Chapter 13

 

 

Knowing in advance that an enemy attack is imminent is a strange phenomenon. Incessant anxiety becomes a way of life. The people of Cassowary have lived as I have, plagued by continual apprehension for the last week and two days as we wait for the King’s army to arrive at our doorstep. We’ve put our nervous energy to good use, though. The nine days have been spent working as hard as we can in preparation. Sully, in particular, has been working tirelessly to create bombs out of the materials available in the supply warehouse. Scarce of late, he’s been all but locked away, utilizing everything from cleaning products to animal dung to fashion explosives. Everyone else has spent their days digging.

Diligent workers unafraid of physical labor, those who were formerly slaves have proven themselves to be a vital component of our operation. They’ve gone about their every assignment and completed each ahead of schedule. I only wish their industriousness and tenacity paid off where training is concerned. In that area, there’s a dire need for improvement. Swinging swords and hand-to-hand combat are skills that seem as though they’d correspond to swinging an ax or wrestling an injured animal for slaughter. But they don’t. And it’s not for lack of trying. They try. And try. Still, they aren’t ready. I only hope that the plan we have in place will work, that their fledgling skills will not be tested.

Nine days have passed, and there haven’t been any signs of Urthmen in the immediate vicinity. The original projections set forth by our scout had the King’s army at our gate within a week’s time. That week has come and gone. I wonder whether our scouts were wrong, whether they’re headed our way at all.

While it would be odd for me to want them to get here already, I think anyone in our group would agree that waiting for something unpleasant is often worse than the unpleasant thing itself. War is horrific. There aren’t any ifs, ands or buts about it. Intentions collide. Adrenaline, fear, pain and tension coalesce and form an energy that hovers in the air like a mist, a collective entity that presides over all present. In the seconds before sides collide, peaceful, blessed silence so thick a pin could be heard falling to the ground blankets the space between warring factions like a layer of freshly fallen snow. Then quickly, the world erupts deafeningly. The clang of swords, the grunts of bloodthirsty beings, the thump and thud of bodies striking one another are mere notes that ring above the loud buzz that shrieks unendingly, tunneling from my ears to my brain as powers screech in protest, repelling each other. It agonizes and energizes. And no matter how volatile the experience is, how unpredictable and harrowing, I understand it. What’s happening now, the waiting, I don’t understand. I’m having trouble adapting.

Enduring daily life teetering on the pointed tip of an enormous needle, where standing still is every bit as painful as falling off, is worse than any battlefield. Spending my time jumping at every sound and looking over my shoulder at every turn is taking its toll on me. Even now, as I sit in my room with Sully and June, my two favorite people on this planet, I can’t relax. My insides shake; a sensation so pronounced it feels as if the entirety of me vibrates just below the surface of my skin, that if it were peeled away, I’d be little more than a quivering mass of cells. My muscles ache. My hands refuse to still. And my mind spins like a wheel in mud, burrowing deeper and deeper, worsening its chance of traction with each rotation.

“Avery? Avery, are you all right?” June’s voice snaps me out of my fretful trance.

I look up from my lap where I’d been wringing my hand so tightly my knuckles blanched and am met with twin lakes of sparkling silver-blue water. June’s fathomless eyes shine with worry. The space between her brows is crimped as she watches me intently, seated at the foot of my bed. “I’m just really on edge.” I decide not to lie to spare her feelings. She is every bit as much a part of Cassowary as I am. She’s only eight but she’s not immune to the world around her. Everyone is on edge. Waiting to be attacked when you know you’re outnumbered tends to do that to a group.

“It’s the waiting that’s making you crazy.” Sully’s smooth voice is like velvet brushing the shell of my ear. My scalp tightens and tingles at the sound. My eyes settle on him. Propped up on one elbow and stretched languidly across my bed, he’s a sight to behold. I’m grateful for his presence, that he’s a part of my life, for so many reasons. Smart and almost always echoing my exact opinions when he speaks, he’s right, of course. Waiting is the worst. “It’s making me crazy, too.”

