Tip reached the path and leapt out of the water nearly three feet into the air. He landed in the middle of the path and placed the wounded animal on the back of the wagon. Prizene came next and Tip pulled her onto the path with such force that he fell back, caught by Prizene as she fell on her knees. They both turned to help Eros, Kenrya, and Azetan, only to see the horror of at least two dozen rizon chasing them. The creatures were obviously moving faster and would overtake them at least ten yards from the safe path. They needed help.
Prizene was about to jump back into the water, when one of the old men, a Human named Henry, stopped her. “No, child,” he said, grabbing her arm, “the young shall not die today.” His dirty gray hair was slicked back from his crinkly face, but his eyes were sharp and knowing. He winked, drew his sword, and yelled, “To battle!”
Several of the old men jumped from the wagon into the water, drawing their swords in the process. While they were slower than the young ones, they reached the others shortly before the rizon attacked. A few of the men stayed in the wagon with their crossbows at the ready. Prizene looked at Tip, who shrugged helplessly, as neither knew what to do but watch.
Aston had warned them that the creatures’ strategy was to knock a man off balance, causing him to fall into the water. Once down, they attacked as a group, savagely ripping limbs and flesh. If a man fell, he was lost. Maintaining one’s balance was the key to survival.
Half a dozen rizon attacked in unison with others close behind them. Each of the lead beasts hurled itself into the air toward one of the potential meals standing in the middle of the wetlands. Swords hit their mark many times, while bolts from the crossbows felled others. As soon as one group of rizon was defeated, another attacked. When a rizon overshot its mark, it found itself unharmed and in the water between the group and the safe path. The old men in the wagon targeted these rizon, fighting to protect the backs of the others.
The supply of rizon seemed endless. Henry turned to help one of his companions only to have a second rizon ram his left side full-force. The old man lost his balance and fell into the water. The force of his weight hitting the water alerted the rizon and they turned from the others to attack their downed prey.
“Eros!” Prizene yelled, as he was closest. “You have to help him!”
As the rizon focused on the fallen old man, the others realized what happened. Fierce splashing indicated his location, as well as the ribbons of red seeping into the water. Eros rushed to Henry’s aid, slashing as many rizon as he could manage. Kenrya, Aston, and the others joined him as he fought to save the old man. With one chosen prey, the rizons’ concentrated efforts were powerful and frenzied. Henry screamed as the razor-sharp teeth sunk into his limbs.
Prizene and Tip watched horrorstruck from the safe path. “We have to do something,” Tip cried. “Give me your sword, I will save him!” He held out his hand to Prizene for her sword.
She stared at him with the look a mother would give a small child. Tip reached for her sword, but stopped when a far-away look glazed her eyes. Then she focused on him again with determination.
“Cover your ears!” she ordered.
The others failed to hear her over the screams of the man and the beasts. Without waiting, Prizene filled her lungs, knelt near the water, and hit a note so high that not even the strongest glass could endure it. The sound waves from the note penetrated the water and halted the creatures’ attack mere moments before the end of old Henry’s life. All the rizon screeched in pain and thrashed in the water, desperate to escape the sound. The others fell to their knees and covered their ears as quickly as they could. The rizon abandoned their prey and retreated swiftly in the direction opposite the safe path. Prizene held the note long enough for Eros and Aston to pull Henry from the water and the group to cover the remaining ten yards back to the path. Once her breath ran out, she stood to give the others a hand.
Aston, Kenrya, and Chimsey tended to the old man’s wounds. The rizon hindered their efforts by hurling themselves across the safe path from time to time in a desperate effort to knock more prey into the water. Though Henry’s injuries were severe, the bleeding slowed sufficiently that they were able to tend to his wounds and bandage him.
From the wagon, Prizene collected the little shivering animal, which definitely matched the description of a flibbit that she learned in class — such a very rare species. The flibbit, stretched, was no more than six inches tall with short brown hair and long, floppy ears. It looked at her with its deep brown eyes and nestled into her hands. She looked at the injury on its hind leg and hoped they could stop the bleeding soon.
