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| >> Campfire Creative >> Other >> Sci-fi >> ID #1836933 |   |
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| [Introduction]
3257AD, Earth Oxford is gone, bombarded from above and abandoned below, and the war has truly begun. It has been five-hundred years since last Earth rose up against Deklahn, since they were crushed and subjugated to the worst that the Empire had to offer, but much has changed since then. Their school of rebels may be rubble, but many of their people and all of their ideas have survived, and now the rebellion, so long in hiding, has risen from the ashes to fight once more for freedom. Around the world, hidden bases now rouse themselves, putting into motion plans laid down over centuries. Rebels, hard and fierce, come forth from the shadows and strike at the heart of Omega. It is for this that they have trained and for this they have planned. Once more into the trenches goes Earth, and Omega shall hear their war cries. But Omega is watching, and Omega has plans themselves. They have always believed that Earth would once more rebel, once more prove themselves traitors. The Royal Family of England is captured, and many more world leaders head to the chopping block, strapped to a Doctor's chair or a Surgeon's table. And Omega has other secrets, terrible secrets; plans that infiltrated Oxford itself, and now seek to infiltrate the war. Rebel Earth is rising. But will it rise for long? ***** Oh, Earth, do not fear the loss of our symbols. Do not cry for despair. We are still here, Earth, and the war begins in earnest. You must not run from it, my brethren, but stand tall and proud against these oppressors. We will not abandon you. We will not leave you. We will never leave you. We come now to the dark times, dearest allies, the war and the death times. Times that will test us all. But you must not lose hope and you must not give up. Deklahn is coming. And we will be there to meet it. ***** This campfire is the sequel to:
To the Authors: Admittedly, I was lax about this policy during Renegade Earth, but I am instituting a one week policy. PLEASE follow this. I hate skipping people. It hurts my soul. Seriously. And do know that if you leave W.com, the rest of us totally reserve the right to do horrible things to your character including torture, death, and karaoke nights with Laras. So try not to leave, kay? Rules is rules. We all know them by now. And we're too cool to need them spelled out. Any questions? Ask me. Shouldn't be, though, 'cause we got this. Feel free to throw crazy plot twists and whatnot in there. Just make them, you know, make sense. |
 Quaddy  Edward Godwin, somewhat King of England, was lost. No, not physically, for his ragged feet led him unerringly through the terrain of Oxford town, but in every other respect, he floundered completely. Three days ago, his mother Edwina, Queen of England and holder of his trust until twenty-five, had elected to die in order that he might escape Deklahn’s prison and find his sister Amelia at her rebel training program in Oxford. This morning, he’d found out that Oxford was gone, a pile of rubble and dead bodies, and no one knew who’d escaped, if any. And no one could tell him about Mia. So now he was King of a nation at war—a nation without a King, as far as Omega was concerned—an orphan, and quite probably the last living member of his family on this planet. And he had no idea what to do with any of it. From birth, he’d learned diplomacy and languages, history and philosophy and political theory. He’d had tea with ambassadors, and solved mock international emergencies with his future advisors. He knew which rulers to bow to and to which merely a nod would suffice. He knew how to deal with Deklahn, when they came sniffing around like a pack of bloodhounds. But in all these things, his weapon was words. It was knowledge and charm and eloquence. In no manner did he actually know how to fight a war. And if Mia were dead, he would have to. No one seemed to recognize him as he trundled his way through the streets of Oxford. Everyone knew that Edward had been captured, and more, everyone knew he was something of a dandy. Always perfectly coiffed and dressed, nails clean and polished, smile bright white. This dirty, tattered man could no more be their King than the King could be a beggar. Everything in Oxford was chaos, except for the Omega camp he’d almost run into in his panic to get to the remains of the school. Beyond their electronic watchdogs, temporary barracks stood in organized rows, not a speck of dirt or human filth anywhere. Well, that might be because most Omega agents weren’t human. Not really. Descended of the first humans who’d long ago branched out from Earth to conquer their own solar system, yes, but humans no longer. So perhaps human filth was not to be expected. Nonetheless, it was strangely ordered, reminiscent of old Roman camps from all those millennia ago, and cut an impressive swathe through the rubble and smoke surrounding it. Edward did not approve of Omega or