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

by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

  Sully promptly begins laughing. He laughs so hard, he doubles over and clutches his belly.

  “Okay, I won’t be doing that again any time soon,” I mumble under my breath.

  “No, no, don’t be upset,” he manages between gasps. “It was sweet, really.” Tears overflow from the corners of his eyes.

  “Glad I amuse you.”

  My statement evokes a fresh wave of laughter.

  I fight the smile threatening to play upon my lips. It’s hard. His laughter is contagious. He laughs from a source deep down inside of him. Full and rich, it fills me with unadulterated joy. I lightly smack his arm. “Cut it out! Enough already, I get it. Ha-ha, I said you’re handsome.”

  His laughter calms. “It wasn’t what you said. It was how you said it,” he says and wipes beneath his eyes. His entire face lights up when he smiles, and his smile is incredible. But I wouldn’t dare tell him that, especially not now. “And thank you. I appreciate you saying it; even if I had to practically beg you to.” He rolls his eyes lightheartedly.

  “Point taken,” I concede. “I can’t believe I never said it.” I drop my gaze to the covers and begin plucking at a piece of loose string. “I mean, I’ve always thought it.” When I look up, the humor has drained from his features, replaced by a thoughtful expression.

  “Thanks,” he says almost shyly. He kisses my cheek tenderly then adds. “It’s late. We’d better get some sleep.”

  “Yeah, I guess we should.” Not knowing when an Urthmen army of a hundred-thousand will coming knocking on your door, or in our case the gate to our city, has a tendency to cause sleepless nights. Adding an uncivilized brute like Lord Belchik to the mix only makes matters worse. But Sully is right, I guess. Belchik hasn’t done anything, yet. There’s no point in losing sleep worrying about a what-if.

  Settling onto my side with Sully’s form snuggled against me I close my eyes and try desperately to clear my mind. Surprisingly, I feel my muscles relax and a faint rocking feeling takes hold. I begin to drift off.

  My brief period of rest is cut short, however, when a roar of cheers echoes from outside.

  Startled, I jerk upright. “What the heck was that? Do you hear that?” I ask Sully. For a moment, I wonder whether I’m dreaming. Seeing Sully bolt to a sitting position with a confused expression on his face makes me realize I wasn’t. “What’s going on out there?”

  “Who knows?” he says then flops back down. “Let’s get back to sleep.”

  “Sully, aren’t you the least bit curious as to why people are still up and making a commotion at such a late hour?” I ask and can’t believe he’s actually entertaining going back to sleep without knowing.

  After several moments of silence, I assume it was merely an isolated incident and lie down. I sink into Sully’s arms once again and doze. But as soon as sleep finds me, another round of cheers erupts beyond my window.

  My eyes snap open, my heart pounding my ribs so hard it threatens to break out of my ribcage. “What the heck is that?” I shout as I toss the covers off me, spring from the bed and rush to the window. Beyond the thick pane of glass, all I see are faint lights and clumps of dark forms. “I can’t see a thing. I’m going out there.” I slip my sweatshirt over my head and step into my boots.

  “I’m going with you. Wait for me,” Sully says and follows suit by dressing in his boots and sweatshirt.

  We leave the room and descend the staircase to the main floor of the house then dash out the front door. Crossing the courtyard until we near the outermost edge where rows of small huts appear, we see that hundreds of men are gathered.

  “What’s all this about?” Sully asks with the same confusion and shock that I feel.

  Grunts and cheers ring out. The closer we draw the better able I am to discern that the large group forms a crude circle. And in that circle, a towering shape rises: Lord Belchik.

  Pushing my way through the perimeter, a strange smell hangs in the air. Musk and man mingles with another, less familiar scent. Sharp and pungent, it reminds me of the products Sully used before he stitched the wound I incurred in the Urthmen arena. It grows cloying as I make my way toward Belchik. His head and shoulders are visible over everyone else’s. I part my lips to call out to him, but the air leaves my lungs when I see what the source of all the cheering is about, and what Belchik is doing.

