by Marc Watson
“So, are you still planning on heading past the Run?” one man with an aged hunting rifle asked Johan after about ten minutes of searching nothing but wrecked buildings and dying fires. He was a slight, middle-aged man with short black hair and quick, darting eyes under bushy brows. Johan nodded and kept scanning the terrain making mental notes. “Is that so? Well, that does seem like a shame. To make it this far only to die on the road ahead.”
Johan looked at the man, who was staring him down, clearly looking for some reaction. Johan said nothing, but was intrigued at what the man might have to say.
“Oh yes, you’ll meet your end on that road, I promise you that.”
“What makes you so sure your road is any safer?” Johan asked.
The other two had stopped now, wanting to hear both sides of this confrontation.
“Well, there’s strength in numbers for one thing,” he answered, “and for another, even without being chased by the mechanical monsters behind us, the way along the Paieleh is cursed to misfortune and desperation.”
“That’s your argument?” Johan asked, smirking. It was clearly foolish to have listened to the man in the first place. “Curses and misfortune? Good gods, look at us all. Look at this village! I’d say the evil is spread pretty evenly right now. I’ll take my chances, thank you very much.”
The man simply huffed a response and the group continued their search.
The world was a large and complicated place. The gears that turn in all corners at any one point in time are tremendous. No act of God or fate had brought Johan this far. No act of divinity had brought Aryu to him the first time; it was just the way it had to be. Johan Otan’co always knew he was destined for something beyond the life of dishonor his father had bequeathed him. And since he hadn’t found out what that something was yet, it was simply because he had not done what he must in this life, and that was enough for him to put one foot in front of the other every day.
If there was a god left in this world, Johan was inclined to believe that as his search group looped back around to where the caravan waited, god bore a striking resemblance to that of one Cadet Rider August Stroan of the Inja Army.
Stroan was sitting astride his giant horse in his dented and dirty red armor. Johan was glad to see a friendly face, even one he’d only known for a few moments, and approached Stroan who finally turned to see his group with Johan leading the way. A broad smile came to his face.
“When I said I’d see you again, I can’t say I meant it to be so soon,” Stroan said as he dismounted.
“I’m just glad it was in this life and not the next,” Johan said, taking the Rider’s hand.
They sat around a makeshift camp that the Inja Army detail deployed here had set up on the north end of the destroyed town. Here the caravan from the south merged with several other smaller groups that had been in the process of being escorted deeper into the mountains by military escort.
“We left Huan three days ago to the high country of the north-eastern passage, heading for the Komoky Valley and beyond,” Stroan told Johan as he sat with him for the evening meal. He was dressed casually in dirty canvas pants and a thick sweater, his helmet replaced by a knit cap to cover his military-cut blonde hair, a rarity to Johan, but more common in the lands Stroan was from. He’d told Johan he was from the Vein Valley northwest of Tan Torna Qu-ay, on the borders of the Inja where the war with the Westlanders had been waged for years.
His youthful face still contained the sunken eyes, a sure sign that his journey had not been easy. “A Rider from another troop tracked us down, telling us of the fate of Huan. We turned around and met up with more Riders as we came into town, not long before you all arrived. How did you get here?”
Johan began telling him of what had befallen them since they had parted company. He spoke of the blast that had forced he and Aryu to go their separate ways, the needless destruction of Tan Torna Qu-ay, the mountain town and their first encounter with an Ark 1, the deal Aryu had made and the mission he’d left on with the promise to return, and finally their journey here.
“Quite a tale for such a short period of time,” Stroan said. “We had heard of what had happened to your home. I am very sorry. I thought of you at once, hoping you’d not been a part of it. My journey has been less eventful. I met up with my troop and accompanied them and other travelers into the mountains to Huan, where we’d been for a few days before we chose to leave as escorts. Only a small amount of us were going with the caravans;. The rest rode off for the Thunder Run, planning on following the Paieleh, much as you planned to do.”
“That’s still the plan, my friend,” said Johan,
“Yes, well, I believe once we make a few more rounds to determine what happened here, we’ll have to leave the travelers behind and ride on for the rest of the troops that have gone that way.”
“And you still have no idea what happened here?” Johan asked.
“Not a great idea, no. My superiors are piecing it together and there’s not a lot that trickles down a cadet’s way. Essentially I just do as I’m told and follow my orders.”
“But you do know something, don’t you?” Johan pressed. Stroan said nothing. “Stroan, think about all the things I’ve seen lately. Do you really think that whatever you have to say will scare me?”
“It may not scare you,” he began, “but it may certainly make you think twice about either staying here as you planned or following the Paieleh.”
Stroan looked into his face and relented, seeing the determination in the young man. He brought Johan closer, sure that no one at a near-by fire could tune in. “The rumor is a large and nasty group of Ruskan Stalkers did this. Old ones. Smart ones.”
“I didn’t think they traveled in groups,” replied Johan, pondering the possibilities. “They’re so territorial.”
