The Rise of Azlyn (Book 4): Planet Urth, no. 4

by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

  “The stories we’re hearing are true. A human army is really rising!” an older man rejoices.

  “You have our undying allegiance if we can join you, Azlyn,” another man says.

  “You can join only if you stand,” I say and chuckle nervously. Then I clear my throat and add, “Please, don’t bow. We’re all equal. We’re all humans fighting on the same side. All are welcome to join.”

  A collective cheer erupts among the group. Sully is at my side. He dips his head and whispers, “More are coming. They’ve heard about Azlyn and they’re coming. We will fight, and we will win.” His words caress the shell of my ear and cause a wave of goose bumps to arise on my flesh.

  I turn and am met with molten brown eyes. I’m about to part my lips and speak, but a female voice halts me.

  “There is an Urthmen town only a few miles down the road from here,” she says.

  “How many live there? Are there soldiers, too?” I ask, my mind working ahead of my mouth.” From what I’ve heard the only military exists in Kildare, but I ask anyway just to be sure.

  “I’m not sure of the exact number. I’d estimate their numbers to be in the thousands.” The woman pauses to scratch her chin. “They have a patrol that guards the perimeter, but no military.”

  I look at Sully who nods as if reading my thoughts. “Okay, thanks. That’s helpful. The Urthmen town will be our next stop.” Sully gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze then turns and makes his way to the trailer of the vehicle behind me. Will exits the cab and Oliver follows.

  “What’s going on?” Will asks. His eyes resemble twin turquoise stones and his expression is hard. He’s changed in the days and weeks since our initial battle. There’s a chill to his tone and demeanor when he’s around me. I can’t put my finger on what it is or why it would be there, but it is.

  “There’s an Urthmen town up ahead.” I point in the distance before us. “Get your people ready. It’ll be the same plan as the last two towns we took.”

  His lips compress to a firm line. He nods but doesn’t walk away. Oliver does. He dashes to the rear of the vehicle and begins addressing the people they’re transporting. I hear his voice, deep and clear, as he speaks.

  “Oliver’s a natural-born leader, huh?” I say with a small smile.

  The smallest of smiles bends Will’s lips and his eyes warm. For a moment, a flash of his former self flickers. He thaws and makes my heart clench. “Yeah, he sure is,” he says with a shake of his head. But all too soon, the coldness returns. “I’d better get going,” he says with a frosty clip of his head. He turns on his heels and marches away from me.

  I pause for a beat then turn and rejoin the crowd assembled by the front of our truck. “Are you guys ready for this?” I ask those who’ve just joined us.

  “Ready? I’ve been waiting my whole life for this,” a man says. Several others make similar statements. The general consensus appears to be an overall eagerness to take action, to fight for what is rightfully theirs.

  “All right then, let’s roll,” Sully rubs his hands together and says. “Everyone follow me around back.” He makes his way to the back of the trailer, leading them to the rear of the rig, to where the others who travel with us wait. When he returns, he radios to the rest of our convoy and tells them to prepare for battle.

  My insides begin to tremble as adrenaline blazes a fiery path through my veins. I roll my shoulders, feeling the tautness of my scabbard at my back and the weight of my sword within it. Many battles such as the one we’re about to be engaged in will be waged. We have been fighting since we left the underground city. And we will continue to fight until the planet is ours once again.

  Chapter 2

  June’s brows are gathered when I return to my seat beside her. “You’re going to fight again, aren’t you?” Dejection colors her words and weighs on me with leaden heaviness.

  The world beyond my window begins rolling by. Tree branches, stripped of their leaves, pierce the sky like emaciated limbs. Summer is gone and autumn is entering its last phase. Winter is coming soon. I swallow hard against the lump that’s formed in my throat and answer, “Yes, I am.”

  A nearly inaudible whimper tumbles from her.

  I want to hug my sister, to wrap her in my arms and never let go. I want to tell her I’ll be fine, that everything will be fine. But I cannot guaranteed my safety. I cannot guarantee anyone’s safety. Seeing Jericho fall, a man I thought was indestructible, punctuated that point in my mind forever. His death emphasizes that on any given day, during any given conflict, any one of us could perish. Our legacy would come in the form of those who remember us. In my case, that would be June.