“I keep playing out all the possible scenarios in my head, all the different ways this could go down.” I stare straight ahead, my gaze unfocused. “All this time preparing has been, I don’t know, too much time. Yet we could’ve used more, more of everything. More fuel, more chemicals for you to mix, more people, more training. Maybe even more time.” My thoughts fall from my lips in a jumbled mess. I wonder whether my sister or Sully understands what I’m trying to say.

Tension bunches the muscles in my shoulders and neck and makes my temples pound. Too many images swarm my brain, all jockeying for the spotlight. The need to pace burgeons, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to lift myself from the chair in which I sit.

“If they breach the wall, most of these people, the ones who lived here before we came, aren’t going to be much help,” June surprises me by saying.

My eyes focus on her. “What makes you say that, June?”

“Well, I’ve seen them train.” She twists her lips to one side, pausing thoughtfully. “They’re not very good at most of the stuff you’ve tried to teach them.”

She is a child, and their shortcomings are glaringly obvious to her. What will an Urthmen trooper see when he looks at them? Weakness. Walking targets, that’s what he’ll see. I rest my elbows on my knees and allow my head to fall into my hands. Making small circles with my fingertips, I massage my scalp in an effort to alleviate the tension creeping up the back of my neck.

“They aren’t warriors,” Sully agrees. “But think about what happened in the underground city. The people rose to the occasion.”

“Yeah, but they’d been trained. They took classes.” June worries her lower lips between her teeth. “They were taught to fight for years.”

Sully smiles at June warmly. “You are so bright, June bug. And you’re right. The people of New Washington trained from a very young age. But don’t be so quick to count out the former slaves.” He looks over her head at me and arches a brow. His comment is meant more for me more than her. “When faced with life or death, you’d be surprised how quickly all that they’ve learned this past week will come together.”

“So you think they’ll be fine?” June stops chewing her lip. Her features brighten.

“I do. I also don’t think the wall will be breached. My plan will work. Have faith.” He repeats the two words I uttered just before the earth shook and Belchik stepped out to fight me. I shake my head at him and he winks at me jauntily.

“I hope so,” June replies, seemingly oblivious of our wordless interaction.

Remaining seated in the chair by the window, I pause for a moment and contemplate all that Sully and June have said. Is there an inherent force inside each person that will drive him to fight for his life when faced with death? Is that what Sully meant when he said the people of New Washington “rose to the occasion” and that the former slaves of Cassowary would do the same? Those questions, and so many others, taunt me. Chief among them is: where’s the King’s army? Staring out the window, an indigo sky, shimmering and dizzying in its vastness, is a jewel-crusted swath of velvet, and only it knows where exactly the Urthmen troops are.

Giving up on racking my brain for an answer I don’t have access to, I stand and stretch slowly. June stands as well and tucks herself into my open arms. Encircling my waist with her long, thin limbs, she squeezes. I lower my head so that my cheek rests against the part in her hair and revel in the warmth of her hug. In that moment, I decide that I must force myself to rest, to return a sense of normalcy to my life. The last few nights, sleep has eluded me. Expecting the Urthmen army kept me tossing and turning, unable to find comfort. But here, as I am, all the support I need is before me. I’m surrounded by the people I love.

As if perceiving my sentiments, Sully sits up and slips off the bed. He makes his way toward us and embraces both of us. If anyone were to walk in and see us huddled as we are, they’d think us odd. But I don’t care. Solace has been scant my entire life. Now that I have it, literally in my arms, I’m reluctant to let it go.

“Um, guys, you’re squashing my head.” June’s voice is muffled as she speaks from the space between Sully and me.

“Oh, June bug!” Sully jumps back as if he’s on fire. “Sorry about that. Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

“Or your own smell.” June fans her face exaggeratedly and wrinkles her nose.

Sully’s mouth falls open and his eyebrows rocket toward his hairline. “Smell? Smell!” He feigns annoyance. “I washed today!” he huffs playfully then adds, “Maybe what you smell is, you know.” He inclines his head toward me then raises one hand and points with the other behind it.

June giggles and looks at me. “Maybe,” she agrees conspiratorially. She purses her lips and bobs her head.

“What? Me! What did I do?” I protest. “I showered.”

“Hmm, maybe not long enough.” June pinches her nose.

