IT HAD been a very long, very tiring, night. Shanna’s eyes felt gritty and heavy, as the sunlight began to slowly slip its way through the canopy. She’d watched for as long as she could keep her eyes open, trying to give Allad as long a rest as possible. Finally, when the adrenaline that spiked through her body at every sound had no longer sufficed to keep her alert, she’d woken him apologetically. He’d been hard to wake, but uncomplaining once his eyes had finally opened. Shanna had sunk thankfully onto the ground, her eyes closing almost of their own volition. Sleep had been like falling into unconsciousness, and she’d had to force herself awake when Allad’s shaking had penetrated the blackness in the early hours of the morning. For most of the final watch she’d had to try to change her position as often and as silently as possible to keep herself focused and alert.
The night had worn on slowly, but at least they’d survived it.
She woke Allad again, then lowered herself wearily to her knees beside Amma’s recumbent form. “She’s just sleeping,” he said. “Can you keep watching while I forage?”
Shanna nodded and stretched herself as quietly as possible, and then took a few steps, limping slightly on her injured leg. It improved as she moved, so she nodded to Allad and then began to circle quietly around the grotto. The early light slanted through the trees, tinging their leaves to glowing green in all its shades. She rubbed her eyes with one hand as she ghosted from cover to cover, careful to pause each time and survey the area before she moved. A number of the smaller carnivores scuttled into the undergrowth just ahead, and a carnivorous plant closed itself around an unwary marmal. The marmal struggled briefly before the plant drew it inwards and engulfed it in its digestive cup. Her stomach rumbled, and she hoped Allad was finding something edible close by.
She felt slightly uneasy as she finished her circuit. She’d harvested a few nut bushes on the way around and had been fortunate enough to discover some of the tubers that were so tasty when baked in the coals of a fire. They weren’t nearly as nice raw, but still, they were food, and she resigned herself to the thought of chewing the tough roots.
As she deposited the roots and nuts on a convenient rock, Amma sat up. She was still pale, and struggled to move, but finally managed to lever herself to her feet using the rocks at the rear of the grotto. Shanna waved a hand signal query to her, asking if she required help, but Amma shook her head and propped herself on a rock, drinking deeply from her water bottle. Shanna returned her attention to the surrounding bush, eyes and ears alert for any sound out of the ordinary. She still had an undefined sense of unease sitting in the back of her head, but she dismissed it, and concentrated on ‘feeling’ the surrounding area, pushing her senses outward. There was nothing large in the immediate vicinity, but she could ‘feel’ several marmals cowering in their burrows, a flock of bellers in a tree twenty metres to the east, and Allad. He felt like a column of strength at the periphery of her ‘vision’ and he was moving steadily towards the grotto. Nothing else of note was close by, so she relaxed slightly and began to mentally catalogue the plants in the grotto, looking for anything useful.
When Allad finally returned, the three of them took turns eating and watching. Shanna shooed a dozen inquisitive stinkrats away as she was shelling her share of the nuts, feeling reassured by their presence in such numbers – it meant that larger predators were unlikely to be nearby. The nuts were at least tasty, and she saved them until last, after washing down the tough tubers with mouthfuls of water and bites of the greens Allad had supplied. Slowly her stomach stopped complaining.
They took an inventory of the energy patches each of them carried on their person, and then Amma broke the bad news as the three of them crouched near the edge of the grotto, eyes outwards.
“There’s another storm coming.”
Shanna’s heart sank. No cats, limited shelter, and the three of them stuck inside the ring of sentinels. Her feeling of unease suddenly made sense.
“How bad?” asked Allad.
“Bad. It’ll be here within two days. It’s an intense one, and quick moving as well, so it’ll retain its strength for some time over land. Not as much rain as some, but enough.”
Allad sat back on his heels, absently smearing a handful of pungo over himself. “I think we can make the rocks safe enough to shelter in, but it’ll be very uncomfortable. At least we won’t have to worry about the Garsal for a day or so, though.” He frowned in thought. “Can either of you hear Fractus?” Both Amma and Shanna shook their heads. “Can you still ‘feel’ your cats, Shan?”
“Yes, I’m pretty certain they’re at the last campsite, and they’re not happy.”
“I’m sure they’re not,” he replied. “But then, none of us are. The others should be fine – they can drop back to one of the new waystations if they need to, or shelter near one of the spires. I’d like to see if we can contact them somehow though, because I have another idea.”
“You do?” asked Shanna, wondering what Allad might have in mind.
