The 6th of Six (The Legend of Kimraig Llu) (42 page)

“Let us hear from you Mistress Gina,” Sala said, indicating the captive woman. Mistress Ann claimed you would vote with her. Is this true?”

One of the Hunters next to her placed the tip of her spear on Mistress Gina’s shoulder.

“Very good, I see you do agree with Mistress Ann. But even with two votes we do not have a quorum; we all know three votes are required. So I must open the two votes the Sergeant at Arms delivered to me this morning. Thank you, Sergeant.”

Sala produced two squares of recycled paper from the podium.

The tall woman looked up to Sala with a look of astonishment.
What messages,
it said.

Making a grand production, Sala opened each square nodding in agreement with the contents of each blank page.

“It seems we have a quorum. Number 2 and 4 Buildings have voted in like manner. Each vote disbands the Wicca government and this Assembly itself. ” She waited patiently as the bedlam rose about her. She diligently banged the gavel three times as required but did not wait for the tumult to subside. Instead, she signaled Commander Brody.

Half the Troopers peeled from behind the line of prisoner’s chairs. Splitting off to mount the stairs at the side of each tier, they took the steps two at a time into Number 1 Building tier of seats. The blunt end of spears took down protesters crowding the steps. Strong arms jammed them unconscious back to any empty seat.

The same action that took place on the steps of Number 1 Building, repeated in the tier for Number 2 Building. Although the guards mounted the steps to repeat the process for Building’s 3, 4 and 5 preservation of the political species prevailed, as everyone remained firmly in their seats—speechless for once.

“Well, now that we have all agreed, I formally deliver control of Five Buildings to the army of The Blue.” Sala’s voice had become vicious. She took her scarf from her shoulders pulling it taut between arms extended above her head.

“This is who we are. WE ARE THE BLUE.”

Epilogue. Hall ball

The first group of youngsters appeared from “
Across the Street
” just after dawn. They were tentative at first, until the lure of adventure took them into their first morning outside—ever.

Several boys and more girls had thrown on any clothing at hand, ready to taste their first day without war. They were all fastidiously clean now, which would last only until the first scuffle.

A ball appeared, quickly kicked between two boys. At first, their practiced movements refused to reach a rhythm in the wide avenue between the buildings. Understandable considering that the name of the game was Hall Ball. It did not take long for others to join, allowing the game to adjust to the unfamiliar reality of plenty of room.

A striker’s kick curved into the junk of smashed buildings and disappeared. Game fever could not lure the players to retrieve the ball—too close to the Builders.

Drawn to the laughter, another group dressed in old threadbare Builder training uniforms sneaked peeks from mounds of rubble. Two pre-teen females showed themselves with the errant ball clutched tightly under the arm of the tallest. The remainder of their group, four Hunters-in-Training, stood so that those on the roadway would know the two were not alone.

The impasse lasted about two seconds—games must be finished. One striker waved the two towards their makeshift playing field.

The smallest pre-teen reached down to her feet, lifted a heavy container, and picked her way carefully along an unseen path. She deposited her load a quick stride away from the two boys who wanted the ball. She bent down to the container and snapped the lid down against the side and dipped in. Standing, she sipped to show there was no danger in the offering, and presented the strangers a drink from the dripping ladle of water. Soon, both groups joined each other in the street.

Shortly, Princley’s Nora came towards them from the direction of One Nine. In her wake there trailed a small group of youngsters equally split between males and females. Their clothing was clean and repaired; obviously rags, different colors artfully sawn together.

Not so, however, with the ragged ball they carried. One emaciated male proudly flipped the ball’s filthy carcass back and forth between his palms, looking like it could pop any moment.

Nora’s calm motherly manner, like a wet nurse, soon had their small gathering broken into groups—hey, two balls.

Enterprising traders moved their stalls from Lower Levels, just for a temporary test of need. They did a brisk business, one even bartering sips of sweetened water. Another, with an almost identical stall, did better with the adults who had gathered. Some customers staggered back, always willing to part with more and more, as sips became swallows.

The next day, most of the stalls were back, except the one doing such a brisk business yesterday. He was dead, found in the rubble south, near the Choker weed with a message carved into his naked chest. “No more BJ.”

That first attack on the people roaming freely outside seemed random, until rumors began to circulate in all the Buildings and way houses of an experienced Hunter who had disappeared before the Wicca was murdered. Always a staunch supporter of that thirteen-member tribunal, this Hunter was taking his revenge.

People sighted him day and night in all five Buildings, in the rubble “
Across the Street
,” and outside way-houses. Attacks began to surface with more deaths. All the victims shared a grisly truth; the letter “V” etched into one upper arm.

There were too many sightings for it to be one man. That truth would not stop the beginnings of mounting panic.

After a double week, the combined government of their small island met quietly, seeking a plan of action to dispel the belief that Kimraig Llu had returned from the dead. Unfortunately, they could no longer ride the legend of a hero who had disappeared in battle, only to have him rise again to pull down the government who replaced his. He had to make an appearance.

* * *

Char and Kimraig were here in Number 5 Building at their combined government’s request. For now, safely inside this third floor room with a balcony, overlooking the six-lane highway. The sound of a milling crowd simmered up from the space below that separated the Builders and Crossers homes.

In the early evening darkness, lit only by flickering images, Char had to take a chance. No telling how long Kimraig would remain with her after his testimony, so every second was precious.

She held him now—for the first time in many months—kissing the tips of battered fingers on what had been his master sword arm. No more, the damage to his shoulder would not allow him to hold a blade. She would take what she could get. Deciding just minutes ago, as she helped him dress, she had to ask her question regardless of the emotional cost to her.

