Beyond All War

by Eric Keller

  Two shadows came around the corner and met with the shadow of Young Eddie. Apparently, relieved of duty, the skinny man scurried off to feast with the others. In the blackness, she felt more than saw the man on the roof quickly slipping to the ground to hurry inside as one of the newcomers slowly climbed up to take his place.

  When the new guard on the ground moved by the window, Kinma’s breath caught. Only a glimpse in weak light but she was completely certain as, even without a clear view of the face, the haughty gait and rigid posture made it obvious it was Harrison.

  Seeing the bastard striding through the dark, caused her to recall all the horror he caused, including the murdering of Hale. She now knew this course of action, coming after him, having Malden fight against him, was completely correct. Letting Harrison survive could not be tolerated, despite the risk, they needed to try to rid this world of him.

  She carefully crawled backward into the trees. The others needed to know Harrison was out in the open and, perhaps, they could cut off the head before the body even knew they were there.

  . . .

  Harrison knew it a sign of weakness, but he had to admit he felt better with a full stomach. He took in deep breaths of the fresh, summer night air. The pleasant smell of grass and dew filled his lungs. While not what he planned, perhaps a night of rest and reward was for the best. Tomorrow the men would be happy, and he was confident they would be able to easily track down the sheep in the light of day.

  Keeping an eye on the night filled woods, he slowly paced out a lap of his new realm. Even in the starlight, the cabins seemed well maintained and stout. He did not like the idea of giving people separate accommodations, harder for him to know everything that was occurring so he would need to give some careful thought to setting the sleeping arrangements.

  Piles of dry and split firewood filled the spaces under every eave. He plucked up a piece and was surprised to feel rough saw marks, somewhere these gardeners had a working saw. He set the stick back on the pile, pleased by the idea of no longer having to worry about keeping sufficient fuel supplies as getting men to chop and stack wood was a persistent problem at Thule. Having surveyed the food stores, Harrison knew there must be a decent garden. Even so, when he came across the wide swath of tilled soil full of carefully tended plants, a grin crossed his lips. The pending harvest meant they would be able to put away more than enough potatoes, carrots, and corn to easily last them through winter. He made a mental note to find out, when they tracked the sheep down, who among them knew how best to tend the crops and ensure they lived long enough to teach him the tricks.

  The pleasant surprises continued as he toured further. Following his nose, tucked in behind a couple of cabins, he found a smokehouse with six grouses hanging amongst larger cuts of meat. They had been hearing the yips and howls of numerous coyotes for days so he figured that there must be game around, but he figured rabbits and squirrels, not sizable game like this. Ample meat would keep the men content while hunting would keep them entertained.

  Moving back to the main building, Harrison revelled in his luck. They found a paradise. His reign would surely continue unabated.

  He turned the corner in time to hear wet, angry splashing noises coming from the nearby cabin’s rooftop. Harrison had placed Oliver up there as he was growing more and more lame from arthritis every day which made him eager to show any remnants of usefulness to avoid being excluded entirely. Before Harrison could scold the old twit for giving away his position, more retching was followed by a curse and the sounds of Oliver tumbling ungraciously off the roof. Without thought, Harrison leveled his rifle at the darkness, looking for the invisible attackers as he moved towards the fallen guard.

  He leaned down to check the fallen man for injury and a sharp, stabbing pain struck Harrison’s stomach. It forced him to double over, but the source of the agony was clearly internal rather than external as he felt his bowels go to water and vomit threatened to burst from his face. The food, the cowardly sheep poisoned the food.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-Six

  AUGUST 5, 2046

  DAY THREE THOUSAND EIGHT HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN

  “We should move now. If we take out Harrison, everything else will be easier, much easier.”

  Kinma had hurried back to the group, eager to take advantage of being able to remove the Bank’s leader. She tried to sound calm as she whispered, worried that showing too much emotion would make them disregard her as an overwrought woman, however, ire seeped into her tone regardless.

  Taco nodded as Milo joined in to say, “She’s right. Take him out, the rest will be a mess, probably end up fighting each over who’s in charge.”

  They all looked to Paul, he shrugged and then whispered, “I understand and agree it would be good to remove the leader, but he is only one man. What do we do if he manages to call out an alarm? Fight all the rest out in the open? I say we keep steady on the plan, let it play out before we make our move.”

  It was not given as an order, more as a discussion point, but the others did not dispute the idea. Kinma was not surprised, she could practically taste the fear in the air. Maybe even more than fear for their own safety, a hesitation to kill hung over the group. These people seemed like they would choose to defer fighting forever, hoping old age would take care of their enemies.

  Milo merely gave her a look shaking his head in minor disgust. Sam caught her eye and nodded but then, without a word, he stepped back into the trees. The rest settled back down, overly content to remain unbloodied. Kinma squatted down beside Paul, and whispered, “We can’t wait all night. These are strong men, even with the plan in place they’ll recover fast.”

