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

by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

  Knotting every ounce of rage I feel into a tight ball, I place a hand on both June and Sully’s arm. I give a gentle squeeze. “Tom, I can only imagine the horror you feel right now. I’m sorry, sorry you have to see this, sorry any of us has to see this.” I take a deep breath. “But I need you to focus on getting us to the city. The monster responsible for this is there, I’m sure. We will kill him,” I promise Tom and the person who hangs, battered and mangled, on the billboard, that justice will be carried out. His death will be answered.

  Slowly, faded green eyes look my way. Tom nods.

  “How far is it from here? Are we close?” I ask.

  “The city is a few miles through the woods.” He turns from me and points beyond the sign. “And there will be patrols. Sarah and I had to hide from quite a few of them when we escaped.”

  “How many?” Sully asks.

  “How many patrols?” Tom’s brow furrows.

  “No, how many Urthmen were in each patrol?”

  “Mostly six or so. They are always looking for what they refer to as strays.” Tom looks at me when he says the word “strays” and a sad smile struggles to lift the corners of his mouth. I smile in return. He knows how much I bristled at use of that word when he and Sarah referenced humans—both free and escapees—as strays, and how glad I am that he no longer uses it or thinks of us in that term.

  “Okay, you’re going to lead the way,” I say. “You’re going to take us there.”

  Tom nods in agreement and I radio to the convoy of trucks which line the street as far as the eye can see. All of our troops begin to exit their trucks, filing from them in an organized fashion until they are gathered at the edge of the woods. I look at our enormous army and as soon as everyone is assembled, I address them.

  “We need to move through these woods as quickly and quietly as possible. We can’t reveal ourselves. Surprise is how we’ll win this next battle and take over the camp.” Murmurs of concurrence undulate through the crowd. “If we come across any patrols, they need to be taken down swiftly and silently.” More mumbled approvals swell. “When we get near the wall, all of you are going to need to hide in the woods until the front gate opens.” A ripple of questions roars among them. I raise both hands to chest height. “I will open the gate from the inside.”

  “It’s too dangerous!” someone calls out.

  “I’m going with her.” Sully’s arm brushes mine as he stands beside me.

  “We need a few volunteers and our two best archers as well,” I add.

  “I’ll go!” A hand rockets in the air. Derrick comes forward, his long thin ponytail winding over his shoulder and spilling to the middle of his chest. It’s hard to believe that a man I once loathed while in the underground city has become one of my most loyal and courageous warriors.

  “Thank you,” I say graciously.

  Derrick beams so broadly he almost looks frightening.

  “We will come, too.” Two towering, brawny men with identical faces and physiques come forward. Not long after leaving New Washington, we found them battling a small band of about ten Urthmen. Though they did not appear to need our support in the least, we stopped and helped anyway. Seeing them best the Urthmen with ease reminiscent of Jericho, they proved to be fierce fighters then, and continued to do so in each war we’ve waged since. Andris and Arnost, each a mountain of a man in his own right, approach and stand beside Derrick.

  I thank them then return my gaze to the crowd. Making his way through the rows, Rion, a wisp of a young man no older than fourteen with short black hair and piercing eyes the color of the night sky, darts between men and women with the speed and grace of a hummingbird until he is before me. Lean and trim and small of stature, Rion was considered the finest archer in the underground city. He’d won numerous competitions and had been renowned as the finest archer with unrivaled aim. “Count me in, too,” he says, his voice as soft as his footsteps.

  On Rion’s heels is another man. Larger and lumbering by comparison, Killian is an archer with remarkable accuracy. He volunteers in his gruff voice. “Aye, I’m with ye, as well,” he says with a thick, unrecognizable burr. A bow hunter his entire life, Killian looks as though he could tear an opponent limb from limb without a weapon but handles his bow and arrow with surprising fluidity.

  “Thank you Killian and Rion.” I smile appreciatively and nod. “I think we have enough people to get us inside and open the gate. Let’s move.”

  With Tom as our guide, we make our way into the woods. Low-growing brush reaches out with needle-like talons, clawing and scraping at us as we pass. With talons in mind, my thoughts immediately center on Lurkers. Their appearance would be unlikely considering we aren’t deep in the forest where they burrow. Still, I scan our surroundings and double-check out of habit.

