A Tribute at the Gates

by C. J. Aaron

  “Well, I best be getting you back to your friends before they start to worry,” the sub-master said, standing slowly.

  “Thank you, sir, for all you've said and done,” Ryl responded honestly.

  The sub-master accompanied Ryl back out of the officer’s quarters. The shadows had stretched out far since he'd entered. The square was now virtually deserted as most had sought the relative comfort from the persistent mist that swirled around the base of the waterfall. Millis’ voice took on its official tone once they left the safety of his office.

  “Your assignments over the next few weeks will continue,” Millis stated. “They'll be light but, unfortunately, I can no longer let you work unsupervised in the orchard. If there are any that you'd prefer in the village, let me know.”

  “I understand, sir,” Ryl said. He figured now was as good a time as any to try his luck. “Maybe you could assign someone to help fill the gaps in the common house wall, or build a berm to stop the house from flooding with every rain.”

  “I'll see what I can do,” Millis replied. His eyes met Ryl's for a moment. They were conflicted, a sense of duty locked in a moral struggle over doing what was right. With a nod of his head, Millis turned and made his way back into his quarters.

  Within the last few moons, his world had been twisted, turned upside down, only to be twisted again. Ryl struggled to keep his head straight. As it turned out, the sentiment of the lone unknown guard who’d come to his aid on several occasions wasn't as rare as he had once believed. Was the spark of change already smoldering?

  Daydreams of the potential changes in the wind occupied his mind as he made his way back into the common house. The majority of the tributes currently housed in Tabenville were in the common room on the main floor when Ryl entered. The water on the floor had receded slightly from its highest point, yet still covered nearly a quarter of the usable area. The glowing reflection from the small fire on the water cast a shimmering display of lights on the ceiling and walls.

  Luan and the twins were waiting for him as he entered the hall. The conversation ceased, leaving the room in an uncomfortable silence.

  “What’s happening, Ryl?” Luan asked the question all those attending had been wondering.

  Ryl surveyed the room, making eye contact with most of the tributes as they waited in anxious suspense for his reply.

  “Seems there was an incident on the road through the Erlyn today.” Ryl raised his voice, announcing to all those gathered. “I’m sure some of you have seen the bandaged guard they were dragging through the square. Looks like the Erlyn was looking out for us, hit the unlucky fool with a falling branch.”

  There was a scattered mix of muted laughter from the crowd at the plight of the guard.

  “In the process, the rider lost the whole of this week’s treatment in the river,” Ryl continued.

  There was a collective gasp from those assembled. Questions flowed from multiple mouths making for an incoherent mix of sounds. The tributes shouted over one another as they attempted to get their questions answered first. Ryl held his hands up quickly silencing the crowd.

  “A rider’s already been dispatched to retrieve more treatment from Cadsae,” Ryl explained, smiling at his next statement. “Our gracious sub-master’s suspended all assignments until it arrives, most likely the day after tomorrow.”

  There were cheers from the assembled crowd. Not often did the tributes have a cause for celebration, being granted two days off from labor was one such reason. Ryl let the cheers die down before finishing relaying the message.

  “Apparently, they keep a small reserve supply of treatment available for emergencies,” Ryl stated. “Anyone feeling any symptoms of the sickness are to see the guards immediately.”

  With that he offered an exaggerated bow before walking with Luan and his friends to a table against the far wall. The group sat together eating a meager dinner of dried rations and stale bread. Ryl was quiet, contemplative as the conversation carried on around him.

  “Ryl, why do I feel like there’s more you’re not telling us,” Luan said quietly, interrupting his thoughts.

  Ryl looked at his three friends gathered around him. All of them wore similar worried expressions written across their faces.

  “There is,” Ryl responded quietly with a sigh. “This is not the place for the conversation though, I’m afraid. Give me a few minutes, then meet me in my room.”

  The three nodded their heads in unison.

  Ryl rose from the table, placing his hand on Tash’s shoulder as he passed.

