The Children of Archipelago

by B A Simmons

  T he rubble slowed the advance of the soldiers making their way to the broken door of the birthing cave. Just inside that door, Joshua leaned against the table with Emily Galbraith lying on it. He held his sword up in a vertical en guard and waited. The other sisters of the Matriarch circle remained crowded into the back room. The Reverend Mother, Missus Abigail McClain, stood in the doorway to shield her sisters from whatever got beyond Joshua.

  Those few minutes between the crippling blast at the door and the arrival of the Falcon soldiers seemed, in the minds of those inside the cave, to be hours. Yet when they did arrive, they struggled to force the door, even though it hung by a single hinge, it was heavier and more awkward than anyone anticipated. To make matters worse for the Falcons, the explosion of their bomb dug a small crater into the ground just in front of the door, so that they would have to climb up to enter.

  Unable to see inside, they poked their spears through the gap at the bottom of the door. While at first this prompted Joshua to move to the side of the entrance, he hit upon an idea after the fourth jab lingered a second longer than it should have. When the next spear point stabbed at the air next to him, he grabbed hold of it and pulled it out of the hands of the protesting soldier.

  “McClain, take the sword!” Joshua said as he tossed his sword at Abigail’s feet and turned the spear on its former owners. He did not wait to see if she took it up. Instead he began jabbing the spear, striking one of the soldiers attempting to pull open the door.

  Several minutes went by in exchange of spear jabs, with the Falcons taking the worst of it. Most of them fell back to reconsider their efforts. Through the holes, Joshua observed them regroup and then endure a verbal barrage from an officer with more gall than gumption.

  “I count ten of them not including that officer!” Joshua called out before remembering that he was not with trained soldiers.

  “Three of them have wounds,” Abigail McClain said. She stood with the sword on the opposite side of the door, peering through a gap between the door and the frame.

  “We hold this gap. Stand there near the corner and keep your sword at the ready. Anyone who gets past me is yours.”

  The Falcon platoon scrambled over the rocks while still in formation. A few yards from the door, two of them sprinted forward and leaped upon the door. Joshua quickly put holes in each of their legs but helped by the armor they wore and their tolerance for pain, they managed to pry the door open before dropping to the ground. Joshua made a diving thrust to plant the spear point into the throat of the man on the left. He pulled himself up just in time to dodge a crossbow bolt. A second whizzed through the open doorway, narrowly missing Emily Galbraith. Four of the sisters, led by Sarah Engleman, rushed in to remove her with as much care as possible.

  Two more men rushed forward, a shieldman in front and a grenadier behind. Joshua saw the grenade arch through the air toward them, wishing he had a hand cannon to blast the bomb away from them. When the grenade landed just inside the doorway, he dived for it, but Abigail McClain’s foot moved faster. She kicked it back out the entrance where it exploded a moment later.

  Joshua turned his dive into a tumble and rolled himself into Abigail. He felt pain in his arms and right leg. He knew he’d been hit, but also knew he blocked the shrapnel from hitting the Reverend Mother. Forcing himself to stand, Joshua determined he had enough adrenaline pumping through his body to ignore the wounds.

  “You’re hurt again! Joshua!” Abigail screamed.

  “I know! Just stay there!”

  He moved toward the door again only to be hit by a crossbow bolt. It pierced his armor below his ribs. He moved away from the door and yanked the bolt back out with a painful grunt.

  Abigail McClain looked ready to cross over to help him but held back when Joshua glared at her.

  “My armor stopped most of it.”

  The light from the doorway faded as a large shield-bearing Falcon entered the cave. Joshua thrust the spear at his head but was blocked by the shield. The man turned and rushed Joshua who growled at the intruder, dropped the spear and caught his sword hand with both of his own. His wounds getting the better of him, Joshua dropped to his knees, unable to hold the sword for long. However, the man suddenly cried out in pain and fell to the floor.

