A RUTHLESS GOOD
by
Susan Kelley
© copyright by Susan Kelley, January 2009
Published by New Concepts Publishing
Smashwords Edition
Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, January 2009
ISBN 978-1-60394-259-1
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Part I: Where Evil Walks
Chapter One
“We figured out they’re southwest of here, Father Morda.”
“And how did you conclude that, Shepherd Park?” Morda gave the stocky, muscular guard his best, kindest look. He treated his shepherds with care that they might appreciate his generosity to them compared to the status of the breeders and the workers.
“I’ve been sending small groups of trackers out in every direction after each raid. I knew sooner or later we’d come upon a fresh trail.” Park smiled, the expression hinting at the man’s innate brutality. “And this time we did. We lost it about a day’s ride from here, but now we know the general direction.”
“Father, please forgive me.” An older woman peered cautiously around the door to the study. “The breeder is prepared.”
Morda nodded and gestured to the woman to bring the girl forward. The study Morda had taken as his office remained as gracious and venerable as it had been before the disaster. He touched the gleaming edge of his fine, maple desk, its history perhaps as old as the university itself. Like the towering stone building, the tall fireplace and the fanciful woodworking, the desk had survived the hell storm unleashed by the arrival of the second moon. It had outlived civilization when the vinefruit threatened the remnants of mankind. And under Morda’s tutelage, that cultured way of life would someday return.
In the meantime, Parlania needed his strict code of discipline. One of the most important things he’d accomplished was the controlled breeding of his people. Only those bloodlines proven free of the shriveling disease and resistant to the lure of the vinefruit were permitted to procreate.
Morda’s blood fired as he looked at the breeder. The older woman pushed the girl into the room with a firm hand on her slim, bare shoulders. Like all potential breeders, the girl wore nothing. Such a resource must be prepared at all times to receive a man’s valued seed. When she was with child, she would be clothed again.
“She’s unbroken?” Morda asked. From the corner of his eye he saw Park lick his lips, but only the Father honored a female with her initial training.
“I examined her myself, Father,” the older woman answered. “She was only today brought from the children’s compound and stripped of her coverings.”
Morda noted how the girl hunched her shoulders forward as if to cover the healthy globes of her young, firm breasts. Her skin was smooth, her belly slim and firm, ready to stretch with pregnancy. Her hips would widen from their youthful slimness to support the babe.
It was his law that no female be put to use until she reached eighteen years. With himself and his shepherds breeding on the women as frequently as possible, the females needed to be strong enough to accept multiple contributions of seed each day and then bear the child. They’d lost many of the younger stock before he designed such an enlightened proclamation.
Morda’s erection rubbed against the soft wool of his robe, the sensation sweet torture. His blessed seed yearned to enter the womb of his female.
“Take her to my bed.” Morda didn’t know the older woman’s name or even care if she had one, but she would know what instructions to give the girl. Only a woman who’d birthed at least four healthy children could earn the honored position as herd mistress to the breeders.
After the women left, Morda turned back to Park. He chafed at the delay in his duty, but this other matter had its importance also. An example must be set. “How will you proceed?”
Park pulled his lust-filled stare from the door that linked the office to Morda’s private chambers. “We’ve suspected the heretics who flee are taken in by this band of murderous thieves. Unless the Outcasts get them first, that is.”
Morda nodded, his patience almost at an end. No one knew for sure how many outlaws lived in the wilds. They only raided in small packs and then slunk back to their dens in the deep wood. And after all these years since the first desertions they might even have dared to breed without his supervision.
“We’re going to set a man to wandering as if he’s fled to join them. Perhaps we’ll even put a few marks of the lash on him. He’ll win their trust and then lead us to them.”
“You think they’ll take him in?”
“I do. We’ve killed a dozen of them over the past ten years, Father. They have to be taking in recruits.”
“Fine. Since it’s your plan, Shepherd Park, you be the foundling.”
Park’s eyes widened but he dared not object without appearing the coward. “As you wish, Father.”
“You understand I must have Cogan Celebria back in my hands along with his bitch, Kia. They’re no longer young but don’t underestimate Cogan’s abilities. He could shoot with an accuracy that was inhuman. If they’ve dared to have children, bring them to me. I want the Celebria family alive. I want Cogan to witness his children assigned their proper places in our society.”
“I understand, Father.”
Morda doubted Park understood at all. Cogan Celebria had been the first man to object to Morda’s stricter laws when the Father took the entirety of Parlania under his control. Cogan actually thought his wife should belong to him alone. He’d refused to take up the mantle of shepherd though he’d been their greatest warrior and a crack shot. What kind of man would give up the chance to breed on any woman he wanted?
“We must bring Celebria to justice. His deeds are still whispered about by the herd of breeders and the workers. And search also for Daniel Sasson. He was a friend to Cogan that disappeared near to the same time. They shared heretic views and spread their poison. Such sacrilege could destroy the inroads we’ve made as we build a meaningful society.”
Park took his leave to set his trap. Morda’s lust burned still for the new breeder, but he took a moment to curse his old nemesis. Cogan Parlania could never comprehend that Morda acted only to preserve their world. Humans verged on extinction. Their small group in Parlania was the only survivors of the vinefruit debacle. They’d been lucky any of them lived through those years of savagery. Men like Cogan defended the university with swords, knives and later guns after a female scientist rediscovered the making of gunpowder. What had her name been? She’d died fighting beside Cogan against Morda’s shepherds. She would have made a fine breeder possessed as she was with a fine intelligence rarely found in a female.
Morda could ignore his aching balls no longer. He would plant his seed in the girl and again after his nap if he found her performance acceptable. If she wasn’t worthy of his seed, he’d send her to the breeding beds where any number of shepherds would ride her.
He poured himself a healthy draft of white wine before going to his bed. A man needed to keep up his strength when he had so many duties.