Deklahn. Of course he didn’t. How could he? But he did not particularly approve of Oxford and their war, either. And he was especially unhappy with his Mother, who’d decided to allow Mia to attend that blasted program after all his sister’s years of whining. And yet the thought of being angry with his Mother seemed somehow blasphemous, considering that she was now dead. War was never the solution for anything. It was messy, it was chaotic, and one could never be assured of anything but death. Regardless of who won, people would die, cities and towns and schools would be destroyed, and irreparable damage dealt to the entire planet. As King, it was Edward’s job to protect his people. How could he be protecting his people if he was killing them for some ‘glorious’ cause? Worse, his sister had elected to become part of it. She was learning to fight, to be part of an elite group of soldiers for whom their body was a weapon. Last he’d heard from Mother—for Mia never deigned to write letters like a proper sister—she was studying poisons and other such ignoble means of death dealing. A Princess of England, learning to become a veritable assassin. Edward didn’t know what to do about that. It wasn’t that he didn’t want his sister to be happy. He wanted her happy more than anything in the universe—except safe. If she could not be safe and happy, Edward would much rather have her safe. She was a Princess of England, not some street harpy with nothing to prove and no duty to fall back on. Mia should be safe, and she should be with him, helping him rule their nation and steering it toward peace. For, more than anything, King Edward of England wanted peace, even if it meant living under Deklahnian rule. He just wanted a touch more freedom for his people, a few more liberties and a few less indignities. He knew Mia despised him a little, for that stance. Oh, she still loved him, for Mia was a person far more vastly capable of love than anyone he’d ever met, but there was a part of her that could never forgive that he would sacrifice complete freedom for peace. That he would accept a foreign power looming over them forever, simply because it maintained the status quo. It was the one thing they never spoke of, because Mia would quite probably break a few of his bones before the conversation was over. Edward stopped running the second he came within site of the school. It wasn’t a small place, encompassing a fair few buildings and streets, but it had been completely demolished, from the glories of the medieval buttresses all the way to the faux-ancient facades of the past few decades. Not a single beam remained standing; they’d all collapsed into the tunnels below, likely crushing anyone beneath. He wondered how many had survived. Likely a few: the smartest, fastest, and most prepared. The ones who knew how to react in a chaotic situation, or who at least knew to plan for such a contingency. Edward was not ashamed to admit that Mia was one such. Perhaps not a planner—no, she always went on instinct and had the forethought of a gnat—but definitely one who reacted well in situations of panic. If there was a way for her to escape, Edward believed she would have found it, and used it. If there was a way to escape. Or, rather, that she had access to it. It was, after all, a very large school. Sighing and leaning against a building, hiding in an alleyway so people wouldn’t see him so readily, Edward stared at the rubble and tried to plan what to do next. It was doubtful that he’d be allowed to comb the place for his sister. Omega would take care of the clean-up, gathering as much information as they could from the rubble, and the people of Oxford would be left wondering just who’d survived what. It was truly war, and no one benefited from it. There was a slight scuff on the cobbles behind him, and Edward made to turn, to see what had caused it, but was stopped by a sharp blow to the head. And everything went dark. ***** Erik Mitchell was tired of darkness. He was tired of darkness and unwashed human smell and dirt and fright. He was tired of running hunched over, the press of human bodies keeping him from slowing or flagging in his run. And he was damned tired of not knowing where the hell they were going. There was no way to tell how long it had been since he’d escaped into the secret tunnel beneath Oxford; Charon’s plan, no doubt. With Phelps, who’d been wheeled in first and was probably a mile ahead of him at least, a team of nurses checking again and again that he was still breathing, that his condition had not worsened in the dank tunnel. There were no lights—apparently the number of refractors they’d need to light the thing would have proved too great a burden on Oxford’s supplies—but the tunnel only led in one direction. And the river of bodies flowed inexorably onward, toward whatever escape Charon had planned for them. Come to think of it, that damned Russian was probably behind this tunnel, too. It would be like Professor Nikolao to make it as uncomfortable as possible for everyone. Erik wondered if he’d gotten out, if Mia