Extinction_Planet Urth

by Jennifer Martucci

  “Open the gate!” Lucas calls out.

  They stand frozen and he says it again.

  Though I’m nervous as to why the men on the wall hesitated as long as they did, I still slide my foot forward and take a step toward the entrance of the walled village. My pulse quickens and I feel a little breathless. I hope I’m not making another mistake. I hope these humans are nothing like Ed, Tom and Earl.

  “Don’t be scared. The people here are good people,” Lucas assures me as if reading my mind and perhaps June’s as well. For reasons I cannot explain, I trust this boy. I trust Lucas. I hope it’s not that my typically razor-sharp gut instincts have been dulled by exhaustion. I hope I’m right.

  The gate shuts with a loud clang behind me. There is no turning back now as I have crossed the threshold and entered the village.

  Chapter 11

  I stop walking for a moment to gawk at all that I see around me. Past the gate is the path of cobbled stone on which Lucas, June and I stand. The path splits, dividing into two separate ones that border a grassy rectangular courtyard. In the courtyard, people of every age who milled about seconds earlier stop, staring at us in shock. Men, women, children and elderly folks—and anyone in between—come to a halt. Though they watch us with wide eyes and wonder marking their features, I am in awe, unmoving and certain I’m as expressionless as a boulder. Right before my eyes is a small civilization of people who have not only survived the harshness of the forest in which they live and flourished, but they’ve also managed to remain hidden well enough to survive the brutal world that exists beyond the forest. This village has sustained itself secretly, tucked deep within the Great Forest.

  I study the people. They appear well-kept and well-fed. The space is tidy. The only aspect of all that I see that strikes me as odd is that no one is training. The thwap of arrows hitting their marks and the clang and clack of sparring swords clashing is absent. A few targets made of animal hide stretched over hay and painted with bull’s-eyes line the perimeter of the courtyard, but they sit alone, unused. Before I’m able to turn and ask Lucas why that is, a young man, similar in appearance to Lucas only taller and broader, jogs toward us.

  “Hey Lucas,” the young man says. Positioned as close as he is to me, I can easily see that he’s at least a head taller than Lucas. Thick through his chest and shoulders and muscular, his intimidating physique is tempered by a boyish grin. Smiling and flashing even teeth, he shakes his head. “Leave it to you to go hunting and come back with a couple of people.” A hearty laugh echoes from him just as two younger children, a boy and a girl, race across the grass to stand beside him. “Ara, Pike, look what Lucas found when he went out hunting?” He makes a silly face at them as he clips his chin toward June and me. The boy blushes and smiles, while the girl covers her mouth with one hand and giggles. She reminds me so much of June when she was that age that an involuntary smile curls my lips. Everything about her right down to her mannerisms strikes a resemblance to my sister, who was once upon a time my little Junebug. Reed-thin and with translucent eyes the palest shade of green, the girl’s face is framed by golden ringlets lightened in streaks by the sun. The physical likenesses are uncanny.

  “Ha, ha, very funny,” Lucas says and rolls his eyes. “Avery, June, this is my older brother Kohl.” He gestures to the tall, muscular young man. “Kohl thinks he’s funny.” This time it is Lucas who rolls his eyes.

  “Hi,” Kohl says and waves, still smiling. “And for the record, I don’t think I’m funny. I know I’m funny.” He tips his chin in the air, his eyes half closed as he makes a goofy face.

  June laughs, covering the laughter with her hand quickly.

  “Don’t encourage him,” Lucas says and slaps his hand to his forehead. The act causes laughter to erupt within our small group. Even I find myself laughing. Kohl, enjoying the audience, exaggerates his expression further.

  “And these are the twins, my younger brother Pike and my sister Ara.” Lucas introduces the children, speaking over the laughing.

  The laughter dies down. Pike smiles, the flushness of his cheeks deepening, and doesn’t say a word. Ara, petite compared to her twin brother, is not as shy. To the contrary, she rolls her shoulders back and steps toward us with her hand outreached. “Very nice to meet you,” she says as her eyes meet June’s first and then mine.

  June clasps her hand, shaking it, and says. “It’s very nice to meet you, as well.

  Ara smiles broadly, joy sparkling in the depths of her crystalline irises.