* * * *
“Wait until they see what we got,” Mark said for at least the third time since they rose from their cold camp this morning.
Geoff rolled his eyes at Roth, but they both smiled. Brad snorted but not even his quick temper could light after their victorious raid.
“It will be good to be home.” Geoff shrugged to adjust his heavy pack.
Roth shifted his own heavy burden to ease the burning in his shoulders. They should stop and rest, but Gentry hid over the next ridge. They’d been gone all of ten days and nights, sleeping in the open without a fire to chase away the invasive chill of the mountain’s breath.
“Watch your step there,” Brad called over his shoulder. As the oldest and most experienced raider, he led their quad up the treacherous slope. Each time they raided Parlania they took a different route home. They dared not leave a worn trail.
Roth followed Brad up the escarpment and took care not to dislodge stones that might give clues to a tracker. So far Parlania’s hunters had never found Gentry, and they meant to keep it that way.
“Daniel will love that new gun,” Geoff said from behind Roth. “Unless you plan to keep it as your own.”
Roth hefted the long gun. The heavy weapon was a lucky take. He’d killed its owner without remorse but with more mercy than deserved.
Brad dropped to his belly of a sudden. Roth followed suit and heard the two men behind him doing the same. He held his breath but heard no cause for alarm. Only the soft sigh of the endless mountain air and the distant shriek of a hawk broke the purity of the late morning.
Brad slithered on his belly further up the slope and sent a loose shower of pebbles down on Roth. He paused at the top of the slope and motioned for the others to join him.
Roth moved up with quiet care and lifted his head for a cautious look.
The ground fell away before them at a sharp angle before leveling out to a small plateau. A dozen tall pines, ancient as the second moon, stood sentinel on the north side but the rest of the meadow grew thick with myrtle and waist high bushes. Vinefruit bushes.
“Damn,” Roth muttered. Outcasts browsed about the tangled growth. Eight large males, two females and one little one. Too many for them even with the new gun. And killing Outcasts would leave sign of their passing should any pursue them.
“They look in bad shape,” Geoff whispered. “Rough winter.”
Roth nodded. It was something they all wondered about and had been much discussed around the fires this winter. Surviving the cold and snows wasn’t easy. Provision had to be put aside, wood and coal gathered for heating, buildings made tight against the blizzard winds. Usually the Outcasts moved south during the winter months, but this season something had kept them from their seasonal migration. Kept them here where they’d nearly starved.
The Outcasts grunted and spoke in rough voices. They searched through last year’s fallen leaves with a delicacy that disturbed Roth as it reminded him of their lost humanity. But despite their pathetic appearance, the Outcasts were ruthless, dangerous creatures. He knew that lesson well.
The sun shone bright in their eyes before the Outcasts shuffled up the mountain and out of sight. Brad waited for a while longer before he lead Roth and the others down the steep slope, but their earlier buoyant mood returned. The Outcasts’ threat was a fact of their lives and a price they willingly paid to live free.
Roth smiled as he imagined how his sister, Tanya, would act when he handed her the shirt and pants he’d taken from the dead shepherd. Her skill with needle and thread rivaled his own with gun and bow. She would use the fine material to make them both some new clothing. Cloth was a rare commodity for their struggling colony and more difficult to acquire than food.
Brad picked up the pace though they were all exhausted from the hiking. They couldn’t take horses on their raids. The animals were too easy to track and limited the paths they might take.
Roth wondered what they might have to eat tonight? Potato soup perhaps, using the last of the winter stores? Or perhaps a cheese broth, flavored with....
“Wait.” Roth slipped his pack from his shoulders and unslung his gun. Brad might know his way about the dells and hillocks, but no one had better woodcraft than Roth.
“What is it?” Geoff dropped his pack also.
“We should smell smoke by now.” Roth lifted his face to the breeze. It feathered across his nose from the west and smelled of nothing except conifers and a storm yet a day away.
Brad and Mark put down their packs and readied their weapons. They all carried guns, though no two were alike. Roth’s had belonged to his father, and the others had been taken in raids.
Roth’s heart pounded with a desperate urgency, but his father’s training taught him not to rush forward without a plan. “Let’s spread out. Stop on the ridge and wait for the clear signal before we go in.”
“And if you don’t give the signal?” Brad asked.
Roth looked at his companions, his friends for years. Mark’s eyes were wide, his face pale while Geoff and Brad wore grim, cold expressions.
“If things don’t look right, I’ll give the retreat whistle. We’ll meet back here.”
They all nodded and jogged in different directions. Roth lost sight and sound of them as he slipped and ducked through the heavy pine boughs hanging so low as to brush the ground. The quiet pressed against him with an ominous foreboding rather than the peace such stillness should inspire.
He caught sight of the back of a cottage, Daniel Sasson’s, before he broke cover. The village consisted of only nine of the small homes, each one pressed against the forest with a back exit that led into the verdant maze. An escape route.
Roth flattened himself against the rough hewn wall and worked his way toward the corner. He listened for the contented clucking of the chickens, the demanding noise of the goats, or the murmur of conversation. Nothing. He stole a quick glance.
His parents and the others who’d founded Gentry had cleared the center of the village and dug a large fire pit where they might hold celebrations. The stones that had lined the pit were scattered, their blackened edges turned to the sky like dried scabs pulled free to open a wound. Or like dark markers pointing to the bodies sprawled in careless disarray before their homes.
Roth didn’t let himself count them, didn’t search for his sister. Instead he swept his gaze over the shadows between the cottages. He retreated back to the pine boughs and changed position so he could see the front doors of the homes across the clearing.
A body propped one door open and another door hung precariously by one hinge to reveal a dark interior. But three others were only slightly ajar, a bare slit of an opening. Those held his attention. Those narrow spaces, big enough for an eye to peer through, big enough to swing a gun barrel to bear.