had managed to escape with him. Their salle was on the other side of the school, almost as far from the medical wing as could be imagined. They hadn’t wanted any of Laras’ ‘accidents’ to impede the infirmary in any way. But it meant that the run from salle to tunnel was at least fifteen minutes, and they’d only had ten. Erik wondered if they were alive. He wondered if anyone he’d known was alive. Mostly, he wondered if Mia were alive. The Princess would be a great loss, and not just because she could fight. Erik was no tactician, but a person had to be damned well blind not to recognize the strategic importance of someone like Mia Godwin. A lodestone, a symbol around which everyone could gather. A rallying point for Oxford’s survivors, who’d be scattered and devastated after the loss of their school and many of their friends. The loss of their home, and before now, the symbol of their entire movement; the rebellion, freedom, escape from Deklahn. A chance to rise up and return Earth to its former glory. A symbol like that needed to be replaced in some way. And Mia was the perfect person to become that symbol. If she’d survived. A low susurrus of whispers reached him, then, rolling back from the front of the group. Light! The end of the damn tunnel—literally—was even now being breached by the first of their entourage. Erik grinned and let out a sigh of relief. It had felt like days to him, and he was a pretty good judge of time after years inside a lab. He wondered where they’d gone. Where Charon had decided was safe enough for a huge group of escaped Oxford students to surface. It was always good to get a clue into the mind that was Charon Trusko. Erik had been at school for three years and he had no more clue now than he ever did. A paradox wrapped in an enigma, as someone had long ago said. That was Professor Trusko. An unsolvable riddle. Probably another hour went past by the time Erik caught sight of the light. After that, things went quickly, as the tunnel opened up and everyone surged forward, the thought of escape and rest giving their limbs new strength. Within twenty minutes, he’d run the last three miles—at least as far as he could judge—to the mouth, and burst forth into a room, the sunlight streaming in through massive holes in the wall. There were ruins everywhere. In fact, they’d all poured out into one of the only fully standing structures as far as the eye could see. Ancient stones had tumbled and had not moved for hundreds of years, lichen and moss-covered now, home to insects and worms. A perfect place to hide, as no one had been there in years. “Cambridge,” Erik whispered to himself. “Bastard took us to Cambridge.” A soft chuckle with only the barest of hysteria rumbled beside him. “And why not? A school for a school.” Erik turned and saw Professor Trusko leaning against one of the giant pillars. “It reverted to the throne of England some years ago, after Deklahn decided they no longer wanted it, and King Harald was kind enough to give it to Oxford. He didn’t see much use for a crumbling ruin, either. Thought it might serve as some sort of outpost for us.” Erik raised an eyebrow. “You’re looking remarkably clean for a man who’s just run eighty some miles in two days.” “Such an American,” Charon replied. “Still haven’t adopted the metric system after all these years. What are you, one of three countries?” Erik shrugged. “Ten at least, since Deklahn. Including this one, actually. They favor the old way, and several nations have given up the metric system in favor of ounces and miles. I am well aware of the metric measurement; I just naturally use the Americanism. You didn’t go through the tunnels, did you?” Charon shook his head. “No. I drove. But I wanted to make sure everyone got here all right before we go our separate ways. Have you seen any of the Professors? The Princess?” “No. Well, I’ve seen several of the Professors, but of the Russian and his Princess, no. I have a feeling they were too far to make it to the tunnel…” Erik looked down at the ground, a surprising tightness overwhelming his chest. They last time they’d spent any time together, he’d nearly killed Mia. She’d broken his face for the trouble, but it had undoubtedly put a damper on any friendship that might have developed between them. And then the rumors about she and Laras started going around, and he knew she’d never be a friend to him, then. Laras had never been particularly fond of Erik, especially since Erik had decided to go into science instead of martial combat. The Russian never liked anyone who couldn’t ‘cut it’ in his class. Hell, he never liked anyone—except maybe Phelps—at all. Until the rumors started circulating about him and Mia, Erik wasn’t sure he was even capable of human emotion. Charon’s face quirked just slightly before he gained control over himself and sighed. “I am quite certain Laras had a back-up plan. He always does. We’ll have to meet up at the rendezvous point.” “Where’s that?” Charon shook his head. “Not you. Apologies, Erik. But the fewer people who know, the better. We’re at war now, and any