Darkness Falling: Soldiers and Slaves (5 page)

Impyra was watching out the back window. “That was close,” she said. “Hang on, Brosen is going to fire.”

Sheyra gripped the wheel, not sure of what to expect. A moment later the there was a boost of speed. The truck whined as the wheel rotation was forced beyond what could be determined by the speedometer. There was the sound of another blast. A flash of White Energy skidded past them. It landed in the road, sending a shower of asphalt into the air.

“Shit!” Sheyra screamed as she swerved to avoid the debris.

A chunk of the asphalt smashed into the windshield, cracking it severely. Impyra ducked instinctively. Brosen fired again, Sheyra felt herself forced forward by the power behind it. There was a loud whining noise and then an explosion. They both turned to see a cloud of smoke and flame in the field.

“Enough warning shots!”
 the booming voice said, but it didn't sound like it was intentional.

Another blast was flying over their heads.

“Stop!” Impyra screamed.

Sheyra swerved, but it was too late to avoid. The truck was thrown sideways across the road, denting the driver’s side door. Sheyra yelped, thrown to the side in her seat. She held tight to the wheel, sending the truck around in an arching skid. They spun a full circle in the middle of the road. Terrified of being a motionless target, Sheyra sat up and hit the accelerator.

“We're going to die,” she said, unable to believe anything could save them.

“No, we're not.” Impyra's voice was firm. “I can do this.”

“Do what?” Sheyra asked, but Impyra didn't answer.

Brosen fired before another blast flew from the helicopter. It hit the back of the truck bed, bouncing the front of the vehicle upward once more, nose in the air, before they slammed down. Sheyra barely missed hitting her head on the wheel. Somehow they were still moving.

“Brosen!” Impyra shouted frantically as she turned to check on him.

He had managed to hang on. She sat back in her seat, her breathing ragged.

“I can do this. I can do it,” she repeated to herself, eyes wide.

“Do what?” Sheyra demanded.

“They can't see us. They won't see us. They can't see us; they won't see us.” The young woman began to chant. She placed both hands on the truck bench.

“They can't see us?” Sheyra asked.

“They won't see us,” Impyra confirmed.

Her eyes closed. Her voice became heavy as she spoke. The air around them felt as if it were on fire. Everything was slowing down. Sheyra felt dizzy, trying to shake her head she thought she might pass out.

“Stop.” The word caused everything to grow dim.

Sheyra obediently pressed the brake, vaguely aware that she had already stopped accelerating. Her heart pounded in her ears.

Blub. Blub. Blub.

The helicopters flew over them, down the road and circling back. They passed overhead, their propellers the sound of giant wings flapping. Once, twice, three times they flew over before the sound began to fade away to the north.

“Go.” At the word Sheyra pushed the accelerator and the truck started rolling forward. 

Brosen pounded on the window, shouting something unintelligible. Sheyra was snapped back into reality. They were traveling at the same speed as before the strange slowing had occurred.

“What was that?” She asked.

She looked at Impyra but the girl was unconscious, leaning against the door. Blood was dripping from her nose and her eyes and the color was bleeding out of her skin.

“No, no!” Sheyra felt her heart leap in her throat.

Brosen wasn't able to open the driver side door. “We need to stop!” He shouted through the glass.

All too happy to oblige, Sheyra slammed on the breaks. The truck skidded to a halt in the middle of the empty road. She leaned over and pulled Impyra away from the door. The girl was breathing, but she was even more pale when they first met. In fact, her skin was becoming translucent. Sheyra could see the young woman's veins and what appeared to be muscle below. Impyra's hair was also losing its color, catching the light like strands of glass.

Brosen pulled open the door, his face a mix of rage and worry. “What happened in here?” He demanded, then flinched when he saw the drastic change in his traveling companion.

“I... I don't know!” Sheyra stammered, trying to wipe blood away from Impyra's eyes. “She started saying she could do it, then 'they can't see us, they won't see us.'”

He rubbed his face with both hands. “All right, we need shelter, fast. Somewhere to hide the truck.” He scanned the sky. “They were fooled for now but they'll be back.”

Sheyra thought for a moment. “There's the abandoned mill about three kilometers that way,” she pointed to a dark shadow on the horizon. “They have an old barn there.”

“Fine, let's go.”

Brosen pulled himself in next to Impyra's unconscious form, letting her slump onto his shoulder.

“How did she do that?” Sheyra asked, starting the engine.

“I don't know.” He admitted.

The truck rattled loudly in protest but it moved. Hopefully it would make it to the mill.

* * *

“Shit! Where did they go?” The pilot asked.

Treve stared down at the empty road. The truck had been there just a moment before. He watched as it flickered, then vanished.

