The Wasteland Soldier, Book 3, Drums Of War (TWS) (13 page)

He clasped her chin, studied her bruised face.

“Hmm, that’s unfortunate. You will tell Brian you fell.”

She nodded.

“You will tell him you fell, Shauna.”

She winced as his fingers pressed into her skin.

“I fell. I’m clumsy.”

“When Brian returns from Touron he will light the beacon to mark the first day of the Summer Blessings.”

He delicately brushed hair from her eyes.

“And then the world will change, Shauna. And you and Brian will have your reward.”

He let her go.

“Now, is there anything else you wish to talk about?”

TEN

It had been a noisy day in the blazing sun with very little for them to do but watch the crowds spend a large amount of coin on food, drink and a selection of items which Nuria described as junk, though she spotted something that brought a smile to her face and made a small purchase of her own, hastily tucking it into her pocket before Stone grew curious.

Boyd had assembled trestle tables outside Earl Hardigan’s property before dawn, on a long bank of grass where other stallholders had gathered. They helped him carry his wares from the truck but no matter where Stone or Nuria placed something he was behind them, shuttling them out of the way and rearranging it. As the sun broke across the horizon the village surged into life. In the blink of an eye, or so it seemed, hundreds of local people descended upon the green and throughout the day hundreds more arrived by horse or wagon. They witnessed the passing of many coins and began to understand the strange economy that underpinned this land and how it appeared to stop a man killing another for the goods he possessed.

“Boyd was right about coins,” said Nuria. “It’s all good natured. Look how they haggle and shake once a price is agreed. Everyone’s smiling.”

“There are markets in Gallen,” said Stone, a little defensively.

Nuria nodded.

“But no one is getting their throat slit for what they have. It works here.”

He had no argument with that although it was not all harmonious. There were a few drunken grabs at bulging money bags and a handful of disagreements but nothing that paid guards or Churchmen soldiers could not deal with.

Early in the afternoon, stomachs rumbling, Nuria sent Stone to purchase food. He threaded through the crowds onto a common ringed by open tents and stalls with awnings. The green was in the shadow of a Holy House and swarmed with people. The air was sticky and thickened with the smell of cooking and sweat and animal shit. There were more children here, engaged with a selection of games, variations of the same thing; pitching rotten fruit or wooden balls from a distance into a wicker basket or at a row of small objects balanced on wooden stakes or through a hole carved into a gaudily painted piece of cloth nailed taut across a wooden frame. But the games were busy and the children squealed and clapped and once again he witnessed scores of metal coins passing hands. It didn’t appear to matter that hardly anyone won and he wasn’t sure what the prizes were supposed to be if they did.

He followed his nose to a stall cooking strips of meat over a smoky fire. The cook had bright eyes, a bushy ginger beard and whistled a tune through fat red lips. Stone left with his coin bag lighter and was about to return to Nuria when he spotted another green where men and women grunted loudly beneath the cloudless sky, indulging in arm wrestling and tug and dragging logs. He looked on, far more interested. The wrapped meat was hot and greasy in his hands. He decided to move on and passed a five piece band performing beneath a striped awning; pipes and tub drums and stringed instruments.

A small audience jigged and clapped and dropped coins into a bowl.  

He spotted her, by herself, head bobbing from side to side, fingers hooked in the waistband of her trousers.

She turned, suddenly, brown hair tumbling onto her forehead. Her cheek was red from where her mother had clattered her.

“I looked for you all night.”

He frowned, then remembered Kevane’s joke, and nodded with a grim smile.

“I’m no monster.”

“I know that.”

She paused.

“Is this the first time you’ve been to Great Onglee?”

He ignored her question. “Why do you keep trying to run away?”

It was there in her eyes, for a moment, a tiny child playing hide and seek, peeking around the doorway, just to look, just to check, and then the child was gone, masked by the smirk.

It was her turn to ignore a question. “Do you like the music?”

He shrugged.

“You don’t know anything about music, do you?”

“Not really.”

“They’re called
Dream State.
”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are they called that?”

“It’s the name of the band.”

He nodded, juggled the hot food.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“Gallen.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s a long way from here.”

“Is that where you got that scar?”

“That’s right.”

She lazily kicked at the ground. “What happened?”

“A man took a whip to me.”

“Why?”

“He was weak.”

She flicked her head. “Did you kill him?”

“Do you have scars?”

She blinked at him. He saw the child peek from the darkness, linger and then disappear.

“No.”

“Scars that only you can see?”

“No.”

“Scars that you can’t tell anyone about?”

Kaya glanced at the hundreds of people milling around; talking, drinking, eating, lives without fear, without regret, lives with certainly, with hope, bright and brighter still, unstained by patches of black and brown that soaked through and became impossible to wash out.
She was floating amongst them, out of control, trapped in a bubble, helpless, screaming to break free. They looked but couldn’t see her; she cried out but they couldn’t hear her. Her heart beat fast and she took deep breaths. Her lips drew thin. Her eyes emptied of mischief. She balled her fists, stretching the skin white and dug her nails into her palms. It was the first thing she thought of, it was the last thing she thought of. It was all she was, it was all she would ever be.

Stone saw the distress and placed his hand on her shoulder but she flinched and snarled at him.

“I don’t want to see you under my bed. Or anywhere.” She fled into the bustling crowds.

He watched the untidy mop of brown hair vanish from sight and glanced across the village toward the Earl’s estate, where Nuria paced beside Boyd’s stall, crossbow over her shoulder.

They ate in the shade of a tall tree. He picked listlessly at the meat.

“What’s wrong?”