Roth took a deep, trembling breath and looked at the bodies closest to his position. Brad’s father, Terry, face down in newly, green, spring grass. The blood pool around his head had already darkened to black. Flies dove and swooped about Terry in their casual, instinctual disrespect for death. But no carrion fowl yet. So they had been dead for hours not days. The hours while Roth and his companions waited for the Outcasts to vacate their path.
Roth clenched his teeth to keep a scream of anger and grief behind his lips. He forced himself to count the bodies. Nine that he could see. More might be in the cottages. Roth decided they would have to wait until nightfall to check for survivors. Wait for the cover of dark to face the killers he was sure hid in ambush.
Roth fell back a distance and then whistled the song of the whippoorwill. Even as he did so, a shriek pierced the quiet.
He cursed and scrambled back through the trees.
Brad charged across the clearing. He dropped his gun as he neared his father’s body. Doors slammed open, and shepherds raced to intercept him.
Roth lifted his gun to his shoulder. His gun could shoot one bullet at a time, but there were seven shepherds. A big one tackled Brad only a few steps from his father’s body. Another piled on top of him. But Brad’s grief and rage gave him strength beyond that of a sane man. He shrugged off the first man and slugged the second man on the jaw with a crack that dropped the shepherd and echoed off the ridges.
Another shepherd came at Brad, but Roth had him in his sights. From this distance, the man’s broad chest made an easy target. As he fired, another shot reverberated from his left. Geoff, also defending their friend.
Roth’s target staggered and then folded to the ground. A bullet whistled by Roth’s head. More shepherds crouched near the cottages with guns to their shoulders as they aimed toward his position.
Roth dove into deeper cover as another shot kicked into the brown needles near his feet. He rolled under the trees for a few turns and then crawled toward the left. A strident command from one of the shepherds ordered a search.
Roth knew he should run, but he couldn’t leave Brad. Couldn’t leave without knowing about his sister. He peered around the thick trunk of a pine and lost his breath. Brad slumped at his father’s head, both hands clutched over his belly. His blood flowed in thick crimson streams over his strong hands. His broad shoulders trembled with weakness, or pain, or even grief. As Roth watched, Brad fell to his side, his head landing on his father’s back.
What should he do? Roth looked at the bodies scattered about the clearing. It was over. The hiding, the struggle to live, the fear of discovery, the helpless desire to change the world. They called themselves free, but they hadn’t been. They’d been hunted, branded heretics and outlaws. Brad and the others lying so still were truly free now.
Roth reloaded his gun. He only had five shells, but he would take five of the shepherds with him. He was unmatched in marksmanship. If Geoff did the same, they would kill most of the murderers.
A shout from his right distracted Roth. A shepherd pushed Mark into the clearing. Damn! Roth targeted the shepherd, but Mark turned on his captor. His knife flashed in the fading sunlight. It was a good strike but foolish. Shots exploded.
Three spots of red blossomed on Mark’s faded, brown shirt. The shirt sewn by his grandmother from scraps of other people’s clothing. The young man made not a sound as he crumbled on top of the shepherd he’d stabbed.
Roth shot another one. He blinked his eyes to clear the tears. He moved to a new position and shot another one. After that they took to cover. Roth’s chest shook with the violence of his suppressed sobs. He must be silent, silent as a mountain cat stalking its prey.
A shot rang out from far to his left and slapped into the door of one of the cottages. Geoff still lived.
“Hold there!” a familiar voice shouted from the cottage Roth shared with his sister. It was the smallest, built by their parents many years before. Roth has added a real glass window last fall. He’d made a daring venture into Parlania and carried the fragile prize home to Tanya. She loved it. And now it lay in glittering shards in the daffodils.
Park stepped cautiously outside the door with Tanya held tightly in front of him. Park, the new comer, left behind because they didn’t quite trust him on a raid. Brad had found Park wandering the slopes four days distance from their village. Park, beaten and hungry, begging a place among them. Park, claiming he’d raised objections to the treatment of the women in Parlania and been charged with sedition and heresy.
Daniel had taken the man in and given him food. Tanya had healed his wounds. Healed the man who had now destroyed them.
“I know you’re out there, Roth and Geoff. Come in and throw down your guns.” Park, a short, muscular man, peered over Tanya’s shoulder. She wasn’t tall herself, but he crouched low in the protection of her body. “I promise you won’t be killed.”
“As if we’d believe you, bastard traitor,” Geoff shouted.
Roth made no reply. He moved right, searching for an angle to shoot the pig.
“It’ll be dark soon,” Park called out. “Do you want your sister sleeping in here with us tonight? Come in, and you’ll live.”
Roth lined the top of Park’s head up in his sights. At least the rat would be dead.
Park shifted and ruined the shot. When he turned, Roth saw the knife the shepherd pressed against the side of Tanya’s thin, pale neck.
“Come in, or I’ll bleed the bitch right here. Then we’ll hunt you down anyway.”
“I’m here.” Geoff stepped into the clearing with his gun held over his head in both hands. “Let her alone.”
Roth lowered his gun. Geoff loved Tanya and had since they were children. The two might have married at summer’s height.
“Roth too,” Park shouted. “Come out, you sharp-shooting killer. Don’t think I’ll let her go until I see you unarmed.”
Roth figured they were all dead if he gave himself up, but he also didn’t doubt Park would kill Tanya without hesitation. Shepherds had no regard for the value of a life other than their own.
He lifted his gun over his head and stepped forth. He had the grim satisfaction of seeing Park’s eyes widened with the knowledge he might have been in Roth’s sights.
More than a dozen shepherds spilled from the cottages. They ran to Geoff and Roth and jerked away their guns. A sharp kick on the back of Roth’s knees sent him sprawling face down in the trampled grass. Someone kicked him hard in the ribs while another ran rough hands over his body and found his three knives.