one of us can be broken.” The Professor’s words hit Erik like a baseball bat to the stomach. “War,” he breathed out. “Oh God.” “Let’s just hope he’s with us, shall we? Now,” Charon straightened and tugged at his coat to straighten the lines. “I’ve got an announcement to make to everyone, and we have to deal with the logistics of everything. Don’t think we didn’t plan for this day, Mr. Mitchell. We planned for just about everything. Including this.” Charon walked off, toward a place where the rocks fell to form a sort of dais on which the Professor could stand and speak. A sharp tap to his throat—the Professor attaching a sound amplifier, no doubt, so everyone could hear him—and Charon coughed. The sound reverberated throughout the entire hall so that everyone, even those wandering about in the fields, could hear. “Everyone, please gather ‘round.” The space had not been build to hold the hundreds, if not thousands, of people that now attempted to squeeze in together for Charon’s message. Erik could barely move, pushed in on all sides by his fellows, but he tried not to think about it. Charon had something important to say; something that would determine their future as a rebellion. And war was on. “Ladies and gentlemen of Oxford,” Charon began, his voice mellifluous, barely a tremble to reveal his obvious distraught state. “Our school is gone, and war has began.” He held up a hand now, forestalling anyone from speaking. “I know, this is horrible news. This is the culmination of all of our worst fears and our darkest desires. We could not have wished for a worse start to our war of independence, but it is the hand we have been dealt and which we will now play.” Charon paused for a moment and cleared his throat again. “Upon entering Oxford, each of you were given a number and told to memorize it. Some of your numbers began with a zero and a dash, others began simply with a number. Aside from the zero and the dash, each of these numbers is comprised of six digits. Erik Mitchell, what is your number?” “323-647,” Erik replied. A gasp from a young woman near him. “Me, too!” she cried out. “You are to get to Bermuda. Our scientific research facility is located there.” A murmur ran through the crowd and Erik’s eyes widened. “Coordinates,” he called out. “Our student numbers are coordinates?” Charon nodded. “Indeed. These are the locations of our various enclaves. Should Oxford ever be compromised, these numbers would provide you with your new assignment. You were told from day one that your student numbers were important and that they would identify you to your new location. Surely someone thought to figure that out?” Thousands of heads shook in the negative. Charon frowned. “That kind of complacency will get you killed. You are now combatants in a war of rebellion! People will be attempting to find you and kill you, and to destroy every remnant of insurgence fomenting on this planet. From now on, each and every one of you is a traitor to Deklahn. You cannot afford to be so accepting. You must always feed your curiosity, challenge yourself and your fellows to do whatever you can to win this war. Because if we don’t, we die. And not only do we die, our planet dies with us.” “Where are you going, Professor?” A voice called out. “As I said to the last person who asked,” Charon replied, finding and eying Erik in the crowd. “For the safety of this position, the fewer who know the better. Anyone can be compromised. Remember that, too, when you share what you know. Anyone can be compromised. And where I’m going should be the last place on the planet Deklahn can get to.” ***** “You think they’re reforming at Blarney Castle?!” Edward held a compress to his head with one hand and sipped at some tea with the other. It was awful stuff, but a good cuppa was what he needed right then, even if it was absolute drek. “Ireland, of all places?” The man across from him shrugged, brown hair brushing over his shoulder and down his back. “That’s just what I managed to figure out for myself. I figured there must be a back-up command center of sorts—Charon and Phelps are too careful to have everything centered at Oxford—but no one ever mentioned it. No one ever talked about Ireland, but then we started getting communiqués from there a few months ago. I wasn’t supposed to know about them, of course, but nothing can stand in my way if I decide that I want to get something done. So I went searching, and I found that said communiqués actually went back several years. And not a single damn person ever saw those things except Charon and Phelps.” Edward frowned. “So you figured that Blarney Castle must be the secret back-up location for the rebellion?” “Well, yes,” the man replied. His name was Jeffrey and he’d apparently been living here for some time. Oxford town housed more than just the school, apparently. Something that even Edward and his family hadn’t known. Several safe houses were stationed about the town, meant for agents and spymasters to hunker down if they ever needed to come to the school for some reason. Jeffrey was a student, but he