by James Davis
He took two steps and then from the heavens something swooped towards him and seized him in a powerful grip. Before he could do anything at all he was swept off his feet and soaring north, toward Price.
And all that he could think as the earth fell beneath his feet was that every weapon he owned was sitting in the cab of his truck. So was his hat.
Chapter Twenty
Restoring Balance
Marshal Jodi Tempest stood in the empty digiverse Provo City Park for some time after Harley Nearwater blinked away. The drifter troubled her greatly, but she could not deny any of the things he had told her and that troubled her more.
She had made mistakes and they were coming home to roost. She had not thoroughly vetted her predecessors and if she had she would have known that Trevor O. Hatcher was Orrin the Wrynd King and much might have been different. She had been too ambitious and it had always been so.
Growing up in the North Carolina Hub she had only wanted to go west, to be in the great outdoors where the view wasn’t obscured by the trees. She wanted to see as far as she could see and feel the age in the dry mountain dust. She had wanted to hunt the great beasts of the west, the bear and the elk and the deer and the mountain lion and the wolf, to prove she was their equal. But mostly she wanted the power that came from shining brightly and there were too many stars to shine brightly in the east. They were like maggots infesting a carcass, squirming and bloated and impossible to tell apart. She would never be noticed there, never be all that she knew she could be.
So she pushed herself. She was the top of her class in school, in college, in history graduate studies. She was the best at her physical conditioning, the best at her weapons training, the most adept with the scye. She was a deputy marshal at 20 and selected as marshal of the Utah Hub at 27, not the youngest marshal in Federation history, but very close. That she was not the youngest was the constant source of self-condemnation. She should have been the youngest, if only she had tried harder.
The thought that she had been chosen to replace the late Marshal Sanchez enamored her so that she had not even bothered to verify the history of the marshals who had served in the Utah Hub. If she had, she would have known before Marshal Sanchez there had been Marshal Hatcher and before Marshal Hatcher there had been no Wrynd. No Wrynd at all.
“And what would that have changed?” She asked herself in the empty park. “Nothing,” she replied, because that was the truth. It would have changed nothing. It would have changed nothing because the Federation knew he was a Wrynd. They had made him a Wrynd. They had ordered him to become one and he had done so. She wondered if she was ordered to become a Wrynd, to rip and tear and destroy everything that she was and everything she loved, would she be able to do so? She hoped that the answer was yes, but had her doubts.
And now Wrynd Marshal Trevor Orrin Hatcher had taken up arms in violation of the secret treaty the Federation had with the Wrynd. He had taken up arms. She knew the High Judges and the Lord High Judge had allowed the Wrynd to exist to serve a purpose, to purge the Wilderness of those who would not come to the Hubs.
They were to herd them out of the Wilderness or destroy them but to purge them either way. The agreement with the Wrynd was a delicate thing and a dark secret kept from the Legion. The Legion answered to the Federation Senate and there was no possible way the chaos of the senate would allow Wrynd to terrorize and kill those who would not come in out of the Wilderness. Even initiating the no-fly zone to keep the neands and the pilgrims in place had been a contentious debate that had stretched on for more than a year. It only came after assurances that the people of the Wilderness would still be allowed their human rights of Income, Housing, Medical, Education and Link. Now to learn that not only were the Wrynd ignored by the Federation, but directed by the Federation; that Lord High Judge Syiada was also High Wrynd King made her question everything she had supposed. There were forces at work here she had never dared to imagine. She wondered how much was known by her masters and what part she might be unwittingly playing. She determined to find out.
She left the park in search of answers.
The capital of the Founder Federation was in the Realm of the Americas, in the Brazilian Hub. Rio de Janeiro was not selected as the capital of the Federation because of any great geopolitical power or position in the world. The capital had to be somewhere and Lord High Judge Syiada was reported to enjoy the weather in Rio, so Rio it was.