A heavy knee dropped painfully onto the center of his back. More strong hands forced his hands backward to bind them tightly. Roth stared into Mark’s sightless eyes where the boy’s body lay a short distance away.
“Father Morda asked for the Celebrias by name.” Park stood near Roth’s head, the old, scruffy boots he’d worn as part of his disguise replaced by the shiny leather of shepherds’ wear. “Something about the sins of the father visiting on the son.”
Roth showed no reaction, but his insides quivered with fear. His father had told him of Morda. Perhaps Mark and Brad were the lucky ones.
* * * *
Claudia Turan sighed and turned from her frowning perusal of the steep hill in front of her. Zeke Oman, no longer a cadet but certainly not a field soldier, cursed quietly behind her. He’d dropped his graphite writing tool. Again.
They were seven days out of Utopia. She shook her head as she always did at the name. What was her brother, Sky, thinking to give the training compound such a fanciful name? And Juston Steele had gone along with it. The two men, unmatched warriors both, had gone soft since their marriages. Not that she wasn’t glad to see her friend and brother happy, but it was sad to see such men become so domesticated.
Tom Flinn and Erik Sim trotted their horses into camp and then over to her. The two young men had proven excellent forward scouts. Tom dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to Erik. “Sir, we found another bog over this ridge. I don’t know if we can get around it before dark.”
Claudia glanced at the sun to judge the time. Already the gloaming of twilight spread under the newly-leaved aspens and tall oaks clinging valiantly to the slopes. “We best not chance it. You can’t tell what you’ll find in a swamp. Let’s make camp here. No sense putting ourselves close to the bugs.”
It was the third wetlands they’d come upon in their exploratory trip north. She’d been warned of the marshes near the coast, but who would have thought to find such lands this high into the mountains.
Her party of ten Realm warriors and six Solonians set the camp up before full dark fell upon them. After days on the trail together, her troop worked in almost perfect coordination together. Someone saw to the lighting of a fire and a meal while Claudia and Mia of Solonian, her second in command, scouted out the placement of their sentries. Though they hadn’t seen any Savages yet, it didn’t mean they weren’t about.
“Have any of your people traveled this far?” Mia asked as they settled together near the fire.
“Juston stopped before climbing this damned crag we’ve been fighting all day.” Claudia took the wooden dish filled with stew offered by Zeke. A vegetable stew in deference to the eating habits of the Solonians.
Claudia and Mia made small talk of supplies and conjectures of what lay on the trail ahead as they ate. It was all together a peaceful moment appreciated by Realm and Solonians alike. The marriage of Juston Steele and Princess Katerina of Solonia had been the start of this beneficial alliance. When Claudia’s brother, Sky Turan, and Captain Vilicia of Solonia married a few months ago, it had sealed the friendship between the two colonies. And now Claudia led this joint expedition with Captain Mia of Solonia as her second and fast becoming her friend as well.
The camp settled quickly. Horses and people were exhausted from the difficult climb not only today but also the last two days. According to Solonian recall, the settlement of Parlania sat somewhere north of this mountain range. They hoped to find survivors and perhaps a thriving colony. If nothing else, they might find books on the technology lost during the great cataclysm centuries before.
Claudia took out her brush and ran it through her shoulder-length, silver hair. Though only thirty-two years old, she shared her family’s odd distinctive trait of dark hair that lightened to silver before twenty years of age. She twisted it mercilessly into a thick braid aware that some of her men watched with a little too much interest. They respected her too much as a sword handler and leader to ever comment on it but better not to tempt them.
She snuggled beneath her one thick blanket while still fully clothed. The constant danger of Savages bid one be prepared always. And even without that danger, the nights were brutally cold this high even though it was spring time.
She stared at the stars, bright and numerous now before moon rise. A strange bird called out, numerous insects raised their own chorus and a horse stomped in its sleep. All comfortable natural sounds on the trail. How had Sky and Juston given this up for marriage? She would never give herself over to that ridiculous, weak emotion of love. If she had a love it was her freedom and the adventure of new places. No man or wish to have babies would convince her to put this life aside.
She smiled to herself. Not that there was a man on this entire continent who would dare ask it of her. Few even had to courage to ask her for a date. She had to make the advances when she found someone acceptable. It was becoming increasingly difficult to find a man to share her nights with when she was in town.
Claudia took another deep breath of the crisp mountain air. No, she would never give this up for anything or anybody.
Chapter Two
Clouds, a dull, dead gray, hung low over Parlania. Despite the weather, the shackles, the deaths, the close up view of the once proud and thriving city moved something in Roth’s chest. His parent’s tales of this wondrous place were some of his earliest memories.
“Move along.” A shepherd gave Roth a rough shove.
Roth stumbled but recovered before falling. He was exhausted and sore from numerous fists and kicks over the last five days but not so much as he let them believe. He waited only for their vigilance to waver.
His wrists were bloodied and raw from the shackles but he planned on being free of them soon. Every person in Gentry knew how to pick a lock. They were all trained to be thieves. Roth blinked away sudden emotions. He dared not think of the dead else he lose heart to help the living.
He and Geoff weren’t permitted to speak and each night they’d been secured away from each other and Tanya. But Roth held hope that they weren’t the only survivors from Gentry. He’d not seen Daniel’s body or that of the children.
The sun found a momentary opening in the clouds and touched the white stone buildings with its brilliance. The tall structures, some five stories high, glowed with a testament to the past glory of men’s accomplishments.
Then the sun gave way once more to the gray sky and Roth’s gaze fell on the fields that stretched from the foothills where they now walked to the city the sun had blessed for such a small moment. And within those walls dwelled the epitome of man’s avarice and cruelty.
