“Anyway,” John huffed, sort of irritated his friends weren't interested in the finer details of dome/sphere construct, “remember the badasses we trounced when we were there on our informative visit?”
The group nodded. “Dead or alive?” Tiff laughed.
John smiled grimly. “Both. They're criminals from our world. These idiots left salt quartz. It directly breaks the pulse rhythm that allows the dome to rejuvenate itself...”
“It does?” Sophie asked.
John nodded. “Yes, it's so fascinating! You see...”
Caleb raised his hand, “John, come on, stop the shiny thing and get to the point.”
John grinned. “Alright. Anyways, it is on a monthly cycle in which the pulse-signal 'reboots'. When this happens, the interior environment is cleansed, the older air released to the outside, and new air drawn and filtered for the interior. It also strengthens the walls by drawing on the electromagnetic fields of the earth through the pulse system interlay that is integrated within the structure itself.” John looked at each of them expectantly. Seeing some confusion but mostly understanding he went on, “What it means is that somehow, the criminals we ran into, must've gotten ahold of these salt crystals, used them as pseudo weapons to damage the sphere and the hapless residents are sitting ducks for this criminal contingent to come in and take over.”
Caleb palmed his chin, thinking. Finally he said, “We're gonna have to stop this. Shut down this Pathway thing, make it so they can't return.”
“That's naïve, Caleb,” Archer said.
Caleb frowned.
Archer expounded, “They'll just send some other scientists to do another dirty job.”
Caleb shook his head. “No. We need to destroy their access, fix the dome,” he looked at John, “sphere... and put the Graysheet dudes on notice.”
Alex and Bry laughed. “You and what army?” Bry asked, his muscular arms folded over his chest.
Caleb's eyes narrowed. “This is where the sissy-sucking-titty-babies get off the train, guys.” Caleb's eyes swept the group, challenging all that were there. “Parker has been a problem...”
Jonesy chortled in the background and Caleb silenced him with a stare. “But this time, maybe we can do something for the good of both worlds. We weren't meant to skip all this evolution, right John?”
He nodded. “No, they've used a circumstantial challenge from a world that's not ours, applied it to a legitimate genetic discovery and made a new species of people with that stolen genetic code.”
“Who?” Randi asked.
“Us,” Alex answered.
The group fell into an uneasy silence.
John's final comment made the decision an easy one for Caleb, “And the girl...” John began and Caleb intuited which one he meant.
“The red-head?”
John nodded.
“She's the key to all this. She's center stage in their plans.”
“What do you mean, John?” Jade asked, a furrow between her brows.
“She was the one they got the genetic material from. She has the properties of both the indigenous peoples there,” John responded.
“So... what is she?” Bry frowned at Tiff. “I mean,” she began again, giving him the piss off look, “I know she is the 'queen of Ohio',” Tiff said, rolling her eyes. “But beside that handy little detail... so what?”
“She's their genetic messiah,” John answered.
The group waited.
“They call her the 'Key',” John elaborated.
“The key to what, dude?” Jonesy asked.
“Control.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Edwin tore toward Daniel and Philip, his sister found and in a state of unconsciousness. He reached them and saw nothing but blood, bruises and cuts. “What say you?” he asked in a hoarse voice. His amber eyes searched Philip's. “How hurt is she?” Then, “Did you kill the vermin that did this to her?”
“Yes,” Daniel said, “I gutted him like a pig.” His eyes remained steady on Edwin's.
“Aye, that is good. Most good,” Edwin answered. He looked at Philip and saw that he would not be able to pry the arms that held her for all that was in this world. Edwin realized that Philip's vigilant care might be more than just the obligatory protection offered by the Band. Philip pushed past him as he made his way to the Band. Daniel and Edwin followed. Edwin's thoughts swirled around Philip and his sister, her future. She must return to the clan of the sea. Her birthright firmly in place. After all, his parents were the leaders of his clan. As their daughter, she must return, be mated within their region. No matter, that would be addressed in due time. Seeing to her health and safety was paramount. All other interests, regardless of merit, fell to the wayside in the face of the current circumstance.