  “And bring three cups,” he said with a wink.

  Ryl closed the door to his room, hastily opening his pack, carefully removing the contents. Resting the bottle gently on the head of his bed, he unfolded the cloak, admiring the simplistic beauty in the design and fabric. There were two pockets stitched into the interior, one on either side. Each was closed securely with a clasp. Both pockets were empty. Ryl made quick work of transferring the stolen treatments into one, closing it tightly before refolding the garment and hiding it inside the small gap between the layers of the pallet he called his bed.

  This was as safe a hiding place as any at the moment with theft among the fellow tributes virtually unheard of. Ryl was still nervous not having the treatments closer at hand. The risk of carrying them in his pack on a daily basis was too great. He would have to find a more effective solution.

  There was a quiet knock on the door. Ryl opened it, letting in Tash, Palon and Luan, closing the door behind them. He moved across the room, taking a seat at the head of the bed, while Luan sat near the foot. Tash sat down against the wall across from him while Palon remained standing, leaning against the wall by the door.

  Ryl grabbed the bottle from his bed, popping the stopper, letting the amber liquid breathe.

  “Libations courtesy of the sub-master.” Ryl offered the twins each a cup, which they both obliged before pouring a cup for himself. He offered the bottle to Luan, who politely shook her head.

  “Ryl, a gift from the sub-master, what's going on?” Luan's voice cracked as she spoke. She placed her hand on Ryl's arm.

  Ryl stared down at a dark-colored knot in the worn floorboards underneath his feet. He was hesitant to break the news to his friends.

  “Mender Jeffers finished with the tests,” Ryl spoke quietly, pausing to compose himself before continuing. “I'm living on borrowed time now. I leave with this season's Harvest.”

  40

  Word of Ryl’s departure spread quickly throughout Tabenville. Each tribute in turn had come to pay their respects, the added attention made him uncomfortable. He dreaded having to say farewell to the rest of his friends when they finally returned to the Cadsae at the end of the following week nearly as much as the uncertainty of his Harvest.

  The tributes had become like a family to him. Having each lost their biological families in one tragic way or another, they had become siblings in a sense, bonded through the caustic family of hardship. They provided each other with unconditional support and understanding. Every Harvest was another cause to mourn a new set of loved ones passing on from their lives.

  The rider arrived with the treatments late the following night. As none of the tributes had yet to complain of any symptoms, sub-master Millis opted to postpone giving them until the next morning. Work would start again in Tabenville.

  Ryl was assigned to assist with the harvesting of the late-growing lettuce in the fields that bordered the Erlyn. Although he’d been allowed free rein to carry out his work around the village, he was sure that there would be eyes closely watching his movements. He strived to carry out his daily tasks with an uninhibited sense of normalcy.

  The following day dawned grey and dismal. The torrential rain held off, but the heavily laden air was clouded with a light fog and dropped a consistent thick drizzle. From the plot he worked, nearest the entrance to the Erlyn, the statue of Taben the Defender had completely vanished in the mist. The morning also brought the first of
the wagons from Cadsae, bound to collect the harvested crops that had accumulated in the storehouse.

  Ryl looked up from his work, wiping the wet hair away from his eyes. He was soaked from head to toe, the lashings that held his splint had stretched with the added moisture. Ryl found himself retying them frequently. He gathered the vegetables he’d harvested in his bucket, walking slowly across the soggy ground toward the cart that was positioned just off the side of the road at the end of the field he was working.

  He dumped the bucket into the cart, shaking it to remove the final vegetable that was stuck to the mud in the bottom. He rested his foot on the wheel of the wagon using his knee to support his left arm as he worked to tighten the straps on his splint again. Looking up, he was surprised to see a pair of tributes exiting from the Erlyn a short distance away.

  It was unusual to see tributes returning from work assignments outside of the village this early in the day. The pair walked with purpose, side by side, silently, with heads lowered to the ground. Ryl couldn’t make out their faces through the fog, and neither raised their heads or acknowledged him as he greeted them. Ryl went back to work as the pair moved into the field across the road from his.