People labored in the fields. Some worked with hoes between rows of tiny new sprouts. Others handled plows pulled by thick horses. A few walked behind the plows and pulled free rocks and tossed them into a cart.
It might have appeared to be normal farm families doing the spring planting if not for the shepherds mounted on fine, tall horses and sporting long switches or guns. If not for the women who worked topless as must all women under Father Morda’s rules. If not for the soft, round appearance of the men who’d been cut for their disobedience and were no longer whole men.
Roth shivered and looked away. Park had taunted him with such each day. He promised Roth and Geoff the loss of their balls after they stood trial in place of their fathers. And his sister was to become one of those women, forced to breed more slaves for Parlania.
The sun sank to the horizon behind them. Roth looked at it, noting the beauty as it colored the bottom of the clouds purple so most of the western sky glowed a soft lavender. Bitterly he turned from the direction of his home and looked toward the city of hopelessness.
Tanya walked beside Park at the shepherd’s command today as every day. The bastard pointed out a half-dressed pregnant woman and then laughed in a manner that almost had Roth shedding his shackles. He saw the same smoldering emotions in Geoff’s eyes and shook his head at his friend. They couldn’t escape across the open fields with the mounted shepherd guards all around them.
They passed into the streets and walked by the empty homes, ghosts of a flourishing past. Once families had lived here with sparkles of laughter, dreams and hopes of bright futures. All gone now. Destroyed by the Outcasts first and then further desecrated by Father Morda’s perverted use of his power.
The buildings created an artificially early twilight with their long shadows stretching from one side of the streets to the other. With the dark came possibilities for desperate acts.
Roth lifted his hands over his head as if to stretch and wiggle his fingers to relieve the tingling of long restriction. The hand signals were invented by his father and perfected by Roth. Geoff coughed his acknowledgment. Roth lowered his hands and worked a thick metal needle from the ragged cuff of his shirt. He counted ten steps before the lock snicked quietly open. He waited for the purple twilight to surrender to the black of night. The clouds insured no moon light.
“What have we here?” a new voice called from in front of their little troop.
“I caught a prize for the Father,” Park answered. “This is the daughter of Celebria and behind me is the son.”
“So your plan worked. Your men brought that traitor, Sasson, in yesterday. He waits the Father’s will right now.”
Roth’s heart plunged. Daniel lived but he hadn’t escaped into the forest. He was captured also. Should they try to win free now or wait to try and release Daniel also? And what of Mark’s niece and nephew?
“We’ll take them from here. See to your baths and clean clothing before you report to the Father,” the new man said.
“You have to watch them close. Celebria is dangerous.” Park sounded reluctant to give over his prize.
“We brought something to take the fight out of them.”
Roth heard the movement of more men in front of them and made his decision. He flung his hands up. The heavy chains and shackles flew into the back of the guard in front of him. He struck out at the shepherd to his right and heard Geoff scuffling with more men behind him. His kick struck home on the shepherd’s knee and earned a shriek of agony as the man collapsed to the street.
Tanya screamed something unintelligible. Flesh cracked against flesh.
Roth didn’t slow. Confusion was his friend. He went for a gun and took the stock in hand when something heavy hit him. Then more bodies knocked against him. He kept his feet for one more hopeful moment before they bore him to the dirt. Geoff cursed from somewhere in the dark, and Tanya screamed again.
Roth struggled against the men holding him down, but he was well and truly caught. His sister sobbed quietly, but Geoff made no more sounds.
“I should have known thieves like you would know how to unlock the chains,” Park snarled. “You won’t escape this.”
“Looks like I met up with you right in time, Park.” The shepherd knelt within Roth’s line of vision. The last faint illumination of the day glinted on a long, thin piece of metal.
Roth had never seen one, but he’d heard of the needles that could deliver drugs into a man’s body. A strong hand tugged Roth’s pants down so cold air brushed against his exposed buttocks.
Geoff gave a strangled cry that cut off with the sharp sound of an open hand on bare flesh. A sharp sting in his behind pulled Roth back to his own helpless position. Then someone slapped his bare ass hard enough to make his breath hitch in his chest.
The men holding him kept their grips tight as they waited for something. Burning spread from the sting on Roth’s behind up his back and down his legs. And where it rolled it carried with it weakness and heaviness. His strength drained from his muscles and into the dirt. His eyes closed first, and then his thoughts went black with utter defeat.
* * * *
An odd buzz woke Roth. His body hurt even to his eyelids. But he blinked his eyes anyway as his curiosity overcame his discomfort. What made such a sound?
His chin rested on his chest so all he saw was a blurry panorama of blue flowers. No. It was a carpet. Daniel had had a small one with red posies, faded and worn from the years. His vision improved after a few more blinks, and his mind caught on to what his senses told him. He heard voices in the buzzing. Voices were the buzzing.
Roth kept his head down, seeking to hide his wakefulness. He looked up from beneath his brows. A long room stretched beyond his field of vision. People filled it from side wall to side wall. Rather, men filled it with an occasional woman scuttling here and there. Bare-breasted women who carried trays of food and drink. As he watched in helpless disgust, a shepherd casually pinched a woman’s nipple. The bastard and those nearby laughed at her startled cry of pain.
Roth heard movement to his right but gave no reaction to give away his alertness. Another small sound and he realized someone hung beside him. And he was hanging with his arms stretched painfully over his heads and chains once more on his battered wrists. As more of his drugged senses returned, Roth almost wished they hadn’t. He was naked! He lifted his head up in shock and fear.
The room spun dizzily before him. His father and mother had spoken of the powerful drugs known in Parlania. They could be used to subdue a man, ease his pain and even kill him.
“You all right, Roth?” Geoff asked softly.
Roth dared a glance and saw Geoff strung up the same as he was. A large bruise blackened one of his friend’s eyes and his eyes gleamed with the unnatural brightness of the drug that had felled them.