“This has no taste.”

Nuria chewed.

“It’s not halk. But it’s not that bad.”

Stone said nothing.

“We haven’t seen any halk since coming here. They have a lot of different animals. And different names for animals we know.”

He plucked apples from the tree and tossed one to her. Slowly he recounted his conversation with Kaya.

“Do you think her parents are abusing her?”

“Possibly,” said Stone. “Her mother clouted her good last night when you were in the truck.”

“You don’t seem convinced.”

“Someone is scaring her. I’m not certain it’s them.”

Nuria bit into her apple, chewed slowly. “I’ll keep watch for her tonight. She might talk to me. Have you told Boyd you’re going?”

“No.”

“He won’t like it.”

“His problem. Not mine.”

“I don’t want you to go and that’s your problem.”

He shook his head.

“No, it’s yours.”

She had no words for him through the afternoon. She thought of the purchase she’d made and wondered whether to throw it away. Then she forgot all about it and chased off a few thieves. As dusk settled the merchants began to pack away. The music still played and the food still cooked but the children’s games had closed and only adults remained and now the drink flowed in abundance. Stone sought out Boyd. The portly man was concealing a chest of coins inside the truck.

“I’ll be back before dawn. It’s only a two hour ride from here. She’s your friend. I thought you’d be pleased.”

Boyd fumed.

“The city will kill you. Do you not get it? Quinn has a way of surviving. You don’t, Stone. You’ll die in Mosscar. Now, I’m paying you to protect my truck. Not take the bloody night off. Keep your nose out of it.”

“Then don’t pay me. It shouldn’t matter after tonight, should it?”

“You can’t survive in Ennpithia without coins. This isn’t Gallen. I keep trying to tell you.”

“What do you know about Gallen?”

“I was born there – remember? - and I know it wishes it could be half as civilised as Ennpithia is.”

Stone narrowed his eyes.

“Nuria is more than capable of protecting you and your cargo.”

“I don’t have a choice,” said Boyd. “Do I?”

“For once, no.”

Stone found her behind the stables. She had set up targets and was practising with the rapid fire crossbow.

“What if you’re wrong?” she said.

“I’m not.”

She fired. The bolt thudded into the target. She cranked the lever, bit her lip.

“You’ve been wrong before.”

“Not this time.”

She pulled the trigger, cranked; another bolt dropped from the magazine and she fired again.

“It’s a good weapon,” he said.

She didn’t reply and went for speed, counting down as she fired and cranked, fired and cranked, rapidly exhausting the magazine.

The crossbow clicked empty.

“I’ll be back before dawn.”

“If you’re wrong you won’t ever come back.” She shook her head. “You selfish bastard.”

Stone said nothing more as he took one of the horses and rode away into the deepening dusk. Nuria watched him disappear and her stomach twisted bleak and empty. She heard Kevane and Maurice arrive at the Earl’s property to replace the two men who were on duty through the day.

“Where’s Stone going?” asked Maurice.

“Off to watch the dancing girls in the tavern,” said Kevane. “Racking up his tally of sins.”

“Quinn would never leave Boyd’s truck.”

“I’m still here,” said Nuria, slinging the crossbow over her shoulder. “I can manage, thank you.”

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Will you shut up, Maurice?” said Kevane, elbowing his companion. “You really know how to charm a woman, don’t you?”

“Last night he was asking about Mosscar,” said Maurice. “Is he going there?”

“He’s going there,” she said.

Maurice crossed himself. Kevane studied his boots and scratched his head.

“We’d better get to work.”

She climbed onto the truck and stared ahead, numb.

Stone picked at the remains of a small fire with the tip of his boot. He spotted prints in the soil.

He lingered in the growing shadows of the dark forest, staring at Mosscar, thinking of Nuria and the anger she’d directed at him. She was right to be pissed. But Quinn’s niece, a girl he’d never met, a child, had been taken from this world, and he vowed to push those responsible bleeding and begging from existence. The wind whipped around him.
He scraped his hand down a tree trunk, the bark healthy. He plucked a leaf from an overhead branch, sniffed it, let it sail to the ground. The sweeping countryside turned silver, a three quarter moon sitting in the dark sky. He stroked his horse, whispered to her and tied her to a tree.

Armed with crossbow and revolver, he moved half-crouched across the exposed scrubland.

The metropolis loomed before him; tower blocks with terrible cracks through the brickwork, highways of buckled asphalt, half-collapsed bridges, crumbling into almost nothing. He had seen cities buried beneath centuries of ash and dirt and rubble but he’d never encountered a city ravaged by vegetation. He kept moving toward it. There were no lookouts. His boots touched a hard surface. He edged to his right and spotted horse tracks less than a day old.
They had come up the hill, three of them, from the direction of Brix. The tracks stopped, overlapped and then swerved into the city. He spotted puddles of dried blood.

Stone rubbed a hand over his beard, angled the crossbow toward the city.
He had seen men and women suffer vile deaths at the hands of the sickness. It was what they all called it. There were no names for the myriad of illnesses that blighted mankind. Sickness was sickness and once inside Mosscar he would be infected within minutes and dead within days. But his instincts had kept him alive this far and there was no wailing scream inside for him to turn around and run.

There was something coiled in the grass. He stooped, lifted out a belt of knives and recognised them. Quinn had been captured. And she had been right. Whoever was responsible for the death of Clarissa most likely had her as well. The belt was too short for his waist or chest so he carefully folded it and jammed it into his pocket.

He crossed into Mosscar.

The most obvious way to hide a lie was to place it in plain sight and you couldn’t get more plain and visible than a city.