by J. L. Smith
“Why do I have a feeling that’s not the end of the story?” I asked, my stomach twisting in dread.
“Maybe Neal should tell you the rest,” Stef said softly.
“Neal won’t,” Susie replied.
“Well, that’s his decision to make,” Stef argued, always so gentle.
“Aria’s one of us now,” Susie continued.
“It’s okay, you guys really don’t have to tell me,” I said, not wanting to get in the middle of anything, although I was desperate to know the rest.
“She should know what he’s really like,” Susie said firmly. “Balen, that is. So, the thing is, he saw Neal’s mom. She was apparently ridiculously pretty. Like everything,” her voice was bitter now, “he wanted her for himself. A few days later, he kidnapped her. Neal’s dad was dead within a week. He never saw her again. I don’t know if he would have died then anyway, but I think it was the guilt which got him in the end.”
“Where’d Balen take her?” I whispered.
“To be one of his concubines. At least, that’s how the story goes. We don’t know for sure.” Susie sighed, “I guess if Saff got out, maybe she did too.”
“Saffron was there?” I asked, incredulous.
“Susie!” Stef exclaimed.
I was about to ask more, but saw the look passing between the twins and knew it was not the time to press them. For once, Susie seemed as if she were not quite sure what to say and Stef was flustered, obviously eager for the conversation to veer elsewhere. I obliged, changing the subject to our impending training session. But, my mind was elsewhere, turning over the fact that Saffron must have been imprisoned at Balen’s fortress. How long ago had she escaped? And more importantly, what had she been forced to do there? I shivered, imagining the possibilities.
Later that night, after a few more grueling hours of training – hand-to-hand combat this time – I found myself tossing and turning on the top floor of the bus. I seemed to have made a home for myself on the second floor, towards the front, alongside Susie, Stef and Kieran. The air was stuffy and my sleeping bag felt too tight, irritating me rather than providing comfort on a somewhat warm winter’s night. It was just before dawn when I gave up on sleep altogether and crept outside. I made my way over to a hammock under the shade cloths and crawled into it, closing my eyes and hoping that perhaps in the cool, I might be able to gather an hour or two of sleep.
“You’re in my spot.”
I would recognize that voice anywhere. Rayder. Without opening my eyes, I answered, my heart beating swiftly, “Finders, keepers.”
He laughed, surprising me, and rolled into the hammock beside mine.
I peeked over at him and, as was typical, he was dressed all in black. I wondered if he slept in his jeans and leather jacket. We were silent for a while, both of us looking up at the luminous stars, blinking down on the world through the cracks in the fabric above.
“So, what’s the deal with your aunt?” Rayder asked, not taking his eyes from the sky.
“What do you mean?”
“Why’d she sell you?”
“Money. Desperation. The usual, I guess.”
He nodded, “Yeah. But, there’s got to be more to it than that.”
I gave him a hard look for a few moments, “Your story for mine?”
His eyes took on a cold, distant gleam, “I’ll pass.”
“Suit yourself.” After an awkward pause, I said quietly, “I heard about Saffron’s past – well, some of it. Can you tell me why she was a prisoner at Balen’s?”
“Who told you?” Then, he seemed to add as an afterthought, “You know what, it doesn’t matter. Pass on that too.”
“You know,” I said, feeling more than a little irritated by his habitual rudeness, “you really have to be just about the friendliest guy in the world!” He laughed, something which sounded genuine, softening me somewhat. Realizing he was not going to bother to reply, I tried my luck again, throwing a less delicate question his way. “So, Balen’s the lord of some territory, huh?”
I remembered the lord of my own territory then, his long black hair, the way he drew a wolf’s pelt around him at the winter fair. His name was Hamish and, as lord of our territory or region, Meltrix, he was entitled to a tenth of our annual earnings, in exchange for very little, if the truth be told. Territorial lords were meant to provide protection, create unity in a region, should a conflict arise, be it against man or Mother Nature. In reality, they were usually just a bunch of bullies, taking what did not belong to them under threat of violence, demanding allegiance, without bothering to earn it.