By then, the others not tending to Henry had regained their composure and were watching Prizene with the animal. She turned to find them staring at her with looks of disbelief.
“What was that?” Tip asked. “Don’t get me wrong, you stopped the rizon, but my hearing won’t return to normal for days.” He flicked his head and rubbed his ears while saying this.
Prizene laughed. “My mother — well, my stepmother — calls it screeching.”
“Well, whatever it was, it was amazing … and painful,” Azetan added.
Prizene smiled proudly and carried the little flibbit to Kenrya for treatment.
With the injured man tended to and lying safely in the wagon, and the flibbit treated and nestled in Prizene’s arms (as it refused to stay in the wagon), everyone returned to their positions and the party started walking again, eyeing the dozens of water creatures lining each side of the path. Soon, they reached dry ground and could move a safe distance away from the wetlands. They set up camp, two of the men standing guard, and the others wearily crowded around the campfire.
“How is he?” Prizene asked Kenrya, nodding toward Henry.
“He lost a lot of blood and his scars won’t be pretty, but he should live. We’ll know for certain tomorrow,” Kenrya replied. “How is your new furry friend?”
“He keeps shivering,” Prizene noted, showing the little flibbit to Kenrya.
“What is it?” Tip asked.
Prizene pursed her lips in annoyance. “It is a flibbit. We studied them in class.”
Eros added, “I thought they were extinct.”
“Thought to be,” Kenrya replied, “but no one knew for certain. I’ve never seen one, but it does look like the pictures I’ve seen of a flibbit.”
Kenrya called to Aston and asked him to look at the animal. Aston’s gasp was audible. He quickly called the other men over and they all stared in awe at the little creature. In years past, the flibbits numbered in the thousands across the western woods. Over the years, the Graeliths and other attackers hunted them to near extinction. Aston explained his belief that the purging of the flibbits was another ploy of the Tyrnotts, as the flibbits were loving creatures who supported the Miyrans. The men discussed the facts they knew of the little animals and agreed the shivering meant the animal needed nourishment. The men scattered around the area looking for linoya, a bristly plant whose root was the primary source of nutrients for a flibbit. The men returned a short time later with linoya plants dug from the ground, their hands bleeding from the thick, protective needles that grew on the plants.
Aston chopped off the roots and prepared them in short sticks. He held one out to the shivering animal in Prizene’s lap. At first the flibbit showed no reaction, then its nose started to twitch; its little brown eyes opened and spied the linoya root. The flibbit snatched the piece of root and gobbled it greedily. With the root gone, the flibbit stretched as much as its injury would allow and curled up in Prizene’s lap. Within seconds, it was fast asleep. Prizene rubbed its head and, as the animal slept, she opened her front jacket pocket and placed the little animal inside. Within seconds, a soft, muffled snoring was heard from the little flibbit.
“I still can’t believe we risked our lives for such a little animal,” Azetan remarked. “Near extinction or not, how could this pathetic little creature help the Miyrans?”
Prizene straightened
her back and gave Azetan a condescending look. “Flibbits can be very fierce and dangerous. You should fear him!”
Tip snorted. “Fear that?” he asked, pointing to the little lump in Prizene’s pocket. He made a show of trembling, “Ohhh, I am so afraid!” Azetan laughed; Eros shook his head.
“I’m telling you, they’re fierce,” Prizene said firmly, “and we need to give it a fierce name.” She held her hands up like claws and bared her teeth. “Something that will strike terror into the hearts of others.” She looked at Kenrya for support.
“Not my area of expertise,” Kenrya said with a shrug.
Eros pitched in, “Well, Humans have animals we call dogs. Sometimes they’re given fierce names, such as Killer.” Prizene shook her head, then waited expectantly for more suggestions. Eros concentrated, then suggested, “Butch?” Still a “no” from Prizene. “Spike?”