  Kinma held herself back from adding that even if Harrison’s group was greatly weakened by the poison, they would still make a worthy match for this frightened, untrained group. Keeping an agreeable tone, Paul responded, “Ok, we’ll move soon but I want to make sure we take full advantage of the situation, we want them as weakened as possible.”

  They should have marched faster, having an extra day to get to know these people and let them get to know her might have given her enough insight to be able to explain to them the threat they were facing, might have given her enough sway to get them to listen to her. Not wanting to upset the uneasy group, Kinma decided to take her chances with Jacob’s father. She pulled Paul further aside and whispered, “The plan is a good one, and it appears to be working but, at some point, metal is going to need to meet meat. Everyone here defers to you, I think you’ll need to strike the first blow, and you will need to be decisive when you do.”

  Kinma felt the man nod next to her, but even that slight move felt hesitant. She sighed, all of this might end up being for naught.

  . . .

  Realizing the trap, Harrison tried to call out an alarm to his men, but his guts were being twisted in a vice and the intended yell came out as a gasp followed by a watery burst of vomit. He began to crawl, forcing himself to move despite the intense agony.

  After stopping to heave and retch more, he laid back on the cool grass to catch his breath and listen. No more laughter or talking seemed to be coming from inside. Harrison feared he was entirely right, it was not simply a few pieces of badly preserved venison but a powerful poison lacing everything.

  Rising on his knees to resume his desperate crawl, a crushing weight instantly landed on his back, pushing all the breath from his chest as he was compressed against the grassy earth. A hand covered his mouth as powerful blows cracked repeatedly into the base of his skull. He tried to struggle, tried to get the strong body off his back but the dizziness from the punches made the powerful nausea even worse, and he could not muster the needed strength.

  Another blow to the back of his skull. He had to fight back. This could not be his death. After all he
endured, his sad end could not be at the hands of a coward who poisoned him and attacked him from behind. Using all of his limited energy, he pushed up off the ground, not a strong move but enough to slightly dislodge the man for a second, allowing Harrison to turn over.

  His attacker was short and wiry with shadow-filled eyes and no beard. Harrison could see no weapon, but the man now gripped his wrists tightly, using his knee to press down on his throat. Immediately realizing his weight was too far forward, Harrison managed to buck up, throwing the lighter man up and over his head. This broke the iron grip, but the bastard did not miss a step, springing around and twisting to land a powerful kick to the side of Harrison’s ribs.

  Despite the solid strike, Harrison managed to stumble away, gaining some valuable distance and he reacted just in time to catch the man’s boot as he tried to kick him again. Using the leverage of his attacker trying to pull his foot back, Harrison let him yank him forward to fire out a wild right-hand swing.

  Surprisingly, the blind, desperate punch hit, creating the satisfying crunch of knuckles connecting solidly with cheekbone. Apparently, the man was not used to brawling and did not anticipate the obvious counter-attack. Expecting the shot to temporarily incapacitate the smaller man, Harrison pulled him in closer, hoping to land a knockout uppercut, however, the attacker was not stunned and he immediately leaned into the move, smothering the punch as he grabbed Harrison in a bear hug and drove him back into the ground.

  His poisoned insides revolted violently as the air rushed from his lungs and, before he could react, the assailant was back on top of him, his fists repeatedly striking his face and neck. Harrison stopped fighting back. This would be it.

  The finality of death always intrigued Harrison as he could never figure why people cared so much about what happened in the world once they were gone. If you never knew what happened, how could you care that it had happened? As far as he was concerned, the earth would become dust once he died, everything ending with him. Resolved to his death and only waiting for consciousness to leave, he felt confused when the shadow stopped punching and a rag was crammed into his throat before being lashed in place.

  Harrison wanted to react to this oddness but his stomach clenched in pain and his head swam mightily so he could do nothing as he was roughly rolled back onto his front. With a knee on his neck pressing his face into the earth, his arms were pulled behind his back and lashed together at the elbows, straining his shoulders to the point of popping. Then the victor silently lifted his trussed up prize to his feet.

  Facing his attacker, Harrison looked into eyes with blurred vision. He realized the mad was annoyingly calm and unafraid, the type of soldier he always sought out. He simply put a finger to his lips in the universal signal of silence before turning him and pushing him towards the tree line.

  Regardless of the painful bondage, the searing agony in his head from the beating and the torment raging in his stomach, a glimmer of hope found its way to Harrison’s muddled thinking. The poison was a clever trick, but tricks were never enough. Only dedicated toughness and strong actions worked completely. This fool could have killed him, should have killed him and his mercy gave him hope.

  . . .

  Kinma had given up trying to rally Paul and the others into taking immediate action. The group was sitting in sullen silence waiting for whatever sign they were waiting for when Sam appeared out of nowhere and calmly said, “The guard on the roof fell off. Sick, not moving. I got the other guard on the ground.”

  This shocked Kinma. She asked, “Harrison? You killed Harrison?”

  “Tied him to a tree.”

  “You left him alive?”

  The man merely stared at her.