“Yes, although it’s quite risky,” he replied. “I think…” he broke off as the beller flock erupted into the air with cries of alarm and the three of them made haste to conceal themselves. The mechanical sounds of one of the Garsal vehicles came clearly through the morning air. Allad hand signalled silently, and they all faded. Shanna swept her eyes across the vegetation and extended her senses again. Without her cats she wasn’t as adept, but she could clearly ‘feel’ the panic of the fleeing small mammals and reptiles as they crawled, slithered and scurried away from the alien vehicle. A glint through the trees showed the position of the climber, and again she held still, hoping that it would pass them by.
A few minutes later, they relaxed slightly, dropping their fades to Allad’s whistled signal after the climber had passed, and then gathered together quietly in the shelter of a rock. Shanna noticed that Amma was again pale and wobbly, and the dark circles under her eyes seemed to have enlarged. She staggered slightly as she drew near. “Sit down, Amma,” whispered Shanna. She pulled the last couple of nuts from her pocket and handed them to her friend. Amma looked momentarily nauseated, but she began to force them down, one by one, gagging slightly as she swallowed. Some of the colour began to return to her face.
“Can you travel Amma?” asked Allad. His face radiated concern.
“I think I’ll have to use a patch,” she replied. “Or you could leave me here.” Allad shook his head.
“If you had Spider, I would, but without her? No.” His voice was final. “You’ll use a patch, and eat whatever we have left among us, and whatever we forage on the way. If we need to fade, Shanna will fade you.” Shanna nodded, hoping she was hiding her own apprehension, as she was far from adequately rested. “Amma, we’re going to need your weather sense badly for what I’ve planned, so you need to be ready and well rested.”
“What have you planned?” asked Shanna. Allad deliberated for a few moments and then nodded decisively.
“If we can contact the others, I think we should stage a break in during the middle of the storm.” Amma’s eyes widened in shock, and Shanna felt a thrill of fear mixed with excitement push a surge of adrenaline through her body, then her eyes narrowed.
“But what if we can’t contact the others?”
“Then we’ll just have to try and break out during the storm, or enter the ship.” All of the alternatives seemed equally impossible. “Without our cats we can survive for a time,” said Allad soberly, “but we’ll become more and more tired, and our ability to gather food is limited. We can rest up here for a day or two, but sooner or later the Garsal will come through here. They know we landed, and it’s unlikely they’ll stop looking for us. I wouldn’t, in their place.”
Shanna knew he was right, but she was troubled. If they were to invade the ship, they’d have to do it faded, and once they were inside they’d have to try and retrace their steps to the slave quarters, and then without cats try and get out again. The burden of hiding themselves, and anyone they took with them would fall to her. If they were to break out of the encircling ring of mechanical sentinels, one of them would have to disable the sentinels, and that meant her, and her skills were much cruder than Taya’s. “But how?” she asked. “If there was only a high point to launch from, one of us could fly out.”
“And risk being shot down?” said Amma. “They’ll be on the lookout for that for sure.”
“If we can communicate with the others, I’m going to suggest they try and break in at multiple points around the ring. They have Taya, Kalli and Karri. And it’s likely that engulfing a sentinel in flame or electrical current might kill them also. I suspect dropping a large rock or tree on one might be effective too.” Again, Shanna felt slightly ashamed of her own self focus. All the discussion about her own abilities had led her to neglect to consider that some of the others might have skills to contribute to the problems at hand. Allad had years of experience to draw on, and his thinking showed it. “First things first, though, lets move. Hand signals only, Shanna on point. Amma, you’re in the middle. Use your patch now.” He flicked a hand signal, and once again, Shanna glided to the forefront, engaged her extra vision, wished fleetingly for her cats, scanned the area quickly with all of her senses, then headed out.
***
The concussions rocked the old storm shelter where Cerren sat with Watchtower and Starfall’s remaining councillors in the underground operations room. The acrid smell of smoke tinged the air faintly in the board-hung room, and they all winced as a loud detonation nearby made the roof tremble. “This is the second time in the last twelve days, Cerren,” said Payne with a grimace.
“Do you think Dinian’s archers will take out another craft?” asked Peron.
“Perhaps,” Cerren replied, “But it appears that the Garsal have learned their lesson well, and are staying higher than our people can shoot their arrows. Still, Dinian’s got them up there, and this time we had enough warning to position them before the attack. We just have to hope that their positions are still standing.” The wait during the raid had been long and frustrating. The first raid had capitalised on the initial strike that had left so much destruction in its wake. Large parts of Watchtower were now in ruins, but fortunately the loss of life was much less, due in large part to the evacuation and dispersement plans put into place after Tamazine’s death. Scout Headquarters had again escaped unscathed in the attack twelve days ago, but Cerren knew that it wouldn’t escape damage if the raids kept coming.
“You’ve transferred all of the important equipment and supplies underground?” asked one of the older councillors from Starfall.
“Yes, the last load went down yesterday,” Perron said, glancing towards the doorway. He was awaiting the initial reports of the ongoing raid, and a steady stream of messengers had been coming and going.