“Spike!” she exclaimed. “I like it. Spike it is.”
Tip rolled his eyes and Azetan almost did the same.
After eating, the group sat around the fire telling stories again, while two of the old men continued their watch at the edge of the wetlands. This time, the marked ones joined in with their own stories. The old men seemed to enjoy Tip’s adventures in mechanics, such as the time he accidentally blew up one of the neighbor’s wagons while repairing a transport vessel’s engine.
One of the old men said, “‘Tip’ — interesting name, young man. Any special significance in that name?”
“Not that I know of,” Tip replied. “My father liked names starting with the letter T, I guess. My older brother’s name started with T, too.”
Aston scratched his chin and said, “‘Tip’ is not a name that makes me curious, but ‘Eros’ is. I’ve never heard another Human with the name. I asked Henry yesterday and he agreed the name wasn’t common.”
Eros hesitated. His mother’s love of Human history had branded him with an unusual and slightly embarrassing name. Maybe he could avoid the details. Eros explained, “One of my mother’s hobbies was Human history. She spent hours reading electronic archives brought from our home world. She chose a name from our history.” He waved his arm dismissively, hoping they would assume it was nothing important.
“Eros was a famous man then?” Kenrya asked.
“Well, not exactly.” Was there any way to stop this? He scratched his head, shrugged, and fiddled with his shoes. When he looked up, they were watching him, waiting. He swallowed slowly. “In the early years of the Humans, there was a group that worshiped multiple gods, god of war, god of water, god of the sky. She named me after one of the gods.”
“The god of what? Of war?”
“Um ... no,” Eros mumbled.
“I couldn’t hear you,” Kenrya prodded. “The god of what?”
Eros gave her an exasperated look. With obvious irritation, he said, “Love and fertility.” He closed his eyes and waited.
The group remained silent for a few moments, then Tip howled with laughter. The laughter spread and in a short time the whole group, except Eros, was laughing hysterically. Tip popped up, ran his fingers through his hair in a mock-sexy pose, and said, “Look at me, ladies! I’m the god of love.” He rubbed his hands down his chest and started blowing kisses at Prizene and Kenrya.
The laughter grew louder and more raucous as Tip’s antics continued. Then Kenrya pointed out he was also the god of fertility.
Tip started shaking his hips, while dancing in a circle and singing lustily, “I am the god of fertility. Oh yeah. The god of fer ... til ... li ... ty!”
By this point, Eros could no longer keep a straight face. As Tip hammed it up even more, Eros joined in the laughter.
As they retired for the night, everyone was still giggling. Disturbing images of the water creatures had been replaced by Tip’s spontaneous performance.
Eros took the early watch. He grabbed his bolas and relieved the old men standing guard by the water’s edge. They certainly moved slower than the marked ones, but having them as guides across the safe path had saved time, and possibly lives. Eros nervously rolled the bolas in his hands. He hoped they were still well ahead of the Graeliths, for surely the Graeliths would take vengeance on the old men for helping them. He scanned the far side of the wetlands and stifled a shiver.
Chapter 39
Mirna helped Tren finish packing his knapsack. They climbed down the stairs to eat breakfast before Tren left on his journey. News had reached them regarding a Plinte girl slaughtered by the Graeliths. She would be honored in Banston. With the hope Tip was alive and knowing the Plinte kept informed of the happenings in the city, they agreed Tren should travel to Banston to seek news of their son’s whereabouts. As many would visit Banston to pay respects to the girl’s family, Tren could easily enter the town without raising suspicion.
After breakfast, Mirna walked Tren to the electronic barrier. They embraced and she made him promise to be careful. He beamed, pleased to see the optimistic smile he knew so well. He kissed her forehead. Then he signaled the gate keeper and started the long walk to the transit station.
