“Isn’t this snuffy territory?” Lindsey asked, turning around in a circle, pointing her gun at random noises. Josie’s hand went to her sword as she remembered how bloated and purple the mayor had been after being attacked by a poisonous snuffleupagus.
“It’s the soldiers that have me concerned,” Loyl said, eyes studying the spaces between the trees. “I can already make out their voices.”
“How close are we to the army?” Dante asked.
“Less than an hour.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
A Few Weeks Earlier
(Michael Penn)
Three weeks before the Summer Solstice, the hired laborers began to leave Galatia. Good riddance, Barrett said. They shouldn’t have been here in the first place. I hope the gates hit them on the way out. The mood around town was mildly anxious, but when foreign troops entered the Northlands, that anxiety rose to panic levels. About two hundred Galatians, including families with young children, fled in the middle of the night.
Unfortunately, on the way across the southeastern border, the escapees ran into an army of Bulwarks who either didn’t know what the proclamation said or simply didn’t care. Red was now trying to arrange a meeting with the Bulwark chief to negotiate our captured people’s freedom. In his official capacity as sheriff, Barrett tried to talk him out of meeting with Chief Krom, saying he was needlessly putting himself in danger.
Nonetheless, as mayor, Red said he had to try.
As it was, the Bulwark army had set up camp less than a mile away from my new farm. My wife Jessica and our youngest children were staying at our eldest son’s house in Zena City, but I stayed at the farm with my two strapping sons, Damian and Ryan. They were both big lads like myself and had been champions in the Fight Club. They had taken to the mandatory combat training quite naturally and were hungry to test out their skills. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but it was reassuring to know that they could hold their own.
The night after Jessica left, the three of us sat on the front porch to watch the army’s campfires spread out among the meadows. We hit the trail for several days, scouting up ahead, and reported back the bad news to the council: we were already outnumbered, and the army had only just begun to assemble. And more enemy troops were on the way.
Red told us a story about a Six-Day War that took place in the 1960s. The armies of Egypt, Iraq, Jordan, Syria, Lebanon, Saudi Arabia and Sudan had poised themselves on the vulnerable borders of a tiny nation called Israel. Surrounded by enemies on every side, and hopelessly outnumbered, the Jewish state’s destruction seemed a certainty. Yet, they pulled off a miraculous victory because God was on their on their side. The lesson was supposed to reassure us, because God was on our side as well, but it only made me wonder if our leader had his head on straight.
Meanwhile, Gizmo and a team of engineers had designed a machine to make bullets. It involved a lot of manual labor, but workers were manning the machine day and night to build up the arsenal. A skilled gunner could take out more humanoids than a dozen of King Doyl’s finest archers, evening the odds in our direction.
Another defense we had up our sleeves was Barrett’s charismatic ability to mold the earth to his own liking. This ability had manifested itself in my little brother early on, and by the time he was twelve, like Mickey Mouse in the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, he commanded the soil with a wave of his hand. The ground became a tidal wave, which he froze into the shapes of his imagination. A really flashy charisma, I must say. As the city went up, a lot of people were living in shelters of dry earth that Barrett had built for them using his charisma. The problem was they tended to crumble within a few months, so they only offered temporary respite from the elements.
Down in the bunker, it wasn’t long before the agricultural area was filled with life-sized structures Barrett had made from the soil of the fields. When he was about twenty, he made a full-scale Santa’s Castle, including a throne where I would sit in my red suit and black boots, while a line of children waited to tell me their heart’s fondest desire. After Christmas, the castle fell down of its own accord and was blended back into the field, but every year Barrett would build a new one. Christmas had come and gone this year without much ado, without any castle, but there was always next year. Hopefully, Barrett’s ability hadn’t gotten rusty.
After a day of rain, a large crowd gathered to watch him raise a wall around Zena City. Though the architecture wasn’t nearly as detailed as Santa’s Castle, it was his biggest project ever. The expenditure of energy sent him to bed for days. Four stories high in places, there was only one way through the wall, which Barrett would fill in just before the battle. He even managed to carve out small windows for gun turrets. It was a feat worthy of the history books. I asked Bryce to snap some pictures to include in my journals.
Veronica complained that it was the ugliest thing she’d ever seen. It destroyed the view of the grassy plains, the mountains and the river. Regardless, Barrett’s wall made people feel more secure and they threw a party in his honor.
However, the first line of defense wasn’t Barrett’s earthen ramparts but Gizmo’s electrified fence. The ten-foot-tall posts were already being placed around the perimeter of the capital. Wrapped with a net of metal wires, the electricity going to the hospital from the dam would be rerouted on the day of battle, zapping any enemy combatants who tried to cross it into the afterlife.
We had no delusions about the fence and wall standing for long, but we needed every deterrent we could get. Once the fence failed, and the wall crumbled, and they met the usual knives, swords and guns, our enemies would come against a weapon unlike any they’d ever fought before.
And that was the charismas.
Nate’s electrical charges, Blanche’s telekinesis, fire starters, extra-human strength. The Charismatic Focus Committee was going down the list of abilities now, trying to determine which ones could be converted into useful weapons.