  June and Riley remain behind with Tom while Sully, Will, Oliver and I battle. June is left to wait and worry herself sick. I hate that she has to endure that, to suffer with a sick heart, an anxious stomach and pounding temples, fearing that at any given second she’ll get word that her only blood relative has lost her life. I know that she’s not alone, that other children and injured or elderly members of our team join her, but she is my person, my sweet June bug. I live for her, and though I do not fear dying, I want to return to her. I never want her to experience the pain of losing me.

  Silence, thick and laden with unspoken sentiments, stretches until Sully’s calm, measured voice interrupts it. “June, I know you worry about Avery. I do, too,” he says. “I wish there were a way we could keep her off the battlefield. And believe me I’ve tried to talk to her about it. But you know her, she’s stubborn.” He shrugs and speaks to her conspiratorially, as if I’m not present. “In her defense though, she’s amazing with her sword, unlike anyone or anything I’ve ever seen.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. I know. I’ve seen her in action.” June’s vote of confidence is nice. It’s still odd being spoken of as if I’m invisible.

  “So in that way, she does help out a lot,” he continues.

  “I bet.” June beams with pride and nods.

  “If anyone can defend herself out there, it’s your sister. If the Urthmen had even the slightest shred of intelligence, which they don’t, they’d be terrified of her. I know I am.” Sully peeks over June’s head and steals a glance at me.

  “Hey!” I protest. “You’re afraid of me?”

  He smiles at me, a full grin rather than the lopsided smile I’ve come to enjoy, and says, “Kind of,” then shrinks away as if readying to absorb a blow.

  I make a clucking sound with my tongue then narrow my eyes at him.

  “Oh no, Sully, better watch out. She’s getting mad,” June giggles and teases.

  Sully laughs, and so do I. The moment is surreal. We’re headed to an Urthman town in hopes of obliterating each and every one there, yet we’re joking and laughing, trying to make light of the fact that in a short while, both Sully and I will be in mortal danger.

  The laughter dies down and I place my arm around June’s shoulders. She snuggles in close and I kiss the top of her head. Wordlessly, my heart attempts to convey all that I’m feeling as we bump along toward the next battle.

  With June snuggled close, we continue until the edge of a village comes into view. Slowing the vehicle to a stop, Sully pulls a pair of binoculars from his pocket. With my free hand, I pull my pair from the side pocket of my pants and peer through them. Maple-lined sidewalks border leaf-dappled lawns, the vibrant reds, yellows and oranges striking against the emerald grass. The sky is powder blue, and a brisk wind stirs nearly barren treetops. To unsuspecting eyes, the scene before us is idyllic, one that should include the squeals of happy children—human children—enjoying the final days of fall. But it doesn’t. And the sight of a pickup truck rolling down the street with four uniform-clad Urthmen in its bed is a sharp reminder of what lies beneath the surface of the picturesque setting. What looks to be a human skull is mounted on the roof of the hood. My stomach knots at the sight. No, the scenic neighborhood before me is anything but peaceful. Murderous monsters reside within the walls of the houses that fi
ll it.

  Sully lowers the binoculars through which he stares. “You see what’s mounted on that hood?” His voice drips with acid.

  “Yeah, I see it,” I reply and match his tone. “Disgusting monsters.”

  “What? What’s on the hood?” June asks.

  I debate telling her for a fraction of a second, but quickly dismiss any doubts I initially had. June needs to know the truth. She needs to be reminded of why we enter towns where soldiers do not live and kill them all. “It’s a skull.”

  “A skull?” A slight tick near the corner of her mouth tells me my words haven’t fully registered.

  “A human skull. As in, a head that was once attached to a human being, like us, but is no longer. Now it’s used as a trophy for those bloodthirsty creatures.” I practically spit the words.

  “Yeah, imagine the party that followed getting that head,” Sully snarls.