  Abigail McClain pulled the sword blade from the man’s back just as a spear thrust from the doorway pierced her side. She fell as another soldier entered the doorway. Grabbing the dagger from the fallen man’s belt, Joshua rammed it into this new intruder’s leg. For his efforts, he received a blow to his face from a shield. He felt his backside hit the floor.

  Stars burst in Joshua’s vision. He blinked to clear them. When he could see properly again the Falcon soldier stood above him like a statue. The sword, which was raised over Joshua, ready for kill, fell from his hand. The soldier’s legs collapsed beneath him and he crumpled to the ground. Joshua looked to Abigail for answers, but she was back in the far corner, attending to her own wound.

  A third assailant entered the doorway, but just as quickly fell back to the ground outside as a flash of light registered in Joshua’s periphery. From the inner doorway of the cave, Victoria stepped forward with the Shintoku laser rifle in her arms. The remaining Falcon soldiers outside the cave retreated from the entrance taking their wounded with them. Victoria put the rifle on the bed and rushed to Joshua.

  “No, no. Help her.” Joshua pointed to Abigail McClain. Victoria obeyed and Joshua pulled himself up to the table. He took hold of the rifle and aimed it out the doorway. Several yards back, the Falcon officer stood yelling at his retreating men. He snatched a crossbow from one and began to load it. Joshua leaned on the table while bringing the rifle’s sight up to his eye. He squeezed the trigger just as the officer placed a bolt on his weapon.

  A small dark mark appeared on the Falcon officer’s forehead. His angry face dropped all expression and a moment later, his body dropped to the ground. The rest of the platoon disappeared down the road toward Harrisville, making sure to stay out of sight of the birthing cave’s entrance.

  Joshua laid himself on the table and let the rifle drop from his hands. The world darkened around him and he lost consciousness just as Victoria’s face hovered over his. Her voice, calling his name, echoed in the darkness.

  * * *

  Pete awoke to the smell of fresh baked bread. He lifted himself from the cot with a groan. His shoulder, though stiff and sore, was healed enough that he refused to be let off watch duty. Gus, his officer of the watch, ensured that Pete knew his rank of captain only applied when he was at sea. Since he was on land, he was just like every other militia man. Pete felt more amused than offended at Gus’s authoritative insistence. He preferred to be seen as an equal among his neighbors and friends rather than a superior.

  The smell of bread emanated from near the entrance to the courthouse, which was now being used as a barracks. There, several women and young boys served a breakfast of fruit and toast. Among them, a swollen-eyed Alphina Smith-Cunningham. Pete approached her and smiled. Alphina broke down into sobs upon seeing Pete. She threw her arms around him and cried into his shoulder for a good two minutes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said afterwards.

  “Not a problem. I was going to say that I believe Roger is alive and I’m willing to bet good money that the Falcons will be sending us a list of names wanting to exchange prisoners.”

  “We haven’t any prisoners to exchange!” she sobbed again.

  “Yes… but, my point is… we’ll see his name on the list and then we’ll know...”

  Pete took his bread and left the poor distraught woman, walking out to the east gate of the town for his watch duty. His thoughts, as they often did since leaving the Alphina turned to Trina. On this day, he realized that after enduring his own self-imposed chastisement, he would also have to endure hers. The thought brought with it a mix of emotions as his mind played out the possible scenarios that could unfold. It never occurred to him that he might not see Trin
a again. He knew her and he knew himself, trusting both to survive the ordeals they faced.

  At the east gate, Pete took the crossbow from Alistair McClain. “Anything out of the ordinary?”

  Alistair shook his head. “The same rotation of guards as the past three days, consistent with the past three weeks.”

  “Has it been that long?” Pete said.

  “You know it. Three weeks since you surprised us all by showing your ugly face here when we thought you would be out there using it to frighten the Falcons away.”

  Pete laughed. Alistair had used that joke before, but Pete laughed at it every time. He didn’t want to feel pity for Alistair, rather he tried to honor him for the sacrifice he’d made. Losing an arm against the Falcons at Alimia was something that earned Alistair much praise and pity both. Pete knew the sadness and anger Alistair felt toward himself for not saving Mark. While feeling this way was a natural expression of grief, Alistair had lost part of himself with his friend. This compounded his grief to the point that Pete (among others) worried about his mind.