“They are,” Stroan agreed, “but this group wasn’t just attacking randomly. They were organized. They hit, killed, and burned across the whole village like a wave, then took off again into the mountains farther north, led by one who seemed particularly clever. They were in and out in the blink of an eye. There are tracks, but they’re difficult to make out. Our scouts that we sent farther north to the Thunder Run confirmed what appeared to be several tracks heading away from the town, around the lake at the base of the waterfall and continuing up the valley floor. From there, who knows. It’s possible they just wanted to disrupt Huan because it was where so many people were. This place has been packed full since people started running here. Being so territorial, they might have simply had enough, hit Huan, and retreated back to the high country before we could send retaliation.”
“Would they be that intelligent?” Johan asked, mulling over a million different things in his mind (as any story such as this was prone to do to a tactician).
Stroan shrugged. “It’s just a theory, but older Ruskans have been known to talk, plan, strategize, any number of things an animal shouldn’t be capable of as far as we know. Unfortunately, they’re so lost in the unexplored high mountains that no one can confirm any of it. Even what I tell you now is third- or fourth-hand information, honestly.”
The two sat silent, thinking of the multitudes of possibilities. Finally, Johan spoke what had been on his mind.
“You said your troops were heading up the Paieleh. Why?”
Stroan nodded. “There’s a massing of military might from the Westlanders, the Inja Army, and powers from farther places on the south shores of the Blood Sea. At first I thought that was why you agreed with your friend to go there. I’m just hoping that if those Ruskans did go that way, they never caught up with anyone and have since left the trail to their homelands.”
“And this massing,” continued Johan, “is it to confront the Army of the Old?”
Stroan nodded. “To confront, and destroy.”
“I’d love to hear how you plan on doing that,” Johan said, not jokingly.
Stroan gave a weak smile, pulling him closer again. “Because, they aren’t
the only ones with the technology.” And with that, from under his worn-out tunic, he produced the second Ark 1 Johan had ever seen.
-----------------------
Esgona had found a good group to be associated with during the day; a group of families that he’d spent most of the trip assisting. The others in the party seemed to be less astonished by the destruction of the small village. The pillaging that had been so bountiful for most of them was likely a core reason why.
Now, as they sat amongst the masses around scattered fires on the outskirts of what was once Huan, he found himself locked in a dilemma. He had no want or need to accompany the idiot across the way into the deeper mountains, where death was a certainty and it was sure to be quick and painful. He also wasn’t quite up to the trip the others planned on taking to the other valley, trying to run farther and deeper into the mountains they foolishly thought would protect them.
Esgona knew better. He knew firsthand the power of the army that chased them. It was entirely likely they were being watched even now.
He hadn’t lied to Johan; he really did want to be a part of whatever revenge he planned, but he also wanted to be sure he’d live to see it played out.
He sat there long into the night after most had gone to sleep, watching the sky and the things he saw there. Occasionally, an officer on patrol would come by, but never stay for long. Esgona was not the most stimulating company right now.
While he watched the sky, he’d often see the passing of faint, pulsing lights. He knew that they weren’t stars, though that was the story often told to children from Tan Torna Qu-ay so as not to frighten them. They were once used for a multitude of things. Communication in mysterious, invisible ways around the planet. Distant, unimaginably beautiful pictures of the land below them. Many were used for war.
His mother was a smart woman and had never led him astray when it came to these things. They may still be around, always watching. There they float, junk in space, a remnant of foolish times.
Now he had seen the pictures they could take, the ways they could communicate, and had heard the methods they could be used for in war. None of which was useful in any way to these people.
Except one.
Putting aside the humiliation of his family and his terrible choice in friends, Esgona had seen the amazing way Johan Otan’co had with strategy and the interest he’d taken with the ways of the Old.
There was so much hate in Esgona. Hate that needed satisfaction. Here, at this junction, his only two decent options were both certain to lead to the death of everyone. Into the mountains, or the madness. As much as he hated to admit it, the option with the most likely chance for the retribution demanded by the actions he’d witnessed was the path with the person he hated more than any others, save for the freak who was anticipated to join them shortly. (Though, judging by the state of confusion Nixon was in, he doubted it would be as quickly as was promised. The phoenix had too many issues to be resolved so easily.)
He also had more to offer Johan than what he’d given him earlier about the things he’d seen. At the time, he just had no interest in sharing them. Loathing was never so easy to overcome, and he took a small amount of satisfaction knowing how hard it had been for Johan to approach him in the first place.
Something Esgona had said triggered a response, despite trying to keep it as vague as possible. A lack of valuable information and Johan still had come up with something. It may be stupid and rudimentary, but he still had an idea that he thought he could make work based on completely useless, though accurate, information. That was sadly a better option to align with at this time, Esgona decided. No doubt Johan would have a field day with his wanting to go with him. It couldn’t be helped. Besides, he had never told the whole story. The whole story was his and his alone. He may have been heavily wounded, both physically and mentally, but he still had a touch of the old, bullying, intelligent Esgona in him. Let the lower-class asshole and the freak have their fun. When the time was right, he’d show them all why he was the true upperclassman of the group.