“Our people are well practiced in their evacuation drills,” added Cerren. “I’m sure they’re safely tucked away.” He wanted to pace while he waited, but he restrained himself, knowing that he needed to appear calm despite his inner agitation. Too many of Starfall’s councillors had been badly shaken after Tamazine’s death. Some had been almost unable to function in the wake of the initial attack. Cerren had wondered at it, briefly, but after some reflection, he’d come to a few conclusions. Life in Starfall was comparatively easy compared to that experienced by the residents of both Watchtower and Northaven. Secure, centralised living had reduced the resilience levels of those unaccustomed to Frontier’s wilder areas. Cerren made a mental note to bring up the issue of complacency one day when he had enough time. Once again, he blessed his own posting to Watchtower. As a Scout he’d spent years in the wilderness areas of the Plateau and working in the dangers of Below, but he’d not appreciated the impact that the lack of exposure to real danger had had made on his fellow councillors. That is, until Tamazine’s machinations had exposed them.
He made a mental note to address the issue once the Garsal threat had been eradicated. Perhaps there should be some kind of prerequisite before elevation to the Council. Or at least a term of service in a small settlement. That had added advantages, he mused to himself. The prospective councillor would gain the needed perspective of life in more dangerous areas of the plateau, and begin to understand the isolation and fortitude of the small villages. While those more remote areas would benefit from their expertise and education.
Another concussion shook the storm shelter, disrupting Cerren’s musings, and fine dust sifted from the ceiling.
“That felt close,” said Peron. The hair on the back of Thunder’s neck was standing on end, and the young cat hissed. He ceased abruptly as Socks hummed a caution to him, and his tidemarks began to flicker in embarrassment. The burning smell thickened briefly and then began to subside.
Cerren hoped against hope that the damage would be less this time. But he knew, from the persistent string of percussive blasts alone, that his hope was futile. Socks hummed reassuringly to him, and he rubbed her upturned head gently.
A starcat appeared at the door, paused briefly, and then went directly to Peron. He removed the tightly rolled message from its clip in the cat’s harness. “Toman says that there are three aircraft again. They’re concentrating on the market square, Scholar’s precinct,” he paused, wincing slightly, “and Scout Headquarters.”
Cerren’s heart sank, but he bowed his head in acknowledgment and forced himself not to leap to his feet and pace. “How bad?”
“Not sure yet,” replied Peron, still scanning the note. “There it is.” He read from the note. “Early reports estimate significant damage to the western end of Scout HQ. The eastern end appears unscathed at this point. The arena and tunnel entrance are secure.” Cerren made himself nod as if he’d expected this. It wasn’t a lie; to a certain extent he had expected it, but the reality of it was much more devastating. Peron read calmly on as another concussion rocked the ground, and the walls shivered. “The aircraft are concentrating on this area of town now, apparently,” a wry grin twitched his lips, “and it appears they’re hitting any building that looks official.”
“That explains the pounding we’re feeling here then,” replied Payne. “I hope they get tired shortly and decide to pack it in and go home.” He grinned at the others. “We have too many other things to do, rather than sitting here idly.”
Cerren snorted. “Idly, you say?” Each time a note had come in, Payne had listed the points neatly on the blackboard across the end of the room and then noted any casualty or damage estimates on the map. His group of aides were efficiently collating damage reports and beginning the task of allocating rescue teams, just as they did during the great cyclonic storms. The team was well practiced, and Cerren knew that as soon as it was safe to do so, Payne would begin the monumental recovery task. More and more he’d come to admire the man – Payne continued to work, good humoured and rock steady, no matter the devastation around him.
“At least there are no signs of ground attacks,” said another of the councillors. The woman was worrying the ends of her robe in her fingertips.
“Not yet,” replied Cerren. “But I’m sure they’ll come.”
“But when?” asked the woman.
“Who knows?” he replied. “But they will come.” A messenger entered the room at a run, and rushed straight to Peron.
“Direct hit on the Council building, Sir. Archers managed to damage an aircraft, but not badly. Master Dinian says he thinks the attack is tapering off.” More messengers entered the room and hurried to Payne’s aides and the noise level in the room rose as the operations room activities escalated.
Peron and Payne began to confer with two of the aides as more damage reports came in and were added to the board. While the majority of the population was now sequestered at the old storm shelters outside the town, there were still a number of areas of the town critical to the defence of the area. Healer’s precinct and the militia barracks had extensive underground shelters from the early years, but underground shelters needed above ground access. More importantly, the town walls were still needed to keep dangerous denizens of the plateau away from the still inhabited areas.
Despite the dire nature of their predicament, Cerren found himself resenting the idea of having to rebuild so much of Watchtower when they finally triumphed. “Do we have any reports from the Starlyne communications network?” he asked.