Nevertheless, we were already outnumbered by the Bulwark army alone. The Regalan, Commoner and Deerma armies hadn’t even arrived yet. Their armies were filled with seasoned fighters. Most of our people were newbies.
We’re so frickin’ doomed was the general sentiment around the town.
Those of us in the know about the Seeker of the Four Winds and the Red Squad thought of them as our ace-in-the-hole. Unfortunately, so much time had passed without news of their progress that we had to make plans under the assumption that the Blood Map was a lost cause. The best we could hope for was that the people out looking for it would come home alive. That is—if there was a home for them to return to.
During a private discussion about the missing squad, Veronica and Dr. Steelsun grew very quiet, their faces anxious, and a thousand parental worries hung in the air like the flu bug. Being a parent myself, I understood what they were thinking. How could I have let them go? Why didn’t I see this coming? I should have held them closer? Do they know how much I love them? What if they are hurt and alone?
I placed a hand on each of their shoulders and gave a squeeze.
“I have caught glimpses of their faces in my dreams,” I said truthfully, but made sure to skip the parts where they were dressed like gladiators, and killing to survive. “I’m sure they’re still alive.”
Veronica gripped my hand like a lifeline and began to sob. Dr. Steelsun rubbed her back. We huddled together for a few moments. No words were spoken.
..............................
Late one afternoon, I sat on my porch with a handful of council members and several well-trained Galatians with swords. Chief Krom had finally agreed to a meeting with Red. The two of them were in a private discussion in my kitchen. They had been in there over an hour, leaving Barrett and I to answer endless questions about our mother’s condition. Mostly, we whispered about the upcoming war and grumbled about the humidity.
Finally, the mayor and chief came out of the house chuckling about something. That was a good sign, I hoped. They shook hands in the human way,
bumped bellies in the Bulwark tradition, and then Chief Krom left.
Hope fluttered in my chest as I watched the chief’s squat form bumble through my fields to return to his army.
“Are the Bulwarks leaving?” Veronica asked hopefully.
“Not a chance,” Red said. “But the chief assured me that they are not making a move against Galatia until the morning of the Solstice. And I’m pretty sure he took the bait.”
“What bait?”
“I told him about Mike’s collection, specifically the Wittlesbach, the guns, etc.”
The council and I hushed.
“Uh,” Barrett said sounding as confused as I felt. “Why would you do a thing like that?”
“When I first shook his hand, his violent nature was already apparent to me. All I had to do is plant the seed; his greed and gem lust will do the rest.”
“Have you lost your friggin’ mind? Why on earth would you give him even more incentive to attack us?”
“Not us, sheriff. The competition.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Be patient, brother, this type of planning has to stew a while to thicken.”
“What about the hostages?” Simon inquired.
“When the battle begins, they will be safer as hostages under his protection than inside the walls of Galatia. For now, they are being treated well. After that, he made no assurances.”
“So,” Veronica tested. “What you’re saying is the meeting was a flop. Chief Krom is not going to let our people go.”
“Not a complete flop, but not a success either. I made him better understand our history, our current dilemma, where we have come from as a people, and the direction I see us going. Earning the chief’s respect will go a long way in gaining him as a future ally. Our meeting bridged, though tenuously, the divide that separates our nations.”
“I know Bulwarks,” my brother the sheriff said cynically. “The battle could just as well signal them to slaughter every Galatian they see, including the hostages.”
“There will be a battle, make no mistake about that,” Red said. “But have faith, God did not bring humanity through a plague, nuclear Armageddon, and into the future just to see us destroyed.”
Veronica folded her arms and frowned, not hiding her frustration with Red.
How could my brother seem optimistic after his meeting with the Chief Krom had failed so miserably? Made me wonder if there was a disconnect in his thinking. I stared out beyond the field where the Bulwarks looked like little black flies swarming over a carcass.
“Isn’t it time to start evacuating the women and children?” Simon asked.
“Hold on a minute,” Veronica interjected. “Speaking for the women of Galatia, where are we to go when we evacuate? No kingdom will take us in. What will happen to us if Galatia is defeated and all our men are dead? I’d prefer to stay right here to fight, and possibly die, for the people I love.”
“We are going to have to come up with a way of evacuating the women and children without the Bulwarks knowing about it,” Barrett said, blowing off her questions. “Regardless of age, gender, or status, the Alliance will kill any Galatian they find in the city after the Summer Solstice arrives.”
“Yes,” Red agreed. “I cannot knowingly put them in harm’s way. Let the evacuation proceed.”
“Where is your faith, Red?” Veronica said testily. “If you truly trust that this God of yours has preserved this land for the Galatians, and that our victory is assured, then the last thing you ought to do is send the women and children elsewhere.”
Veronica had a way of making a point stick. Red looked as if he wanted to strangle her, but I knew that she had won the debate. He sucked in a sharp breath, stepped off the porch, mounted his black horse, and rode off toward Zena City.
..............................