Even in the digiverse, Jodi could get no closer to the Palace of the Lord High Judge than the outer gate. She walked toward it in awe, her senses overwhelmed by the swarming mass of humanity that collectively seemed to be a gyrating beast of light and darkness. She did not know how many or if any were fillers, but something told her that nothing among those in this digital representation of the Capital City was a filler. These were the digiselfs of living, breathing humans and she was but a tiny speck in a vast cosmos of activity. She felt tiny, insignificant.
The palace itself was a magnificent structure of tower upon tower upon tower, each reaching higher and higher into the heavens. The highest tower of them all, the Lord Tower, was the tallest man-made structure on earth and Jodi knew from the Lord Tower the Lord High Judge would often make pilgrimages to the Wheel and from there on to the Apollo Moon Base for sabbaticals. She had visited them herself on occasion, but only in the digiverse.
She stood outside the massive, golden and bejeweled gate of the Palace for some time, waiting for a chance to speak with anyone. There was a digi politely taking names of tourists and well-wishers at the gate. He was a beautiful looking creature and so perfect was his profile and his hair and his attire that Jodi knew he must be a full digi, not a digiself. Humanity did not typically have the imagination to be that perfect. In a soft, singsong voice, he told each person who approached the gate that the next tour of the palace would begin at the hour and any other visitors must do so by appointment only. When it was Jodi’s turn, she stepped to the gate, realized her digiself was still dressed in shorts and a T-shirt (why she had dressed so she could not tell you), and quickly flashed into her marshal uniform.
“Greetings Marshal.” The digi proclaimed and seemed quite happy to do so.
“Greetings.”
“What brings you so far south, Marshal Tempest?” The digi asked and Jodi was only slightly uncomfortable that the digi knew who she was. It was common knowledge after all, but still a bit disconcerting.
“I request an audience with the Lord High Judge.” Jodi tried to sound confident, authoritative even, but knew otherwise.
The digi smiled politely. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be possible.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you don’t know your place.” The digi’s voice changed from the first word to the last and in a flash Jodi went from standing in front of the Lord High Judge’s Palace gate to standing in the office of the High Judge of the Americas in the Mexico Hub. She swallowed hard and tried not to look as surprised as she felt. She had met High Judge Trevok on two occasions. The first was when she served as a vanguard when he toured the North Carolina Hub and the second was when she was selected to be the marshal of the Utah Hub. Both times he had carried himself as a man not to be trifled with. Standing in his digiverse office, he presented himself as a man who felt that he had very much been trifled with.
“Marshal Tempest.” His voice was like smooth ice, treacherous and slippery and deadly. “I was surprised to learn of your visit to the Palace of the Lord High Judge. Why do you suppose I would be surprised by something like that?”
“Because I did not attend you first, High Judge Trevok.” Jodi lowered her head. She had made a huge tactical mistake. The trick would be to live through it.
“And why,” the high judge stood and stared across his expansive desk at her. “Do you suppose you would so dishonor me to go to the Palace rather than voice your concerns with me?” High Judge Trevok spun a small crystal globe on the desk before him, playfully. The nails of his hands were
painted bright green, as was his hair. He was slight of build and stooped of shoulder. He looked harmless, comical even. Jodi knew he was not. The telltale was in his eyes. They were fiercely blue and piercing and gave no hint of compassion.
“I meant no disrespect High Judge. I had questions of a troubling nature and was only trying to obtain answers before requesting an audience with your imminence.”
“From the Lord High Judge?” Trevok was not smiling.
“The questions span beyond the Utah Hub and even the Americas, High Judge Trevok.”
“What questions?”
Jodi took a deep breath. “The Wrynd, High Judge. They serve the Lord High Judge. I had not supposed this to be the case.”
“We all serve the Lord High Judge, Marshal Tempest.” Trevok came out from behind his desk and he so resembled a viper that she had to remind herself that this was the digiverse. Not that it mattered.