“No!” Xander snarled. “Watch the road. She can't keep it up forever.”

Treve's eyes burned as he tried not to blink. The gray road and the gray earth began to melt together. A white truck should be easy to see, but there was nothing. After circling a few times, the perplexed Enforcers didn't know what to do.

“Maybe they took the chance to head back to the north to try to get around us,” the pilot offered.

“Then go 
north
,” Xander said through clenched teeth.

“Yes, your highness,” he said.

“Keep watching the road,” the prince barked.

“Yes, your highness,” Treve said with as much feeling as possible.

Taking not of the exhaustion in his voice, Xander sat back and smiled. “Do you believe it now, Treve?”

The tone of his voice was hard to describe. He was angry, of that there was no doubt, but there was also a tinge of amusement.

If he hadn't seen it himself Treve wouldn't know what to believe. Seeing Brosen firing on them was bad enough, but when his shot brought down one of the support choppers Treve felt his heart stop. In an effort to end the game, it was a blast from his own gun that nearly hit Brosen, destroying the back of the tuck. Part of Treve believed he had missed because of bad luck, but another part still knew he couldn't do it. If Xander thought the latter, Treve would surely be added to the list of traitors.

Treve just wanted the chance to sit down face to face with his partner and ask why. All of this death and destruction didn't seem worth if for one slave girl.

They passed the smoking husk of the downed chopper. The co-pilot had already radioed back to the city for emergency support. It should be there soon. Along with the medical team would come more helicopters, more EOVs, and more Enforcers to join in the effort to stop two traitors and rescue the possible hostage.

There wasn't any sign of the truck to the north. The impossibility that they might truly have vanished was too big to comprehend. Xander's phone began to buzz. Treve watched as the prince put it to his ear.

“What?” the prince said, annoyed. “No, Father,” his tone softened, but only slightly. “We almost had them but they disappeared right in front of our eyes. We're looking for them now.”

There was a long pause. Treve could hear the muffled voice on the other end but could not understand what was said.

“No, he executed the best shot,” Xander grimaced. “Father, it was necessary.”

Another pause, the Emperor's voice was getting louder.

“That village is abandoned, mostly,” he said. “They took a woman, but she could be an ally.” He rubbed his eyes in frustration. “No, we'll find them, I just need more time.”

Xander lowered the phone and pushed the button to disconnect before throwing the thing against the cockpit wall. Treve ducked as it flew toward his head.

The prince's face was a dark cloud of rage. “Take us back to the Tower,” he said in a voice so low Treve wondered if the pilot could hear him. “Do it now!”

He wanted to know what happened, but he also remembered he wasn't supposed to speak until spoken to. Treve settled back in his seat, pretending to watch the road but really just lost in his own thoughts. He was glad it was over, at least for now.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Perhaps Her Highness would find something appealing here,” an elder slave, a woman who had been her mother's maid servant for over a decade, set a book of cloth swatches in front of the princess and bowed low.

Small satin squares in varying shades of purple, blue, green, and many different styles of gold, silver, black, and white had been arranged neatly into a pretty white binding. They represented all of the materials available in the Tower for use of making gowns or other decorations. Gleyth stared down at them, completely disinterested. Her sisters sat chattering beside her, pointing restlessly at the colors they thought she should choose.

Gleyth hated being the eldest, merely because she found these tasks grueling and outdated. The Empire was crumbling at their feet, slaves and Enforcers were turning traitor, but today she was sitting in the great ballroom deciding on the color scheme for her upcoming celebration of womanhood.

Running her fingers absentmindedly through her black hair, she pondered how much simpler it must be for the girls out in the city. Their parents were too poor to throw them fancy parties, allowing them to age quietly without the pomp and flamboyance required of nobility.

Gleyth knew the real reason behind her celebration, of course. The edicts of power dictated that she be public figure. Those poor girls in the streets needed to stare up at a screen on one of the district Towers and feel envy over the circumstance of their birth. Ironically, she was just as much a prisoner of her situation as they were of theirs. 

“I think I'll just go with the family colors,” Gleyth said, pointing at the dark blue and silver swatches.

“No!” squealed Kerra, who was three turnings younger than Gleyth. “This is supposed to be romantic, not some boring old political ball.” She wrinkled her nose at the thought.

Tana, who was still only nine turnings and only a child, sighed heavily at the mention of romance. She still thought that the man she married would be perfect, charming, and wonderful in every way.

“I think we should have burgundy and purple and gold, the colors of love. Then everyone will be thinking about the wedding. It’s so exciting!” Kerra clasped her hands over her heart, blushing.

Gleyth rolled her eyes at her sisters. “I'm not interested in the wedding,” she said firmly.