  Kinma’s concern over their kindness-fuelled reluctance was coming to fruition if the hardest of the men could not end the worst of their attackers, what would the others do? She said, “But he’s come here to kill everyone.”

  The silent man merely looked back at her, annoyingly ignoring Kinma’s statement.

  Paul asked, “He’s secure?”

  A nod.

  “It’s time?”

  Another nod.

  Paul got to his feet, and the others shuffled up as well, immediately drawing knives, readying bows and picking up axes. Paul stood in the middle of the group, looking from person to person as he calmly said, “Think of every sweltering day spent chopping wood with blistered hands. Think of every black night far away from home checking traps in the snow with frozen legs. Think of all the endless trips hauling water from the river to the garden with aching backs. All that work, all that struggle and, if we falter now, if we flee or freeze or falter, if we don’t do everything in our power right now to protect what is rightfully ours, we will be throwing all of our work away. Instead of leaving it to our children and their children, we’ll be giving it to these bastards who have lived their lazy lives robbing and killing and destroying what others have built. Time to go to work.”

  With that, he stoically headed into the trees with everyone briskly following. As she hurried through the brush, struggling to keep up with the group, Kinma suddenly felt naïve and foolish, she had completely underestimated the resolve of these people.

  When they reached the clearing, they spread out and broke into a fast jog as planned. This space was their home so, even in the moonlight, they knew every dip, root, and hole while Kinma found herself floundering in the dark, falling behind. They beat her to the lodge, and she watched as they did not hesitate before ripping open the door and darted inside. Biting back intense fear, Kinma gripped her knife and followed up the steps after them.

  A body lay near the porch. Looking down at the filthy face with a tortured, purple hue, Kinma recognized Oliver, a rude, old man with a boorish laugh and arthritic knees. As she stepped over him to get inside a pungent, overwhelming smell filled her face. Vomit and shit. The odor of powerful sickness.

  A gunshot cracked out and then another, and another. She could not tell where they were coming from, but those from Malden moved boldly forward regardless. Another gunshot. Then another.

  As the mass made it through the doorway and spread out inside she could observe the chaos in the lantern light. Bodies covered the plank floor, a few men on their knees, trying to stand but most were curled up, clutching at their stomachs. The villagers moved about, rapidly firing arrows and swinging weapons at the incapacitated Bankers.

  Walter, a stout man with a propensity for crude jokes, sat propped up in the far corner, a rifle held loosely across his lap. He was firing, but he seemed to lack the wherewithal to aim, his shots hitting harmlessly into the ceiling. Near the window, Young Eddie appeared less ill as he had managed reach his feet but, as he turned to face them, numerous arrows impaled him from various angles, and he dropped to the floor.

  With no one fighting back, the Malden people paused to survey the scene, but only for an instant before Paul, followed by Leo and then the others, strode among the writhing men, slipping slightly on the slimy wooden planks as they ended their miserable lives. Paul moved to Walter, slumped in the corner, the only attacker maintaining any meaningful level of consciousness. Paul knock his gun away and leveled a hunting knife at the man’s throat. “Where’s Jacob?”

  Whites filled the ill man’s eyes as he looked up at Paul. He opened his mouth, apparently to answer but instead of words, a greenish sludge gurgled out on to his tangled beard. Paul grabbed a handful of his dirty hair and shook the huge head, asking more forcefully, “Jacob. You were following him here. Where is Jacob?”

  His face tilted back, a gruesome grin crossed Walter’s face, and he said, “The kid? Dumb kid wandered off downriver, bastard thought he’d tricked us...”

  “Wandered off? Trick you?”

  Walter sp
at out a string of yellow bile. “Sick. Could barely move, birds probably eating his eyes by now so screw you and your friends...”

  Kinma saw the big man’s glassy eyes glance to the side. Following his look, she glimpsed blonde hair behind overturned chairs. The Viking. A terrible mistake. She should’ve warned Paul, should’ve made sure they dealt with the most dangerous man first. Before she could call out an alarm, the chairs flew into the air with incredible speed. The Viking, apparently having been playing possum, jumped to his feet, grabbed up his rifle and started firing.

  An intense, piercing pain exploded in Kinma’s arm, twisting her about as she tumbled back through the door and fell backward down the steps all the way to the grass. Before she could comprehend what was happening, a heavy boot stomped on her as the Viking ran over her, fleeing into the night.

  Sam, reacting quicker than the others, stepped in the massive man’s path but the beast easily and brutally knocked him aside with the butt of his rifle, barely breaking his staggering strides as the minor obstacle fell away. Kinma tried to stand, tried to follow him, but the searing pain ripping through her arm overwhelmed her as her body failed to listen to her mind’s commands. She could only watch the brutal savage disappear across the clearing and into the darkness beyond.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-Seven

  AUGUST 5, 2046

  DAY THREE THOUSAND EIGHT HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN

  The sun did not stay down too in August, and a hint of grey light could already be seen to the east. Dawn. Morreign feared it might be the last dawn she would ever see. Hours ago, they heard distant gunshots. Not many shots and the sound was faint, so there could have been more they did not hear.