  I mirror my sister’s actions and say, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ara. What a beautiful name you have.”

  Ara’s smile widens further and her luminous green eyes glow brighter. “Thank you,” she says with thinly harnessed excitement. “Thank you so much.” She raises up onto her tiptoes and takes a deep breath. “Where did my brother find you? Where do you guys come from?” she asks.

  I look at June first, wondering whether I should be honest or careful with my response. Opting for the former, I say, “We’re from beyond the forest. We lived in a city a few hours away from here and were soldiers in the human army.”

  “The human army?” Kohl says. The humor leaves his demeanor. His postures rights and he looks like a deadly warrior not a man who was being comical seconds earlier. “There’s a human army? Where?” The interest and excitement in his tone is unmistakable. His gaze is as sharp as his focus. Keen and intense.

  “Not just a soldier. She’s the leader of the army. Of all the humans,” Lucas says. Although his voice borders on proud, the information he’s just shared sounds untrue, even to me. Especially since my people were just slaughtered. Thousands of lives lost. There is no pride in my title. Only shame. Shame at my inability to see through the lies that led to the demise of the humans. Forget about the fact that amid this village tucked deep in the Great Forest, my title as the leader of the human species sounds unbelievable. If I were hearing it for the first time, I wouldn’t believe it. I’d stare at myself with incredulity, not with amazement as Kohl is staring at me now.

  “We were recently defeated,” I add quickly, blinking back a rush of tears that blur my vision suddenly. Heat snaps from my collar to my cheeks. “There may not be anyone left out there.” I vaguely reference the world beyond the forest as shame continues to blaze a path from my torso to my face, warming it to the point that my eyeballs feel like hot coals. Plagued by insurmountable guilt, the blood of the fallen is on my hands. To say I am or ever was the leader of the humans feels fraudulent. I feel like a fraud. I didn’t protect them. I didn’t lead them to safety.

  The disappointment in the faces of the people I’ve just met only compounds it. Pike and Ara’s gazes are cast to the ground and Kohl looks as if he’s been lead to the highest mountain only to be pitched from its peak. Shoulders slumped and fire extinguished from his eyes, Kohl is visibly crestfallen.

  I part my lips to speak about the Peace Treaty, to share with them how King Garan was overthrown as if that will somehow explain the fall of our people, when a voice rings out.

  “Lucas!” the voice, roughened by time, shouts. “What have you done?” The accusation in his tone is clear. And the anger.

  Ara, Pike, and Kohl’s heads whip toward the sound. They turn and look over their shoulders. Following the trajectory of their eyes, I watch as a man with snow-white hair that flows down his back and a snow-white beard to his chest makes his way toward our small group. His hair billows behind him like a banner caught on the slight breeze. His creased face is wrinkled further by the expression he wears.

  Tall and slender, he storms our way. Taking each stride with purpose, his booted feet strike the stone pathway with a pronounced clack. He stops less than an arm’s length away from June and I. “Who are you? What do you want here?” he demands of us. His demeanor is identical to an exasperated parent with a petulant child.

  “Arundel, this is Avery and June,” Lucas says. His bearing remains composed despite the old man’s bluster, his ton
e unflappable. “They’re soldiers in the human army.”

  Arundel eyes June and I, his gaze raking over us and his thin lips bowed in a small frown. His scrutiny is disconcerting as he trains his dark, penetrating eyes on us. For a tense moment, they widen as if he’s arrived upon some epiphany, then they narrow to angry slashes. His lips tighten, causing his hawk-like features to gather. “Human army soldiers?” he hisses. “Bah!” Venomous laughter slithers from his thin lips, the lilt as fluid as it is cruel, its smoothness a direct contradiction to the knobby brittleness of his appearance. “These small girls aren’t soldiers!” Arundel says with confidence. He shakes his head. “Lucas, I don’t know what to do with you! You’re too gullible for a young man your age. Hopefully time and experience will purge that innocence from you,” he mutters. “Think, Lucas! A human army doesn’t exist. And if ever there were one, do these girls look like soldiers?” He spits the word girls as if we’re lesser beings. Incapable of tying our shoes let alone wielding a weapon. Boy does he have it wrong.