In fact, she was dreading it. She did not even know which noble young man she would be wedded to. Not that it mattered, she wasn't interested in any of them. They were all the same; pompous, ignorant, and arrogant. Maybe they weren't all as bad as Xander, but she doubted any of them would be interested in her thoughts over her body.

Across the room, Thella began shouting orders at the kitchen slaves as she explained to them what the cake should look like. This was at least the tenth time this day that her mother had suddenly gone into a rage. Everything had to be perfect.

Gleyth sighed, wishing her family cared about the state of the Empire as much as they did about a pointless party. Her access to information was limited. Unlike her brother she didn't have a computer, or a phone. There was a private screen in her apartment where she could watch the daily news. She also attempted to eavesdrop as best she could in an attempt learn what was really happening outside of her glass cage.

She knew that the population was hit hard by the plague, and she knew that the city was dying around the Tower. As nobility she was somewhat educated, but she knew more and more that commoners were not. Licenses had to be acquired for every child that went to school, but they were too expensive. This caused a decline in skilled workers. Factories shut down. The economy was falling apart.

There was talk of rebellion in the regions to the south.

The idea of an extravagant ball when people in the city were starving was not her idea of a joyful occasion. Gleyth also saw what her parents did not; that every fancy party did entice envy but in the current climate of desperation it was unwise to invite such emotions among the population.

“Gleyth,” the sound of her name brought her out of her dark thoughts with a jolt. “I need to talk to you about the melodies that the orchestra will play for the dance. Now, which of these do you like best?”

Thella dropped several sheets of paper in front of her daughter. They listed the songs that were deemed legal within the Empire. Gleyth stared down at the pages with a heavy heart.

“Anything you find suitable is fine with me, mother,” she sighed and forced a smile.

“Very well,” Thella said, seating herself cross from her daughters. “Now, we should discuss cake flavor. I know the cook has a fine vanilla blend on hand, but I would not be opposed to ordering fresh chocolate from Tiffara.”

“Vanilla is fine.”

“I know you're not partial to flowers. Perhaps the frosting could have a lattice pattern,” the Queen suggested.

“Yes, that's fine. Or flowers, that's fine too. Whatever you think is best, mother.

Thella folded her hands patiently before her, but Gleyth could see the annoyance in her eyes.

“Now, Gleyth,” she said firmly. “Your celebration only comes once in your lifetime. Next comes your wedding, and after that it's all state dinners and political balls. This is the one time where you really can show your personality to the aristocracy. Don't forget that they are your peers and their opinion of you will matter.

Gleyth clenched her teeth. “If my celebration should impress,” she said slowly, “then I don't understand why you're upset that I'm differing to you, mother. After all, you're the Queen, and your taste should be celebrated by all of the ladies of the court. It it wrong to hope they can see your influence through my choices?”

Thella raised an eyebrow. She wasn't stupid, Gleyth knew, and she wouldn't give in to flattery. She also wasn't stubborn enough to throw herself against a brick wall.

“I don't know why you weren't born a boy,” the Queen sighed.

Gleyth took it as a compliment.

“Do you care to decide on the dinner, or do you want me to do that as well?”

“Whatever we have in stock, I'm sure the cook will do a fantastic job,” this was not mere flattery. “Frugality is my personality, mother. Have you not realized that yet? And,” she glanced meaningfully at her sisters, “the family colors are perfect for this party. Now, if you will excuse me, I feel a headache coming on.”

She stood, curtsied informally, and hurried out the large wooden doors at the far end of the room. Even though she could escape the planning, she could not escape the reality of coming days. She took a deep breath while she waited for the elevator in an attempt to calm herself. If only her father would delay her celebration she may be able to find a way to stop it completely.

Once inside the elevator she stared at the rows of buttons; her fingers hovered above them as she hesitated in her decision. She wanted to press the one that would take her to her father's office. She wanted to tell him that the slave girl's escape was not an act of treason. She wanted to make him see that the world needed a true leader, and her brother wasn't the correct choice.

Instead, she pressed the safe button, sixty-seven, the floor of her own apartment.

“Coward,” she spit the word, crossing her arms over her chest.

* * *

Little was left of the truck bed other than a gaping hole of melted and twisted metal. Brosen crossed his arms as he assessed the damage. Either by good luck or poor aim the White Energy blast had missed the rear axle by a hand-span. The rubber on tires had been softened by the heat. Luckily, they weren't losing air.

Bending down, he could see the slow drip of fluid leaking from somewhere inside the engine. With tools and enough time he'd probably be able to fix it, but he didn't have access to either. In the dim light of the mill's interior it was too dark to see what might be damaged. Midday sunlight filtered in through the open windows, allowing for long bands of shadow to stretch across the floor. Even if the electricity worked turning the lights on would be a bad idea.

