The Fallen Mender

by R. J. Francis

  “Those are the staff,” Mascarin explained to General Tokashan. “Scientists, cleaners, assistants…” Mascarin and the general were watching from within one of the wagons.

  Next, a few pregnant teens emerged, squinting as their eyes adjusted to the light. Then came a few mothers with toddlers: twins, in most cases.

  “Some of the unwilling guests,” Mascarin explained. “Is that…? Yes! I’m sure that’s Elma. Her mother works for the princess.”

  More Destaurians now broke off to attend to the defectors and escapees. They began to erect a canvas canopy to shade the most vulnerable of those liberated.

  “Are there many more inside?” General Tokashan asked Mascarin.

  “Many more,” Mascarin said. “I smell a trap.”

  “We can afford to wait a little longer,” said the general. “We’ll have our reinforcements here soon.”

  Suddenly a woman ran out with her hands up. “Help!” she cried. “They’re killing everyone else!”

  “Trap?” General Tokashan whispered to Mascarin.

  “It reeks like one,” Mascarin said.

  “We’ll send a few small teams in to assess—not everyone,” said the general.

  “I’ll go in—right for the communications gear,” Mascarin said. “I may be able to talk them into giving up.”

  “Alright, honey-tongue, do your thing,” said the general. With hand signals, the general started directing his squads to enter the facility.

  Mascarin quickly recruited two elite soldiers to join him. On Mascarin’s mark, the three sprinted across the sand to the baby mill. Following the outer wall around to the south side of the facility, they found a small open door that no teams had yet entered. They drew their bows and went in.

  Just as they entered the baby mill, a small explosion, deeper in, shook the compound. “There’s a lot of wood in these walls,” Mascarin told the others. “This place will burn quickly if it catches fire. Look out for trip wires, snipers hidden in closets, anything. Just be alert. Follow me.”

  They started down the long entry corridor, scanning the ground and walls for traps. Suddenly, there was a crack! crack! crack! from behind and above them.

  One bolt had just missed Mascarin’s head, and the soldiers to either side of him fell to the floor.

  He spun, and saw a dark-clad figure hanging by a harness from the ceiling, just above the entry door. Mascarin pulled the trigger on his own Destaurian bow: crack! and then boomph! the attacker’s suicide vest exploded, blowing the man apart and coating the doorway and a section of the corridor with blood and flaming oil.

  Mascarin stooped to check on his two allies. Both men were dead.

  His only exit now ablaze, Mascarin topped up his crossbow and ran deeper into the facility, making a few turns in the corridors. He knew this place, but not well, and the main lighting had been cut, leaving only skylights to illuminate the place. He saw smoke ahead, starting to pool at the ceiling. He dug in his satchel for his filter mask and strapped it on. Someone started screaming further on.

  A few steps more, and he felt his foot snag on a tripwire. Bwam! The floor behind him exploded, hurtling him forward down the corridor amidst a rain of debris. He tucked in his body and rolled to a stop.

  He quickly assessed what hurt—a few spots, not too bad… His smoke mask was still hanging on by one strap. More screams and explosions indicated chaos up ahead. He held his busted mask to his face.

  What am I doing? Mascarin thought, as he got back up to his feet. Nastasha and his two unborn children entered his mind. What had he promised her? To stay safe? Hidden? To win the war? To return to look for her?

  This wasn’t the first time he’d been reckless: for years he had repeatedly put himself in danger, despite his clear responsibility to look after the Shadow Children. Only by the grace of the divine spirit had he lived this long. Now, with even more innocents depending on him, he’d gone in to this death trap with far less backup than he should have.

  He set aside these thoughts. No matter how potent and life-changing they were, they had come too late. To survive, he needed to stay in the moment.

  Mascarin continued down the smoky hall, and was about to pass the open door to a guard post, when he felt compelled to check the post so he didn’t get surprised from behind.

  As soon as he entered the room, someone yanked the crossbow from his grasp, sending it spinning across the floor.

  Emerging from the darkness was “X”: the commander in charge of the baby mill.

  X was reputed to be the most intimidating soldier in the purple army. Fit, blonde, taller and far stronger than the average soldier, X was well-trained in the all of the ancient fighting arts, and most of the new ones. She could kill with a single well-placed blow.

  “Wonderful! You’re alive,” Mascarin said to X, bluffing. “Let’s find a way out of here.”

  “You think I don’t know what you’ve been up to, spy?” said X, with her lips curled up in a sneer. “You aren’t leaving here alive.”

  Thinking fast, Mascarin threw a punch right into X’s cheek. She endured the hit and dropped low to grasp Mascarin’s midsection. Like a charging bull, she ran him straight into the stone wall behind him, following through with all her weight, smashing the air from his lungs and breaking his ribs. His smoke mask clattered to the floor.

  Just then, an explosion blew out two of the room’s walls and threw both Mascarin and X to the floor. A second blast wave lashed them with sand and knocked spinning, burning splinters their way.

  Debris now blocked any escape. Part of the ceiling had opened, and daylight streamed in as smoke was sucked upward by the pressure differential. Sparks and embers swirled like gnats around the place. More screams and explosions resounded from other rooms in the building.