Instead of retorting, I reach an arm around her neck and use both hands to tickle her sides. “So I’m stinky, huh? Is that right?”

Squeals of delight echo from her, and for the first time in days, I find myself smiling, truly smiling. A bit of the tremendous pressure I’ve been feeling seeps from me. The three of us continue to joke and play until a long, hearty yawn passes from June.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” I brush a thick curl from June’s forehead.

“I am tired,” she admits. Her eyes are glassy and slightly bloodshot. “But I don’t want to leave.” Her gaze drops to the floor.

“Why? Don’t you like your room?” I ask.

June shifts her weight from one leg to the next and picks at a thread that protrudes from the hem of her shirt, her eyes riveted to the thin piece of string as if it’s the most interesting sight she’s ever seen.

“June, what is it?” I ask gently. Hooking my index finger under her chin, I lift it so that she’s facing me once again. “Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell, really. It’s just that, I don’t know, my room is so big, and I’m all alone.” She lifts one shoulder as she watches me through a thick fringe of lashes. “And with the Urthmen coming any day, I’m-I’m scared.” An involuntary shudder passes through her.

Hearing her say the words aloud, that she’s scared, causes my heart to break. I frown. “Oh June,” I say softly. “Why don’t you stay here, with me? Sully, you can stay too. I doubt any of us will sleep the night through, but while one does, the other two will have each other. We can all look out for one another. Does that make sense?”

June smiles and bobs her head.

“So you’ll stay?” I ask her and Sully.

“Absolutely,” Sully answers.

“Uh-huh. Definitely,” June replies.

“Okay, then who do you think will fall asleep first?” I look between both of them.

June yawns as if on cue. “Me, I think it’ll be me.” She tilts her head to one side self-consciously.

“I gotta admit, I think it’ll be you, too.” Sully crinkles his nose and looks at her.

A faint blush tinges her cheeks before she turns from us and flops backward onto the bed. She scuttles up until her head touches a pillow and closes her eyes. Sully and I sit on either side of her. I turn out the lights and we stretch our legs out in front of us, using the wall at the head of the bed as support for our backs. Before long, deep even breaths whisper from June. Smooth and peaceful, her sleeping expression is one that reminds me of how very young she is. At just eight years of age, she’s seen and lived through events no human child should ever have to endure. While circumstances beyond my control have dictated her fate thus far, I still assume guilt. And I hope to change her future. To right all that is wrong in her world.

Picturing a life where Urthmen are absent and other monstrous creatures are few, June’s face is the last image I see before my eyelids grow heavy and a tide of darkness lulls me.

I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep when I’m startled awake by a loud, low noise. Echoing through my marrow, I recognize the sound immediately. It is the mournful toll of our warning bell, a bell that’s only meant to be rung when an enemy approaches. My eyes snap open and I pause a moment to ensure I’m not dreaming. Straining to hear against the hammering of blood against my eardrums, the deep, desolate notes continue to chime. Cold washes over me, bleeding my body of every ounce of warmth, and leaving in its wake the bitter awareness that the Urthmen are here.

King Leon’s army has made it to Cassowary.

Sully bolts upright and June awakes with a violent jerk. We look among ourselves, each of our faces etched in what can only be described as shock and dread.

“They’re here.” My voice is rough and gravelly and my breathing is ragged as I whisper the words. The moment, surreal as it is, has come, the moment when we learn whether we live or die.

I spring to my feet, my heart vaulting to my throat as it sets off at a gallop. Sully does the same, jumping into his boots and quickly strapping his sheathed daggers to his body. With his jaw set and his gaze intense, his eyes never leave me.

“June, you stay here. I’ll leave one of our best men posted outside the house to guard you,” I say feeling suddenly breathless and lightheaded.

June’s eyes widen and her lips part. Her expression is terrified as she protests, “No, you need every soldier you have.”