  Two familiar faces, now shirtless and heaving opaque fumes as they bob, weave and throw punches at Belchik. Another man lays unconscious on the ground. Both of the men still standing are agile and capable, I consider them assets, and while I never knew them to be interested in bare-fisted brawling for sport, I secretly envy that they’ll be afforded an opportunity to pound on Belchik. The reason that the two of them get to simultaneously is a mystery to me. I hesitate making my presence known when Dax, one of the men in the ring, advances, landing several blows to Belchik’s face. Belchik, impossibly, absorbs each. His only reaction comes in the form of his head rearing sharply with each strike. But he doesn’t cry out or moan. He does, however, reach out and grab Dax. With grizzly bear-like movements and strength, Belchik paws him and brings him close. With one thick arm linked around his neck, he uses the other to pummel Dax’s face until his eyes swell and angry welts mar his skin. The other man with Dax, a man by the name of Carl, sees this and moves in to help his friend. Grappling Belchik from behind, he makes every effort to stop the continuous assault on Dax, but his strength is no match for the bearded pile of muscle. He climbs atop his back and wraps an arm around Belchik’s throat. Slamming his head backward, Belchik drives the back of his head into Carl’s face. A sick crunching sound echoes through the square and curdles the blood in my veins. Blood pours from Carl’s nose and he releases his hold on Belchik, dropping to the ground hard. A roar of applause and shouts breaks out. Unfazed by the noise, Belchik spins and descends on Carl. He pounds his temple with his oversized fists until Carl is rendered unconscious. He straightens then turns on Dax, whose hands rocket into the air before he says, “Yield. I yield,” in a tremulous voice.

  Jeers and boos pepper the thunderous clapping and exclamations. Belchik takes a lap around the inner edge of the circle surrounding him. “Anyone else? Three men! Are there another three men who wish to challenge me?” His voice is gravelly and spittle sprays from his mouth as he dares anyone to fight him. “C’mon! Three to one and no takers?” He pauses and glowers at the men around him then spits, “Cowards!”

  Loud chatter resumes and several men I assume were his soldiers before they joined us approach him. One carries a tall mug. He visits a wooden barrel and fills it before handing it to Belchik. Belchik raises it to his lips and takes a long swig. When he lowers the cup he belches and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

  I scan the crowd and notice that most of the men present carry mugs. They stumble and totter about, emanating that odd aroma, and wearing glazed expressions. Not willing to wait and watch a moment longer, I march up to Belchik. “What is the meaning of this?” I demand. Why are you fighting your fellow soliders?” I’m careful to avoid saying that he fights his own men, for they are not his. They are mine.

  “We’re just having fun,” he snaps. “We didn’t mean to wake you.” His words are devoid of contrition. But it’s close to an apology. “Young ladies like you need lots of sleep I’m told.” The words drip from his tongue like venom. A wide, satisfied smile that resembles the blade of a scythe carves his face.

  Unprepared for his unwarranted, acid-filled tone, I say, “I wasn’t sleeping,” and immediately regret it.

  Belchik’s eyes widen and he winks brazenly. He looks between me and Sully. “I see. Well then, since neither of you were sleeping, stay. Have a drink with us.” He turns to the men behind him. “Get our leader a drink.”

  Seconds later, a man appears before me and hands me a cup. I sniff it and reflexively wrinkle my nose. The smell is potent. I instantly recognize it as the same one that lingers in the air like mist around the crowd.

  “Don
’t be shy,” Belchik says. “That’s our finest shine.”

  I look at the fluid in my cup, clear and harmless looking enough, it’s similar in appearance to water, only thicker.

  “Avery, I don’t know if you want to drink that. It’s moonshine and tastes like death.” Sully’s whispered advice skims the exposed flesh of my neck and leaves goose bumps. And in the seconds before I bring the cup to my lips, ignoring both his warning and the one that shrieks through my body, I know I’ll regret what I’m doing.

  I close my eyes and take a long drink.

  The moonshine sears my lips as I pull it into my mouth where it comes to rest on my tongue briefly. Foul tasting, it soils my taste buds and takes my breath away as it slinks further, toward the back of my mouth, until it plunges over the edge of my tongue with torturous, winding deliberateness. Burning down my throat like a serpent of fire, the liquid scorches my esophagus, snaking into my stomach where it roils with the need to be expelled. I cough violently then gag, spitting it out.