knew where all of them were. It didn't inspire much confidence. “It makes sense. It was a secret that Charon and Phelps kept, sharing only with Laras after he proved himself worthy. They even kept it from Stephens, which proved something of a blessing, from what I’ve heard.” Edward raised an eyebrow. “How have you managed to garner this information? Are Oxford’s security protocols so weak that a student can so easily bypass them? I thought the school was supposed to be damn near impregnable.” Jeffrey’s brown eyes sparkled with amusement, as if he knew a secret that he wasn't telling. Knowing Oxford, he probably did. “Well, nothing’s perfect. Stephens apparently turned coat some years ago and managed to keep it a secret. And I imagine Phelps gave away a bunch when he was captured. That’s pretty wide knowledge, actually. Everyone knows Phelps was taken and brought back. That’s the reason Omega blew us up and took you guys prisoner. Your sister got caught on some sort of hidden camera. Killed everyone she met, but couldn’t kill the stream.” “You’re saying my sister…was a part of this operation?” Edward pulled the compress from his head and sighed. It had been Jeffrey who’d bonked him on the head, dragging him to a safe house while he was unconscious. When Edward wished to leave, he would be rendered unconscious again—preferably by less painful measures—and escorted from the town. These rebels were certainly careful. Apparently even the most careful of peoples made mistakes, however, or else Oxford would not be a steaming rubble and his sister would not have gotten caught. “’Course. It was her idea, wasn’t it? Convinced everyone to go and get him back after the first infiltration got him taken in the first place.” Jeffrey sighed. “Listen, your Kingliness, there’s a lot you don’t know about your sister. Girl cursed me like a common doxy the night she got here, ‘cause I tried to break into her room. Knew it was hers, but they brought her in earlier than anything in the information said. Phelps didn't tell anyone. But she’s a right powerful personality, and she belongs with us. I don’t know what you’ve got planned, but I wouldn’t be trying to stop her or nothing.” “It is none of your business what I plan for my sister,” Edward snapped. “But if you think she would have headed to Ireland, then I will go to Ireland.” Jeffrey nodded and grinned for just a moment. “Good place for it, though. County Cork. Bunch of rebels from time out of memory. And hardly anyone knows about it. I just know it’s there and I can guarantee that no one else does." Now he grew serious, fiddling with his mug and staring out the window. "My job was to make sure that didn’t happen. I was part of a team that intercepted all incoming messages and security feeds and encrypted them before destroying the original. And I am the only person left of that very particular team left uncompromised. The rest of them are dead, and all of their information has been destroyed. All that’s left is encrypted out the ass, and I have forwarded it to Ireland. You want to know how I’m sure it’s Ireland? Because it’s my job to be sure.” “You’re a Crypt Keeper?” Edward dropped his teacup onto the table and winced as it shattered. “Mother told me about you guys. Aren’t you the world’s biggest security breach?” The man’s face fell and he looked down at the table, staring at the broken glass. “I am. That’s why, should I be captured, I am to kill myself rather than let them question me. My life depends on staying free. For that reason, I won’t be staying here anymore after you leave. For the rest of my life—or until this blasted war is over—I’ll be jumping from place to place. My entire life is in a backpack. Just a student, and I have the lives of thousands of people on my shoulders. Hell, an entire war's worth of intelligence floating around in my head.” “Why do it, then? Why spend your life in such a manner? Is this war worth it?” Edward leaned back. His head was beginning to feel light, his eyelids heavy. Apparently, Jeffrey had put something in the tea. The man nodded. “It is completely worth it. If my life can buy freedom for this planet, I will gladly lay it down again and again. Now, I will get you out of Oxford. You’ll have to get to Ireland by your own means, though I do recommend getting to Bristol and taking a boat of some sort. Sleep tight, your Majesty. I'll take care of everything.” ***** The world came back to her in gradual degrees, darkness of mind coming to be replaced by an outward lack of light. Everything hurt—that hit her immediately—but she seemed able to breathe all right. Definitely had a broken nose, but she knew that already, and she seemed to have added a broken arm to the mix and quite probably a contusion. It was good she had managed to wake up at all. Everything came back to her in a rush, then. The explosion that had rocked their salle. Laras pushing her out of the way, sacrificing himself to save her, a damaged lung for the trouble. Then another quaking blast that had caused the walls and ceiling to come down around them. Laras had tried to