Rise of the Order 4.2

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For the span of twenty heartbeats there was nothing.  The cry of birds had faded soon after her falling but wherever her attackers were, they would not easily let themselves be found.  She hesitantly opened her heart-gate, searching for some sign of emotion from her attackers but there was nothing but stillness.

The only warning she had was the dust stirring in the moonlight’s ribbons, then she snatched the arrow out of the air, spinning her body absorbing its momentum.  At the end of her spin she drove the arrow head home into the chest of a veiled figure that had been approaching from her left.  It left out a soft groan before toppling to the ground.  Stillness reigned again.  She waited twenty heartbeats, then another, then another. 

“I know you’ve found me, hunter” she said coolly. “Let us stop playing coy and have ourselves a dance.” Her gaze was focused, nearly unused, is if relying completely on her other senses.

There was a shuffling from the branches above and then, with a thump, a chain manacle hit the ground in front of her.

“I do not  give up on my quarries easily, Daeva. I mean to see you in those chains and back in Kanton by morning either by your will or mine,” the disembodied voice echoed from the trees. The manacle swung slightly with the breeze. Whoever this man was, he was no ordinary soldier; the most battle hardened men could be calm in the face of fear and adrenaline, but they still felt it and she would be able to feel it through them.  This man held no emotion that she could sense what so ever.  The chain dangling from the tree branch was held by a void.

“You are a powerful woman,” his voice said from her left.  She swung, talons lashing, to face it only to find emptiness where the man should have been. “I’d not heard of a Daevan Gatekeeper before you.” She swung about wildly looking for the source of the voice but it changed places with every new motion, “You would be a valuable asset to the Order, indeed.”

Whatever he was doing to throw his voice, she knew flailing about was no way to catch the man.  She closed her eyes to center herself around her heart-gate.  She couldn’t feel him now any more than she could a moment before but giving herself a focal point within would keep her from being pulled off balance.

“You waste your talents,” he said.  She had to keep him talking; the source seemed to be moving around her coming from multiple sources.  “What do you think you accomplish, taking children away in the night? Are fairy tales meant to scare children in the flesh?”  The voice seemed to be encircling her now.

“The children are not yours.  They have lives of their own that they will choose how to live them.  The Order cannot decide how before they’re off their mother’s apron strings,” she said.

“These children have no mothers; their apron strings are those of the Order,” he said. “Would you raise them yourself? What life could you possibly offer them with more choices than the world the Order can offer them?” he trailed off in laughter.

“There are those yet to be controlled by the Order,” she said. “You preach to the people you occupy that the world is a safe place within your embrace, yet fight on multiple fronts! Each one I bring across the border is another—“

“Is just another calf to be sent to slaughter,” he cut in. “More mouths to feed; more stain on a world overrun with narcissism.  It’s pitiful, really; people like you. The more you struggle to be free, the more you’re tied down by your own chains.  It’s nothing worth this much effort, I assure you.  The Order comes: what refuses to comply is always eliminated.”

Around her, the brush began to stir as men poured out of the thick foliage.  She was exhausted, but she knew there was no choice left.  As with all things with the Order: if the cog didn’t fit the machine, more force was required.

*

Kayne scrambled through the thick forest on foot.  With all the commotion in the inner city, it had been simple enough for him to slip away unseen.  The panic that fueled his flight had lessoned only slightly in the hours since Gallet’s assault.  It was odd, though he’d grown up on the streets of Kanton, the treacherous forest terrain  seemed like a second playground under his feet.  Just keep running, he thought, keep running.

He had abandoned his military issued armor in favor of the speed he had in his simple leather jerkin.  The only metal he carried was the rough iron of Gallet’s knife.

His training with the forces of Order had taught him about the power of adrenalin to affect one’s endurance but as the forced his way through the thick brush of the forest he realized he’d never run for so long in his life. When you’re running away from everything you ever knew, you’re fleeing from a boulder down a narrow corridor.  The thought irked him.  He could have easily marched with the gate patrol back into the city to see to Lord Kant’s estate but Gallet’s command echoed in his mind.

Reassert your life, or you’ll have made an enemy of me.

How could she be so hypocritical? He wasn’t the only one.  What about the rest of the children back in the Ministry? What about his sister?

With that thought, he came stumbling to a halt leaning heavily on the thick bark of pine wood.  He would have to go back for his sister. Life was hard within the Ministry; he had been old enough to look out for her, made sure no one would take advantage of her, but with him gone – hell, deserted – who could care for her?  He would provide for her, no matter the sacrifice.  He wanted more than anything a world where his family could create something for themselves.

He suddenly became aware of just how exhausted he was.  His breathing had been labored but it wasn’t until he stopped that the magnitude of his flight caught up to him.  He stood taller, panting with the tree supporting him, the chirp of insect and animal alike an ever-present soundscape. In his sudden calm he looked about; the trees grew tall, undisturbed this far into the wilderness.  The canopy was thick, but rivulets of light danced in the darkness.  The forest was alive, alive as Kanton, alive as the stone of Ysillia itself.  At the heart of all life there was struggle. Through the unfamiliar noise of wilderness he heard sounds of something he knew: the sound of fighting.

He crept forward, careful to leave all plant life undisturbed. The last thing he needed was to alert the party to his presence and join the fight without ever knowing what it was for.  He stopped behind a thick tree with a large clearing just beyond and saw a winged creature fighting desperately with three swordsmen. A daeva – he’d never actually seen one before. She was obviously wounded, though from the scattered bodies it seemed that she had dispatched several other men. Her wings held to her back limply with the aid of a belted cloak as though broken. She favored her right side but she moved as lithe as a serpent, striking blows and dodging sword.

Even with their superior numbers and wounded prey, it was obvious that the men were outmatched.  Her claws sliced through flesh followed by a hammer blow, knocking one of the men off his feet.  The two remaining circled, careful not to let the daeva inside the defensive range the swords provided them.  The swordsmen swung at her, trying to push her into the other – she danced gracefully around their blows trying to force them to one side of her, but the men had kept her far from the tree line and though she still danced nimbly around each blow it was clear that running was not an option.

The attackers worked in a pincer. She turned to face the man who’s sword swung at her in a downward arc; one hand caught the sword mid swing followed by the cracking of bone as she twisted and broke the man’s wrist.  She pivoted, her other hand around the attacker’s neck, using the momentum of his strike to follow through into the other man.  The second attacker took the opportunity to, instead of going for the killing blow which would have landed his head on a platter of earth, thrust his blade deep into the daeva’s thigh. The sword fell weakly from the first attackers now limp hands and the daeva let out a bestial cry, falling to the knee of her wounded leg.

She crouched in guarded position as the second attacker backed safely out of her reach. Even with her superior skill, this fight was nearly done.

“Enough!” came a voice to  the right of the melee. The moon shone brightly through the clearing on a huddled mass.  A figure rose from the shadow – a man; his silver hair shone brightly against his black cloak.  He threw the mass at his feet forward revealing a sobbing girl tied hands to knees, her golden pigtails were sodden in dirt and tears glistened in her eyes as they met Kayne’s.  They widened in a moment or recognition.

“Steady your hands or the child dies,” the silver-haired man said.

Kayne only had moments to act. If he chose poorly, it would mean the death of his sister.

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