Everwinter: The Forerunner Archives (34 page)

"Slaves?" I ask, butting in now. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly as I said it," Ativan counters. "Those that they don't rob and kill at the roadblock, they sometimes take as slaves. Women mostly, if ya catch my meaning." His gaze falls on me and I shudder.

"Gods," I whisper, my hand going to my mouth.

"How many slaves?" Altair asks, unaffected.

Ativan mulls it over. "I really don't know specific-like," he replies. "I only seen a couple, now and again. They keep 'em locked up most the time. They look pretty bad though. Estimatin', I'd say they got three or four, but I know they'se always lookin' for more." He hesitates. "If I was you, I'd keep young Juno here as far from them as possible. Wherever you'se is trying to go,
don't
. Head back. Find another way around."

I look at Altair expectantly. "Maybe he's right," I say. "I mean... Why risk it? We could take one of the other roads, go through Endura instead of bypassing it."

Altair shakes his head. "There was a reason I wanted to bypass Endura. It was for this very same reason. Endura has a rogue element running things there, very much like this Grimm group. They could even be an offshoot."

"Aye, I'd considered that as well," Ativan offers.

"Is there any other way around?" I ask, suddenly feeling helpless at the situation.

Ativan opens his mouth to answer, but Altair cuts him off. "Perhaps, but it would take us
weeks
from our current path. We've been delayed enough on this journey. We need to get to Everwinter soon if we're gonna–" He eyes Ativan suspiciously. "Um, if we're gonna do what we came here to do. Winter is fast approaching."

"Everwinter?" Ativan pipes up. "Why in the gods names would you be wanting to go there?"

Altair ignores that.

"I thought it was
always
winter in Everwinter," I interject. "You know, hence the name?"

Altair shakes his head. "It is, but the snow comes in cycles. In a few more weeks, the roads will be all but impassable for months."

"Oh," is my disappointed response. "Bloody ashes."

"He's right," Ativan confirms. "Though I still don't know why you'se're wantin' to head that way. Even after the Final Judgment, Everwinter mutants don't take kindly to our type." He brushes a hand over the rash on his face. The room becomes uncomfortably silent. Traylor and Glamis have said nothing this whole time. And Ursa...

Is she still in the bloody bathroom?

"Tell me more about the weapons they have," Altair breaks my train of thought.
 

I want to know about this too.

Do the Grimms really have Forerunner weapons?

"Well," Ativan replies, "they got two of them
‘tanks’ I mentioned. Massive things, nigh indestructible. They could blow this entire factory to bits with one shot." My jaw is on the floor. Ativan smirks. "Think of 'em as a giant shooting iron that you can drive around in."

"What else?" Altair asks. "What about shooting irons, specifically?"

Ativan nods. "Oh yeah, they got those and then some! They got some shooters I bet you never even heard of! Ones that fire a hundred shots a minute!"

"Yeah right!" I blab, making my opinion loudly known. "I've never seen
–"

"Juno," Altair cuts me off with a raised hand. "Such weapons do exist. But most were destroyed when Eversummer demilitarized
after the defeat of Everwinter centuries ago. They didn't need the firepower any longer."

I gasp. I'd read about that in the Forerunner Archives, but this is the first time Altair has made
his knowledge on the subject known. I need to get him alone, probe his brain, let him know what I now know. 

Ativan just looks confused. "As you say," he replies, "though I ain't no student of history. All I know is
that they got some nasty stuff over there. And nothing short of an army is gonna stop 'em."

The room goes silent again.

Altair looks at a loss, but he's deep in thought. We all are.

I shrug. "Well, maybe what Ursa said earlier might not be such a bad idea. If we can give them something they want. If some of them are injured..."

"I'd rather just find a way to sneak past them," Altair shoots me down. "Avoid confrontation altogether. I'll have to go spy them out first. We can take it from there."

"Where is Ursa anyway?" Traylor suddenly speaks up, looking around the room.

"She must still be in the bathroom," I say. "Maybe she's not feeling well." I stalk over to the water closet door. The room is little better than a stall, but the door provides complete privacy.

I knock. "Ursa? You okay in there?"

No response. 

"Ursa?" I knock again.

Again no response.

"There's no lock," Ativan says, getting up from his cot.

I twist the doorknob. The door swings wide.

An empty room greets our astonished faces.

However, a small window, but definitely large enough to accommodate a woman, stands wide open, admitting a freshening breeze.

I turn to Altair, eyes wide.

"What the hells did she do?" I ask.

49.

"I want to make a deal!" she screams, hands fully extended skyward, legs spread wide in a submissive posture. She thinks she must look about as threatening as a grain mouse. More spotlights flash into her eyes, fully illuminating the dark road and landscape around her. She covers her face defensively.

"Turn around!" a harsh voice orders her. "Keep your hands up!"

"Okay," Ursa agrees, doing as commanded.

Immediately, she hears the crunching of heavy boots on the crete stomping toward her. Her heart pounds erratically.

Gods, let this not be a mistake...

Rough hands grab her, forcing her own behind her back where they are securely bound with a pair of manacles. She'd expected that. Then she's searched, hands probing every nook and cranny of her body. It almost tickles, and she has to suppress a giggle. She's spun around, facing her captors fully for the first time. There are two of them, sent to greet her. Two mutant men with tumor covered faces. One has a nosebleed, seeming to drip constantly. 

"Move," Mr. N
osebleed commands her with a shove. She complies, not wanting to aggravate these people in any way. Once they find out who she is and what she can offer them, she'll be too valuable to mistreat. 