  Although night beasts do not roam, the bright glow of the moon illuminates frosty fog that clings to branches like snow in some places, while in others it hovers like a spectral being, its ghostly wisps resembling outstretched arms.

  In my periphery, I watch as Sully’s head oscillates from left to right, just as mine does. The rustle of fallen leaves and the snap of branches underfoot as our army advances is an unsettling sound. So many feet moving at once, it drowns out all other sounds. Forcing that detail to the back of my mind, my eyes continue to sweep the landscape before me. In the distance, I see six figures. Clad in dark clothing that stands out against the milky mist blanketing the terrain and with misshapen heads that glow eerily in the moon’s silvery light, I recognize the Urthmen patrol. They plod through the woods loudly, carrying lanterns that announce their arrival and darken the hollows of their hideous faces. They appear to move without a care in the world.

  Stopping suddenly, I gesture to Sully. He halts as well, following my line of vision and peering through the trees and fog until he sees what I saw. Derrick, Andris, Arnost, Rion and Killian, all up front with us, still and turn to me. I gesture for Killian, Andris and Arnost to go left, and for Rion and Derrick to go right. Before they go, I whisper to the archers that on my command they are to fire at the Urthmen. Both men nod then dash off in opposite directions. I instruct Tom to wait with the others while Sully and I advance, a large group flanking us on either side as we close in on the patrol. After a furtive glance at Sully, we take off.

  Crouched low and with our weapons drawn, we sprint toward the enemy, careful to avoid getting tangled in vines that creep and slink at our feet. As soon as we are close but still not seen, I signal for Rion and Killian to fire. The faint pluck of their arrows being released from their bows is immediately followed by the shrill whistle of the long, thin missile careening through the air. The first lodges in the right side of the throat of an Urthman, just below his chin. A river of garnet rushes from the wound and the monstrous beast falls to his knees before collapsing to his side. The second arrow catches the Urthman who walked beside him in the center of his neck. His hands move to the arrow, clutching it as a gurgling sound seeps from him.

  Sully and I spring from the concealment of the brush and I rush to the Urthman that burbles. Covering his mouth with one hand, I slice his throat, effectively silencing him. He falls to the ground with a thud in an expanding pool of his lifeblood. Before the four Urthmen in the patrol have a chance to call out, Andris, Arnost, Derrick and Sully descend on them, attacking from behind and quieting in the same fashion I did seconds earlier. They keep their hands positioned over the Urthmen’s mouths until life escapes them then allow their bodies to crumple to the woodland floor.

  With heaving chests and plumes of icy vapor puffing from our mouths, we pant in exertion and excitement. Though the air is chilly, a bead of sweat trails between my shoulder blades and perspiration stipples my brow. No one speaks. We simply look amongst ourselves and exchange meaningful nods. Our wordless interaction is short-lived though. Time is limited. We quickly return to our group and resume our trek.

  Tom takes his place beside me while Sully walks on the other. After walking for wh
at I guess is a few miles, Tom whispers to me, “We’re close.”

  His words tiptoe up my spine, raising the fine hairs at my nape. I knew before he told me, swore I could almost feel a change in the atmosphere, a heaviness thick and cloying; the weight of human suffering.

  After continuing for less than a mile, the forest thins. Thick trunks and limbs, gnarled and furrowed from age and time, give way to slender, younger trees and bushes. Beyond those young trees, however, is a sight that knocks the wind from my lungs.

  My field of vision is blanched by a wall of white. Towering, smooth and interrupted only vaguely by a seam that splits it from top to bottom, the structure blends easily with the frosty fog shrouding the area. I’m momentarily disoriented by it as the magnitude of what is before me sinks in. After allowing myself only a split-second to collect myself, I turn and scour the crowd for Will. Sullen and scowling, his gaze clashes with mine. I wave him forward, an act that seems to vex him as he huffs quietly before stomping toward me.