  Next load in hand, Ryl was slowly returning to the cart when the sound of horses signaled the approach of another wagon. Like the others before it, two large horses pulled a single driver and a large flat wagon. He had nearly reached the cart when the horses and driver passed him by. The driver looked down at him, his eyes growing wide. A look of recognition flashed across his face before he spurred his horses on faster than the conditions should allow.

  Ryl looked around to see if any of the tributes had witnessed the strange behavior from the driver. The look he had on his face wasn’t one of sheer hatred like he’d expected from the guards outside of Tabenville, but one of nervous apprehension. The pair of tributes that had arrived a short time earlier began making their way across the opposite field on a path toward his location. One of the pair was waving in greeting. Ryl paused at the cart, waiting for their arrival. It was strange that neither of them were carrying any crops.

  There was a shout from the road in the direction of the village. Ryl turned to see what had caused the commotion. The driver of the last carriage had misjudged the side of the road, sinking both wheels on one side into the soft plowed earth of the field that bordered the road just past the stable. Through the fog, he could only make out the dark shapes of the guards as they hurried to help the stuck driver.

  As if on cue, the pair of tributes heading his direction, who were just on the opposite side of the road, surged forward. Before Ryl could react, they had grabbed him from either side, dragging him toward the mouth of the Erlyn only a few paces away. A sharp point dug into his back.

  “Struggle or scream and we’ll slit your throat right here, herd.” The gruff voice came from the guard on his right. Within moments, the three of them had disappeared into the shadowed mouth of the Erlyn.

  “Take him up around this bend where the river meets the road there. We can drown him there. Master needs it to look like an accident,” the guard to his left reminded his partner.

  Ryl started to struggle, frantically digging his feet into the ground. The pair only tightened their grips as they dragged him along.

  “Gotta say, you made it easy on us, just standing there by the road like that,” the second guard laughed. “You made an enemy of the wrong man, herd.”

  The guard to his right had one hand twisted in the shoulder of Ryl’s soaking shirt, the other pressing the knife into his side. The guard to his right had one hand on the back of his neck, his other hand moved down onto his splint. Ryl squealed in mock pain, causing the sadistic guard to grin as he tightened his grip on the splint in an attempt to instill additional pain.

  The loosened straps slid slightly on Ryl’s arm.

  Using the slipping straps to his advantage, Ryl yanked his left arm back, curling it toward his body as it pulled free from the splint. At the same time, he dropped his body into a crouch, throwing his head down and to the left. The guard’s fingernails gouged into the back of his neck as he lost his grip on Ryl’s slickened skin.

  Carrying the momentum from the sudden motion of his head and arm, he spun his crouched body to the left, pivoting on the ball of his foot. His body twisted quickly on the slippery earth. The guard to the right lost his single handhold on Ryl’s shirt, stumbling forward a few paces down the road. Ryl heard the hiss of the blade as it passed just above his head.

  He continued the spin as he made a full rotation. His right foot drew a light circle in the earth as it traced his path. The knife-wielding guard had recovered from his stumble, turning back toward him, face locked in a snarl of pure, hateful rage. His knife was held out wide as he regained his balance.

  Ryl leaned slightly forward toward the guard as his body completed the full circuit. His right foot connected its traced circle at its origin. He slammed the heel of his left foot into the ground arresting his spin, while the toe of his right bit into the road gaining purchase. His legs were coiled like springs, his weight focused down the road toward the approaching guard.

  He exploded forward, both legs firing simultaneously, launching him into the air. Ryl’s upper body twisted so that his left shoulder pointed directly at the guard, his left elbow leading the way. His right arm trailed behind him, hand balled into a tight fist, his mind focused as the woodskin solidified on his hand. Once airborne, he threw his leading elbow to the left, torqueing his shoulders with it. His right arm curled close to his body before shooting forward with lightning speed, amplified by the momentum of his upper body.