  Belchik, along with the majority of men around me, laughs hysterically. “I guess it’s not a drink fit for a lady,” he says as I bend from the waist, beset with dry heaves.

  Rubbing my back, Sully asks quietly, “Are you all right?”

  I gag and spit then wipe the tears from my eyes, shame burning through my body with ferocity equal to the vile brew I just drank. “What was that stuff, lava?”

  “Close, but no. It’s moonshine, like I said. It’s a homemade distilled drink with a lot of alcohol.”

  “But I’ve had alcohol before, remember, the wine I had in the underground city?” I rasp, my throat raw and aching.

  “Wine is nothing like that stuff you just drank. Moonshine is probably more like the gasoline we stole to fuel the camper.”

  Strangely enough, if I had to imagine what that foul smelling substance would taste like, moonshine would be it.

  Several moments have passed. I’ve been too consumed by the violent reaction my body had to the liquid that I forgot where I was, and whose company I shared. Lord Belchik. Smoothing my hands down the front of my pants, I right my posture and straighten my shoulders. Once my composure is regained, fury blazes a path through my core. I’ve been made a fool of, humiliated in front of my men.

  “Okay, you had your laughs, but enough of this.” I gesture to the barrels of alcohol. “There are people who are trying to sleep so that they’re ready when the Urthmen come, not drinking and pounding each other to bloody pulps.”

  “I’m always prepared to fight,” Belchik announces haughtily, eliciting a series of nods and approval.

  “Maybe you are,” I speak above them. “But do you think they are?” I point to the countless men who are either slumped against rocks in a daze or passed out altogether, littering the courtyard with their drunken presence. “No, they won’t be,” I answer before he can. “This is not the way my men conduct themselves. We don’t act like this around here. If you’re going to stay up drinking all night, you’re going to need to quiet down.”

  Belchik licks his teeth, his brow low, his expression menacing. “Very well then. We’ll quiet down. We don’t want to spoil your bedtime.” He looks between Sully and I and gestures lasciviously with his hand. “But we aren’t going to be told to go to bed. I haven’t been told when to sleep since I was a boy.”

  Heat snaps up my neck and causes my cheeks to flush. I hate that I blush in front of him. Somehow, I suspect that he sees it as a victory. “I’m not telling you to sleep,” I match his arrogant tone. “I’m just asking that you have consideration for those who are.”

  “As you wish, my queen. We’ll keep it down.” He dips his chin, his words benign but his voice viperous.

  “All right then,” I say then turn on my heels and make my way through the throng of intoxicated men. As I walk away, a burst of laughter arises. Though I don’t give him the satisfaction of turning around, I want to. I want to spin on him and shout every vile word I know. My insides simmer. I was made the brunt of his joke.

  Shaking with every step I take, my legs feel as if they’re made of sponge. Never in all my years has anyone spoken to me with such unconcealed contempt, such blatant disrespect. He belittled me for being female and young. I want to cry, to scream and pound my fists.

  Inside my house and mounting the staircase, Sully says, “You haven’t said a word since we left Belchik.”

  Just hearing his name sends a violent snap of white-hot energy through my core. It’s not Sully’s fault, and I do not lash out at him.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Huh,” I snort. “Okay? Definitely not. I was just made a complete fool of in front of hundreds of men I command. I’m far from okay.”

  Sully listens patiently, expecting me to vent. But I don’t. There’s only one thing that has to happen.

  “Belchik is going to be a problem,” is all I say.

  “I know, I think tonight solidified that,” Sully agrees and scrubs his face with both hands. “Problem is, I’m not sure what to do about him right now. But something has to be done.”

  “He has to go.” I say the words I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear but knows to be true. We’ve allowed a lion into our lair, and realized we can’t train him. “We’re going to have to figure out how to make that happen, and fast, because he will never listen to me. And having him undermine me in front of the others threatens all that we’re doing, all that we fight for.”