  “Go get some breakfast and go to bed,” Pete said with a chuckle.

  The sun broke over the horizon in the east a minute later and Pete could tell, as most sailors can, that the day would be hot. Pete would regret his decision to save Riley today, for the heat would be worse at the center of the island than out at sea.

  Pete watched the Falcon infantry move about their lines, changing out personnel and conducting drilling maneuvers. They drilled all the time. It not only kept them alert and active, but for the first few days of the siege, created a constant worry the defenders. They learned to tell the difference between the maneuvers and an actual attack, though the Falcon’s had yet to do more than launch a few projectiles at them. Yes, a couple of these were incendiary rockets, but after seeing that the islanders were prepared for such, they didn’t send any more.

  An hour after he came on duty, Pete was called over by Arthur Sunday, a young native of Harrisville. “Cap’n Pete, what’s that on the road?”

  Pete searched down the road leading to the birthing cave with a far-see. A platoon of Falcon infantry had formed up just below the hill. They marched toward the town in two lines of six. At first glance it appeared to be another drill, but Pete couldn’t figure what the object between the lines of men was.

  “Run and get Gus,” Pete said. Arthur ran and Pete called out to another man. “Sergeant Holcomb! I need your opinion.”

  Holcomb came with two of his men who were stationed at the gate below the wall. Pete handed over the far-see and pointed to the formation of men.

  “It’s a battering ram!” Holcomb said. “Smitty, run for the captain, tell him to get here quick.”

  “Should we send out the signal?” Pete asked.

  “Let’s wait for the captain. Maybe they don’t know that we see it, hmm?”

  “Maybe. In any case, they wouldn’t have a battering ram if they didn’t intend to use it, hmm? Let’s get everyone ready but do it quietly,” Pete said.

  “Right you are Captain Pete. Hendy, go find Captain Charlie and inform him there’s a battering ram near the east gate. Then find that councilman fellow, Jones, and tell him the same. Go!”

  “Did you ever think that we’ve got too many captains in this army of ours?” Pete pondered aloud. Holcomb chuckled, then took another look through the far-see.

  “They’re definitely trying to keep it a secret; moving real slow they are,” Holcomb said.

  He passed the scope back to Pete who examined the scene again. He hadn’t been examining for long when Arthur returned with Gus who demanded the far-see for himself.

  “That’s a battering ram!” Gus shouted.

  “Yes, we know. The question is whether they’re going to use it now or later.”

  “Have you sent out for Captain Edward and Charlie?”

  “Yes. We did both. Let’s not let the Falcon’s know we know they have it.” Pete snatched back the far-see.

  He looked again at the slow approach of the Falcon platoon carrying the ram. He pondered on where they got a ram at all and supposed they might have brought it with them. If they had it with them, why did they wait three weeks before using it. Perhaps they figured the town would surrender before needing to make an assault. If this is the case, it appeared that their patience with the defenders had run out.

  Smitty returned to the wall, keeping his shield between him and the enemy. It was a habit Pete wished all the mercenaries and militia would adopt.

  “Captain Edward says he regrets it, but he can’t come to us at this moment.”

  “Where is he?” Gus and Holcomb both said.

  “He’s at the north gate of the town because the Falcons there also have a battering ram.”

  “Damital!” Pete said. “They’re going to hit all three gates at the same time.”

  “Look there Pete!” Arthur said, pointing out at the Falcon position.

  Pete brought the far-see to his eye again. The line of Falcon infantry which had been rooted and fixed two-hundred yards from the east gate began to move forward. Their large siege shields were supported by two men while at least four men hid behind each of them. There were eight of these shields spread out across the road and on each side. The two on the road remained close together to better protect the men hauling the battering ram.

  Gus leaned over the inside of the wall. “Blast that horn!”

  A mercenary named Landon brought a brass bugle to his lips, but before he could sound the call, it was heard from the east gate. Landon waited for that call to end and repeated it note for note.