  Anger snaps up my spine with the speed of a whip cracking. Arundel’s self-righteous tone and condescending words infuriate me in a way that tenses every muscle in my body and causes every cell within me to vibrate frenetically.

  “Arundel!” A male voice calls out, rich and smooth. I turn toward the sound. “What’s going on?” A man and woman approach. Both older than I am, the man has short russet-hued hair and pale-blue eyes. His height, frame and chiseled facial features suggest he’s related to Lucas, Kohl, Ara and Pike. The woman, slight of build and with golden coils framing her wide, hazel eyes, resembles them, as well, but Ara more so than the boys.

  “Nothing, Colin,” Arundel flicks his wrist dismissively, as if the act alone will be enough to shoo them away.

  Leaning close to me so that his voice is in my ear, Lucas says, “Those are my parents, Colin and Cassidy.”

  “What's going on here?” Cassidy demands in a strong, clear voice. I wonder for a moment whether she is cross with June and I, or Arundel. But as soon as her gaze settles on Arundel, I get my answer, for it is the hard gaze of a mother warning one away from her offspring. When her eyes leave Arundel they land on us, she asks, “Who are these young ladies?” in a far softer tone.

  A smile steals across my lips. I instantly take a liking to Cassidy. “I’m Avery,” I say. “And I'll take ‘young ladies’ as a compliment since I’ve been on this planet for a little over thirty years. This is my sister, June. At seven years my junior, she’s a young lady.”

  Cassidy’s smile is easy and lights her entire face. “How wonderful to meet you! I’m Cassidy and this is my husband Colin.” She gestures to the man beside her. “I see you’ve already met my sons and daughter.” She beams at her children.

  “Yes, yes, and lied to them,” Arundel says.

  Cassidy whirls on the old man.

  With a sanctimonious nod and a wide splaying of his arms, he says, “These girls have your son believing there is a human army and that they are soldiers.” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t know who’s worse, them for lying or your son for being foolish enough to believe it.”

  “Easy Arundel,” Colin warns. “That is my son you’re calling a fool.”

  “I am the leader of this village!” Arundel snaps, his voice pitching up significantly. “He brought strangers to our home! Strangers who could have Urthmen trailing them!” He points a bony finger at us accusingly. “He might have just killed us all.” The drama and theatrics of his whole diatribe is enough to garner the attention of passersby. Several people inch their way toward us to listen.

  “I assure you no one was following us, old man,” June says through her teeth. “And liars we are not.”

  Arundel’s eyes round. “W-What did you say to me?” he stammers.

  “She called you an old man,” I repeat in a voice that’s velvet edged in steel. “You called us liars and accused us of being tracked by Urthmen. You are a foolish old man who has no idea what he is even talking about.”

  Face reddening to an unhealthy shade of magenta, Arundel sprays spittle when he says, “Get them out of this village now!”

  “They didn’t do anything. They’re not liars—” Lucas tries to speak in our defense but Arundel cuts him off.

  “Tell your boy to mind his tone and remember who he is speaking to,” Arundel turns to Cassidy and Colin and says.

  Colin advances a single step toward the village leader and the old man instinctively retreats a step, positioning himself farther from Lucas’s father. “This village is all of ours, not just yours,” he corrects. “You cannot order these girls out. We need to hear more about them. Learn about what they’ve seen. Learn about what they’ve learned. They’re the first sign of an outside world we’ve ever seen.” A hush has befallen the courtyard. Colin has the ear of everyone around him. “We need to welcome them.” His comment draws agreement from onlookers. “And furthermore, calling any honorable member or guest of our village a liar or a fool is an act of disrespect, is it not?”

  Arundel stares at Colin. His eyes, narrowed to scythes, divulge thinly-harnessed outrage bubbling like molten lava beneath the surface of his skin. The small muscles of his jaw bunch. “I suppose it is,” he says tightly. “But these girls are liars. They speak of a human army. Ha!” he throws his hands in the air.

  His accusations have stretched something inside me so thin it snaps. He will need to be shown that we are not liars. And there’s only one way that comes to mind.

  “If you are the leader here, I feel compelled to ask why your people do not train,” I ask in a tone that’s neither challenging nor friendly. “You should be preparing for battle. You have no idea when the Urthmen could find you. You need to be ready.”

