The Black Sentry

by Bernhardt, William

  The bowman whipped around, his face transfigured by rage. He swung his fist, pummeling Xander on the side of his face. He managed to keep his head together. He flew at the bowman, shoving him back, butting his head into the man’s stomach.

  The bowman’s anger intensified. He brought his fists down at the base of Xander’s neck. The pain was intense. He fell to the floor of the parapet.

  His opponent saw his opportunity and took it. With an evil grin, the man kicked Xander in the ribs.

  He knew one more such blow would take him out of the fight. Permanently. The bowman reared back his boot...

  At the last possible moment, Xander rolled away. The bowman didn’t see the move coming. His boot flew out into the open air, connecting with nothing. The bowman lost his balance and tottered. He whipped his arms around, trying to regain his footing, but it was too late. He tumbled backwards, over the edge of the fortress wall.

  Xander tried to grab the man, but he was not quick enough. The bowman fell the full length of the fortress wall, head first. He landed with a sickening crunch.

  Xander wiped the sweat from his forehead. His hand came back covered with blood. He must be hurt, somewhere, but he didn’t have time to dwell upon that. The bowman was down, but there were three more Sentry racing up the ladder toward him, determined to make sure he didn’t advance any further.

  *****

  Daman shoved the Acolyte away.

  “Did you really think that a few children could bring down the Sentinel?” the Acolyte asked, a contemptuous sneer on his face.

  “This battle is not over.” He was determined to be brave, even if he felt anything but. “The Resistance is attacking the fortress as we speak.”

  The Acolyte waved his hand dismissively. “I know all about your pitiful accomplices. Fifty Rebels at most. I have more than three times as many Sentry stationed here.”

  Three times? Could that be true? If it was, they had little hope of success...unless they disabled the Pulse.

  “You say you know about the Rebels,” Brita said. “But that isn’t possible. They’ve only just emerged from hiding.”

  “Honestly, girl, what do you take me for? I’m the Acolyte of the Sentinel. Do you think it’s possible you could do anything the Sentinel wouldn’t know about? I’ve known all along you were coming.”

  Could this be true? Had the Acolyte been toying with them all along?

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t care what you believe, girl. It’s true.”

  “If it’s true,” Daman said, “why did you let it happen? Why didn’t you stop us?”

  “Because you had something I wanted.” Without warning, the Acolyte snatched the red stone out of his hands. “And I thought the easiest way to recover it would be to have you bring it to me.”

  His throat went dry. Had he been nothing all along but a pitiful pawn in the Acolyte’s plans?

  The Acolyte placed the Key around his own neck. “As the Sentinel’s Acolyte, I’m entrusted with the Key for this region. It was a gross failure to allow that traitorous Rebel to steal it from me. My only hope of redeeming myself was to recover it. Thank you, Daman Adkins, for making that possible.”

  “But–I didn’t steal the Key. You couldn’t possibly have known—”

  “That you had the Key? That you took it from the Rebel and hid it before he was captured? Oh, but I did know. I had it on the soundest authority.”

  Wordlessly, the Acolyte stepped back, gesturing broadly with his right arm.

  A moment later, he detected a movement behind one of the hanging red curtains. The Acolyte’s informant emerged, his all too familiar face set in stone.

  Mykah.

  *****

  Xander jumped down from the parapet onto the lower landing and grabbed two of the arrows that spilled to the ground when he tackled the bowman. The two Sentry in front saw what was coming, but didn’t react in time. Xander put an arrow in each hand and rushed them, piercing each Sentry in the stomach.

  Both fell to their knees, clutching their bleeding bellies. Even Xander was taken aback, but he had no time for guilt. There was a third Sentry...

  Who took one look at what happened to his companions and ran.

  He started after him—then came to a sudden stop.

  The ground began to tremble.

  He knew what it was before he even looked. He climbed back onto the parapet and looked into the field.

  Three Silver Sentrymen entered the field of combat, rattling the entire fortress with each step.

  He felt his knees weaken. He knew his friends were strong and valiant and dedicated. But they could not hope to defeat these inhuman creatures.

  All at once, the field became a sizzling crisscross of blue beams incinerating everything they touched. The fighting continued, but now the Rebels had even more to worry about. Somehow, they had to fight the Black Sentry while dodging the beams of the giant machines.

  He knew they could not last long. They could not hope to triumph with those silver monstrosities in the field.

  The battle was lost.

  Even though he knew it was suicide, he resolved to join the rest of the assault team. He couldn’t see any way into the Tower, and if he was going to die, he wanted to die fighting. As he climbed down from the parapet, he spotted two other members of the Sentry, older men, moving rapidly toward the central Tower.

  Why were they not joining the fight?

  He followed them to the Tower. As far as he could see, there was no entrance, but that didn’t seem to stop them.

  They paused at the base of the Tower. Xander ducked behind an embankment and watched. One of them scrutinized the wall for a moment, then pressed his hand against two of the tower stones in succession.

  To Xander’s amazement, a door suddenly appeared.

