Broken Moon Series Digital Box Set

by F. T. Lukens

  2

  Ren woke slowly.

  His head ached; pain was a constant pulse in his temples. He squeezed his eyes shut against the bright sun as an errant tear tracked down his cheek.

  Stars, he hurt, and the jostling of the vehicle he rode in didn’t help matters at all. He was in a floater—that much he had gathered from the hum of the engines—one that had seen better days, if the rocking and sputtering were any indication.

  With a low groan, Ren opened his eyes. He was alone, unguarded, obviously not deemed a threat or a flight risk. His head rested on a sack of grain, his body on boxes, and the corners were digging into his lanky frame. He was in a cargo bed, and, judging by the number of crates, not only had the soldiers raided the village for new recruits, they had taken the remnants of the winter stores as well. The village would suffer a few harsh weeks, but it was spring, and game would return to the forest and the fruit trees would bloom. They’d be all right.

  Ren wasn’t so sure he would be. The sun was rising. The blow to the head had rendered him unconscious for hours. He could feel the tacky sensation of dried blood pulling on his skin as he craned his neck to look around.

  He tested his restraints. His hands were bound behind his back. His shoulders ached and his fingers tingled. It would be hard to maneuver, but he needed to see where he was and if he had any chance at escape.

  Sighing, he used his shoulder for leverage and managed to roll onto his side. His vision swam.

  He tugged against the shackles. “I wish these could come off,” he muttered.

  As soon as the words left his mouth, he heard a whirr and a click and the tech loosened. Gasping in surprise, he gave another pull and the cuffs fell away.

  Carefully, Ren brought his hands to the front of his body, breathing through the stings of pain in his arms and the rush of blood back to his fingers. He stared at his hands, confused and awed, and he gently rubbed his wrists where thick red lines circled them from the cuffs.

  After a few minutes, while Ren allowed his body and head to adjust, he slowly reached for the shackles. They flapped open. The clasp was no longer powered; the energy source was depleted, just like the prods, rendered utterly useless. Was the Baron’s tech this bad or was Ren extremely lucky? Either way, it meant Ren was free.

  His heart thumped hard. He was free. Escape was now a possibility. He could go home.

  Swallowing the sudden excitement, Ren took a few deep, steadying breaths and formed a tentative plan. The floater’s bed was a few feet deep, so his body was not readily visible unless a guard looked down and in, but because Ren was lying on top of the supplies, he could lift his head and peek over the side. Depending on what he saw, he could easily swing over to the ground and make a run for it.

  He looked out over the lip of the bed.

  His breath caught.

  All along the side of the cargo ship floaters hovered, fully manned, with soldiers standing in the beds, armed and alert. Most of them wielded prods, but a few had stunners—guns that shot pulses of electricity, meant to incapacitate and hurt, but not cause lasting harm. If Ren tried to run, he wouldn’t make it far.

  The soldiers weren’t the only thing that made Ren’s resolve sink. Behind each floater marched a line of young men and women, hands shackled in front of them, all of them looking exhausted, filthy and tattered. Among them, Ren picked out the striking white-blonde of Sorcha’s hair, and next to her Jakob trudged wearily along, blood caked on the side of his face.

  There were others too. Dozens of youths Ren didn’t recognize, probably from villages near his own.

  He scanned the crowd as best as he could, looking for Liam. He didn’t see him in the pack from home, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t out there, somewhere, among the groups that were too far away for Ren to see clearly.

  Ren ducked back down quickly; to keep searching would mean discovery. The hope he had moments before was utterly gone. Liam could be out there. He could be shoved into the back of a floater, like Ren.

  Ren wasn’t going to abandon his brother to the fate that awaited them at the Baron’s citadel, but he was going to be smart about it.

  Squirming around, Ren found a spot where he could sit up against a crate and stretch out his legs, but remain unseen. He picked up the malfunctioning cuffs; the clasps opened; the mechanism became inert. Cautiously, he fitted the cuffs around his wrists, pretending to bind his hands, but in the front of his body, like the others. He could pretend to be shackled until the moment was right, until he could find Liam, and together they would escape.