Unable to make repairs or evaluate the truck properly, he just hoped the engine would start when they were ready to leave. If it did, then maybe they would to make it to the next town but there was no guarantee.

Worrying about it wouldn't change a thing. He needed to sleep. He sat down with his back against the wall. Impyra lay sleeping on the floor. They had moved her out of the cramped truck cab to give her more room. Sheyra sat beside her, knees pulled to her chest.

Brosen stared at Impyra's still form. She looked alien. He thought about her eyes when they had first met; the dark swirl slowly draining into white. Sheyra stared at him gloomily. Brosen felt guilty that innkeeper had been forced into their problems, but it was her expert driving that had saved their lives. She probably regretted making them breakfast.

“They're chasing us because we escaped,” he said, knowing she deserved an explanation. “I was an Enforcer; she was a slave. This morning she jumped from the Tower and we ran.”

“Jumped?” She asked, confused.

Brosen shrugged, “Or maybe she was pushed. I don't really know. All I know is she asked me to help her and I did.”

“Why?”

He hesitated, trying to remember. He couldn't explain his reasoning. “She needed help,” he said finally, unsure of what else to say.

“They blew up my tavern because you ran away. That seems a bit extreme.” Sheyra grumbled.

“Yeah,” Brosen frowned.  “Although, I'm not really sure why Impyra wasn't killed before all of this started.” He tried to stifle a yawn.

“Maybe she knows,” Sheyra glanced at Impyra's sleeping face.

“Once the Enforcers shift their focus away from this area you might be able to go back to Ro'Tesche-En.” It was the only consolation he could think to offer.

Sheyra sighed mournfully. “There's really nothing to go back to. The town's abandoned, and no one passes through any more. I was already thinking of leaving to go south. I hear things aren't as bad there.”

“Maybe.” His eyes were growing heavy. “We just need to get off of the continent and find a place outside Imperial rule.” 

In a fluid motion, Sheyra stood and began to pace. Brosen watched her pass back and forth from shadow to light. Perhaps telling her that she hadn't been forced to shoot and kill her own friends would be enough to settle her mood. He decided against it.

She stopped, twisting her hands nervously. “Have you ever heard of the Resistance?”

It wasn't a question he'd expected. “Yeah, of course. We're trained to recognize suspicious behavior,” he shrugged. “There's not a lot of activity in Rau'Tesche-Awn. Most of the reported disturbances happen in the south,” he stopped, raising an eyebrow.

Sheyra nodded. “I've known for a long time that things are bad,” she said. “But, today, when they fired on me and Impyra without warning...” her voice trailed off. “I just never thought they wouldn't even check to see if they had the right person.”

“Yeah, well, they're up against something none of us can understand.” 

“That's exactly what I mean. They could probably really use someone like you,” she said, then turning toward Impyra she nodded. “And especially someone like her.”

Brosen couldn't argue with that. The Empire might want to destroy the young woman, but the Resistance would want to harness her power. There might even be other people out in the world who would seek to use her for her power. He felt oddly protective of her at the thought. Clearly Xander had already used her enough.

“I don't know if she's looking to start a war.” Brosen yawned again.

“I think she already did,” Sheyra said.

“You know; the Resistance might not even be a real organized group. It's probably smaller groups or even isolated incidents lumped together out of fear. If they are real, they haven't had the nerve move on to the bigger cities yet.”

Sheyra stared out of the window across the sky. The wind had picked up and dark clouds were beginning to block out the light.

“Joining the resistance would be an alternative to running,” she said quietly.

 “Not for me,” Brosen shook his head, but he wouldn't speak for Impyra. “Ask her when she wakes up.” He rolled himself onto the hard wooden floor, turning to face the wall. “I'm going to sleep. Wake me up if anything happens.”

Brosen cushioned his head on his arm. The smell of dust was heavy on the dry wood. At least the barn offered some protection from the wind, which was growing more chill by the moment. A storm was coming. Too tired to worry about it, Brosen allowed his exhaustion to take hold. slipped down into the darkness.

* * *

For over a century the ability to manipulate energy was forbidden talent. Building an empire was a task that required conquest and maintaining a delicate web of power. Threats to the balance needed to be eliminated. From that necessity the law had been enacted and enforced whenever rumor of an energy user surfaced. Ka Harn's rule had not required the hunting of such threats, but merely retaining the balance.

Faced with the unexpected challenge of apprehending a powerful energy user, the Emperor was beginning to realize there were few options open to recapturing the slave. There was only one man he knew of with the knowledge and ability to offer proper aid; a man no longer welcome within the borders of Sa'Toret-Ekar.