Clara saw the haggard group approach them and reluctantly broke away from Matthew's arms, seeing Edwin scowl she nearly lost her temper. Could he not let the issue of their courtship drop? Surely, his wounded sister and the battle that bled at their feet took precedence? Clara swallowed her indignation with supreme effort, badly wanting to speak, but realized it would do nothing to help the matter at hand. Instead, swallowing her pride, her eyes swept the group, miraculously unharmed. She could not believe their good fortune. The dead lay everywhere, it seemed, but the Band stayed whole and alive.
Something seemed amiss. Clara stilled and Bracus raised his brow in inquiry. She almost had it.... her eyes snapped to Charles' and his mouth opened softly in a sickening “O” of understanding.
“Caesar was not amongst them,” he said.
“Yet he kidnapped Queen Clara for the wretched fragment?” Clarence elaborated, his voice holding the same bewilderment the group felt.
“I think not, Clarence,” Clara began, Matthew watching her face closely. Finally, he spoke, “Nay. There is another matter afoot. He took you for a purpose and left you behind for one as well.”
“What can it be?” Rowenna asked as Maddoc and Evie joined the group, Evelyn's eyes wide and shocked. Maddoc had scooped her up against his body, his intense turquoise eyes roaming their perimeter warily.
Ceaselessly.
Clara saw all the Band behave thus and she watched as the air seemed to shiver in pregnant pause.
Then, off in the distance, she heard riders, but not before the Band had their weapons naked in their mighty hands, the women in the circle of their protection, an unconscious Calia laid out behind Philip, his teeth bared to the coming threat.
*
“There,” James pointed, Sarah's horse loosely tethered to his.
“Is Clara amongst them?” she asked, tension singing along her body in a tight line.
“Aye, I see the fire of her hair.”
“That's her!” Sarah cried, clapping her hands in joy. Soon, she would be reunited with Clara. She was alive, all was well, the fragment defeated. Now all that was needed was for them to return to their sphere and all would be as it should be once again.
As they approached, five of the Band from the Central Clan of Ohio in accompaniment, Sarah's fine smile faded. They were far too grim for her liking.
When they arrived she slid off her horse and ran to Clara, throwing her arms around the smaller woman, almost causing her to topple.
Clara stumbled under the affection of Sarah and wiped tears of gladness that sprung unbidden as she gave her a fierce hug back.
Sarah clasped her palms on either side of Clara's face, grimacing at the marks laid upon it. “Who has beaten you again?” she asked, giving Matthew accusing eyes.
“I could do nothing, it was I against three. But we took revenge, did we not, Clara?”
“Aye,” Clara said, looking down, remembering. Then she lifted her gaze to Sarah's. “It was Tucker,” she whispered.
“That foul encumbrance! Excellent!” Sarah nearly cheered.
Clara's face crumpled and she burst out crying.
“Why do you cry, dear heart...” Sarah looked around frantically and then she looked at Ma
tthew overlong. “Did he... has he?”
“No,” Matthew said stiffly. “It did not go as far as that. But further than I would have ever wished,” he said, moving Clara against him again and away from Sarah.
Sarah looked at Clara crying. “Tears do not come easily for you. Do you cry for that debauched man? Really?” Sarah's gaze searched Clara's face for a reason for her sadness.
Clara turned her head to Sarah, her strength ebbing suddenly. She leaned the uninjured side of her face against Matthew's broad chest. His heartbeat comforted her, a balm to her shredded nerves. “He was Band.”
“No!” Sarah scoffed, stepping back a pace.
“Aye,” Matthew asserted.
Sarah looked to the group. “How can that be?”
Philip spoke and she squirmed uncomfortably underneath his gaze, remembering the tension that was always there between them, “It happens. Sometimes, women are taken that possess the blood of the Band and their offspring manifest in that,” Philip said disdainfully, jerking his thumb in the vague direction of the forest.