  Arundel glares at me. “We train enough, girl. We are well prepared,” he replies smugly.

  I take a quick look around. Most of the people in the immediate vicinity look lazy and unprepared for any battle apart from Lucas and his family.

  “My name is Avery, not girl,” I correct him. “But at your age I suppose forgetting names is commonplace.” I am goading him. And it’s working. He practically trembles with rage. “Your people should be training all day, preparing to defend this beautiful village if ever it needs to be defended.”

  Arundel begins laughing again. It’s a hideous, mirthless sound. “Oh yes, I forgot. I should be taking leadership tips from you! After all, you two little girls are soldiers in the human army.” His words drip with derision. He raises his hands to chest height, elbows bent and palms facing the sky. His head oscillates as he looks to the crowd and tries to gain their favor by mocking us. He then makes an exaggerated point of blotting beneath his eyes with his fingertips, as if clearing away tears of laughter at the absurdity of June and I being soldiers in the human army.

  “Arundel, there’s really only one way to prove our skill set to you and anyone else who doubts us,” I say plainly.

  Arundel’s laughter ceases.

  “Do you have any practice swords?” June asks pleasantly.

  The village leader huffs haughtily. “Of course.”

  Turning to Ara, June says, “If you would you be so kind, could you get one for me?”

  Ara shares a small, knowing smile with just June before she darts off across the courtyard. When she returns she holds a sword with a metal surface nearly as dull as the blade itself. She hands it to June. A thick layer of dusty-looking grime covers it. June hands it to me. The weight of it isn’t comparable to the swords with which I normally fight, but it will do.

  “Let’s see if you can best this little girl,” I say, lifting one eyebrow defiantly.

  Arundel fans the air before his face, waving his hand dismissively. “Of course I could, but I won't. I won’t fight a girl.”

  Now it is I who chuckles mirthlessly. “Coward,” I taunt under my breath.

  Eyes narrowing, his upper lip peels back over his teeth. “How dare you,” he growls. To Ara, he barks, “get me a practice sword!�
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  “No need,” I smile and say to Ara. “He can use his own sword.”

  Arundel’s mouth drops. “Are you crazy? Do you have a death wish?”

  A sly smile curls the corners of my mouth. “Just draw your blade,” I say with a chuckle.

  He pulls his blade from the loose sheath at his hip. It’s twisted so that it’s positioned near the small of his back, a terrible location to draw from in a hurry. He fumbles with it then take a few practice swings. His movements are clumsy and he almost loses his grip on the hilt. Still, he turns to the crowd for approval as if he looks dangerous or even remotely skilled. He is neither, of course.

  I laugh aloud. His bravado and lack of dexterity is, well, laughable.

  “What is so funny, girl?” Arundel smirks, pleased with himself that he called me “girl” once again.

  Matching his haughtiness, I smirk back at him. “Your lack of skill, of course.”

  Enflamed, Arundel charges me, swinging wildly.

  I merely step to the side, raising my chintzy sword and blocking his bungling attempt to attack. Arundel loses his balance as he passes by me, tripping over his feet. I kick him in the backside, the force of it drives him face-down into the bed of dirt behind me. I press the blunt tip of my practice sword against the middle of his back. “Dead,” I say.

  He scrambles to his feet, the pristine white of his beard and the ends of his hair sullied by filth. His face is contorted by rage, when he charges me a second time. His swings are wild and seemingly without a real target in mind, though I believe at this point he wishes to cleave my skull in two. Winded and red-faced, he wheezes as I block each swipe with force, Arundel is weak and ineffective. He’s unable to stop my dull blade from dragging across his throat. It doesn’t break the skin. “Dead again. That’s twice you’d be dead, old man,” I say.

  Snarling like a diseased animal, he comes at me. In his maniacal flurry of swings, all I hear is heavy breathing and labored grunts. This time, I don’t even use my practice sword. I simply evade his swipes, moving my feet and twisting my body with agility his eyes can’t seem to keep track of. When I’ve sufficiently exhausted him, I hook my arm in the crook of his elbow and position my leg behind his, using my body weight to slam him to the ground. He lands with a thud. Hard. I stand over him and jab the rounded tip of the blade into the left side of his chest, directly above his chest. “Dead,” I say flatly for the third time.