Chapter 40
Jurf woke early the day he planned to depart for Banston. He wanted to leave the day after helping the marked ones escape the city, but after discussing the plan with his mother, they agreed he should wait a few days to minimize the cost of staying in Banston. He hoped Prizene and the others had discovered the mechanism to disable the gate or found another path to the forest beyond. As memories of the poor slaughtered Hurfen boy weighed heavily on his thoughts, he didn’t dare walk near the opening to the west. He had wanted to tell the boy’s family, but his mother advised against it. Unfortunately, many in the community believed the Tyrnotts did no wrong and besides, they didn’t know whether the boy’s family was loyal to Anyamae. While guilt gnawed at him, telling the boy’s family could backfire and bring the Tyrnotts’ wrath to his family’s door. He couldn’t risk the danger that posed to his mother and sister.
The mere fact that there was no news regarding the capture of the marked ones relieved him considerably. Indeed, the Tyrnotts and Graeliths would have widely advertised the capture of the group. He smiled as he thought of Prizene, so beautiful and kind. He hoped one day he would meet her again and be able to share tales of great glory in his position among the undergrounders. Surely that would impress her!
He discussed his plans the night before with his mother. While she refrained from outwardly dismissing his plan as unrealistic, she spent considerable time asking him to convince her that this was the best decision for him. Hurfens were not weak, by any means, but they received little respect from other species and his mother was concerned Jurf would not be readily accepted by the undergrounders. After several hours of discussion, her doubts dissipated and she gave Jurf her unwavering support. With any luck, he could discover news of his sister, though hope of her survival had long ago faded.
Jurf packed lightly for his journey to Banston — in part to avoid suspicion he was a marked one joining the Miyran warriors and also due to the lack of clothing and possessions he owned. His mother, with the help of his lowly wages, provided enough food and creature comforts for the family. They never went without, but she lacked the funds to provide for any luxuries for her children. His father had died in a factory accident shortly after his youngest sister was born, and Jurf had abandoned school at a young age to help support his family.
At breakfast Jurf joined his mother and little sister, Jenda, the baby in the family. He spoke sharply with Jenda about the Tyrnotts and made her promise not to go outside their home by herself. He also encouraged her to use the rooftop passages as frequently as possible, again to minimize chances of being discovered by the Tyrnotts. His mother had lost one child already and the second was leaving home, losing the third would be more than she could bear.
With breakfast finished, he hugged his mother and sister and bid them a hearty and optimistic farewell. Joining the undergrounders could be dangerous, he admitted, but he would ea
sily be able to return home for visits. He gathered his pack and the food his mother had prepared and left for the city’s main transit station, due north of the marketplace. Yesterday, he had told the diner owner that he needed a few days off, which meant he didn’t need to stop on the way to the station.
As Jurf walked through the little alleyways, a sense of renewal and purpose coursed through his veins. The sun shone brightly today and, even in the smallest of alleys, the sun’s warmth seemed to penetrate the darkness. The walk lasted no more than an hour, as Jurf skirted through several lesser-known alleys, reducing his travel time considerably.
As he exited the alleyways near the marketplace, he passed a young couple. He gave them a boisterous hello. They seemed taken aback, gave him a quick nod, and hurried by him. That was odd. As he continued on, he noticed the other shoppers also appeared more tense than usual. The air seemed to grow heavy and the hope he felt only moments earlier now began to wane.
Jurf walked across the northern part of the marketplace to the ticket booth and received a nervous look from the ticket seller. “Where you going?” the man asked with a shaky smile.
“Banston,” Jurf replied. “Is everything all right? What’s going on?”
The man started to key in “Banston” to the electronic machine, then stopped at Jurf’s questions. He looked at him, glanced nervously around, then looked back. “Is anyone else nearby?” he asked.
Jurf peered around the booth and the other areas less visible to the ticket seller. “No. I don’t see anyone.”
The Journey of the Marked (The Miyran Heir Book 1) Page 16