  Hands in his lap, Ren adjusted the cuffs as best he could so they would appear to be working. And just as he managed that, the shackles whirred back to life and clamped down, forcing a gasp from Ren. They bound him tightly, as if they had never stopped working.

  He stared down at them open-mouthed, confused and wishing they hadn’t formed so tightly around his wrists that they restricted his blood flow.

  The cuffs loosened.

  Ren flexed his fingers.

  Something was strange about the Baron’s tech, and if Ren could puzzle out what it was, when the time came, it could help in his and Liam’s escape.

  He would have to study it. And he would, because he was not going to be a slave and neither was his brother.

  * * *

  For as long as Ren could remember, the Baron had been the ruler of their fief, a patch of land that included several villages, a spaceport that bordered the neighboring fief and several lakes. He wasn’t a hands-on leader by any means and Ren didn’t think he’d visited their village in his lifetime. And that was fine as long as he left them alone. The council took care of their problems, brokered peace and trade negotiations with the nearby villages, dealt with the few crimes that were committed. The people of his village led a quiet life.

  But a few years ago, the raids had started.

  At first, it had been supplies–their grain, their wool, their dried fish and meat. The Baron declared they were his due. The council had begun setting aside a part of the stores to make the ordeal easier.

  Then it had been their people.

  The soldiers called it volunteering.

  The villagers called it slavery.

  Sitting in the back of a floater, hands tied, stomach growling, throat burning with thirst, Ren silently agreed with his family and friends. At least over the course of the day the ride had become smoother. It was a small comfort in the face of impending bondage.

  Dusk started to fall before the soldiers called a halt. Ren peeked over the side again. The vehicles slowly formed a circle, and the soldiers ushered the prisoners into the middle, splitting them into groups. Fires blazed, popping up in random patterns within the circle; the flames sawed into the gathering dark.

  As Ren watched, he half hoped he’d been forgotten; but his stomach growled, and he realized that being noticed might not be so horrible if it got him rations. The speculation didn’t last long. A soldier popped into Ren’s vision. Startled, he reared back and fell onto the supplies with a squawk.

  “Finally awake,” the man grunted from beneath his helmet. He was portly; his armor barely stretched over his girth; but he was strong, and he reached in and grabbed the front of Ren’s shirt, easily yanking him over the lip of the floater’s bed.

  The drop wasn’t far—the thrusters were not powerful enough to push them more than a few feet off the ground—but it was enough to knock the air from Ren’s lungs. He landed on his side, jarring his already bruised body, and he rolled as momentum sent him tumbling. He didn’t get a moment to breathe, to collect himself, before the large soldier grabbed the back of Ren’s shirt. He lifted Ren to his feet. Balance off-kilter because his hands were bound, Ren stumbled.

  “Lazy duster.”

  Ren bit his tongue to keep from saying anything that would get him into trouble.

  “Find a fire. Si
t and eat and rest. You won’t have such a cushy journey tomorrow.”

  Ren frowned, but walked into the makeshift camp. The guard left him once he was in the boundary, probably to harass someone else. Ren found Sorcha among the crowd easily; her blonde hair was a beacon. Jakob sat next to her. Ren joined their fire; his joints creaked as he folded to sit with them and the rest of the small group.

  “Ren,” Sorcha breathed, nudging his shoulder. It was as close to a hug as they could manage with their hands in shackles. “We thought you were dead.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Dead?”

  Jakob leaned forward. The firelight played along the dried blood on his cheek and sparked in his blue eyes. With his dark hair tangled, falling into his pale, crusted face, he looked gruesome, as if he had walked out of one of the stories Ren’s mother told to keep him out of the forest when he was younger. “Yeah, when they carried you out of the woods, you didn’t look so good.”

  “You two saw?”

  Sorcha nodded. “You just hung over their shoulder, and there was blood everywhere.” She winced. “There still kind of is.”