“Mine,” Rayder replied, rousing me from my memories.
“Really? You’re from Balen’s territory?”
He simply nodded, running a hand through his long, knotty hair.
“Right. So, organ harvesting’s just another way for him to get rich?”
“Something like that,” he responded, giving away nothing.
“Okay, but what I can’t understand is why it’s just a bunch of kids in the middle of nowhere trying to take him down.”
Rayder gave me a skeptical look and remarked, “A lot of people make a lot of money.”
Remembering what the runner had said to me when I was being transported across the desert, I said softly, “Money makes the world go round.”
“Yep,” Rayder replied casually.
Once again, my mind drifted back in time, remembering a nearby village that had been wiped out by a disease so terrible, it was said to eat away at your organs. We had remained in our house for three weeks, my parents boarding up the windows, pretending that wearing a mask day in and day out was all part of some elaborate game.
There was a war which ended it all, many decades past now, flattening out the land and laying it to waste. Cities fell. Leaders died. And time marched on, heralding in a new era, one marred by blood and sand and toxins. Disease spread. Medicines were scarce. And, so it was that men like Balen prospered – offering the hope of a longer life, one organ at a time. I could almost taste my hatred for him, bitter as I was over my own abduction and what I had learned about those around me. But, I needed to do more than hate. I wanted in. I wanted to help bring him down.
“You know,” I said thoughtfully, “I could help. With Balen, that is.” Then, I added, a little touchily, “I’m not as useless as I look.”
“Who said you were?”
“You,” I admitted, “and Saffron.”
He raised his eyebrows, “Eavesdropping?”
“It’s not eavesdropping when I was there first,” I responded, thinking back to my position in the restroom tent on that first night when I had overheard their conversation.
Utterly unperturbed, he said, “Why do you think you’re learning to fight?”
“Everyone is,” I argued.
“Some more than others,” he replied. “You’re a fast learner. We could use you.”
I studied him for a moment, startled by his compliment. He was gazing up at the stars once more and I watched as he brushed a shorter piece of his dark hair away from his right eye. As the last of the moonlight touched his face, I admitted to myself that I thought him more than a little handsome. He was almost beautiful in the predawn light. Except for those eyes. They were too hard to be called beautiful.
“Okay, good,” I responded, more quietly now. “Because I’m here to stay.” He nodded, looking me over, something indiscernible in his expression. “So,” I continued, my tone casual as I sought to lighten the mood, “what’s the deal with your tattoos?”
My sudden change of subject seemed to amuse him, for he smiled, somewhat cryptically, “Why? Thinking of getting a sleeve done?”
“You think it would suit me?”
He seemed to scrutinize me, “No.”
Pretending to be offended, I replied tartly, “Oh, what, I’m not hardcore enough?”
He laughed openly, the sound filling me with warmth, “Not by half.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“You’ve got innocence written all over your face,” he answered, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
I was not sure how I felt about his words. Part of me was annoyed. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Not necessarily. About the tattoos, if you must know, they’re stories.”
“So, the spanner?” I asked, perhaps a little too eagerly. “What’s the story there?”
“Been studying my arms, then?” I could feel myself blushing and he laughed. “I was always a grease monkey,” he continued, amazing me with his straight answer. “Been fixing bikes since I was a kid.” I nodded, hoping he would elaborate. “Anything else?” It sounded almost as if he were teasing me.
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask about the cuckoo clock on his wrist and the dreamcatcher on his rib cage when a shuffle in the sand alerted me to the fact that we were not alone. Looking in the direction of the noise, I saw Saffron, her eyes fixed sharply on me. All at once, it was I who felt the intruder, although I was not at all sure what was between them. At times, they seemed simply to be close friends, but at other times, I thought there might be more. My glance landed on Rayder again, who seemed completely at ease.
“What’s up, Saff?” he asked nonchalantly.
Her face transformed when she looked at him, becoming somehow younger, “We need to patrol the perimeter. You coming?”
