Forsada: Volume II in the New Eden series

by Peter J Dudley

  He keeps talking. “It seems to me that your husband is the one who created the rifts. The thirteenth Semper, bringing about the downfall of all remaining civilization. That was the prophecy, and we’re all fortunate that Darius remembered it from the old books. Hey,” he continues, getting conversational, “where is your husband anyway? I kind of expected him to be here after that act he put on the other day.”

  I glance at Freda, admiring her calm and the way she doesn’t react. So they don’t know that Dane is dead. We can use this to our advantage if the Southshawans think their exiled leader is still alive. It’s another wedge to drive between them and Darius, another thing to make them question their righteousness.

  “God has plans for both Dane and me that Darius has not foreseen, because Darius has misinterpreted God’s word.”

  “Right. Says the seamstress.”

  “Truth can be difficult to recognize.” Freda is so calm, so sure of herself. She stands between Patrick and Garrett, her hands folded before her and her posture straight, unbending. The snow, its flakes now big and heavy, forms a light layer of white on her hair and shoulders. Her face looks serene, and her voice doesn’t waver at all. “And Darius misremembers the prophecy and has misinterpreted that, also.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  But she’s still talking. Which means we might have a ghost of a chance of avoiding a fight. Keep it up, Freda.

  “Of course I know what I’m talking about. When Dane recaptured Southshaw from Baddock, with God’s will, we learned much of Darius’ sacrilegious acts and heretical beliefs. He had Baddock murder Semper Linkan. He misunderstood the prophecy.”

  “You’re lying.”

  Freda smiles at him in a piteous way, like my mother used to smile at me when I said something truly stupid. Like she thought I was cute but had much to learn. “The prophecy,” she continues, “was not that the thirteenth Semper will bring the downfall of civilization. It was that after thirteen generations, Southshawans could break down the Wall and return to the world, for the Radiation would be gone and the world would be healed. Not downfall. Liberation.”

  “Darius is the one healing the world, by ridding it of these mutants!”

  He yells the last few words and raises his axe above his head.

  “Run!” yells Patrick, and Freda turns to run back toward the safety of our army.

  I turn to go with her, but I stop when Patrick and Garrett stand their ground. What the hell? Okay, well I’ll stand my ground, too.

  My whip finds my hand and unfurls above me as the six rush us and their army roars and runs up the slope.

  “Get out of here, Lupay,” growls Garrett.

  “No way, you cheater,” I reply, and the whip snaps out at the man running toward me, slashing across the arm he raises to ward off the lash. He cries out but keeps coming.

  Another roar behind us makes it clear that the Tawtrukkers can’t wait to fight back. They’ll get here first, running downhill, but it will be too late for the three of us. The six Southshawans are strong, ruthless, and big.

  Just before they fall upon us, another roar rises from the riverbed to our right. A group of ten men climbs up the bank and sprints toward us, only seconds away. Patrick and Garrett seem unconcerned about them, so they must be Patrick’s men. Clever.

  This new force distracts our attackers just for an instant, and I crouch and leap upward as the big Southshawan arrives, driving my shoulder hard into his ribs. He didn’t expect that, and air leaves him with a deep grunt. I let his momentum carry him up and over me, pushing with my legs to help throw him. He flies over my head as I spin and throw him with all my strength bundled in a fierce roar of my own.

  He doesn’t fly far, but he lands awkwardly and drops his axe in the dirt.

  Garrett and Patrick are defending themselves, and I find the other man who’s picked me out for his attack. His eyes are angry and filled with fear, but he’s hanging back, unsure what to do. Well, I know what to do.

  My whip cracks again, this time catching his ankle. I throw myself backwards, knocking him to the dirt. I don’t need to kill anyone. I only need to live long enough for the men from the river to arrive.

  I turn to look at the man I threw, see him bending to retrieve his axe. I flip the whip to my left hand and snatch a blade from my shirt and flick it. It hisses through the air and bites into the Southshawan’s forearm just as he grabs the axe from the ground. He howls and drops the axe again, clawing at the blade that I’m sure has sliced tendons and muscles. He might never use those fingers again.