  The guard was unprepared for the pace of Ryl’s counterattack. His left hand with the knife was still moving backward from his side as he primed himself for a lethal strike.

  The guard had just begun swinging his arm forward as Ryl’s fist made contact with his face. The two objects moving in opposite directions collided with a terrifying force. The sickening sound of crunching bone echoed through the forest.

  Blood exploded from the guard’s face. His legs continued moving forward while his head stopped in its place. He landed on the ground in a heap. Motionless. The knife flipped in the air, falling harmlessly to the dirt.

  Before Ryl could turn back around, the second guard, still holding the pieces of his splint, tackled him. He crashed into Ryl's left side, lifting him in the air before the two slammed into the ground. They came skidding to a rest near the bank of the river.

  The weight of the older, stronger and heavier man landing on him knocked the air out of his lungs. Ryl gasped for breath as the guard rolled on top of him. He frantically focused on forming a protective layer of woodskin on his face as the guard’s fist hammered into the side of his head.

  The blow sent him reeling. It took every ounce of concentration to maintain even the slightest level of protection as the second blow struck in the same location. Ryl's vision spun, his ears rang, his head rolled from side to side as he tried to regain his focus.

  The guard on top of him still had one of the supports from his splint, one of the Leaves in his hand. He pushed the blunt end down hard on Ryl’s sternum, finding the pressure point, sending uncontrollable pain coursing through his chest.

  Ryl flailed his arms frantically at the guard. His feeble attempts were swatted away with ease by the older, stronger, experience fighter. Ryl’s situation was hopeless. The guard knew he had him completely within his control.

  “Dem. Dem. Do you hear me, Dem?” the guard screamed at his partner. “Damnit Dem, answer me.”

  The fallen guard, Dem, lay still. The pool of blood steadily grew in the dirt around what was left of his face.

  The guard on Ryl growled, leaning his chest on the Leaf pinning Ryl to the ground. The pain was intense. He choked as he gasped for air. The guard brought his face down inches from Ryl's

  “Damn you, herd,” the guard growled. “I wish you and your cursed kind were never born. I'm gonna en
joy watching you suffer before you die.”

  Ryl's arms slapped at the guard feebly as the pain continued to tear through his body. Using every ounce of energy and focus he could muster, he gathered control of his right arm long enough for one last swing.

  He swung at the guard’s face, hitting him lightly on the cheek. Ryl tried clawing for his eyes but his hand slid down off his jaw. His palm struck the wooden shaft of the Leaves that pinned him to the ground.

  His fingers closed instinctively.

  With a brilliant green flash, the shimmering blade flared into existence, exploding through the guards back with a shower of blood and fragments of bone. The guard’s body jerked upright, involuntarily sitting back on his heels, the blade made a wet sucking sound as Ryl ripped it from his chest. Instant relief from the weight and pain upon his body rushed through his system. Ryl rolled to his left side, sliding himself out from under the guard, narrowly avoiding the waterfall of blood that spilled from the gaping wound in his chest.

  Ryl stood, shimmering blade in hand, with his back to the wavering guard. Each gurgling breath behind him sounded more wet and ragged. He closed his eyes, flicking his arm and the green blade out at the sound. The sound of breathing ceased. There was a light thump, the splash of liquid on the ground, followed immediately by a solid slap as the remainder of the guard’s body crashed to the road.

  He dropped the weapon, the blade fading instantly as its connection was severed with his hand. Ryl looked over his shoulder with disgust at the headless remains of the guard behind him. Turning his head slowly to the front, his eyes rested on the first guard, his face unrecognizable. His stomach churned, he fell to his knees vomiting a caustic mixture of bile and the meager remains of his earlier meal.

  He rolled back on his heels. For a moment, he remained there in shock at what had happened. His breaths came fast and shallow. What had he done? His actions had killed before, yet he’d never taken a life with his own hands. The feeling was sickening, he shuddered, disgusted at himself for what he’d done, for what he’d become.