turning back to them.
“I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Only saying I probably could.” He grips the door slightly, which creaks at his touch. “Definitely could.”
Sanet shakes her head. “Listen.” A muffled conversation is taking place upstairs. “They’re coming down.”
The voices grow louder as the door to the main deck opens and daylight beams down into the brig. Sanet shields her eyes as the silhouette of a tall and lean body blocks the sun. Ranpart Cadwellion. The figure steps down to them, and as it does, the three of them back away from the cell door. Wellion stands imposing and taller than the others around him.
“Sanet, dear, how sad to see you here. Guards, unlock them.”
Two guards maneuver around Wellion and hastily open the cell door. Sanet stands against the back wall as they swing it open.
“Come, dear, follow me.”
He turns and begins up the staircase. The three hesitate for a minor before they follow behind, passing the guards, who take up the rear. Reaching the main deck, they find the kleep lined up along a makeshift dock and a ramp that leads down to the beach. All along the shoreline and around the surrounding grasslands are tens on tens of ingreves, with getwishes standing between them, and mounted on all the large and smaller freks are onlooking twofooters.
“Guards, remove these bracers from my daughter and her friends.” Wellion extends his long fingers, then walks along the ramp leading to the beach.
The guards push for the three to follow. On the beach, the surrounding march looks even more intimidating. All eyes are on them. Ranpart Cadwellion turns to Paulo, who steps forward, handing Wellion the large brass fragment. Wellion turns it over in his hands and beams.
“How did I know you’d disobey me, Sanet?” Like being scolded by a father, Sanet has a sudden flush of guilt. Wellion spins back to address the entire march. “Fellow Misipiants, we have found the remaining pieces of the brass. We are now poised for success in our undertakings against the Carvingians. No longer shall you live in fear of them. No longer shall they send your brothers and sisters, your wives and husbands, your children left. You shall be the conquerors. You shall conquer . . . with this!” He holds the brass up, and at its sight, everyone cheers. Sanet scans the massive march. Paulo is unimpressed. “At dawn, we will continue our march upon the tenfooters’ stonetin. We will reunite the brass and we will . . . win . . . this . . . war!” A final cheer goes out across the crowd, sending the getwishes rearing backward.
And then the tenfooters attack.
The first sign comes when some of the twofooters take shots to the back, falling off the ingreves and rolling, sent left onto the sands. “We’re being attacked!” shouts one of the twofooters.
Sanet watches as suddenly a gang of tenfooters smashes through the tall grasses. They have clubs and arrows and slings. The ingreves turn as twofooters make their attack.
Bernard grabs Sanet by the shoulder. “I think this is our major.” Bernard waves to Ethan, pointing his mitted hand to the grasslands.
“In there?” Ethan asks, concerned.
“Better idea?”
Ethan looks around and, shaking his head, follows Bernard, who leads the way into the grasses. Sanet hesitates for a minor, the chaos around her growing by the minor. Looking into the blades, she recalls her long, exhaustive chase of the neox. With a deep breath, she follows the two and crashes back into the tall grass. The pursued where once she was the pursuer.
Chapter 32
A BATTLE BETWEEN TWOS AND TENS
The thwack of thick green blades hits Sanet instantly, and she presses her hands forward, trying to keep track of Bernard and Ethan, who disappeared into the blades before her. The sounds of the skirmish are all around her. Screams and yells and curses fill the air, and then she feels the rush behind her. Over her shoulder, a large ingreve opens its vertical mouth wide, releasing a deep rumbling growl before charging at her. She turns forward and continues to run.
“Bernard! Ethan!” she screams.
Afraid to lose them, but also afraid to be caught by whatever might be in pursuit, she cuts slightly east as the ingreve brushes past her, whacking grass blades into her back. She races through the blades and spots a clearing ahead. She pushes a few remaining blades aside to find herself before three ingreves surrounding a barwolf. This monstrous frek, thirty measures high, is currently unrolled, showing massive claws that are ten feet wide and dug into the dirt below. It opens its mouth, wide as its body, and chomps at one of the ingreves, tossing five twofooters off it and sending them thudding to the ground. As they scramble to stand, a tenfooter straddled atop the barwolf leaps down with a spear aimed to stab one of the twofooters. In a swift, deft swing, he slings the spear east, throwing the impaled twofooter into the others. Behind him, the barwolf curls in on itself, creating a massive woolly ball that bowls and crashes into the ingreves. One of the fallen twofooters attempts to crawl away, but the tenfooter, without mercy, stomps over and pierces him with the spear. Letting out a guttural scream, he spins to Sanet.
As she’s about to run, Wellion appears from a side of the clearing, his hand outstretched and his glass orb floating inches above it. His other hand points at the tenfooter and squeezes into a fist, crumbling the body before her. All sent without cause. Before he catches her presence, Sanet disappears into the grasses.
She runs ahead blindly, registering the whoosh of passing bodies—tenfooters and twofooters, getwishes and barwolves—all of them emitting rage, distress, or fear. She continues to run and uses what little perception she must to hear if anything is in front of her or to her sides. She cuts east. Then west. Then east for a major. Then straight.
Advent of the Roar (The Land Old, Untouched Book 1) Page 37