“Kimraig, did you love LaJay and Breen?”

“I did I think, each in her own way. LaJay as a sister, Breen about how a slave loves his master,” he said, his tongue kiss searing the palm of her hand. “Even then, I was certain of only one thing. If I thought of you for very long: there would be no stopping me from throwing everything away to be at your side.”

“Both are dead now. LaJay by Breen’s hand, Breen by injuries received in the last battle for One Nine.” He pictured the SHORT’s burned out hulk found one day later.

“Unfortunately for us, her Hunters, our twin sons, were not among the bodies lying with her inside that vehicle.” He kissed the center of her palm again, light, fast, wet.

“This force, who attacks in the name of Kimraig Llu, continues to gather support among the elite—the same people who previously held power within the Builders government. These dissidents, who want the good times back, are giving The Blue nightmares.” He tried to ease into a more comfortable position without releasing his hold on Char’s hand.

“Do you believe they are responsible for these renewed attacks?” she asked.

“It has to be. Regardless of what the Kimraig Llu legend would have everyone believe, I cannot be in two places at the same time.” He let her go, struggled to stand—eyes pleading for help.

She moved quickly to gather him to her. Her arms and shoulders took his weight until his legs were firmly under him. Painter-Richards’ canes sat against a chair where they would stay until after he spoke to the crowd milling in the street below.

Char gazed around the hastily assembled media room, knowing it was time. There were several Vid-screens throwing constant flickering images on the wall, volume turned off to all but one.

That Vid-screen showed Director Sala, flanked by Rat in full Battle Gear just outside on the balcony, working the crowd from behind her microphone. The crowd milled across the wide avenue between the thirteen steps leading to Number 2 Building and to the smaller buildings of what had once been their hated enemy. She stood there, Vid-link in her ear and microphone a scant breath from her lips, extolling the virtues of their combined government in words designed specifically to control even the most reluctant listener.

An additional Vid screen displayed images of two people for all to see. Dr. Painter-Richards and Princely Bosch—Co-Directors of their combined governments—sat in their own buildings watching the proceedings. Each had microphones able to communicate with the crowd if their input became necessary.

“Do you trust Director Sala?” Char asked.

“I trust you. If it had not been for you putting guards around me in the Hospital, those three assassins sent to kill me would have been successful.”

“You think Director Sala sent them.”

“Oh yes. For now, I am safe. She needs me until this crisis is over, then...who knows,” Kimraig sighed as he took Char’s hand in his. “Sala will call me soon now. You have not changed your mind?” he asked, doing that shiver thing to her palm again.

“I cannot stand at your side on the balcony. No one must know I am part of you. My value ends as soon as our people see us together. Just having you safe will have to do for now.”

“Please, we could marry. We have that right.”

Before she could answer, the door burst open and she could hear the crowd’s thunderous roar filling the avenue. That perfectly awful balloon of a woman, who coordinated the show Director Sala was putting on, filled the opening, her shouted words muting the bedlam.

“At top speed now, assemble by the door. There are only a few seconds before she calls you. Remember your cue and walk—do not run—to Director Sala’s side,” balloon woman said.

As he slid from Char’s arms, she stopped herself from clinging to him like a teen lover. He reached to her and she followed him. Then he did the strangest thing; he kissed her, his tongue consuming her. Then he turned, walking firmly, and headed out the balcony door. He never kissed!

“No. No, no-no-no. I did not tell you to go.” The woman balloon suddenly deflated as she expelled herself out the door in pursuit.

Kimraig ignored her as he turned back to Char and mouthed the first words he whispered to her when he woke next to her that morning.

“Char, I will never be apart from you again.”

She had cautioned him not to even think that. She knew it would be true for only so long. He was who he was, as was their new world. She accepted his love as he kissed his index finger and then blew the fresh kiss towards her lips. She had not told him the one thing she had done, the thing he cautioned against. For better or for worse, she had informed Dr. Painter Richards of the assignation attempt on his life, and her suspicions.

Char knew what came next for him would be the hardest chore of all. If anyone could do this, he could. She knew she should not be here, even hidden in this doorway.

As soon as he reached the microphone, the cheers from the street three stories below ended Director Sala’s speech. They wanted Kimraig, not her. Reluctantly she stepped back.

Her emissaries had worked the crowd well. Kimraig Llu was not dead, or out killing innocent people. He had only been wounded and in the hospital, a precaution to keep him safe. He would speak to them today.

KIMRAIG!—KIMRAIG!—KIMRAIG!

Kimraig waited, letting their roar of approval wash the hurt away. He knew he had to assure the crowd he was here supporting them and their new government.

Afraid they would miss something, the crowd stilled to a muted shuffle.

“Today is a day of firsts for our combined nations; we were once bitter enemies, now we are attempting to live as one.” As a heated murmur began to rise, he simply waited them out. When all was quiet, he continued.

“Today you elected Sala your
first
Director, the
first
Director of the combined Nations of ‘The Blue.’ The
first
time we have elected someone ourselves. Yes us, for I was finally strong enough to leave the hospital and join you to cast my ballot in this very building.” He lifted an arm to point at the building across from him. Holograms suddenly filled every building’s face showing him using his canes to ease himself into a voting booth.

The milling throng’s cheers took over once again...only for a few moments.

As the noise wound down, he continued. “As you can see, I also cast my vote for Sala. With that vote, I gave to you my total support. For the
first
time, we have our own government, not Builder’s Wicca, not Crosser, not Other or Outsider.” Obviously having trouble standing, he paused.
I knew better than to raise that arm,
he thought, a little peeved at forgetting.