  But he might never get a chance. The men hidden by the river have arrived. The armies are approaching.

  “Time to go,” Garrett says as he grabs my arm. Together, we run back toward our own army.

  “Nice plan,” I gasp as we sprint through the thickening snow. “Cheater!” The exhilaration of the fight, the crisp chill of the new winter, the pride in my friends all lift me as I run. It feels more like flying. I laugh as we run, relishing the freezing wet of the snowflakes hitting my face.

  We only run fifty yards before our army reaches us going the other way. I can see the rage in their faces, the same rage I’ve felt for a long time. The embers of their burned houses glow in their eyes, but my excitement fades as they flow around and past us toward the fight.

  So few. Armed only with clubs, hoes, axes, hunting knives. One carries a long pair of garden shears, another a tree saw. Only a couple hundred. As they stream by, I look to Garrett. My confidence, so high a moment ago, has disappeared.

  “Garrett…”

  “I know, Loop,” he says. For a moment, his face mirrors my distraught expression. Then it tightens into a repressed grin, and ultimately a smile. “Cheater, remember?”

  “What’s the plan?” My confidence is returning. I wish he’d just come out with it. “And why didn’t you tell me!” Of course, this is no time for talk with a battle underway, but I want to know everything.

  Garrett nods toward the battle, and as we walk he talks fast.

  “When was the last time you saw Tom?”

  I can’t remember. “A few days ago, maybe.”

  “How many of Patrick’s guys do you see here?”

  “Not enough.”

  “Right. Not all the Subterran tunnels are blocked, it turns out.”

  Tom. Patrick’s men. The ambush from the river. Another ambush. As we reach the rear of the mass of the Tawtrukk army, I ask, “Where and when?”

  It’s hard to hear each other now that the battle has begun. The air is filled with sounds of clashing weapons, men yelling in rage and screaming in pain, feet stomping the earth and slipping in the wet snow. The Tawtrukkers right in front of us try to push forward, but the narrowness of the canyon constricts the fighting to only a hundred or so at a time. The fighting is only a dozen yards in front of us, but we can’t reach it through the thick mass of men.

  “Soon, and…” Garrett stands on his tiptoes and peers over the seething, groaning battle. He points right down the middle and shouts, “There!”

  So it’s on, then. I say, “Come on,” and grab his arm to pull him forward into the battle.

  He pulls back, shakes his head. “No, sorry, you don’t get to fight here.”

  “What are you talking about now? Forsada fights with her people! I fight here, with them.”

  “No, you don’t.” His fingers wrap around my arm so tight I know they’ll leave a bruise. He pulls me to the right, toward the river. “Come on.”

  Together we run as fast as we can. I see Freda standing by the river already, watching us and making sure she stays well behind the fighting line. I look around for Patrick but don’t see him. There’s no chance to ask Garrett as we’re using all our speed, all our breath to get to Freda. As we approach, she turns and scrambles out of sight down the riverbank.

  In a few seconds we’ve reached the riverbank and scramble down at the same place. We hop from boulder to boulder across the river
, which is shallow and fast after the long, hot, dry summer. On the other side is a Southshawan man, one of Patrick’s inner circle but whom I don’t know, holding reins to two horses.

  Garrett steers me to one horse while the Southshawan helps Freda up onto the other. He hops up behind her, and I climb up behind Garrett. In an instant we’re galloping along the river, running the deer track that winds its way downstream, sometimes touching the river’s edge and sometimes following it into the forest and back, always back to the water.

  The high riverbank that hid our ambushes now blocks my view of the battle as we pass it. We have to hope it’s going our way.

  “So,” I say into Garrett’s ear, “what’s the plan?”

  Garrett leans forward into the wind, and I have to lean tight against him to hear what he’s saying.

  “Darius wasn’t there.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So we’re going to get him.”