“It was the most difficult thing I have ever done,” Clara said. “I knew, in my heart,” she placed her small fist on her chest, “that he had finally received the directive of the Band, recognized what his fundamental purpose was. But too late,” she finished quietly, the sound of her voice dying out in the unnatural stillness that had cloaked the open meadow.
The group lay silent, thinking about how much blood it would take to have one of the Band be completely what they were meant to be... or not.
In the case of Tucker, his self-realization had come too late to save him from certain death. The manner of which was meted by the one person he should have protected, ended by another he should have had rapport with.
It was with a heavy heart that Clara listened to James and all he surmised about the situation at hand.
He showed Clara the crumpled note that came straight from the pigeon's breast. President Bowen's Band would be here to stabilize.
To kill if necessary.
Clara was so tired of strife and death. She wanted it to end.
Clara yearned for peace.
For all.
*
The Kingdom of Ohio
“Fetch that for me, servant,” Caesar ordered of the serving girl. Then cocked his head to the side. There was something vaguely familiar about her, yet he did not know what. “Who in the Royal Manse do you serve directly?”
Olive shifted on her feet nervously, she knew it to be a trap but did not know how. She wished fervently that she could get out of this awful man's presence and get what he needed. She did not want to speak with him. It could only mean things would worsen.
She hesitated and he raised his hand to strike her and she popped out with, “Queen Clara,” she said with speed, watching his hand like a mighty rock with knuckles, arresting its descent-in-progress with her quick answer.
“Queen Clara... what?” he prompted, peeved by her insolence.
Olive blanched. “Queen Clara, your majesty,” she answered and was unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. It had always caused her trouble.
As it did now.
Caesar gave Olive no warning as he hit her, the blow knocking her backward, where she fell on the hard ground and yelped.
Olive was instantly reminded of Queen Ada and lurched unsteadily to her feet, running for the door. She was gripped from behind and ripped off the ground.
“I have not yet submitted to a Wedded Joining with our dear Clara so you will have to do in her stead,” Caesar hissed in her ear, his intent clear.
She screamed with everything she had, kicking and fighting while Caesar tore the dress from her body, shredding it from neck to hip, her breasts tumbling out before his lecherous stare.
Peter the butler heard Olive's screams and spit the blood out of his mouth where it fell onto the marble floor he had been polishing but one day past. The blade from the ruffian guard of their neighboring sphere pressed sharp against his throat.
“Do not think to aid the lowly maid, my friend. Be thankful you have not captured the eye of our dear Caesar. Or your fate would be much worse.”
Peter wished to hang his head in forlorn misery, but the blade kept him still. He listened as Olive's horrible screams went on and on. When finally they died down to whimpers, the acoustics of marble and stone amplifying her torture, the first tear escaped Peter's eyes.
The poor creature.
Oh, Queen Clara... Peter mourned, where might you be?
*
Billy snuck up behind the vagabond pair that had beaten his dear friend and butler of nearly thirty and two years of loyal service at the Royal Manse. His burly arms, built from years of kneading countless loaves of bread for half the kingdom, raised the solid hickory of the rolling pin above his head and swept it down on the first guard that held Peter.
He fell like a sack of flour, Billy noted with satisfaction.
The other turned with his dagger, flinging it out in a clean strike that just missed contact as Billy jumped back, swinging the pin in an arc directed at the ruffian’s snout.
The fellow let out a gurgled scream, staggering backward, his hands covering his nose. Billy paid it no mind, moving in behind him, he swung the pin down hard and low, hitting him behind the knee. He folded like an accordion never played, falling to the floor with a resounding thud.
Billy straightened.
Peter looked at his old friend. “Thank the Guardian. Bolt the door, my friend. Where there are two, there be more.”
“Aye,” Billy said, clutching the rolling pin, now stained with the blood of their enemies, latching the solid brass pin into place.