  Sully closes the distance between us and wraps his arms around me. He kisses the top of my head then holds me at arm’s length. “You’re right. About all of it. You’re right. He has to go.” He holds me against his chest and for several moments, the furious noise in my head quiets. All I hear is the steady beat of his heart, and feel the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt. His voice is a pleasant rumble when he says, “Let’s get some sleep. In the morning we’ll figure out what to do about our new friend, Belchik.”

  I allow him to lead me to the bed and pull off my boots. I lie back, on top of the covers, and close my eyes. I hear another round of cheers, and blood roars behind my ears and my pulse speeds. Impossibly, though, exhaustion claims me and I drift off into oblivion.

  Chapter 9

  June’s eyes sparkle as she chatters excitedly about the unseasonable warmth of the day. Unfortunately, I’m only half listening. Consumed by the events of last night or more specifically, Lord Belchik’s antics last night, my thoughts are preoccupied. I stab my arm through one sleeve of my sweatshirt then the other before I poke my head through the neck opening. June’s voice, as clear and melodic as a bird’s song, though sweet, is doing little to calm the anger raging inside me.

  “I mean it’s so warm and lovely, I had to remind myself it isn’t spring!” she says as she sits on my bed, waiting for me to finish dressing.

  “Huh, that’s great,” I say with a wooden expression that matches my forced enthusiasm. I hate that I feel as I do, that my beautiful sister sits before me simply sharing with me that she’s happy the weather isn’t as cold as it’s been and all I can picture is a face that doesn’t belong to her. Shoulder-length shaggy hair the color of coal replaces ribbons of gold and copper, and a scarred, crooked nose supplants a pert unblemished one. Lord Belchik. He’s infected my brain like a giant, festering wound. The way his too-broad chin, coated in thick, bushy hair, jutted arrogantly when he derided and insulted me in front of my men made me yearn to blast it back with an Urthmen club. Of course, being the little girl I am, I’d have to stand on a ladder or be boosted by man to have a chance at having my swing connect with it. Ire bubbles from my gut. Balling my hands so tightly my fingernails bite into the tender flesh of my palms, I inhale deeply in an attempt to cleanse myself of Belchik’s vileness.

  “Avery? Avery? Avery!”

  Only vaguely aware of my name being called, I shake my head slightly and train my gaze on June. “What?”

  “Are you even listening to me?” Her brow dips and she places her hands on her hips.
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  For a split-second, I contemplate lying. But what good would it do? Lying implies shame, shame of what or who I am or what I’ve done. I feel none of that. And while I was shamed by how I was spoken to, the fault is his not mine. “Honestly, June, I’m only half-listening this morning.” Her features collapse and lance my heart with every crease that forms. “I’m sorry. I’m not proud of it either.”

  Wringing her hands before placing them in her lap, June lowers her eyes and refuses to look at me.

  “For what it’s worth, I had a really bad night last night. Not that that excuses me being a lousy sister and not listening.” After taking a few tentative steps, I plop down on the bed beside her and take my head in my hands.

  Several seconds pass before June speaks. “What happened?”

  I make a soft groaning sound. I wonder whether I can even get the words out without spitting fire. “Ugh, Lord Belchik, that’s what happened,” I say through my teeth. After massaging my temples, I lift my head, tipping my chin toward the ceiling. In my periphery, I see that June watches me, waiting for a better explanation. Sighing, I add, “He was with about two hundred of both my men and the men he brought who’ve joined us. They were drinking this awful stuff called moonshine and fighting each other in the courtyard, making a racket.” June wrinkles her nose. “Anyway, to make a very long story short,” I wave my hand in front of my face, as if I am fanning away the awful memory. “I asked him to knock it off and keep the noise down and he made fun of me, in front of everyone. Called me a little girl.” My upper lip curls over my teeth in disgust.

  “Avery, that’s horrible. I can see why you’d be distracted.” She pauses pensively. “What’re you going to do? I bet Sully wants to punch him in his big, furry face.” Her face pinches. “I know I do.”

  “Me, too,” I agree with a bitter laugh. “But after seeing him take down three men at once last night, I’m pretty sure Sully and I wouldn’t stand a much better chance, even if we weren’t drunk.”