Chapter 17
-----------------------------------
The Thunder Run
Esgona was certainly correct. He had taken a moment the next day to inform Johan that he was going with them. Skeptical, now that Esgona could in essence escape to wherever he liked, Johan asked why.
“Because I want them finished off even more than you do, and between my two options here, going with you is the more likely way to accomplish that.”
Johan seemed to understand. He gave him the “Don’t get in our way” spiel that made Esgona’s skin crawl, but in the end the deal was done and the plan was in motion.
Esgona wasn’t the only one planning to dance with death in the Paieleh Valley. Upon learning their escort was pulling out to rejoin other forces at the Blood Sea, a sizable number of the caravan members were willing to forgo the northeast route plan and simply follow the military contingent, content to be near anything that seemed to offer protection. Stroan told them that twenty extra people, totaling four carts, were accompanying them. There was a military contingent of twenty-three (predominantly Riders) and one gas-powered equipment hauler called a Turtle Loader, so called due to its generally slow speed and rounded wooden outer shape that contained storage within. It was ungainly, as most powered carts of the area were, but it burned little fuel, could handle large weights relatively effortlessly, and was a cinch to drive; meaning the controls didn’t have to be manned by an Inja Army officer.
“My time here is shorter than we planned,” Johan commented to Stroan, “but I’m sure if we miss him, he’d understand our need to go with the big, armed group. I’m not sure another few days would have done us any good anyway.” Even if Aryu showed up somehow, the plan wouldn’t change, just the tactics. The information Stroan had told him the night before gave him a very uneasy-yet-hopeful feeling. It didn’t seem as hopeless as before.
After showing Johan the Ark 1, he had explained more thoroughly. “Some of the other military forces from the far reaches of the land surrounding the Blood Sea have many powerful, advanced weapons of their own. We may as well be throwing rocks for all the good we could do against them without something to match them.”
“How far advanced are we talking here?” Johan asked, the possibilities swirling in his head.
“I’m not the best one to ask, again I’m just a Cadet, but the word is they may not have full robot warriors, but some do have weapons that are energy-based like this, as well as vehicles and flying machines.”
“This is craziness!” Esgona said, listening in and fearing every word. “Trade the devil that chases us for the devil that’s just going our way?”
“We know them to be decent people,” Stroan reassured.
“I’m sure they are, but they still have possession of technology.” Esgona wasn’t about to let this go.
“How do we know they’re so good-hearted?” Johan asked, still mulling scenarios over in his mind.
Stroan, sure to quiet them and keep it between the three, leaned into their faces. “Because we’ve been in contact with them for hundreds of years.”
The Inja aversion to technology was more local than anything else. Understanding the fear it could bring, the land to the south expressed no interest in joining their ‘fool’s quest’ and agreed to keep to themselves. The two worlds left each other alone: one out of fear, the other out of respect and understanding.
“We’ve kept in contact quite extensively in that time,” Stroan told them. “Once they learned of the threat to our south, they agreed to intervene. I have no idea the true power or force they have given us, but there are definitely members of at least three technologically advanced countries that have come to aid our cause.”
Esgona was pale as a ghost, but Johan spoke up before he could protest again. “Grow up, Esgona. How did you think we were going to fight back?” Esgona looked at Johan with obvious malice and left as quickly as he’d come, cursing Johan for bei
ng right.
-----------------------
The last day in Huan was spent scouring the town for anything and everything they could carry to make the trip a better one. No one wanted to risk running out of food and supplies halfway into a one-way trip. Most of the available stock was stored in the Turtle, while everything else was spread out between the remaining four carts in case something unfortunate happened to the awkward rolling storage unit. “She’s stable,” Stroan had said, “but she sure isn’t indestructible.”
Johan was wandering around the wreckage with Stroan when he put the question forward about being an extra set of hands for the Riders, something beyond just being another civilian traveler.
“Are you asking to enlist?” Stroan asked, looking at him with confusion.
“No, no,” Johan said at once. “It’s just, I have a lot invested in this whole trip, more than most I would say. I would kind of like to put in a little more than the masses to that end. The more we could do to learn and be taught anything useful to help us the better.”
“You could ask to enlist. You’re a good man. We could use you, that’s not a secret. Your winged friend, too.”
“In all fairness, the path we may choose to take would be much easier without military…restrictions.”
Stroan caught the meaning and understood at once. Johan was looking for training and information for the purposes of revenge. That path wasn’t likely to coincide with the strict rules of warfare that the Inja Army upheld. Of course, neither was this particular enemy. Stroan saw in Johan a determination and resourcefulness that many he served with lacked. That was a set of traits he had no problem keeping around.