  “Is this what you want, X?” Mascarin shouted. “I can give you a new life. A normal life. Stop right now, and it’s all forgiven!”

  X eyed Mascarin’s crossbow, which lay nearby. She started to reach for it, but stopped. “You know, I don’t need that pop gun to finish you off, spy,” she said. “It’s gonna be more fun to use my hands.” She pounced on Mascarin and delivered blow after destructive blow to his face with her iron-hard fists. He tried in vain to block her punches with his forearms. With each of her strikes, he felt his facial bones crack and the back of his skull smack against the stone floor.

  Several barrels burst nearby, sending a puddle of burning liquid flowing toward the brawling pair.

  X clamped her thighs onto the outside of Mascarin’s upper legs. With hands as strong as pincers, she pinned both of Mascarin’s wrists to the floor. Mascarin struggled, but X was many times stronger.

  “Do you want to die this badly when I am offering you life and freedom?” Mascarin shouted. Adrenaline coursed through his body, but the energy was unfocused, numbing. “Come on, let’s get out of here!”

  X bared her teeth and grunted, leaning down into his face, as if she were about to take a bite out of him.

  Turning his face to avoid her teeth, at the edge of his view he saw, behind X, the tide of flaming liquid sparking, popping and rippling toward them. It had almost reached his legs now. Mascarin flailed with all his strength, but he could not get free of X’s grasp.

  “Do you really want to burn to death?” Mascarin shouted into her face. “Are you that insane?”

  Then, with a whoomp, Mascarin’s boots and pants caught fire. He thrashed with all he had.

  The pain began to shoot up his lower legs. He knew he was about to be burned alive. He just hoped it was quick, and that he could take X with him.

  And then he heard a voice from behind X—a sweet, girl’s voice.

  The voice said: “You will not make him suffer.”

  X heard the voice too, and, startled, she eased her grip on Mascarin’s arms.

  Mascarin summoned all his strength and rolled out from under X. Reaching down, he furiously patted and batted his flaming pants and boots with his bare hands to put out the
flames. It worked. He glanced up at X and saw beside her the mysterious person who had joined them in the room.

  It was Maya.

  Maya, in her cloak the color of fresh snow, radiated white light. Beneath the glow, her skin and clothes appeared so crisp and detailed she looked more than real. Her stern, dark brown eyes were locked on X, who was slowly retreating from her in fright, backing right into the flaming puddle, until…

  Poof! X’s clothes erupted in flames.

  Maya turned toward Mascarin and ran to him, beckoning him to stand. Excitement and compassion poured forth through her eyes and washed over him in calming waves. She helped him to his feet, and he felt new life in her loving grip.

  Behind Maya, Mascarin saw X flailing about in the fire, but…the whole baby mill—the whole burning mess—seemed like it was fading. The distant screams and the snapping and roaring of the fire became quieter and quieter. The searing heat resolved into a comfortable warmth.

  “This way,” Maya said to Mascarin. “Don’t look back.” She walked him toward a solid timber wall, and they disappeared into it.

  It would be a “while” before Mascarin remembered who he was and what had happened.

  When Jaimin, Elaina and Tori came out into the courtyard, soldiers were convincing the civilians massed there to take their celebrations out to the city square. There just wasn’t enough room in the courtyard for all of the cheering, dancing, chanting citizens still coming up out of the castle’s underground spaces, where they had been packed for days.

  With so much going on, the royals were able to cut through the crowd without attracting much attention. They saw General Valeriy near the middle of the courtyard and approached him.

  “Great plan,” General Valeriy told Jaimin. “You’ve done it. I have news from Destauria that things there are going in our favor, although there is still one site to clear out.”

  “We’ve heard that too,” Jaimin said. “You’re letting the civilians back into the city? Isn’t it a bit early?”

  “The city is completely ours,” said the general. “There are still some fires and safety hazards to deal with, but we’re opening up one street at a time for the townspeople to return home.”

  The royals continued across the courtyard to the stables, where Elaina was keen to check on her horse, Nightmare, and Alessa’s horse, Tyrant. She and Tori spent time patting the horses, brushing them, and feeding them treats.

  “Found you!” Nastasha said, spotting Jaimin checking on his favorite horse. She gave Jaimin a hug. He could feel the bandages on her back and took care not to hold her too tightly. Elaina came over.

  “Excellent work, both of you,” Nastasha said to them. “There will be a special dinner tonight for the court, the Celmareans, and the allied command. Show up at the banquet hall just after dark.”

  Elaina said, “Hey, I understand that Mascarin played a big role in getting the purple army to surrender at the training camps.”

  “Really? What did he do?” she asked.

  “All I know is that he delivered a speech that swayed them to give up.”

  “He’s safe? You haven’t heard anything otherwise?”

  “I haven’t,” said Elaina. “But it sounds like they are being very cautious down there. I’m sure he’s all right.”

  “He’d better be,” Nastasha said. “He promised me.” But she had an awful feeling.

  Just fifteen minutes later, Elaina learned through her connection with Alessa that Mascarin had perished in the conflagration at the baby mill.