  I am in no mood for a temper tantrum so I cut to the chase. Rolling my shoulders and straightening my posture, I say, “Will, you are to hold the men back until you see that front gate open.” I point to the thin ridge that separates one side of the entrance from the other. “You’re in charge while Sully and I are gone.” A faint tick of his brow followed by a small smirk conveys derision. I ignore it and continue. “As soon as it opens, don’t delay. Lead the attack and storm the city.”

  Will bobs his head.

  “Also, leave a group behind to protect the children. They are not to set foot inside those walls until there isn’t an Urthman standing.”

  “Obviously,” he rolls his eyes and answers with thinly harnessed contempt.

  A part of me wants to slap him. This could very well be the last time he ever sees me, and his parting attitude is the facial equivalent to the middle finger Sully erected to the Urthmen when we traveled to the underground city. I only hope he moves past this dark place in which he’s set up camp.

  After levelling a steely gaze his way, I pull my binoculars from my pocket and stare through them. Bright moonlight makes plain the presence of Urthmen stationed along the top of the wall. For a moment, my heart stutters. I worry they’ll see us. But on closer inspection, I see that they’re attention is directed within the walls of their stronghold, not beyond it. What I’m watching is exactly what Tom described. The Urthmen appear more concerned with humans getting out than getting in.

  Shaking my head slowly, I leave Will and make my way toward the small group that is going with me.

  “I gave Will his orders,” I whisper only to Sully.

  “I’m sure he loved that,” Sully mumbles sarcastically.

  “Yeah, he seemed about as receptive to me giving him instructions as he would to hearing news that he’ll be bathing in boart dung from now on.”

  A broad smile spreads across Sully’s face, rounding his cheeks, and his dark eyes dance with mirth. We are headed into battle, yet we find humor in the disgruntlement of one of our own.

  “Are you ready to do this?” I ask and hold his gaze.

  “I think so, beautiful,” he answers and watches me for several beats.

  “All right everyone. Let’s go,” I turn and quietly address our small group.

  The men nod somberly and we take off, stealing stealthily from the front of the wall to the side, careful to remain cloaked in the shadows of the surrounding woods. The guards are fewer here. Encouraged, we press further, continuing to follow the line of the wall, all the while hugging the tree line.

  The farther we get from the gate, the scarcer the guards become. Urthmen presence seems concentrated nearest the pleat in the soaring barrier of concrete. Slowing, I turn to Rion and Killian. I look from them to the guards. “We only have one chance at this.” The message that they can’t miss is implied, for if they do, the six of us will die for sure, and the rest of our people will be sitting targets sprinkled about the forest. No, missing their marks is not an option.

  “That wall is what, forty feet high?” Sully asks Killian.

  “Aye, I’m guessin’ it is,” Killian replies.

  Sully looks between the men. “Can you make a shot like that?”

  Narrowing his gaze so that his dark eyes are slashes, Rion strokes his chin. “We have to get as close as possible.”

  I glance at Sully. To the untrained eye, his expression reveals nothing. But I know him well. I see the slight arch to his left eyebrow, the tautness of the muscles around his jaw as they flex. He’s concerned, and rightly so. I give him a small nod and try to wordlessly convey to him that this is our shot at having a true sanctuary.

  He clips his head, almost imperceptibly, and my head snaps toward a large circle of white light that illuminates a small portion of grass just a few yards from where we stand. A spotlight that I’m certain has been used to capture countless humans who sought to escape appears stationary for the time being. We must avoid coming in contact with its beam and advance toward the wall.

  Taking a deep breath, my feet begin moving as if of their own volition, trotting, then jogging, until finally they run, propelling me forward. I will my footsteps to be light. Envisioning a graceful gazelle, I try to evoke both its agility and its speed. Once we’re close enough to the wall that the archers have the best possible shot, Rion and Killian kneel and aim their arrows at two guards posted at the top of the wall that have their backs to us. Unexpectedly, one turns. With us standing in the open he sees us and opens his mouth to alert his partner, but Rion lets his arrow fly. My binoculars speed to my face just in time to see the pointed tip of the missile stab through his open mouth. The guard next to him starts to turn, but before he shifts his position fully, an arrow spears his right eye. Both men tumble over the wall and land with a sickly thud just a short distance from where we stand.