“Sure.”
I slipped off the hammock and, as I turned to leave, I could not help noticing that Rayder was not looking at Saffron. He was looking at me.
Chapter 5
It was another week of training before the homing pigeon arrived. Packed into the double-decker bus, all of us lying in cushioned corners covered in soft, brightly-colored sleeping bags to keep warm, it took little notice of our need to rest in the middle of the night. At the time, I had been asleep in my usual spot, at the front end of the upper deck, just beside the window. If the relentless rapping of its beak on the glass had not woken me, I was sure Rayder would have, as he bounded over the bodies lying in his way. As I fully opened my eyes, he was opening the window and, on a swirl of the night-time air, the bird, almost ethereal in the moonlight, fluttered in to land on his arm. Others were stirring, watching as Rayder unfastened the roll of faded paper tied to the pigeon’s little red leg. In the same instant, Saffron turned on a solar lamp, bathing us all in a gentle yellow glow. I watched as he read the note and passed it on to Saffron. They exchanged a look and Rayder nodded. In response, she simply smiled.
“So, tell us already!” Kieran exclaimed, sitting bolt upright, his sleeping bag huddled at his waist. His arm was now almost fully healed, with only a simple bandage over the wound, which Susie teased was more for show than anything else.
“The scouts saw a supply truck headed for Balen,” Rayder answered coolly. “On the south eastern route. It’s a code orange.”
Kieran grinned, “So, we going or what?”
Rayder released the bird and it gracefully flew from the bus, to join its comrades on the roof for the rest of the night. “We’re going.”
“Alright!” Kieran jumped up eagerly, gripping the gun he practically cuddled throughout the night, according to Stef.
She was beside him, calmer, of course, but with an unmistakeable, agitated energy I did not often see from her. “A rescue or just supplies?” she asked, tying her blonde hair into a ponytail at the nape of her neck.
Saffron replied, all confidence, as she pulled a jacket across her shoulders, “Supplies. Medical, they think, and fuel too, obviously. Maybe a few weapons, if we’re lucky.”
“I’m down for a new gun,” Kieran called. “An M470 preferably, but I wouldn’t turn down a good old M94I!”
“The M470 is rubbish,” Susie responded, a mischievous smile on her face. “Might as well ask your grandma to take the shot. It packs about the same punch!”
“Hey,” Kieran replied, “don’t trash-talk my grandma. She was a wicked shot! Well, I’m pretty sure she was. Didn’t happen to know her.” He seemed too excited to ponder his family dynamics, for he continued, “So, what do you want instead, then?”
“I’ll take a couple exploding arrowheads any day,” Susie said, mimicking an explosion by splaying her fingers out as she spoke. “Those things really know how to kick it.”
“Not bad,” Kieran conceded. He looked around, seeming to consider who else was in the mood to play his game. Stef was busying herself getting ready, a serious look on her face. He met my gaze, as I tugged a pair of boots on over my black denim jeans. “Aria, what’s on the menu for you?”
I felt Rayder’s gaze on me and realized that I was not altogether sure if I was even permitted to go. Regardless, I was preparing myself, determined to show just how eager I was. I looked towards him, as he strapped a knife to his arm and inclined my head in question. He seemed to know exactly what I was asking. In response, he simply nodded.
Smiling, I turned to Kieran, “I’m not half bad with a bow and arrow, so I’ve been told. I guess an exploding arrowhead wouldn’t hurt either.”
“Technically,” Susie corrected, grinning, “it’d hurt a little.”
“A lot, otherwise my money’s still on the M470,” Kieran said between mouthfuls of a protein bar he was shoving down his throat.
“So, who’s coming?” I asked Susie quietly.
“For now, it’s the standard team. So, Rayder, Saff. Then, Kieran, Stef and me. And Neal, too. Oh, and now, you.”
I nodded, “And a code orange. What’s that?”