“Yes High Judge. But I have learned that the Wrynd serve the Lord High Judge directly. Former marshals are the Wrynd Kings.”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“What of it?”
“I had no knowledge of this fact.”
“Should the designs of the Lord High Judge be cleared with you first, Marshal Tempest?”
Jodi blushed. “No High Judge. But…”
“But?”
“My charge is to serve the interests of the Lord Judge. How am I to fulfill my duty if I do not know what those interests are?”
“Those interests will be revealed to you when your skills are required. If they are required.” Trevok slinked closer to her and there was no denying the threat implied.
“Yes High Judge. But my predecessor, Marshal Hatcher, who is now Wrynd King Orrin. He has taken up arms against an enemy in violation of our treaty.”
“Arms?” Trevok seemed mildly interested now.
“Scye and blaster. He told me he would use whatever weapon he had at his disposal to destroy his enemy.”
Trevok grinned and licked his red lips. “And what enemy is that?”
“A man. A drifter. He killed his queen.”
“And the mighty Wrynd King cannot kill this man without breaking the treaty?”
“He is…problematic High Judge.”
“Then assist Wrynd King Orrin and reinstate the treaty.”
“There is another matter High Judge.”
Trevok sidled behind her and she could feel his breath on her neck. His tongue caressed her right earlobe and she forced herself not to shudder. “What is it Marshal Tempest?
“The Gray Walker.”
“The legend?”
“More than a legend. There is another. An old man. A neand. He has fought against Orrin and his Wrynd three times and each time he has thwarted them. Orrin says he controls the elements themselves, wind and rain and thunder and lightning. The last time they met, when Orrin was sure he would have him, the beasts of the Wilderness intervened and saved the old man.”
“Who is he?”
“We don’t know High Judge. But he is not only immune to the Rages, he controls them.”
Trevok went to the window of his office that overlooked the expanse of Mexico City. It was a bright and beautiful day outside, but none of it penetrated the gloom of his office. “Do you believe that Mother Earth is sentient Marshal Tempest? That Gaia seeks revenge for our sins against her?”
“Superstition.”
“Do you think so?”
Jodi nodded. “I do. We are suffering from our own mismanagement of the planet High Judge. Nothing more. We must restore balance.”
“Then I suggest you restore balance to your territory marshal.” Trevok hissed, and his eyes darted up and down her frame. “Kill the drifter and the old man and this Gray Walker. Kill them all. And when you have done so, kill Wrynd Orrin for his insolence and restore the Wrynd to their proper place in the Federation as the foot soldiers of the Purge.”
“How would I restore the Wrynd?”
Trevok smiled. It made her cringe. “Perhaps by becoming their queen.”
Jodi nodded and wished that Trevok would release her to escape from the digiverse.
“One other thing before you go, Marshal Tempest.” He slinked toward her then, and his thin hands roamed across her arms, her chest and her stomach. “If you ever attempt to circumvent me and go to the Lord High Judge again, I will not be amused. Not amused in the least.”
“As you say, High Judge.”
Trevok released her, and she blinked out of the digiverse and back to her office. She sat at her desk, sweating and more than a little nauseous and ashamed and knew there was only one thing she could do if she were to excel; if she were to reach her potential. She must carry out the wishes of the High Judge.
She stood and fastened her holster around her waist, spun up her scye and slipped on a jacket, making sure her marshal’s star was clearly visible. She marched out of her office and took the elevator to the roof and stood in the fading sunlight. She looked southeast and could see dark clouds on the horizon. She linked and called up a set of wings and when they arrived she raised her arms and they encased her midsection, leaving her arms and legs free to maneuver. With a thought, the wings’ arms extended like the talons of an eagle and she flexed them with pleasure before dropping off the roof and lifting her wings to soar towards the storm brewing in the Wilderness.
When she swooped down and gripped Harley Nearwater and carried him away toward Price and his death, she felt a moment of regret, but only a moment. It had to be done. Balance demanded it.