  Ren tentatively touched the large sticky patch on his neck; his fingers grazed the ends of his crusted hair. He turned his head and for the first time noticed the crimson stains on his shoulders and down his back. Jakob wasn’t the only gruesome one.

  “Who else was taken?” Ren asked. “Did you see Liam?”

  “A few others. But no. I didn’t see him.”

  “I didn’t either,” Jakob added.

  Ren blew out a breath; relief washed over him like the cool water from the lake. “Thank the stars. He must have hid.”

  Jakob opened his mouth but snapped it shut; his posture stiffened. Ren looked up and saw a soldier walking toward them with a canteen hanging from his shoulder and a sack in his hand. He stopped at their group and dropped the canteen in the dirt.

  “That’s for all of you. Don’t waste it.” He kicked the boy next to Jakob in the leg. “Hold out your hands if you want food.”

  They all did.

  Palms up and open as best as the shackles would allow, Ren quietly accepted the strip of dried meat and the crust of bread. He ate voraciously. The meat was tough and the bread hard, and they settled in his stomach like lead. But they stopped the growling.

  The prisoners passed around the canteen, twelve of them sipping the water. Ren took a mouthful, just enough to slake his thirst, and handed the canteen to the girl next to him. It was nearly empty before the last boy could drink, and he sobbed when only a few drops passed his cracked lips.

  Ren looked away. Jakob and Sorcha crowded close together.

  “How’d you two get caught?”

  Jakob shrugged. “They got close to where me and a few of the younger kids were hiding. I ran to draw them off. I wasn’t fast enough. Stunner in the back. Tripped and,” he gestured to his head, “you can see the rest.”

  Ren’s estimation of Jakob’s character went up. They hadn’t interacted much in the village, had hardly been friends. Jakob’s father was part of the council, which allowed Jakob to attend school. Ren worked. Ren never pegged Jakob as a person who would risk his privilege to save anyone.

  “That’s very brave,” Sorcha said, resting her hand on Jakob’s arm.

  “Not really. I have a better chance. My father is on the council. The Baron will have to let me go once he realizes who I am.”

  Oh. Obviously Jakob hadn’t learned from the dozen or so villagers who had been taken and never came back.

  Ren forced a smile. “Good plan.”

  “Yes, it is.” Sorcha cast a knowing look at Ren. “I was found. I didn’t want to get buzzed so I went with them.” She smiled sadly. “Not very brave at all.”

  “You’re brave, Sorcha. I know you are. And it’s okay,” Ren said. “The three of us are together now. We’ll get out of this. I know we can.”

  “You can say that all you want,” a boy near them chimed in. “But you’re doomed like the rest of us, together or not.”

  Jakob straightened and glared, balling up his fists. “I don’t believe you’re in this conversation. Why don’t you mind your own business?”

  The boy shrunk back and turned his head.

  “What else happened?” Ren asked, low. Jakob and Sorcha exchanged a glance. Jakob squirmed, a far cry from the combative boy he was a moment before. “What?” Ren demanded.

  “Your mother…” Sorcha trailed off.

  Ren’s heartbeat stuttered. “What happened to my mother?”

  “She saw you and she… she tried to get you back.”

  Ren sucked in a breath. Oh no. No. “She didn’t… they didn’t—”

  “She was prodded,” Jakob said. “That’s all. And then your stepdad took her back into your house.”

  Ren could barely swallow around the lump in his throat, but he choked back the tears. He scrubbed them away with the back of his hand, closed his eyes and took a breath. He pushed away the sorrow that threatened to overwhelm him. It was a liability; in fact, all emotions were liabilities. He would need to pack them away if he was going to survive.

  When he opened his eyes again, he looked at Sorcha and Jakob in the firelight. They flinched. He didn’t know what they saw; he only knew what he needed to do.

  “We’re getting out of here.”

  Sorcha placed her hand over his. “Okay.”

  Jakob reached over and joined, his hand resting over Sorcha’s delicate knuckles. “I’m in.”

  “Good.” Ren nodded. “Keep your eyes open. We’ll find a way.”

  The nosy kid snorted, but Jakob cast a glare at him and he scooted away.