Kieran, having overheard me, responded, “We rate missions on danger. So, yours, for example, super chilled. A code green. Two guys with a couple handguns and an old-school vehicle. Sort of boring, actually.” He grinned, “Apart from me being shot.”
“So not boring, then. For you or Aria, the actual prisoner,” Stef teased, looking a little less serious, as she stuffed her daypack for the ride. He waved her comment aside and she rolled her eyes at him endearingly.
“Kieran would basically need to have lost his arm before he’d admit it hadn’t been a total yawn fest!” Susie said, tossing Stef a bottle of water to put in her pack.
We laughed, Kieran included, before I asked, “So, how bad is a code orange?”
“It’s different every time,” Kieran responded, looking as if he were ready to go, a veritable ball of energy. “We’ve seen guys launching rockets from their trucks, shooting fire, throwing spears which explode when they make contact with anything. Crazy cool weapons. So, we can only hope.”
“What,” Susie said, “that we get shot?”
“Haha!” Kieran replied.
“And the medical supplies and fuel and stuff?” I asked. “I guess we sell that?”
“Yeah,” said Stef. “Not the fuel – we keep that.”
“And maybe a bandage or two for Kieran’s next attempt to play the hero!” Susie quipped.
“Hey,” Kieran responded, “who knows? Maybe you’ll play hero this time. Would make a change!”
Susie promptly propelled her hairband at him, landing squarely on his nose. “With this aim? I’ll play your antihero if you’re not careful, thanks!”
Kieran tossed it back to her and looked at me once more, “Best of all, we piss Balen off.”
“Oh,” Susie added pointedly, “and the small consolation of having a few less people harvested. No biggie!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kieran said. “I’m out. Peace!” He held up two fingers and ducked down the stairs of the bus. Within a few seconds he returned, whispered something in Stef’s ear and left again.
Susie laughed, “Should I ask?”
Stef blushed, “Don’t Suse,” she protested, but she was smiling.
“Fine, I won’t.” Susie nudged her twin, “But, you know you sort of want to tell me!”
“Sort of,” Stef admitted, laughing.
“So, are we
ready or what?” Susie asked, changing the subject, suddenly becoming more somber.
“Think so,” I said, my heart rate accelerating in anticipation. “I take it we just ride the south eastern route until we find them.”
“Pretty much,” Stef replied. “We’ll join up with the route closer to Balen’s fortress and then follow it out. Sometimes, we miss them if we’re not quick enough. But, bikes usually beat a heavy truck. So, we should catch up.”
“And those birds are fast,” Susie added, “so the truck’s still on the route. Although,” she said with a wry smile, “not if we keep chatting like a bunch of old ladies at a tea party.”
“Should we get out of here, then?” I asked, with a little more confidence than I felt.
We crept out of the bus, past some of the littlest children on the lower deck, who were still sleeping. I noticed a handful of glares directed at me by some of the older kids, mostly those in their early teens, and I assumed they were unhappy about my inclusion on the mission, being new and all. I could not really blame them. Still, I would not think about trading places – for once, I felt I was where I belonged.
We stepped out into the fresh night air and I spotted Rayder immediately, beside Saffron, both of them fiddling with their bikes, placing weapons in the compartments beneath their seats. Dressed in silver and black, with studded boots, Saffron looked every bit a warrior heroine of the harsh desert plains. Her glossy black hair was tied back neatly into a braid and, ridiculously, I self-consciously touched the scruffy ends of my wavy, orange hair, which hung loose, to be thrown about by the wind. It was hardly the time for vanity. Making a show of a bravado which I did not entirely feel, I strode towards them.
“Rayder,” I called as I approached, “whose bike am I going on?”
“Mine,” he responded, without looking up.
Saffron’s head shot up and she glared at me, before turning to Rayder. “She’s not ready.”
This time, he did look up from his bike, focusing his attention on her. “Saff,” he said slowly, as if in warning, “she’s ready.”
“Ten days of training does not make her ready,” she argued. “We’ve been at this for years. It’s a code orange and, quite frankly, we don’t need anyone screwing it up.”