  Now all of Harrisville would either go into hiding or come out to fight. Holcomb shouted for archers and slingers to arm themselves while he joined his platoon of Punishers at the gate below.

  “Arthur, you get all the fire bombs allotted for this gate and bring them here to me,” Pete said.

  Gus loaded his crossbow. “I’m glad of it. After weeks of waiting, I was starting to think they’d just up and leave without trying to break in.”

  Pete couldn’t help but smirk at the mercenary’s pluck. He looked back at the town and watched men and a few women in armor, carrying weapons, running to join them. He saw a few go the other direction, ensuring their families were safe.

  A hiss sounded softly in the distance and Pete saw the bright red of incendiary rockets fly over the wall on the east. At first there were only two or three. Then a dozen came, all at once.

  “Prepare for rockets!” Gus called. “Archers on the wall, keep your heads down until it’s time to shoot, keep your heads down while reloading. Don’t fire until you know you can hit them. Right? Now, concentrate your fire on those holding that battering ram.”

  Pete turned his attention again to the approaching enemy now within range for crossbows. The men holding the battering ram were rushing forward as fast as they could while keeping step with each other. They now lifted shields above their heads with their free arms. It was at this moment that Pete recognized their weapon.

  The battering ram was the mast from the Old Man. The Falcons hadn’t come with rams, they hadn’t known Harrisville existed, let alone that it was fortified with a stone wall and gated entrances.

  “Fire!” Gus yelled.

  Pete brought his crossbow up and took aim at one of the men supporting the ram. Twenty bolts and arrows flew before he released his. The man he shot was hit with two other projectiles. Only five Falcon soldiers fell. The ramming platoon faltered for a moment but did not stop. Soldiers from behind the two siege shields next to the ram darted out and took the places of those now laying on the road.

  They were fifty yards away and closing when Gus called for independent fire. He loosed a bolt which struck the arm of another ram holder. Pete finished reloading and fired again, finding a target in the man running to replace another fallen soldier.

  Yet for all the damage the town defenders inflicted, the attackers kept coming. At least ten of them lay dead or wounded o
n the road when the ram slammed into the gate. The gate held. Norman Shipley Junior raised himself above the edge of the wall to better his aim at the men below him. A bolt struck him in the chest and despite the armor, pierced through Norman’s ribs. He panicked with the pain, dropped his crossbow and fell from the wall.

  “Keep your heads down!” Gus repeated. “Hit those men behind the shields!”

  “We can’t see them for their shields!” a man called out as the ram beat against the gate again.

  “Don’t shoot at the one right in front of you! Cross your fire! Aim for one of those over there!”

  Gus demonstrated his order by lifting himself up just enough to aim at the group of soldiers marching behind one of the farthest shields from his position on the wall. He loosed his bolt and a moment later a Falcon soldier fell from behind the shield, Gus’s bolt protruding from his thigh.

  Arthur came again, with his head ducked down, bearing two glass jugs with rags poking from the spouts like little hands volunteering for use. He presented them to Pete with a smile on his face.

  “Where’s the torch?” Pete said, realizing there was none at hand.

  “You said bring the fire bombs, you didn’t say anything about a torch!” Arthur protested.

  “Run and get a torch!” Pete shouted.

  The ram battered the gate three more times before Arthur returned. Pete lit the first bomb and dropped it over the wall directly above the gate. The bomb exploded into a blaze atop one of the shields. The ram was dropped as its carriers were busy flapping old tunics on the flames to smother them. The man with the fiery shield cast it away from him and worked to put out the flames on his own arm until an arrow struck his neck.

  The flames out, the men picked up their ram and heaved it back for another blow when Pete dropped the second bomb. This fell directly onto the ram, spreading flame everywhere along the old mast. Soaked in sea water, the mast itself hardly burned, just the oil from the bomb. However, as the remaining men were under fire while trying to hold a heavy, blazing piece of wood, they soon abandoned it on the road and retreated behind their siege shields which had now closed ranks to avoid crossfire.