  “Ah. Good plan,” I say, “but it seems to be lacking in specifics.”

  “You’re forgetting Sam,” he says.

  “You’re right. I am forgetting Sam.” Patrick’s friend. They mentioned him during that little charade yesterday when they kept saying I thought this all up. What was it they said I had planned for him?

  “He took a small group over the ridge trail, hoping to free the prisoners.”

  “Oh, right.” It seemed like a suicide mission then. I haven’t changed my opinion.

  “You don’t sound convinced,” Garrett says, and with my arms wrapped tight around his chest, I can feel him laughing at me.

  “What! Spill it, you skunk!”

  “Patrick ran the prison camp, remember? Sam knows the guards. All the ones loyal to Darius will be at the battle.”

  Brilliant. I can’t quite keep it all in my head, but I really came up with a smart plan. Draw out Darius’ army with the promise of destroying the people of Tawtrukk once and for all, then flank the army while arming a whole other group to come up and attack from behind once the battle’s underway.

  No wonder we’re galloping so fast.

  Glad I thought it up. “Patrick’s plan?” I ask.

  “Mostly,” Garrett replies, and I can hear a little reluctance in his voice, some disappointment at the admission.

  “Why isn’t he coming with us?”

  “We thought it more important for him to manage the actual battle.”

  “Okay.”

  It won’t take long to get to the main square of Lower. I wonder if Darius’ scouts on the ridge saw us leave the battle, if they have any signal they can give Darius that we’re coming. I hope not. I hope he’s there, and I hope I can put my knife right through his heart.

  I remember the crazed look of rage in Dane’s eyes as he drove an axehead into Baddock’s spine. At the time, it terrified me. Now I know what he was feeling, and I wonder if I’ll look as terrifying when my time comes to destroy Darius. I hope not.

  As we fly along the river, the snow thickens. There’s little wind, and the flakes are fat and wet, piling up on the ground. There’s no telling how long it will last. Micktuk would know. He knew lots of things. The almanac man, too. He would know. I wonder if he’s also dead. He knew lots of things, too, but he didn’t have any books. Not like Micktuk.

  I guess I’ll find out soon.

  After fifteen minutes, we slow and ford the river at a wide, shallow bend. The horses step into the water and wade against the current. I lift my knees to keep my feet dry until we reach the other side, the horses snorting hot steam into the winter air as they grunt up the embankment.

  Before us stretches a low-rolling field smooth and white, with the buildings of Lower a few hundred yards away down the gentle slope. In the gray morning, they look quiet and cold, breathing pale smoke from their brown chimneys into the falling snow.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen Lower this close in months, and it’s so serene and unspoiled, like I saw it last winter. I just want to jump off this horse and run into town, run to my house, call for my mother and father. She’d be making candles, or soup, and my father would be sweating soot in the forge, clanging his hammer in time to some silly song in his head.

  But I can’t do that, and they aren’t there.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” Garrett asks.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “What is?”

  “Just an inch of snow can erase the passage of an entire army.”

  I see what he means. It’s like nature has spread a bandage across the field, white and clean and hiding all the scars.

  He says, “I know I sound silly, but it makes me feel hopeful, you know?”

  I squeeze him a little to show him I agree, but it’s Freda who says, “Not silly at all. It’s a reminder.”

  I wonder if she means a reminder from God. I bristle at the thought but try to keep my comments inside. I don’t know what her god would be reminding us of at this point. If he’s so into reminders, maybe he should have reminded Darius that war is bad.

  “A reminder,” she repeats as if she’s heard my thoughts, “that even when people do awful things, the world keeps going. Winter comes, and the spring follows.”

  So it wasn’t a God thing after all. I can stop bristling now… but I can’t, actually, because now I’m bristling at my own reaction. Can’t I hear something from Freda without painting it black with all her God stuff? I’ll work on that. It’s so easy to hate everything about Southshaw after what Darius has done that I forget there’s still good in some of them. Lots of good. Why can’t I remember that all the time and not just when Freda or Patrick hits me over the head with it?