  The two Sentry scurried inside. Once they were out of sight, Xander hurried toward the opening, but by the time he arrived, the door had disappeared again. He tried pushing some of the stones, but nothing happened. No doubt it was not enough to push just any stones–it had to be the same two. But which stones were the right ones?

  The cries and shouting beyond the gate told him the battle still raged. The Rebels fought, but they could not possibly last much longer. He had to get inside.

  But how?

  *****

  “How could Mykah know anything?” Daman said, gazing at his former friend. “I never told him—”

  “You didn’t have to,” the Acolyte replied. “After your escape from Clovis, your friend Mykah was rather in disgrace. Surely you didn’t think we would be fooled by that tiny bump on his head. The penalty for betraying the Sentinel is quite severe. But I gave him one last chance to redeem himself. I told him I would save him–if he told me everything he knew about you and your exploits. Which he did.”

  Daman glared at Mykah. “Is this true?”

  Mykah looked away.

  “Once I heard the whole story,” the Acolyte continued, “it was easy to piece together what had happened. Mykah spotted the Key around your neck back in Clovis. No one would bother to steal the Key unless he planned to use it. Which meant you would come to Balaveria.” He smiled. “It was all too predictable.”

  Daman turned to Brita. “Run.”

  They both started, but neither got far. The Acolyte stopped Brita, while Mykah grabbed him and held him fast. Mykah took both of his arms and twisted them behind his back. He tried to resist, but it was useless. Mykah was stronger than he was. He always had been.

  The Acolyte approached, his teeth clenched. Without warning, he whipped back his hand and slapped him across the face. “Impudent child. Did you really think you could bring down the Sentinel?”

  “I could but hope,” he answered, biting his sore lip.

  “You’ve been brainwashed by the babblings of a useless old man. You’re fighting for an illusion. A nightmare. Do you really want to live in a world filled with chaos? Where everyone serves themselves instead of the greate
r good? Where everything is unpredictable?”

  “I want a world filled with freedom,” he replied.

  “Do you really? Do you want to make all those difficult decisions for yourself? Do you think you can? The Ancients couldn’t. Don’t be misled into thinking their world was some sort of paradise. It was madness. Unhappiness was rampant. Everyone was dissatisfied. Depressed. There was no harmony, no justice. No peace or tranquility. They were traumatized by decisions they were ill-equipped to make.”

  “They had books,” Brita said, trying her best to twist free.

  “Books? What good did that ever do them? Books only made people want what they couldn’t have. Made them discontented, unhappy. Gave them ideas. The Sentinel’s world is a far better place, and if you hadn’t been influenced by these Rebels you’d realize that.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he said firmly. And he didn’t. He didn’t know why, but just as surely as he had known anything since this adventure began, he knew that the words the Acolyte spoke were false. “You’re wrong.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you think, stupid boy. I’d hoped there might be some chance to rehabilitate you. You’re obviously a resourceful lad. The Sentinel could use someone like you. You might’ve even been an Acolyte one day. But I see now that’s hopeless. You must be disposed of as quickly as possible.” The Acolyte gripped him tightly by the neck. “And we’re not in the village any more. We won’t bother with the Ritual of Execution. We’ll just kill you.”

  33

  Xander pounded at the stones, trying to recreate the pattern the Sentry had used to open the door to the tower. How many possible combinations could there be? The man had reached high, then low. High, then low. After several unsuccessful random attempts, he tried matching one high brick with all the potential low ones, systematically running through all the possible combinations.

  If he had all day, or even a few hours, he’d be able to find the correct pattern. Eventually. But he didn’t have that long. He had a few minutes at best. Without weapons, they couldn’t hope to win. Soon they would all be killed. He had to get inside before that happened.

  He continued pounding at the stones. At last, he heard a clicking noise somewhere on the other side. For a moment, nothing happened, and then all at once, the door reappeared. The stone facade slid back creating a passage just large enough to enter.

  He didn’t know how long the door would remain open. He jumped through. An instant later, the door swung closed behind him.

  Inside, the tower was dark, but not so dark he couldn’t see. A central staircase led up and down. He didn’t know which to choose. He recalled hearing that the Pulse generator was up high, but he heard loud noises coming from below him. He decided to try that way first.

  The staircase twisted and turned so many times he became dizzy. How far down could they travel? It seemed as if he were descending into the bowels of the earth.

  At long last, the stairway ended. He stepped through a low portal...

  And looked out into the most enormous room he had ever seen, even bigger than the cavernous Resistance headquarters. The sides of the room were flanked with huge machines, great noisy wheels and pistons and other gigantic Constructs he couldn’t identify. Steam erupted in short bursts, contributing to the overall grayness of the area.

  This must be where the Silver Sentrymen are made, he thought. This is what we’ve come to destroy.

  He dropped down from the stairway, keeping an eye out at all times for Sentry. He discovered a lower level just below him. This area was filled with long endless tables, stretching as far as the eye could see.

  And the tables were lined with people.

  Old people. Gray-haired and bearded people, like the Old Man, some even older. Far older than anyone he had ever seen in Merrindale.

  He knew what it must mean. These were the people who had left their village after the Ceremony of Passage. These were the trusting citizens who voluntarily departed, thinking they were headed for paradise.