  My mind immediately produces an image of Urthmen pouring from their homes, cheering and celebrating the death of a human one of their fellow fiends happened upon and killed for sport and I become enraged. Sully told me a story of an Urthmen camp he came across after leaving New Washington the first time when he was alone. He saw a truck, similar to the one we see now, with a human chained to the rear. The human was male and young. His wrists were bound and a collar was placed on his neck. Affixed to the collar was a length of chain. The chain was fastened to the bed of the pickup truck. Many Urthmen lined the dirt road while others watched from their homes as one of them slipped behind the wheel of the truck and began driving. Plumes of dust kicked up from his rear tires and a spray of small rocks scattered. The young man was jerked forward, stumbling and faltering as he tried to run, to keep up with the truck. But the Urthman driving wanted no part of that. He sped up, making enormous circles to entertain his cheering brethren. Before long, the young man couldn’t run any more. He lost his footing before he lost the skin on his legs and torso. Incited by the young man’s injuries, the Urthman tested the engine of his vehicle, maneuvering it right and left at such a high speed, massive clouds of dust hovered in the air like spectral beings. The young man’s limbs were torn from his body. His lifeblood stained the pale sand. And he didn’t die quickly. His tortured cries have taunted Sully for years; he still feels tremendous guilt for not doing anything. He was alone when he saw it transpire, and there wasn’t anything he could have done without getting killed.

  I assume the town before me has seen its share of comparable circumstances, that they, too, have celebrated human deaths in the street. The thought is a call to arms, a rallying cry.

  My heart thunders like a war drum when Sully says, “Ready to show them where they can shove that skull of theirs?”

  “Yes I am,” I reply with steely resolve.

  “Okay then.” Sully lowers his binoculars and adjusts the gear shift. The tractor-trailer begins to roll. With a fleet of rumbling rigs just like it behind us, we’ll be hard pressed to conceal our entrance to town. “Let’s do this.”

  Sully directs our vehicle down the maple-lined street to what looks like a main road where shops have been restored. Several Urthmen mill about. One spots us. His misshapen head whipsaws, shock scribbled in his hideous features.

  “Looks like that guy is about to send for the welcome wagon.” Sully points to the Urthman who saw us and is now heading inside.

  I pull the handset from the radio on the dashboard and instruct our people to get into position. “Position” in our case means our archers will convene on the roofs of the closed trailers that we pull to the front of our fleet. Armed with bows and arrows we removed from fallen Urthmen who never had a chance to use them in our first battle, they will place themselves at the elevated vantage point. When I think back to the battle at the underground city where we made our first stand, I realize that if they’d have had time to gather, that conflict would have likely ended differently. We raised the city and charged so quickly they never had time to utilize their archers. I shudder at the thought of what could have happened, and am grateful that we now have their weapons.

  Within minutes, our units are situated. A bell sounds. A warning to the Urthmen of the town that conflict is imminent. This is the standard procedure in every Urthmen camp—big or small. At its toll, every Urthmen is expected to fight. Male, female, young and old will head to whatever location has been designated, eager for the chance to slay a human, for when it comes to humans, their hatred is deep-seated, cemented in their DNA.

  “Come on June bug, we need to get you where you need to be.” Sully gives June a gentle nudge before he jumps from the cab to the ground. How he remains so calm in the face of impending battle is beyond me. I feel as if I could vomit.

  That feeling is compounded when June turns to me. With a quivering lower lip and unshed tears shining in her eyes, she says, “Love you, Avery. Be careful, okay?” Her voice is a reed-thin whisper that penetrates my core.

  Emotion tightens my throat. Blinking back tears that threaten unexpectedly, I reply as I always do. “I’m always coming back to you. Love you.”

  Sully ushers her to the last trailer in the convoy where Tom waits with Riley and the other children, elderly and injured people in our group. He returns quickly and joins me at the front of our vehicle.

  My sword is drawn and thousands join me. Our numbers have grown to roughly fifteen-thousand. We are now a large army. But I feel better knowing Sully is beside me.