Well, mistreat harshly anyway.

"I'm a doctor," she says as she's moved toward the spotlights set atop a pair of vehicles much like the one she and her companions had encountered on the road earlier. On either side of the machines are the 'tanks' that Ativan had spoken of; massive, hulking things set on tracks instead of wheels. They're ancient, rusted, but she has little doubt they still operate. The canons at their fronts are pointed directly up the road from where she came.

"I can offer you medical treatment," she explains. "Please, let me help with any wounds you may have."

"Shut up!" one of the men screams, hitting her between the shoulder blades with the weapon he's carrying–a large rifle unlike any she's familiar with. The pain is intense and immediate, so she shuts her mouth.

For now.

There will be time for negotiation later.

She's prodded forward between the barricade, coming out in a large flat area lined with a dozen or so canvas tents. A flag on a pole flaps lazily in the breeze, revealing a
symbol with a skull and crossbones beneath it.
The symbol of the Grimms?
The camp is on high alert, every man (and even a few women) standing at attention with weapons at the ready. Every eye seems to stare at her hungrily.

This is starting to feel less and less like a good idea.

She's pointed in the direction of the biggest tent in camp, directly at the center of the compound. One flap is pinned open, revealing a soft, flickering candlelight within. A figure steps out of the opening, a very tall, thin silhouette. As she's brought face to face, Ursa sees the man is a skeleton, gaunt to the extreme, with most of his hair having fallen out, including his eyebrows. A large boil pulses above his right eye, causing swelling that almost forces the organ closed.

"Welcome," the man greets in a surprisingly high pitched voice. "Come in, come in." He steps aside to let Ursa duck inside. "Were there any others?" he asks the soldiers accompanying her.

"No, Magis," one of the men answers immediately. "Not that we saw. We've already dispatched the scouts to scour the area though."

"Good," Magis says with a wicked grin. "If she has friends, we'll find them soon enough."
 

Ursa gulps at that. Then she's pushed inside the tent.

It's surprisingly warm inside, a pleasant contrast to the chill, snowy air outside. There's a desk and chair at the far end, piled high with books and papers. There's also a collapsing couch and a few sparse blankets on the gravel floor.

The blankets are occupied.

Two women sit side by side, chained together by a pair of collars at the neck. Their hands and feet are also shackled, but with longer chains between to provide some freedom of movement. These must be the slaves she'd heard Ativan referring to before sneaking out his toilet room window.

She'd listened to about half of that conversation before finally shoring up the courage to actually do this. As bad as things looked right now, she had to remind herself that there was no choice. It was
her fault Juno and Traylor had to go through all this mess in the first place. Ever since they'd come into her life back in Venecici, the guilt had slowly gnawed at her.

And now time was running out.

She'd lived in Everwinter a long time, and knows that the snowier season is only weeks away. They have to get past this roadblock now, or this whole journey will be for naught. There won't be time to backtrack and go around.

And Altair and Glamis, formidable as they are, would be no match for
this heavily armed group calling themselves the Grimms. No, the only thing that was going to get them through this mess was negotiation. Safe passage in exchange for services rendered. She was a doctor, and what could be more valuable in a world fraught with disease than medical care?

The slaves, sparsely clothed, avert their eyes as soon as they see Ursa, one even bursting into tears. The woman probably thinks she knows what's in store for Ursa.

Not if I can help it
, she thinks.

"Hey, none of that now!" the voice of Magis sounds from behind. He pushes into the tent past Ursa and swiftly kicks the cr
ying slave woman in the leg. The slave yelps and pulls in on herself, curling up like a turtle.

Poor thing
, Ursa sympathizes. But there's nothing she can do for her.

Magis strolls over to the desk at the back o
f the tent, taking a seat in a creaking wooden chair behind it.

"Have a seat." He gestures Ursa to the couch.

Hesitating, Ursa sneaks a quick peek out the tent opening. The guards are there, standing watch. Sighing, she does as commanded, lowering herself awkwardly with her arms still bound behind her.

"Now," Magis says, lighting up a tobacco tube and taking a puff, "what's a pretty gal like you doing wandering out here in the Fringes all alone?" His tone is friendly, conversational.

Ursa hesitates again. She'd gone over what she would say to these people a million times in her head. Now, she can't find word one.

"Um," is all she manages to stammer out.

"Are you alone?" Magis asks, still laid back in his chair.

Ursa sighs. "No. That is why I am here."

Magis smiles. "Good. That's good. You didn't lie, and that helps build trust." He takes a puff on his tube. "Now, where are your friends?"

"Nearby," she answers as delicately as possible. "In hiding. You won't find them easily."

Magis grins. "Well, that remains to be seen." He stares at Ursa a moment, making her uncomfortable. "So," he finally says. "I assume you and your friends were on your way to Everwinter when you came across our little toll booth here." Ursa nods. "And you want to, um,
trade
something in exchange for safe passage. Am I in the ballpark so far?"

Ursa nods, though she has no idea what a
ballpark
is.

"I'm a doctor," she explains. "A genetic scie
ntist, specifically. I can treat anyone in your camp for almost anything that ails them."

Magis touches his face, the boil pulsing above his right eye. "Can you cure this?" he asks, pressing the growth with a bony finger. "Can you cure mutations?"

Ursa gulps then shakes her head. "Well, not exactly, no." She replies. "I could treat it though. Make the swelling go down." She pauses. "Do you have any wounded?" Her tone is hopeful.

Magis frowns for the first time. "We
did
," he replies sternly, "until we executed them yesterday."