  They were not even doing work that would help their villages. They only served the Sentinel. Building the monstrous Silver Sentrymen.

  These were the slaves of Balaveria, the Sentinel’s forced labor camp.

  They worked with hammers, pounding out sheets of metal, attaching bolts and screws, sanding and polishing. None of them smiled. They didn’t even look up as he approached. It was as if they were in another world, apart, lost in a dream. Or a nightmare.

  He wanted to talk to them, but the Sentry posted all around made that impossible.

  Or at any rate, made it impossible to talk aloud.

  Xander told Daman that to tell one slave something was to tell them all. And there was a reason for that. They could talk to one another. Without speaking. With their minds. Many slaves believed that something had happened to his people during the time when the Ancients experimented with the fundamental building blocks of life. They were…changed, and not just externally. Perhaps the protuberance on their temples that identified them as slaves also amplified their brains and allowed them to communicate with one another.

  Not all the people trapped below were former slaves, but many were. He found one close by and made a connection.

  How can I help you?

  It’s impossible.

  How can I stop the Silver Sentrymen?

  Also impossible.

  My friends have weapons that can help. But they will not function because of the Pulse.

  The Sentinel’s machines work and no one else’s.

  Quickly, Xander tried to give his new friend all the details.

  My friends have a Key that will turn off something called a Pulse Generator.

  He could sense the excitement in his new friend’s mind.

  If they can shut off the Pulse, your weapons should work—and the Silver Sentrymen will be immobilized.

  He did not understand why shutting off the Pulse would stop the Sentrymen, but there was no time for lengthy explanations. If that was the way to turn the tide of this all-but-lost battle, he had to get up the Tower. He would need help, and he would need to distract the Sentry.

  How can I set you free?

  By lifting the metal lever. But it is guarded by the Sentry.

  Xander moved his eyes toward the floor. The prisoners’ feet were held in place by a heavy iron bar. So long as the bar was down, the slaves couldn’t move.

  Following the bar across the room, he saw the lever that raised and lowered it. He also saw a Sentry posted beside it.

  Unfortunately, the Sentry saw him, too. Xander rushed forward before his opponent had a chance to react. Two quick blows to the chin and the Sentry was down on his knees.

  He heard heavy footsteps behind him.

  The other prisoners had noticed him. One by one their heads lifted. Gradually, their faces slowly came back to life.

  He fought the next Sentry while the prisoners watched. At first, he only heard them in his head, the words of others of the slave class, trying to learn more about him, and eventually encouraging him. They were quiet at first, but as it became clear that this might actually be a chance for release, they began to shout, both aloud and silently, urging him on. When the Sentry collapsed after the final blow, the crowd cheered, creating a tumult that echoed throughout the room.

  He whirled, alert for more Sentry, but he saw none. He supposed most available hands were outside fighting the Rebels.

  He grabbed the lever and pulled with all his might. It was stubborn, probably typically operated by many men.

  Put your foot on the iron pedal.

  Below him, he saw a pedal, much like he might see on a cart. He pressed his foot down on it and heard a creaking sound.

  Now the lever moved more freely, but it was still heavy and required much effort. He clenched his teeth and pulled all the harder. Sweat broke out on his brow, reminding him that he had a wound he had not stopped to examine. His palms grew wet. Blood rushed to his brain. But he kept pulling.

 
; The lever gave way. A tremendous clanging noise split his ears. And then the iron bars rose.

  Cheers erupted throughout the room, so loud they almost knocked him off his feet. The tumult ricocheted off the gray walls and sounded as if it might bring down the ceiling. Every prisoner in the room was on his or her feet, clapping, cheering, crying, shouting for joy.

  They were free.

  *****

  Daman watched the Acolyte withdraw a small grey box from the pocket of his robe. In some respects, it reminded him of Drake’s stunners. But he suspected its function was not so humane.

  “Did you know that light can kill?” the Acolyte asked, smiling.

  “I’ve seen blue light come from the arms of your Silver Sentrymen.”

  “Smart boy.” He held the gray box high. “This is a laser. It’s similar to the devices the Silver Sentrymen use. Smaller than theirs, but more than adequate to eliminate you.”

  “Spare Brita,” he said. “She’s innocent. I forced her to come with me. She—”

  “Don’t bother. Mykah has already told me everything.”

  Daman glared at his former friend. “How could you? How could you betray the girl you—?” He stopped. He’d answered his own question.

  Mykah looked away again.

  “That’s it?” Brita said. “You’re just going to execute us?”

  “Well, no.” He passed the gray box to Mykah. “This is your final test. Your last chance to prove your loyalty to the Sentinel.” He peered down at Mykah intently. “Kill them.”

  Mykah took the gray box and pointed it at Daman’s head.

  He considered pleading, begging, reminding Mykah of all they had once shared. But he decided it would be better to die quietly than to die begging.

  Mykah’s face was stony, fixed. His finger twitched above the firing button.

  “Well?” the Acolyte said. “What are you waiting for?”

  Mykah swallowed. “It’s just...Daman once saved my life.”

  “Does the Sentinel care about that? You swore an oath.”