  “We got this, Avery.” His words whisper up my spine and calm the cold trembling of my insides that always precedes a premeditated fight.

  The rolling sound of heavy footsteps thunders through the air. Our group stills. Thousands freeze, and I swear that if I listen closely enough I will hear the single, unified beat of our collective heart. In the distance, we see the source of the clatter.

  More Urthmen than I can count charge toward us. The situation erupts into a chaotic clamor. Shouts and primitive, guttural sounds echo from them, discordant and grating to my senses.

  “Hold!” I urge the archers perched above me.

  The Urthmen continue to close the distance, drawing nearer fast.

  “Hold!” I shout above the roar of their approach. When they are less than a hundred feet from us, I scream, “Now!”

  Innumerable arrows pierce the ether with a shrill whistle, darkening the sky overhead and eclipsing all sunlight. Immediately following their discharge, I hear countless thwacks, arrows hitting their marks, and Urthmen fall by the dozens.

  Undaunted by seeing their comrades fall, more Urthmen continue to advance. They attack wildly and are met with the same fate. Arrow after arrow leads to their demise. Still, they do not learn from the row before them.

  I turn and look to Sully, a puzzled expression scrawled on my face.

  “It’s like shooting fish in a barrel.” He shakes his head and smiles.

  I feel my features scrunch, not quite understanding why fish would be in a barrel in the first place. “What’s that mean?”

  “It’s something people said a long time ago, an expression that means something is so easy, success is almost guaranteed.”

  “Oh.” I picture myself shooting into a barrel of fish and get it. I nod in understanding, making the parallel. The stupidity of the Urthmen astounds me. They are very much like fish in a barrel as they are picked off in large groups.

  Only after a large percentage of them are dead, their bodies piled in front of them so that rushing forward becomes difficult, do they realize they ought to cease their offensive. My time to act is now. I scream out “Go!” and everyone with me mobilizes. We storm toward the Urthmen.

  The continual echo of footsteps behind me resounds like the growl of a hungry beast. The distance between the Urthmen and us closes almost immediately. The clash of swords and clubs, of flesh and bone, is deafening on impact. Madness erupts on a shockwave. All around me, Urthmen are outnumbered, still they swarm. I whirl from side to side, wielding my sword and carving the air from left to right.
Clubs are raised, their onyx surface catching the sun and gleaming with savage light. An ocean of monstrous faces, macabre in their bloodlust, dizzies me. But I do not stop cutting.

  The sharpened edge of my blade drags across the throat of the Urthman closest to me. A stunned look causes his tiny eyes to widen almost imperceptibly before he releases his weapon and clutches his gaping wound. He doubles over. And while he’s bent, I heave my sword over my head and chop at the air. My blade meets with brief resistance before the Urthman’s head is lopped cleanly from his body. As soon as he drops, another is upon me. I drive my sword through his exposed midsection as he hoists his club high, readying to skull me, and manage to remove it and swing it in a wide arc just in time to thwart the assault of another fiend. My swipe knocks his club from his hands. Unarmed, he still refuses to relent. He attacks. I sidestep his advance and slice the ether horizontally, opening him at his waist.

  All around me, the people who’ve joined my cause swing their weapons with vengeful fury, with passion. The untrained Urthmen are hardly a match for them. They’re far less of a challenge than the troops we battled that were led by The General.

  I have no idea how much time has passed when the last of the Urthmen falls, just that I’m tired and that our injuries are minimal. I survey the battlefield, my gaze zeroing in on Sully first, then Will and Oliver. Sully, as if feeling my eyes upon him, turns to face me. His dark gaze transforms from lethal to tender in the space of a breath. He is panting and still clutching his blade, causing the swell of his biceps to be prominent. Slowly, he lowers them and a small smile curves the corners of his mouth. He makes his way toward me.

  While I wait for him, I call out, “Round up any survivors,” to the people with me. One among them may know of King Leon’s plans. That kind of information would be pivotal. Though I’ve learned that small towns are independently run and don’t seem to have any communication with Kildare, I still have to make sure.