Billy turned back to Peter, his face a mass of swollen lumps, holding his ribs where they were surely cracked. “Caesar has done something terrible to our Olive!”
Billy bared his teeth. “Let us do away with him then,” he said almost casually and Peter thought again that perhaps Billy would have better served the kingdom as a guard than a baker. Billy held up the rolling pin, so useful as a weapon, and scowled when he saw the stains upon it.
Apparently, its days of rolling out doughs were no more.
Billy saw his look as they climbed the stairs. “What say you?”
Peter smiled around the rawness of his wounds. “I say, you may have been better suited to non-domestic pursuits.”
Billy was breathing hard but answered, rounding the corner to where Caesar had laid claim during his overthrow of the kingdom, “Aye.” That was all he said, the sight of Olive on the floor, naked and bleeding stopped the men in their tracks.
“Dear Guardian,” whispered Peter.
The men fell by her still form, not a patch of skin uninjured, the whole of it covered in the abuse of Caesar.
*
Clara and the Band stood Outside, the huge portal that allowed entry into the sphere tunnel a gleaming dull gold in the fading light of the day. Clara raised her face to the sky, the temperature slightly warmer than in the morning.
The battle they had partaken in heated their blood from the inside out.
The small holes of the sphere walls were now the size of Clara's torso; the environment of the sphere undoubtedly compromised.
She now speculated with a grim certainty that Caesar had laid some perverse claim on her kingdom in her absence.
Clara had many challenges ahead.
The very sphere she had gone to in her time of need, had ultimately betrayed her with a creature more insidious than Prince Frederic. Verily, madder- but cleverer as well.
Clara frowned, looking over her shoulder at the additional Band. How would a mere dozen of the Band neutralize the threat of the dredges of Kentucky? Had King Otto lost total control? Did Caesar now rule?
Bracus, Philip, Edwin and Matthew used the key that Clara always carried to unlock the portal.
It did not move.
Matthew turned to Clara, seeing the worry etched upon her features, knowing full well what
had put it there. Her concerns were his.
“It does not move, Clara. Perhaps another key?” he asked, looking at the key in his huge hand, polished brass and large.
She knew it was the very key for the portal, having procured its fashioning after the last siege.
Clara came to his side, studying the key that lay there. “Nay, this is the one, I am certain.”
Matthew and Bracus looked at one another. “They have damaged the locks? They have barred our entrance, anticipating our return?” Bracus speculated.
“Nay, it makes no sense. That weasel of a royal has his sights set on Clara,” Matthew glowered at his own words. “Yet, he bars our eventual entrance?” He shook his head, negating the possibility of such.
“It be something else,” Edwin said. “Someone else.”
In that moment, a coincidence of magnitude occurred.
Winking into their space in a flash of iridescent light that was at once blinding and beautiful, like a bubble set in the sun with water upon it, the Travelers burst into existence.
Color washed over Outside, sealing the grave markers in a multitude of pale colors that rippled and swarmed, causing their milky whiteness to glow in phosphorescence for a moment, then was gone.
Matthew and the rest of the Band took the women behind them. Rowenna shoved past Bracus and stood at his side while he frowned down at her.
“Wipe that look from your face, Dear Heart,” she said mildly.
Bracus sighed, stubborn woman.
Clara looked at the young Travelers and felt a hope in her heart spark. Perhaps these young ones could aid them if there be any wish of resolution.
She made a move to go forward to meet the young man who controlled the foulness that was death and Matthew put his hand around her arm in warning. “Caution be the order of the day, Clara,” he said in a low voice.
“Aye,” she responded even as she walked the three horse lengths to where the boy stood, her mind on her people.
On hope.
*
Caleb
Caleb saw the young woman with the red hair. The queen, his mind reminded him, approached him cautiously and his eyes flicked to the huge dude behind her, his eyes steady on Caleb.
savage 04 - the savage vengeance Page 21