“And I need you more,” I reply firmly and with finality that doesn’t leave room for argument. Our gazes lock for several beats. And in those few seconds that they do, I pour every ounce of love I feel for her into it, wordlessly conveying a lifetime of heartfelt sentiment. Emotions unexpectedly crash against me with the force of a tidal wave as I realize this may be the last time I see my sister. I blink back tears that threaten and watch as a single teardrop leaves the corner of her eye, trickling down her cheek. The sight pains me. My lips press to a hard line and I close the distance between us, clapping my arms around her tightly. “I love you, June,” I say into her hair.

“I love you,” she sniffles. She pulls away and wipes her face. “Please, come back, both of you.” The words barely cross her lips as sobs rack her body.

Sully’s eyes shine and his smile is unsteady when he says, “See ya soon, June bug.”

No promises are made. No guarantees exist. The enemy has arrived at our doorstep, outnumbering us, and intent upon killing every last one of us. June knows this as well as I do. Her shoulders curl forward and her body shakes as she sniffles and struggles to catch her breath. I wish I could stay and comfort her, but I can’t. I must leave.

Turning with a heart so heavy each beat feels as if my ribs are being battered with a sledgehammer, I leave the room, racing down the steps and out the front door with Sully in tow. We dash across the courtyard, sidestepping residents of Cassowary as they stream from their homes and flood the streets. Running at full-speed, we do not slow when we reach the spiral staircase that leads to the top of the wall. Instead, we ascend the steps two at a time until it ends and we’re standing winded, and with an unadulterated view of more Urthmen than I have ever seen in my life.

Churning like a dark and deadly sea, their numbers are dizzying. They cover the large, open grounds from the tree line to our gate, I estimate tens of thousands. Moonlight shines on their swords, making the sharpened tips gleam with lethal light. They march in formation, their booted feet thundering against the earth in a savage rhythm that sends bolts of icy panic shooting through my core. I watch in stunned silence and with bated breath as more Urthmen cross the moat, completely unaware of its existence.

After working tirelessly and digging an enormous channel that spans approximately two yards in width in a half-circle that hugs the tree line around the eastern wall of Cassowary, the direction from which we expected the Urthmen, we covered it with boards then camouflaged them with dirt, twigs, and fallen leaves from the surrounding forest. A large area of open space has been left between the wall and the moat, enough area to fit a large portion of their army. Watching the King’s army advance and move over it now, as unsettling as it is, means the first part of Sully’s plan has succeeded. Estimating their numbers and allowing the gravity of just how many Urthmen there are means that if the second part of the plans fails, each of us will fall on this day.

Inhaling a trembling breath, I tear my gaze from the seemingly innumerable monsters marching to our gate and survey the archers. Poised with bowstrings pulled taut and arrows loaded, they line the wall, prepared to fire on my command. My eyes are pulled from them, however, when movement among the approaching ranks shifts my attention. A single Urthman, clad in shiny plates of metal that cover his arms and chest, moves to the front of the line. His helmeted head tips and he calls out.

“I would like to speak to whoever is leading this pack of strays!” His words are a demand, not a request.

Strays is a word that sends fire through my veins and trills from his lipless mouth gratingly. With my hackles raised, I answer him. “There are no strays here, only free humans.”

“Whatever you say.” He waves his hand in front of his face as if fanning an offensive odor. “Are you the leader of the strays? I’m to present the King’s terms to the leader.”

Swallowing back the rise of bitterness in my throat at his use of the word “stray” again, I say, “I am Azlyn. I’m the leader of the rebellion, and I have no interest in the King’s terms.” My words resonate with unwavering conviction, with defiance, as they resound through the field and beyond the line of skeletal trees to the forest, making my stance clear. The Urthman in full battle gear rears his head as if he’s been struck in the face, a point that inspires me. I continue. “There will be only one outcome here.” I pause, knowing fully that I have his undivided attention. “Every Urthman will die by our hands.”

A horrible, discordant sound I assume is meant to be a chuckle seeps from him. “Well, you may think that if you like. You’re wrong of course!” He laughs for a spell then says, “Here are the terms anyway.” He clears his throat and tips his chin imperiously. “If you let us in now, King Leon has generously decided he’ll spare you all and allow you to live as the slaves you were born to be, serving Kildare and our King.”

I tilt my head to one side as if considering his point, and then I turn to the archer closest to me. Killian is beside me with his arrow trained on the deliverer of the King’s terms. “Do it now,” I tell him.