  “For now, we should rest,” Sorcha said.

  For the first time, Ren noticed how exhausted both Jakob and Sorcha looked. Their clothes were tattered. Sorcha’s skirt sported a large rip at the hem, and Jakob’s usually impeccable finery was encrusted with dust. Their boots were scuffed from an entire day of walking. He’d share their fate tomorrow, and his head continued to ache.

  “Good idea.”

  After a little bit of squirming, the three of them managed to find a comfortable position that provided each of them a modicum of warmth. The air grew colder, and they inched as close to the fire as they could with the others around them. Sorcha ended up in the middle with her head on Jakob’s shoulder. Ren lay along her side so the line of her body was a reassuring presence at his back. It struck Ren as funny, how a day ago, lying next to Sorcha would have sent his pulse racing, but now it seemed like the many times he and Liam had shared a space to rest, merely a necessity.

  Ren closed his eyes and fell into a fitful sleep to the sound of the fire crackling and the chirps of crickets.

  * * *

  Ren was going to smack Liam for making so much noise. Didn’t he know Ren was trying to sleep? Why the stars was he blowing a horn?

  “Ren, wake up!”

  Sorcha?

  He groaned and rolled over. He tried to stretch his arms, but couldn’t. He frowned, wondering how he had become tangled in the sheets, but after a tug his wrists were freed and he was able splay his arms wide, though his shoulders burned from the movement.

  “Ren!” It sounded like Jakob, but urgent and scared.

  “Liam?” Ren muttered.

  “Ren, for stars sake, Liam’s not here.”

  Jerking awake, Ren remembered where he was and he scrambled into a sitting position, eyes open, gaze flicking about the camp.

  Dawn hadn’t broken, but the sky was lightening quickly. Soldiers marched about, blowing horns, waking the sleeping captives. The fire had dwindled to coals, and everyone stared at Ren with open mouths and wide eyes.

  “What?”

  “Your cuffs,” Sorcha said, breathy and quiet.

  Ren looked down. His hands were unbound, and his shackles sat in t
he dirt and leaves. Not again. He grabbed them. They flopped open, useless.

  “You’re free,” Jakob whispered. “What are you doing? Run. Go.”

  Ren shook his head. “No, no. I’ll fix them. I can fix them.”

  “Are you crazy?” Jakob said, leaning forward. “Get the hell out of here.”

  “I’m not leaving you two.”

  Sorcha bit her lip and looked at the chaos of the camp, at Jakob’s fierce gaze and then at Ren. “Put them back on before the guards notice.”

  “He should go.”

  Ren looked around wildly; his dark hair fell into his face. Maybe he should run. He could come back and save them. He could get his stepfather and Jakob’s father and return for them.

  He shook the thoughts from his head. He wouldn’t get far. There were guards everywhere, stunners charged and ready. Ren clasped the cuffs around his wrists and willed them to work. The power source hummed, but they didn’t clamp down.

  He looked over his shoulder. The landscape was flat and open, no cover unless Ren could make it to the smattering of trees that lined the road. He pulled his body into a crouch.

  “Ren,” Sorcha pleaded. “Wait. Don’t, please.”

  Suddenly, a figure broke from a group in front of them and took off toward the road. The boy sprinted, feet kicking up dust, jacket flapping madly behind him. Shouts from the soldiers erupted around the camp. A guard standing on the back of a floater lifted his stunner and took aim. Ren didn’t realize he was on his feet, with his heart pounding in his ears as he watched, until Jakob yanked him back down to the ground.

  A burst of electricity shot from the muzzle of the stunner. The ball of blue light traveled through the air like a spark. It hit the boy between the shoulder blades. He went down screaming, tumbling in the dirt, his limbs twitching. His yell echoed throughout the camp and in Ren’s ears.

  The cuffs squeezed around Ren’s wrists, engaging violently as if the power source had been recharged. Ren’s decision made for him, he sat in the dirt and shuffled closer to Sorcha and Jakob, gaze fixed on two soldiers dragging the boy back to camp.