“I’m a tad chilly.” Not only lack of clothing sent the shivers crawling across his skin.
“I’m not feeling the warmth of human kindness much myself.” Geoff twisted to look behind them. “Have you seen Tanya?”
Another shudder of fear crawled up Roth’s spine. He forced himself to speculate on his sister’s whereabouts and could think of no pleasant possibilities. Women were nothing but breeding and service animals beneath Morda’s rule. “She’s young and healthy. That makes her valuable to them.”
Roth looked away from Geoff’s bitter despair. It only made his own more difficult to bear. He looked at the crowd now that he could no longer pretend unconsciousness. Some of the men looked their way on occasion, but mostly they turned their interest to the food and the slaves serving it. Hearing descriptions of the perverted society had not prepared him for the actual sight of it.
“Do you think they mean to castrate us?” Geoff asked.
Roth’s balls pulled tight against his body. He’d mostly considered beatings and torture, but there had been lots of eunuchs in the fields. “Not tonight.”
“What makes you think not?”
Roth heard the desperate hope in his friend’s tone. “That takes the fight out of a man. What fun can they have with us if we get all weepy?”
“There is that.” Geoff sounded more hopeful. “But being naked and all, I thought that might be what they’re about.”
“I think they set us here to humiliate us. To watch our fear grow.”
Geoff snorted and sounded more like himself. “As if showing my good parts would humiliate me. Seeing what I’m carrying between my legs only embarrasses those little boys out there. I doubt some of them even sprout any hair there yet.”
Roth grimaced a smile at Geoff’s bravado. “They act like tough men when we’re strung up and helpless.”
A stir at the far end of the room caught their attention. A silence started there and spread like a ripple in a puddle toward them.
A large man swept into the room. He wore a long, loose, green robe that glimmered like the small satin pillow Roth’s mother had so cherished. The man stopped and spoke with a shepherd and then lumbered a few more rolling strides and talked to another. His gaze never swung toward Roth and Geoff.
“Is that him? This Father Morda they worship like a god?” Geoff asked.
“I’m guessing so.” Roth’s heart pounded heavy and fast. “Listen, Geoff, let’s promise each other something.”
Roth looked over at his friend of over twenty years, all their lives. Geoff looked back, his brown eyes wide with the same terror as Roth’s. “Any thing you want.”
“If you get the chance to escape, go. Don’t try to free me or wait for me. Save yourself so you can look for Tanya. No matter what they do to us, it will be worse for her. We have to find her.” Roth stopped and looked away. He couldn’t find any more words.
Geoff didn’t answer right away, but when he did, he covered his fear with his false courage. “You clod. Of course I’m going to save myself and then save my girl.”
Roth forced a smile to reward Geoff’s effort. The robed man worked his way through the crowd, getting closer with slow purpose. “All right then. Our first trick is to get out of this party alive.”
Geoff snorted softly. “Try not to rile his temper with your damned wit.”
“I’ve been pretty much witless for the last five days.”
Geoff cursed his agreement with that. And then the man they assumed to be Father Morda shook off the last of the shepherds and stood in front of them.
Morda gazed at them with the lightest brown eyes Roth had ever seen. He smiled with thick lips in a manner that might have appeared to be benevolent if not for the frost in those pale eyes. Morda looked as if he might have been a strong, fit man in youth, but time and soft living had transformed him into this flabby, gluttonous creature with plump, white hands folded so harmlessly above his bloated belly.
“Young Celebria, welcome back to Parlania. I’m Father Morda.” Such a sweet, pleasing voice.
“I feel welcome.” Roth thought he made his tone gracious, but Geoff’s muffled groan warned him otherwise. “But I may have been exposed to all the kindness I can take for today.”
Morda’s eyes narrowed, but he held his frigid smile. “I’ve missed your father’s wit. We were great friends in our youth. You look much like him.”
“You saw him often with his clothes off? I didn’t think that of my father.”
The cold smile melted. Roth took small pleasure in it and cautioned himself to let off the goading. But his father had told him one of Morda’s first acts had been to rid Parlania of all men who preferred other men and ignored their duty to breed.
“I see you also share your father’s lack of good sense. Or perhaps you use insolent words to cover your inherited cowardice.”
“As you can see, I have no means to cover anything. Speaking of cowardice, I hope you and all your guard animals feel quite safe with the two of us shackled and dangling. I’ve never before appreciated how dangerous I must be.”
“Dangerous?” Morda laughed and his audience of raptly listening shepherds joined him. “I don’t think you’re much of a threat, but I do prefer our prisoners are still for their questioning.”
“Why am I a prisoner? What laws did I break while living in the mountains?”
“Surely your dear father explained our divine obligation to live only for the future of Parlania, indeed, for all of mankind. Every healthy man is needed to provide variety in our breeding stock.”
“To be a slave, you mean?” Roth tried to keep his anger and disgust from his words. He needed his sarcasm so he might control his rage and fear.
“No one is a slave. Each person has a duty, a place in our society that will help increase our numbers. In the years since your father went his craven way, we’ve more than doubled our population.”
“And now you’ll dissolve your laws as you promised my father? You’ll allow people to live as families? Women will live as free people and not livestock?”
The frosty smile returned. “It’s not yet time.”
Roth smiled just as coldly. “And will it ever be time?”
“If we work hard. But faint-hearted people like your father inhibit the progress of our cause.”
“Because he wouldn’t share my mother with you?” Roth knew the entire story of Morda’s lust for Kia Celebria.
“Your mother was committed to the cause of Parlania. Cogan stole her away when she wished to stay.”
Roth saw the strange emotions scuttling in the light depths of Morda’s eyes. “You’re insane if you’ve convinced yourself of that.”
Morda’s smile spread, and Roth knew he’d made a mistake. He should have given the man another mocking or inane reply.