About two weeks ahead of the Summer Solstice, the crown prince of Tectonia, Valdor Saberhart, arrived in the Northlands with his father’s army. More troops from the Commoner kingdoms came on foot, horseback, and wagon every day. By the end of the week, over forty thousand soldiers congregated on the edges of Galatia and were camping in the fields and foothills outside Zena City.
I was the last Galatian holdout still living outside the earthen wall. But Sheriff Barrett and six deputies rode out to my homestead and ordered me to the safety of Zena City, which was fortified with enough food and water to feed the population for two months. I was feeling pretty good about that until our Ancient Roman History buffs warned that situations like this could last a lot longer than that.
Naturally, the anxiety level was high. As the dreaded day drew nearer, people walked down the cobbled streets as if they were on the Trail of Tears, holding their children tight, crying as if the last hope in the world had just melted away. Old men and women huddled in Ollie’s Tavern, talking about the Celerun plague, the nuclear holocaust, and the destruction of Galatians Bunker, wondering if this was the incident that would finally kill off humanity for good.
A few days later, the Deermas from the Southlands arrived. Ryan and I stood on the earthen wall with binoculars to take a headcount. There must have been fifteen thousand of them. The antlered humanoids settled on the western side of our city, conversing on two legs, but grazing our grasslands on all four. They sounded like goats, bleating constantly. I was angry to realize that the furry bastards were eating my cornfields down to the nub.
Five days before the Summer Solstice, Prince Loyl’s oldest brother, Major Prince Gerard of The Valley of the Cat People, arrived with five thousand archers and another five thousand foot soldiers. It felt like the Galatians didn’t have a friend in the world. The Regalan prince had his troops take up a position in the western hillside. Prince Gerard himself rode up on horseback to the electrified fence with a band of his archers. He looked a lot like Loyl, and his mannerisms were similar, but his mane of white hair was streaked with thin orange stripes instead of black. While Prince Loyl’s crown was a thin ringlet across his forehead, Gerard’s rose up to a tall peak, indicating his status as first heir to the throne.
Red rode outside the wall to greet him. I came along, gun holstered on my belt, but we kept the fence as a barrier between us.
“My brother, Prince Loyl, is he still among the Galatians?”
“No,” Red said.
“Some believe you are holding him here against his will.”
“Some believe incorrectly.”
Prince Gerard’s slit pupil eyes squinted at Red as if he was debating whether to believe him or not. He started to leave, but as if having second thoughts, he halted his horse, and called out to Red and me, “I want you to know that my father tried to turn the Alliance’s arrows away from Galatia, but he was one voice against many. It is with deep regret that Regala D’Nora is forced to position against you.”
“I regret it, too,” Red said.
“Is it true that you have found the Blood Map?”
“Only half.”
“In its entirety, the Blood Map might have made our people friends,” Prince Gerard said. “But the fates will not have it.”
“Fate is not beholden to the predictions of those it governs,” Red replied
The prince’s slit pupils dilated more as he studied Red a bit closer.
“The rumors that your an unconventional leader seem to be true, Mayor Wakeland.”
“I’ve been called worse, Prince Gerard.”
The prince grinned, showing his sharp fangs. With a tsk of the tongue, his horse carried him across the meadow toward the Regalan campsite on the western hillside.
Chapter Forty
(Michael Penn)
On the fourth day before the Summer Solstice, Red was spotted on his knees next to the Mouth of God with his hands folded in prayer. A small group had gathered to watch. I wasn’t sure why; were they hoping for divine reassurance about our fate? Red’s gray eyes lifted to heaven, his lips silently moved. Then, lowering his gaze, he recollected himself. Clearing his throat, he
addressed the spectators.
“Please, let your friends and neighbors know that I’m holding a public meeting in National Square within the hour.”
Back at Bryce’s cottage, where Barrett and I were enjoying a game of checkers, Isaiah came to deliver the news about the meeting.
In turn, Barrett looked at me as if I had somehow betrayed him.
“What is this about, Mike?”
“No clue,” I shrugged.
We arrived at the square outside of the National Building where the crowd had already grown quite large. Nerves were pulled tight, but the flowery scent of hope lingered in the air. Was it possible that Red was about to divulge his plan to save the city? He stood on the landing at the top of the steps, and waved at me to come stand by his side, while Sheriff Barrett came to stand at his right.
He began by thanking everyone for showing up on such short notice, then acknowledged their fears and concerns. I had no idea what was coming next. If I had, I might have pushed Red down the steps for his own good.
“We have endured more than our share of trials,” the mayor addressed the people, “but rest assured, God has not forsaken us. No, quite the contrary. He told me to bring you here today to ask you to do penance, to atone for the sins of humanity and its lack of faith in Divine Providence. In return, God will deliver Galatia from her foes and sustain us until the end of time.”
“The end of time is four days away,” a man shouted from the crowd. “We don’t have time for atonement.”
“If God wants to help us,” a woman joined in, “tell Him to send us more guns!”
The crowd murmured assent. Many nodded their heads. Though I was a man of faith, I found myself doubting my beloved brother’s words. The stress of leading the Galatians had made him crack. I wasn’t sure what to do, how to appease the growing agitation of the crowd.
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