Without hesitation, Killian steps forward and releases his bowstring. His arrow flies, cutting through the night with a soft whistle, until it lodges into the Urthman’s left eye.

The Urthman spokesperson cries out and falls to the ground, the arrow sill bulging from his skull in an expanding pool of gore.

“You attack during negotiations!” the soldier nearest to him shouts, yet no one moves to help their fallen comrade. “You will all die tonight! Any survivors we find will be tortured! You will all feel the wrath of King Leon!”

Threatening as they are, his words are not what shock me. The fact that not one, but two, among them is well-spoken astounds me. My surprise is short-lived, though, and my attention shifts to an approaching sound. The growl of an engine echoes and is accompanied by twin beams of light that slice through the ether, casting shadows and furthering the ghoulish appearance of the Urthmen. The cab of a tractor-trailer rumbles to the edge of the tree line, a battering ram affixed to its front end. The large, heavy, pointed log, driven by the force of the vehicle, has the capability to easily bash in our gate.

“Ah you see? You see what’s in store for you?” the Urthman taunts. “Your gate will fall and all of you will suffer!”

Ignoring him and the restless, agitated sensation that a hive of bees is teeming within me, I look to Sully and say, “Get ready.”

Ten men gather around Sully. Each holds a remote detonator, including Sully.

As soon as the truck’s front wheels roll onto the covered moat, the boards snap, and the cab pitches into the ditch.

“Now!” Sully screams.

Each man depresses the switch on his detonator and a sharp, bass-filled bang shakes the wall, the entire forest. Pressure builds against my eardrums and I nearly topple over, clinging to Killian as I stagger sideways. Righting myself, I peer out into the field. A brilliant glow of gold and orange lights the property like the midday sun, blazing against an inky backdrop. Pebbles and debris pelt the ground, the ruined tractor-trailer falling to the earth in twisted metal chunks. The entire moat, wired with bricks of clay-like explosives, has been blown, sending pieces of any nearby Urthman showering to the ground like gory snowfall. A fiery crater sends thick, charcoal smoke billowing to the heavens, darker than the night sky as it rolls and fills the atmosphere. The Urthmen, the ones that were position toward the center of the field, turn, looking to and fro for an exit route, but they are encircled by the flaming moat. Chaos and confusion erupts. They realize they are trapped by a wall of fire.

I turn to Killian once again and nod.

Pulling an arrow from his quiver, he walks it to a torch mounted in a sconce along the wall. Placing the arrow tip to it until it ignites and glows, he replaces it to his bow then launches it. The small flame is swallowed by the towering inferno in the distance. Soon, though, that flame touches down against leaves soaked in fuel and other flammable fluid. Saturated ahead of time, the noxious fumes from the accelerant permeated the air. Had The General been in command, his keen, human sense of smell would have detected it immediately. But he is dead. And Urthmen, born with underdeveloped olfactory glands and with only small holes above their mouths that function exclusively for the intake of air, are incapable of detecting odors—even ones as strong and unpleasant as what Sully concocted.

The ground bursts into flames as more and more lit arrows are fired from the perimeter of the wall. Inhuman screams tear through the night. Unlike anything I’ve ever heard, the horrid sound of thousands of Urthmen burning to death claws at my brain, but also causes a satisfied smile to tug at the corners of my mouth.

The stench of seared flesh fills the air, so cloying it coats my tongue and thickens my throat. The overpowering urge to vomit overwhelms me. I’m forced to cover my nose and mouth with one hand. Still, I do not dare look away. My eyes are pinned to the sight before me.

I know that more Urthmen wait beyond the flames, but after losing so many they will be demoralized.

I look among my own people. Hugging and cheering as tens of thousands of Urthmen fall, they deserve to enjoy this momentous moment. I deserve to enjoy this momentous moment. I know that thousands of troops wait beyond the fiery moat. But I take heart in knowing that if or when they decide to attack when the flames die down, they still cannot breach our wall. And we’ll be ready for them. Archers perched along the wall will pick them off as they approach. Their attempt to storm Cassowary will fail.