“Nothing much yet,” replied Peron, almost absently. He was flicking through a clip-boarded list. “Payne will send messengers as soon as he can. But no, no reports of aircraft anywhere but here so far.” He beckoned for another messenger, handed her a note and sent her off at a run.
They were still using children, Cerren noted sadly. That was young Ella, one of Josen’s if he remembered rightly. Instead of sitting tight in Hillview with her family, the youngster was running messages in a war zone. As were many of the others. Idly, he wondered if Anjo was recovered adequately to resume his duties as a messenger. Or if he could. He’d sent Semba to Healers Precinct. She was still traumatised, still struggling to form relationships, and he wondered if she’d ever recover enough to become a normal member of society. As the operations room began to hum with activity, Cerren wondered what might happen if they did manage to defeat the Garsal. What would they do next? It was certain that the Garsal would one day revisit Frontier, or Haven as the Starlynes preferred to call it. He shook his head. They were still in the middle of the first task – they had yet to defeat the Garsal. Anything else could be left until this was over, one way or the other.
“Cerren!” Payne beckoned, and the Master hurried over. “The aircraft have headed south again. I’m sending out the first damage teams. There’ll be an escort of militia awaiting you at the entrance. They’ll escort you to Scout Compound.” Cerren nodded, flicked a hand signal to Peron across the room, who acknowledged it, then he and Socks left to see what was left of Scout Headquarters.
The whole western end of the building was a mass of scorched and tumbled stone. The squat sturdiness of the eastern end was largely untouched, but the main entrance had taken a direct hit, not once, but many times. The old wooden doors were shattered and smoking, and the Garsal weapons had scored deep, blackened, lines across the entire front of the building. In places, whole chunks of walls were missing, and the western stairway was completely gone. A team of firefighters dressed in Scout fatigues laboured away, smothering flames and hauling rubble away from the shattered end.
“Cerren!” Erilla’s voice cut through the sounds and smells of devastation. “The eastern end is fine, but we’ll need a new dining hall when this is over.”
“No-one’s hurt?” Socks butted his hand gently.
“No-one,” she confirmed, pushing a grimy strand of hair back behind one ear. “The ground’s a bit scorched in the arena, but the tunnel access is secure. Once we’ve extinguished this, we’ll begin to camouflage it even more. Yendy thinks we can use some of the rubble to pretend that the arena’s taken a direct hit too. We’re hoping it might prevent any further attacks there, or at least minimise them.” He nodded, relieved to hear that there were no Scout casualties but angry at the destruction he saw before him. There seemed to be so few ways to hit back at the Garsal. He hoped that the patrols Below would manage some kind of retaliation. On the plateau, it seemed as if they were simply trying to ride out the occupation. Once again Erilla had the right words. “We’re doing what we can, Cerren. And Below, the others are doing what we can’t.”
Sadly, he nodded. “Well, let’s get ourselves back together as best we can then. You have the new first years on clean up duty?”
“I do. They’re coming along well, and Toman’s pushing them as hard as she can. They’ll be dispatched to a Starlyne habitat as soon as we’re done here. She’s sure they all have the spark, so we’ll see what the Starlynes make of them. Are Northaven and Starfall secure?”
“At this stage, yes. They’re mobilising as many Patrols and Militia as possible. They’ll feed us what they can spare. I’m waiting on word from Below.” Erilla nodded, and her eyes flicked to the horizon. Cerren followed her gaze. Characteristic clouds had formed.
“There’s another storm on the way,” she said. “Amma’s brother confirmed it for us just as the attack began. A big one, apparently. He thinks it might brush us by this time, but it’s likely to be intense and interfere with our people Below. We’ve sent warning via the Starlyne network.”
“Then let’s hope they’ll be safe and secure. Let them know we’re still secure via return message. And if they have any new information, I wish to know it immediately.”
Erilla turned to go, but paused briefly and rested a hand on his arm. Socks hummed gently at her and flicked her tidemarks in pensive patterns. “We’ll make it through, Cerren. Not all of us perhaps, but I do have faith in our people, and in our allies, and that’s what needs to keep us going when times are darkest.”
“And are they the darkest yet?” Cerren mused, eyes still on the smouldering building.
“Probably not,” replied Erilla. “But we’re not yet at the end of our resources either. This is dreadful, and so much of what we’ve worked for lies before us in ruins, but it is only stone and wood this time. Our wealth is in our people, not buildings or things, and our people are still standing.”
Cerren nodded, catching Erilla’s eyes, and then he and Socks began the trip back through his ruined home to the operations room, where he belonged, making plans and mustering resources. Frontier’s wealth was in its people, and its people had only just begun to fight back.