“Your sister tells me your name is Roth.” Morda rubbed his hands together. “She’s quite a lovely thing and will bear many fine children for Parlania. I appreciated her performance earlier. You can thank her for my mellow mood this evening.”
Geoff cursed and kicked at Morda, his frustrated attack falling well short. Roth dug his fingernails into his palms, helpless with rage and the despair of failure. He’d known what was happening to his sister, but to hear it from this animal’s dissolute lips made it real. His stomach heaved, but it was empty of anything to vomit.
“No snide remarks, Roth?” Morda walked behind him. He ran one of his thick, clammy fingers down the center of Roth’s back and traced his backbone all the way to his butt. “Such a strong back. And so unmarked.”
Roth held his silence though shivers rippled outward in his muscles and raced away from the malevolent touch. There was nothing he could do to prevent what might come.
Morda ran his finger back up Roth’s back. “Not a scar.”
After another lingering, repulsive stroke along Roth’s back, Morda walked around to face his prisoners once more. “The list of your misdeeds grows with each word you speak, Celebria. You must learn to maintain a proper level of respect to those more enlightened than your heathen upbringing has taught you to be. I know it will be difficult to overcome the misguided lessons of your father. I had thought to place the sins of your sire upon your head, but that wouldn’t be fair. And I always wish for justice in my dealings.”
Roth hoped his expression gave away none of his tumultuous emotions. He didn’t want his pride to bring about his death, but the temptation to spit in Morda’s face gnawed at his control.
“For the good of Parlania, we will retrain you and give you a chance to become a productive and useful member of our blessed society.”
Morda paused as if to hear Roth’s gratitude, but Roth held his silence. Morda shrugged and turned away to gesture a shepherd forward from the crowd.
A man came forward and uncoiled a whip as he strutted toward them. The shepherd’s arms bulged with thick muscles, and his grin promised joy in his work.
The shepherds pressed closer for the entertainment. Roth took note of their leering faces and searched for one expression of doubt or remorse. They were mostly young men with only a few near Morda’s age. One of the serving women caught his gaze. Her expression was carefully blank but misery filled her soft eyes. And hopelessness.
“My father was right,” Roth said to Morda. His insides quivered in dreadful anticipation, but he put strength into his voice.
“Cogan was right about nothing, but tell us, child, what prevarication did your sire press upon you? If we know the nature of these lies we can better disabuse you of such falsehoods.”
“My father told me from the time I was a child that the Outcasts were more civilized than the leaders in Parlania. The Outcasts at least have an excuse for their despicable, barbaric behavior.”
Morda smiled in his icy manner. He nodded to the whip master.
Roth heard the whistle of the leather before it struck his back, but forewarned was not prepared. He gasped at the hot, searing pain. And it lingered, a fiery slice of agony that was quickly overlaid with the next stroke. And the next and many more until his entire body twitched and bucked with the need to stop the hurt. And finally he cried out with a small grunt. Then a louder one and finally a harsh, loud cry he couldn’t contain. Still the whipping continued. He searched for unconsciousness and then wished for death.
The shepherd found a new place. The lash slapped across his buttocks. Again and again.
Roth’s stomach heaved but again it twisted with emptiness. His strength left him unable to brace for the continuing lashing so he hung limply from the shackles. His chin dropped to his chest so that he saw the splatters of his blood on the flowered carpet.
“Stop! You’re killing him!” Geoff’s voice came as from a long, dark tunnel. And then silence and escape.
Roth dreamed nothing. He came to awareness again when someone jolted him as they let him loose from hanging. A new agony, that from his shoulders, both inside where muscles were stretched, and from the wounds on his back, woke him fully. And he didn’t want to wake. He wanted to die.
“You, woman, throw that blanket under him. We don’t want to get more of his blood on the rug when we drop him.”
Woman. Tanya! Roth fought back the black creeping along the edges of his vision. He dared not pass out again. This might be his chance while they thought him incapacitated.
Roth slit his eyes open enough to see the room empty except for the three shepherds working to lower him to the floor and one woman standing in quiet obeisance. Even Geoff was gone. How long had he been unconscious?
Despite his determination the darkness took Roth again when they dropped him onto the rough blanket. He fought back to wakefulness as they carried him. Someone had draped the blanket over his torso and hips perhaps for their own comfort. One man held both his feet while the other two each held an arm. His lean frame seemed an easy burden for the three big strong men. He let his head hang limply while he dared a narrow look about. They clumped down a dim hallway bereft of the fancy accouterments of the large room used for his lashing.
They passed numerous doors set into the wall at uneven intervals. Was this then a dungeon of sorts? He dared not lift his head to check for locks or bars, but he knew he must act before they locked him up or chained him.
Sluggish thoughts rebelled against any attempt to escape. His back burned with agonizing fire that might send him back into the blackness should he move suddenly. He had no idea where he was or where to go if he should win his freedom. Where was Tanya? Where were Geoff and Daniel?
Roth considered giving up and letting them do as they wished with him. He hurt so much. What could he do by himself in his condition anyway?
“I hope I get a chance at this one’s sister,” one of the shepherds said.
“The Father will keep her for personal training until she learns her place,” another one answered.
The first one spoke again after a few steps. “I wanted to have her while she still had some of that wild spirit. Don’t you wish to have one that fought back instead of spreading her legs and turning her head? Not even the new young ones have any fire in them.”
The third man laughed. “I make them move under me, or I beat their lazy asses. They learn to like that though. Last night I made a bitch scream with pleasure. I slapped her a bit for that.”
“Why?” the first one asked.
“It’s not for them to take pleasure, dim dolt. They’re to be doing their duty and nothing else. Pleasure in breeding is for men alone.”