demure, to stay behind, convinced that he would die. But Mia wouldn’t let him. She couldn’t let him. Laras could no more die than the sky could fall. A world without him in it, a war without him by her side, without his solid presence guiding and mirroring her own…it just wasn’t possible. She wasn’t about to lose him. Because there was no point in winning the war if she couldn’t do it at his side. There’d been a tunnel. Laras had had it built just in case they were cut off from the rest of the school, trapped in the salle. They’d been about to climb into it, frantically trying to get out of the room before it collapsed around them, when the ground had given way and she’d tumbled into the darkness. A brief flash of light behind her eyes, the crack of her skull against the rock below, and everything had faded to nothing. Scrambling to her knees, wincing at the pounding of her head, Mia began to clamor in the dark, searching for something to light up. Laras would not have installed any sort of lighting in the tunnel—far too likely that someone could trace the power source and find them—but she had to be able to see. And she couldn’t hear Laras, not even his breathing, in the darkness. He wasn’t allowed to die. But he’d already done damage to his lungs, and then he’d had to leap down here on damaged legs. He had to be all right, though. Laras Nikolao couldn’t die just when the war was beginning, just when everything he’d planned for was coming to fruition. He’d always wanted to leave Oxford; he couldn’t die when that was finally happening. Mia forced herself not to cry. He wouldn’t want that. And she was done with tears, anyway. Her family was dead, many of her friends were also probably dead, and now Laras…it was just too much. No tears would come even if she’d let them. All was dead, all was numb within her, but for the butterflies of panic flitting in her stomach, wondering if Laras had actually left her. Wondering if she could do anything to bring him back. Her hand alighted on her cell phone and Mia grinned, sliding it open and allowing the soft light to glow throughout the tunnel. It was finished, at least, and not merely packed dirt reinforced with steel rings, but it had nothing to Tada’s sophisticated tunnel leading them into Omega North. It would work, though, wherever it led. Hopefully close to this ‘friend’ Laras spoke of. She didn’t know how far she could carry him, and there was no way she’d leave him behind. Dead or alive, he was coming with her. She knew he would mock her for her softness. He’d tell her that it was a waste of time to bother with him; he’d only slow her down, compromise her ability to take care of herself, be a distraction to what she had to do. But Mia didn’t listen to Laras at the best of times; why should she listen now, when he wasn’t even there to gainsay her? Laras was lying about a foot away. Mia could see that his chest was rising and falling, but barely. With a sharp cry, she launched herself at him, ignoring the pain radiating through every last inch of her body. “Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead,” she whispered, pressing her head to his chest and listening to a heartbeat. Nothing. She pressed her fingers to his wrist and let out a great sobbing cry of relief when she felt two solid, if slow, heartbeats. “You damnable bastard. Do not die on me. You are not allowed to die on me.” Binding her hands together, she pressed at his chest in a solid rhythm, stopping only to breathe into his mouth. She knew it was useless to perform CPR on a man who had a heartbeat, but if she could kick start it just a little bit more, maybe she could get him out of here. The only question was, how badly had he damaged his lungs and was she making it worse in attempting to breathe for him? She had to get him out of there. She had to get him to the friend he’d mentioned. Where…where was it he’d said they lived? Greve House? Gleve? Glebe! Glebe House! The tunnel went in one direction, toward Marley Wood. Knowing Laras, it had only the one entrance. Probably came out of a tree, or something. “Oh well, nothing for it. I’ll have to carry you. It’s not that far.” Laras was not a light man, and Mia was very injured, but her legs and back were fine, and the break in her arm was at the wrist, so she would just have to deal with it. It was a little pain against the life of her beloved Professor. Well, she guessed it was probably partner now that he had no one and nowhere to teach. Her lover, if not quite her friend. There was no way she was leaving him to die. Carefully, wincing at the pain and trying not to do any more damage than had already been done, Mia gathered Laras into her arms and slung him across her back, bending at the waist. Laras had taught her that a woman’s strength lay in her core, in the power of her hips and legs, the abdominal muscles and the birthing cortex. If she wanted to bear the some sixteen odd stone bulk of her bloody Russian, she’d have to do it using that strength. Slowly, stopping often to breathe and to calm the pounding in her head, Mia made her way