Edward Toll hobbled across the wooden bridge that separated his orchard from the rest of the world. The storm had come and gone and other than a gentle rain; none of it had disturbed his apple orchard. In the distance, the dark clouds still broiled and he could smell a hint of smoke in the summer breeze and knew for weeks to come the mountains would burn.
He knew the Federation would do nothing to stop the fires from burning the Wilderness; they had learned the lesson of wildfire and let nature replenish itself in its own time and way. There was wisdom in that.
He stood staring south for some time and sensed that the drifter was in harm’s way. He was now without weapon and surrounded by his enemies. Edward Toll found that no matter how hard he tried he could not bring himself to care.
He remembered the man Harley Nearwater when he had been but a boy. He remembered him swinging at the Orangeville City Park and that his Sara had noticed the boy and went to take him an apple from the orchard. But when he glanced toward the young boy, Edward’s eyes had jumped to the future and he had seen that this boy would bring death to his Sara. It would come at the hand of the boy swinging on a swing, reaching for an apple. Edward knew even at that moment that it would not be an act done in malice. The boy on the swing would be acting out in an effort to help in his own way. But it did not matter. His Sara would be dead. He had denied the boy one of his apples and when he looked at him, he hoped that he knew, even as a small boy, that there was an old man who hated him. He hated him very much.
To the north Edward sensed that Quinlan Bowden and his children were safely home again. They hurt and they grieved but they were safe. For now. That was well and good.
Standing on the edge of his bridge leading to his orchard, he knew without knowing that a visitor had been by, a creature of power and possibility and cunning and hatred. In time, he would have to parlay with the Gray Walker.
He looked down the canyon road and knew that in the days and years to come there were those in the little town of Orangeville and the great big world beyond that would suffer. There would come a time when he would have to do something about that. But it wouldn’t be today. Today he would sit in his orchard and remember his Sara.
He turned his back and walked across the timber bridge, which was old but not quite as old as him. He wrapped the orchard around him like a cloak and the world slipped away.
Chapter Twenty-one
Oath of Fealty
/> Dusk was rushing toward them and Price was quiet when Orrin Hatcher, Ralph and Nina returned in defeat and pain, bleeding from countless little wounds and several larger ones. The crows had pecked and tore at their flesh and their eyes and the shiftless wanderer Harley Nearwater shot Orrin. While Ralph drove the big truck Nina glanced sidelong at the Wrynd king to see if he might lose consciousness, but he never did. He just looked forward, a storm on his bloody forehead and his eyes very distant. His scye sat inactively in his lap. She still wondered at the blast that had almost struck him down. She had never seen anything like it.
She worried that Orrin might lose too much blood but did not dare ask if she could tend his wounds. He might kill her for even suggesting such a thing and in all honesty she was not sure she could contain her blood lust. To see the wounds of her king, to see the blood flowing from him, the desire to taste of him might be more than she could withstand.
She looked at Ralph, who had deep gashes in his face and on his hands and he nodded at her, smiling weakly. He loved King Orrin perhaps even more than she did. Since she could not tend to her king’s wounds, she did what she thought she could. She linked and ordered three medpacks. A stork delivered them as they pulled into the parking lot of the Castle Valley Inn.
Other than King Orrin, she was one of the few Wrynd in the tribe who had been a blinker before being turned. That Orrin trusted her enough to allow her to live when she could access the Link and possibly bring the Federation down upon them was a source of fierce pride to her. She hoped it meant that one day, when the Wrynd King truly took a queen that was his equal, that queen might be her.
Orrin sat in the jump seat of the old semi, his mind wandering the past as his arm bled down his side, the blood pooling in the seat and soaking his tattered pants. There was little in the way of pain, but Orrin seldom felt physical pain. It was the mental pain that wracked his body. Pain and loss and thoughts of revenge.