  Jaimin went alone to seek out Nastasha, and he found her in the corridor near the stables. When she saw the timid look on his face, she knew at once something was wrong.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked him. “Tell me at once.”

  “It’s Mascarin,” Jaimin said. “He’s been killed in battle.”

  She stared past him blankly for several seconds, and then she said: “How do you know this? You must be mistaken.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jaimin said.

  “No…” she said. Leaving Jaimin there, she ran off to confirm the facts with her father, General Valeriy, who had just received a full report on the baby mill fiasco.

  “Did Mascarin suffer?” Nastasha asked her father. She had not yet told her father she was pregnant with Mascarin’s children.

  “I’d like to think he didn’t,” Valeriy said. “Was he one of your new friends?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, my dear,” said Valeriy, and he offered her a hug. She took him up on it.

  Later that evening, the victory banquet for the court and allied command took place as planned. With food stocks looking like they would be replenished, the kitchen had prepared the best of what they had. They even served several of Elaina’s famous cheeses.

  There were dozens of toasts, resulting in inebriation for everyone except the Celmareans and the children. The queen, with her typical eloquence, gave an inspirational speech. And then the dancing began.

  When they weren’t dancing, Elaina and Jaimin made the rounds and were socially brilliant, impressing everyone with the love and compassion they displayed for each other and the court.

  Although Elaina and Jaimin had offered multiple times to stay by her side, Nastasha had insisted on spending the evening alone on a couch backstage in the academy’s theater, speaking at length with her two unborn babies about their father, and about their future.

  “The Celmareans believe the future already exists,” Nastasha said tenderly to the children within her. “Which must mean I can already get to know you, right? Can you show me who you are? Can we begin to share love? We belong together—no matter what happens. Nobody can take that from us.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Jaimin and Elaina set their wedding date for the second Seventh-day following, several days after the last of the court funerals was to take place. But there wasn’t just a wedding to plan for: the future of the whole region needed to be worked out. And the political and military situation wasn’t as perfect as all the post-war euphoria would suggest.

  It would take some time to chase down the last of the Frakkers; there were a few of them still clinging to their lost cause. And the allies still hadn’t found the purple army’s high commander, who had gone into hiding along with a few dozen of his officers.

  There were also rogues in the Destaurian army to subdue, and traitors in the Destaurian court who needed to be rooted out.

  And it was proving to be no easy task for the leaders of Arra, Audicia, and Destauria to explain to their civilian populations the strange drama that had underpinned the war.

  Radovan and Eleonora had the most difficulty. Some in Destauria vowed never to pledge loyalty to them, and were still stirring up discontent, alleging that the kingdom had been overtaken by foreign powers.

  Still, life went on, and Jaimin and Elaina thought it best to go ahead with their wedding, despite the uncertainty. It was really Nastasha who gave them the final permission they needed to proceed: “I’m incredibly happy for you,” Nastasha said, as the three of them sat for a private lunch. “You must marry at once. I’ve done the legal research, and the Celmarean rules of marriage, not the Arran ones, would apply to your situation. There is no reason to wait.”

  “You will remain part of our lives. Part of our story. And we hope to be part of yours,” Elaina said.

  “Your story can have a happy turn,” Nastasha said, “so embrace it. My story has been shattered over and over.”

  Her comment pained Jaimin, and both Nastasha and Elaina felt him recoil from it.

  “Your story is amazing,” Elaina told Nastasha. “You’ve always been more intelligent and more perceptive than those around you, and because of this, when there’s a problem, you see yourself as the only one who can take action. This leads you to take risks—and to make sacrifices—that nobody else could. And more often than not, you succeed.”

  Nastasha just stared, processing Elaina’s words.

  Elaina continue
d: “I know the responsibility is hard to bear, especially when you aren’t seeing the rewards directly. But I also know you’ll find your happiness—immense happiness—and you’ll accept the risks you take, and the risks you have taken, knowing they are fundamental to who you are.”

  Nastasha was loathe to hear any more predictions from Elaina about her future, but she knew Elaina had spoken the truth. Nastasha felt in her heart that things would work out well for herself and her babies. She was only eighteen, peace had been restored, she had one of the most important roles in the region, and the two children growing within her were healthy. On top of that, she was adored by everyone.

  North of Arra, the Audician soldiers, on returning to their homeland, were celebrated in the streets. The Audicians knew that had the purple army not been stopped in Arra, Audicia would have been the next target. The young Audician prince returned early from his world travels to find his life changed: he was about to be crowned king.

  The Celmareans normally resident in Audicia stayed in Arra to attend Jaimin and Elaina’s wedding, and to participate in the discussions about the region’s future.

  Everyone in Arra, including the royal court, the townspeople, those living in the country, and the foreign visitors, pitched in to repair the damage that the Arran castle, city and port had sustained. Within a week, the castle was fully restored, and repairs were well underway on the homes, businesses and streets that had been damaged.

  Alethea commissioned a renowned master sculptor from the city to craft a statue of her late husband, King Julian, to be placed in the Hall of Kings.

  Radovan, Alessa, Eleonora and the others who had led the effort to secure Destauria came up to Arra as soon as they could, arriving on the second Fourth-day.