down the tunnel, carrying Laras with her. It was an inglorious start to the war. ***** Glebe House was surrounded by trees and mostly hidden from the world around it, only a trail to indicate the approach. The park was huge, and Mia was exhausted, every muscle twitching and near to giving out, only sheer will keeping Laras on her back and one foot in front of the other. She supposed it was good that hardly anyone could find it, or else she might have been found. The tunnel had only been a couple miles long, all things considered, but it had seemed a hundred to Mia’s pained limbs. It had not ended in a tree, however, much to her disappointment. It had, rather, ended beneath one, the roots used to disguise the entrance. So, Mia supposed, she could at least take comfort in the Alice reference. And in the cover of the trees. No one would look for them here. It was private property and the man who owned it was no fan of Oxford, nor of the rebellion. A transplant from Deklahn, he’d been an official of the Republic for a number of years before retiring at taking the property for himself. It was a daring move for Laras to tunnel beneath it, but a smart one. And one that meant Mia could rest for a few minutes before once more shouldering her burden and carrying on. Mia was not precisely used to sneaking, but she’d taken a few lessons from Charon and Phelps, and a forest was no difficult thing to hide in. The sun barely made it through the canopy, so a search from above would be difficult, and a search team on foot was unlikely. At least not for several hours, when the first Omega agent would decide that a few desperate souls might seek succor in the forbidden wood. By then, they would be out. Eventually, she found the house, an unassuming stone house of two stories and peaked roof. A carriage house stood on the left, a kitchen on the right. Mia wondered how to approach the house; Laras had never explained to her (admittedly, she hadn’t let him), and he was now too unconscious to be of any help. It was a friendly house, but that didn’t mean she could just walk to the front door. A sharp pain in her foot caused Mia to jump and she almost lost her grip on Laras. A spike stuck out of the earth, sharp enough to pierce her shoe and draw blood. Within moments, a wave of electric tingling washed over her, leaving every hair standing on end. She sighed. “I can assure you, I am who I look like, and he is exactly who he looks like. He said you were a friend and could help us.” A light came on in the carriage house and the door opened a few inches. Limping on her punctured foot, Mia managed to drag Laras the last few hundred years and through the door, which promptly shut behind her. “The House of the Lord is always open to settlers,” came a voice. Mia smiled despite herself. It was a code phrase, and one of the few she’d managed to remember over her year of training. “The Blood of the Lamb is always comforting, but Freedom tastes sweetest,” she replied, drawing herself as straight as she could with Laras on her back, unwilling to let him go until she could be assured of his safety. “Please, he is dying and I can’t do anything about it.” A man came out of the shadows, his face sandy and unassuming. “I am Joshua. Please, let me take your burden and give him what care I can. You cannot remain here for long; not if you wish to escape the tightening noose and make your way to the war.” Mia sighed in relief as Joshua took Laras from her back. “My poor friend,” he whispered. “It is not time yet for you to die. You have too much yet to do, and the darkness is just beginning. And you, your Royal Highness, you do not appear to be well. It is a brave thing you have done, refusing to abandon him.” “I couldn’t,” Mia choked out, blue-green eyes coming to rest on the face of her beloved. “He would have wanted me to, but I couldn’t.” Joshua smiled. “Come with me, ma’am. I will fix you two up, and then send you on to wherever you need to go. I imagine Laras knows well enough where he’s supposed to head when this is over, but I have no idea. All I can do is get you healthy and well fed, and outfit you for the journey. You will have to wait until he wakes up.” Mia nodded. “It won’t take long. He’s a stubborn bastard and there’s a war afoot. As long as he lives, he’ll wake up just so he doesn’t miss the fun.” Then her legs gave out on her, and Mia fell to the ground, unable to get herself up again. Wonderful start to the war, indeed. She wondered, as Joshua called for help from one of the servants, if anyone else had survived and whether or not they were in better shape than she. Knowing them, she imagined not. This was not the war they’d wanted, and they were probably doing just as badly as she, all things considered. The thought comforted her, and she allowed herself to drift off to sleep, safe in the knowledge that she was with friends and that Laras would be all right. © Copyright 2011 Quaddy, (known as GROUP). All rights reserved. GROUP has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
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