  “It’s show time,” Sully says solemnly as he retrieves a climbing grapple from his backpack.

  With spindly metal hooks with pronged ends and a long length of rope attached to a slender column at its base, the tool resembles an enormous spider on a leash. He hands it to Arnost who promptly hoists it over one shoulder then hurls it as hard as he can. The metal end of the apparatus launches through the air with impossible speed then lands loudly in a spot I cannot see. Arnost tugs the rope that dangles. He leans back and begins climbing the wall. To my surprise, it supports his weight. Andris repeats the process with his device, and so does Killian and Derrick. Rion begins scaling the wall behind Arnost, and Sully behind Killian. Rubbing my hands together as the knot in my stomach coils painfully tight, I grip the rough rope and place a foot on the wall. The loud noise that echoed when the steel end of the climbing grapple landed has fallen by the wayside, and so has the fact that hundreds, if not thousands, of Urthmen await me beyond it. There’s just me and the wall.

  I take a shaky step then another and another, pulling myself with every bit of strength I possess until I’ve made it midway up. Every muscle smarts and stings. My breaths are short shallow pants. Leaden, my arms and legs tremble violently. The belief that I’ll be able to reach the top bleeds from me. Sully and the others have already made it up onto the top already and now peek over the wall at me, their expressions concerned. Suddenly, my waning strength slackens then falters altogether. Miraculously, though, I feel my body lifting. I stare up and see that Andris and Arnost are pulling the rope, hoisting me up with little effort. Before long, I am swinging a leg over the lip of the wall. And when I do, my mouth falls open, the sight before me mesmerizing.

  Enclosed by the high concrete wall that’s roughly three feet wide and spans as far as I can see, an enormous city resides. Stout buildings skirt taller structures, and paved avenues intersect all of them, creating pathways to, from, and between buildings. Floodlights sweep the area slowly but continually, like a searching eye, roving and inspecting every exposed inch. A small shiver travels the length of my spine. Raging against the tingling of warning, I rise to my feet. Once s
tanding, I’m promptly greeted by the sensation that my head is spinning violently while the rest of me remains stationary. I squeeze my eyes closed, knowing fully that we need to walk a considerable distance to reach the gateway.

  In my periphery, the darkened void that exists beyond the precipice of the ledge taunts me. Every nerve ending in my body is alert, ready. I take several deep breaths to calm myself, to quiet the roar of blood behind my ears. But deep breathing does little to still the thunderous roll of energy coursing through my veins, through my very core. This is it. This is a moment I dreamed of but never thought would come to fruition.

  Icy dampness causes my clothes to cling to my skin. I do not dare to venture a peek over the edge of the wall. Approximately forty feet from the earth and perched on a slab of concrete roughly three feet wide, my world narrows to a pinprick of sound and color. My heartbeat is a frantic rhythm. My lifeblood is a mighty tide rushing through channel after channel, preparing me for what lies ahead. Will I die? Is this my final moment in time? I do not know for sure. All I know is that I am meant to be here. This is my destiny. Securing a fortress for the people who wait in the woods—my people, my new brothers and sisters—it is what must happen so that we can defend ourselves, thrive. And if I must surrender my life to do so then I’m prepared to make that sacrifice.

  Inhaling a lungful of cool air, I take the first step. Sully and the others follow as we make our way around the curve of the wall. As we do, we encounter more lookouts. Before they see us coming, we charge. I grab one from behind, silencing him with my hand while I drive my blade through his back until its razor-sharp tip juts from his belly. I release him and pitch him over the side of the wall. His cries echo hauntingly as he falls, a reminder of just how high up we really are, and a wave of dread washes over me. Sully and the others descend on the two remaining Urthmen before they have time to get the attention of anyone. Their bodies are tossed over the wall, as well. More come into view. They see us and their pebble-like eyes widen briefly. They part their lipless mouths, about to call out for reinforcements, but Rion and Killian fire on them, the whistle of their arrows slicing the air the last sound the Urthmen hear before they topple backward, over the wall. Both archers rip more arrows from their quivers, positioning them in their bows then pulling them taut, ready to strike.