Some unknown depth of strength rose from Roth’s heart. He’d rather die than give in to men who followed such perverted ideas. Not even his father’s stories of this assiduous evil compared to hearing it expressed with such arrogant entitlement.
“Why doesn’t Father cut this one’s testicles off and have done with it?” the third man asked as he shifted his hold on Roth’s arm.
“He might eventually, but Father Morda has never gotten over Cogan Celebria’s betrayal. And there’re always the rumors of Cogan’s followers thinking to change things. If he gets the boy here to publically recant everything his father claimed, Father believes it will silence the dissenters once and for all.”
“A few more beatings like this one, and this piece of crap will likely say anything.”
The shepherds laughed together and went on to list all the things Roth would be made to do in the future. Some were so depraved and deviant, he wondered if they were even possible. All of the conjectures ended with Roth being made a eunuch.
“Just ahead,” one shepherd said.
Having nothing but surprise on his side, Roth kicked and twisted with all his strength and anger. They cursed and dropped him to the stone floor.
The world went gray for a moment, but desperate panic kept him conscious. He shot to his feet, drunk with pain, and crashed into the single man who’d carried his feet.
The man went down under Roth’s surprise attack. He was free. The hallway stretched empty in front of him. Roth ran. His bare feet slapped the hard floor, and each step jarred his back.
He slid and almost fell. Fresh blood ran down his legs and made the bottom of his feet wet and slick.
He thought he’d gained some ground on his pursuers, but they raised shouts for assistance. Any moment more shepherds could spring from one of the many doorways he passed. He made a sharp sudden turn into a wider hallway and came upon a glass paneled door.
“Don’t shoot him!” a shepherd shouted behind him. “The Father wants him alive.”
Roth pushed through the door and found himself outside. Smooth stones fit together snugly for the floor and a waist-high wall surrounded a large courtyard.
“Got you now, you slippery bastard.” No less than a dozen shepherds spilled out through the door. “You earned a couple more kisses of the whip, boy.”
Roth backed away from them as they spread out. The back of his thighs hit the wall. He stole a quick glance over his shoulder, and his heart dropped. Dropped, but not as far as the world plunged away on the other side of the rail.
He was on a balcony, and beyond it was nothing. It was designed to overlook the Watara River far below.
“Take him,” someone ordered impatiently.
Roth hopped on top of the short rail. It was wide enough for his feet and as long as he didn’t think about what lay beyond his balance was no problem.
“What are you going to do? Jump?” one of the shepherds taunted. “You’d never survive the fall, and even if you did, you’d drown before you could swim out.”
“Father Morda isn’t going to be happy with you either way, is he?” Roth mocked, and it made him feel better, feel stronger. “Either I’m dead, or you let me escape. No matter what, I’ll be gone. But you’ll still be here to answer for it.”
Roth wondered what type of upbringing grew such men. They all glared at him, their shaven heads gleaming beneath the light of the dual moons. Their appearance, with their red shirts and pants, was as identical as was their despicable lifestyle.
The shepherd who’d spoken leaped at Roth. Roth spun away and jumped. The shepherd’s hand brushed his leg, but here was nothing to grab but skin.
Roth flew out into the cold, night air. He fell so fast he had no time to be afraid, only time to hope the river ran deep beneath him. He crossed his arms over his chest and kept his feet together. Would contact with the water shatter his leg bones?
His feet smacked the water and sent a shockwave up his entire body. And then the cold water closed over his head. His heart seized with shock, and his back exploded in agony as the icy, watery fingers stroked his flayed skin.
Instinct took over, and he dug his way toward the surface. By the time he lifted his face clear, massive shivers thrummed up and down his muscles.
He searched the shoreline and saw only rocky cliffs as the swift river bore him along. He kicked around to look back where he’d entered the river. Already the lamps of Parlania were mere pricks of light. The water rushed him away from Tanya and Geoff.
The cold water also sapped his little remaining energy. He tried to swim toward the northern shoreline but the river’s current fought him. Fought him and won. And what would he do if he gained the bank? He would be in the middle of a wilderness where no men lived. These lands belonged to the Outcasts. He had no weapon. No clothing. He was injured, exhausted, hungry and so cold his teeth rattled in spastic chatters.
The water dragged him and pushed him where it willed. His arms grew heavy until he could no longer lift them. His legs were numb and even the fire on his back faded to a distant ache. Roth relaxed and surrendered to the cold death.
Chapter Three
Claudia stared into the clear waters of the river. They’d camped with it at their backs last night. The area was rife with signs of Savages though the human-like beasts were unlikely to take on a group of their size. Whatever means the vicious creatures used to communicate over distances, they had somehow known not to confront her fighters.
The river sparkled as the sun cleared the horizon and struck the slowly moving water. Its waters were clean, cold and filled with fish. The Realm warriors had caught and fried some last night much to the good-natured disgust of the vegetarian Solonians.
Claudia sighed as she heard the clatter and light conversation of her people breaking camp. Decision time. They could easily cross the river here where it flowed at a placid pace. Or they could turn back. They’d traveled for fifteen days, though the return trip could be as short as ten days now that they knew what paths and trails to take. They’d spent many hours backtracking in the mountains when they ran into insurmountable rock faces, deep ravines and sucking bogs. And for all that trouble, they’d found nothing that pointed to this lost city of Parlania.
The further north they’d come, the thicker the population of Savages. She wondered if they had the wherewithal to join into a single band large enough to challenge her battle group.
The urge to see what lay ahead, beyond the river, over the next hill, conflicted with her sense of responsibility to the people with her and those back home who waited for their return.
Claudia, her brother Sky, and Juston Steele had decided fifteen days out would be the maximum distance for this trip. She sighed again at her decision to do the sensible thing.
She started to turn from the rippling, jeweled river, but something floating caught her eye. It drifted lazily near the middle of the wide, smooth flowing water. And it had hair.