  “Look.” The Southshawan man points across the field. “Darius.”

  My heart lurches, and I start breathing hard. Calm down, Lupay.

  A dozen or more horses emerge from between the two nearest houses. I don’t know how he can tell Darius is among them. To me they’re just a bunch of men in heavy coats on dark horses. Difficult to distinguish.

  Garrett says, “Which one?”

  “On the far right.”

  I can feel Garrett readying to spur our horse forward, but the other man puts up his hand.

  “Don’t. It’d be suicide.”

  “We’ve taken care of worse,” Garrett growls.

  “No. No, you haven’t.” The man’s voice sinks with a grim finality that makes Garrett relax.

  So we wait and watch a moment. The dozen saunter into the pristine whiteness of the field, a bundle of blots oozing as one, leaving a dark trail of muddy hoofprints behind. They go without urgency, walking against the chilly breeze, out into the middle of the field.

  Freda speaks first. “We should go talk to them.”

  “Talk?” Garrett is strained. Like me, he longs to see Darius dead.

  “We can’t fight. We’d be killed.”

  “He might kill us anyway.”

  “He might,” Freda agrees.

  The man says, “We should wait until the battle is over, shouldn’t we?”

  Freda says, “No. There’s no point. Darius knows this, too. Events are out of our hands. He might try to kill us, and if he does we can run away. But I don’t think he will.”

  “Why not?” demands Garrett.

  “Because he wants to gloat,” she says plainly, as if she were saying something as obvious as because snow is white.

  We sit a moment more, and I’m about to tell Garrett to spur the horse on, out toward Darius, when he does it without prodding. The other horse catches up to us after a few steps. I hear him ask Freda quietly, “But why? What good will it do to go out there?”

  Freda answers so we can all hear. “Because people like Darius must be confronted. They need to be reminded that their actions are wrong. If no one tells them, they have no reason to stop.”

  I’m about to say that Darius wouldn’t stop no matter how many people told him he was wrong, but Garrett speaks up instead. “Plus, it’s hard to kill him from a hundred yards away.”

  I grin into
the back of Garrett’s coat and turn my face away from Freda so she can’t see me smiling. That’s my Garrett.

  As we walk the horses slowly across the field leaving our own muddy trail, they wait. It takes only a minute or so, and finally Freda says, “Close enough.”

  We stop, close enough to see their breath but far enough to get a good head start if we have to run.

  CHAPTER 25

  “Good morning, Freda,” Darius says. He doesn’t shout, but his voice carries across the open space with the force of authority.

  “Call back our people, Darius.”

  “My people. You must call me Semper, child. I will forgive you this once because of the traumas you’ve been through. Consider me… merciful.”

  “I will not call you Semper,” she says, and even as my own blood boils and my fingers tighten around my whip, I am astonished at her calm confidence.

  “Suit yourself. I was prepared to pardon you, but it appears you prefer exile among the heathens.”

  At least he didn’t say mutants.

  “Call them back. This battle is unnecessary and wrong.”

  “This battle, as you call it, is the final step in cleansing the Earth so we may repopulate it. According to the prophecy. God took the first steps to cleanse the world by allowing man to destroy cities and technology and each other. But we did an imperfect job, and now it is up to us to finish what our ancestors began.”

  “You’re wrong, Darius,” Freda says with the patience and condescension of a schoolteacher. “You’ve misinterpreted the prophecy.”

  He barks out a laugh, his tight-trimmed beard, pointed nose, and squinty black eyes making him look very coyote-like. “And what would a little girl who makes pretty clothes know about God’s word?”

  The men around him laugh along with him. And I want to strangle every one of them.

  Before I can think, I blurt out, “She knows more about God than you’ll ever know, you bastard.”

  “The mutant speaks!” The men all laugh again, and I can feel Garrett holding the horse tight, leaning back against me. Darius points at me and looks me right in the eye. “You’ll know plenty about God soon enough, mutant, when you meet Him face to face.”