WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds) (28 page)

“Stop.” The sound of an explosion came loudly; to an untrained ear it sounded like one blast. Ash, whose hearing was acute, was aware that in fact three separate shots had been fired. In the same instant, three blue-violet branches fell from the tree he was under, one on either side of Ash and one in front.

Ash froze. Keeping a tight hold on his human shield, he glanced down, then up. Either his adversary was an excellent marksman or he had been astonishingly lucky with those three shots. The branches were a few centimeters wide and it appeared that all three tree limbs had been shot purposely to land to either side and in front of him.

Ash swore. Impossible targets, executed flawlessly and at speed. With a sinking feeling he realized that the man’s shooting had nothing at all to do with luck.

The armed man had been watching Ash through the sight of his rifle. He lowered his weapon slightly, and stared at Ash with steady, pale-blue eyes. “I’m a good shot,” the man said with a nod, acknowledging Ash’s startled realization. “You let him go and you get to live. You don’t and I’m going to start by putting a bullet in your foot. You’re going to be in a world of pain if you make me shoot you in the foot because I’ll hit a knee after that. Then maybe a hand, or your elbow.” There was no give in his adversary’s expression. “You’ll beg me to put a shot between your eyes by the time I’m done.” The man’s finger was on the trigger. “I’m gonna count to three …”

There was a moment’s deliberation. Ash could threaten to kill his captive; it wouldn’t take much to break his neck. But this would be an empty threat; Ash wasn’t a murderer.

But he was trapped.

Ruthless animal instinct welled from somewhere inside.

Trueborn
!
Inhuman
!

Ash felt his heart pound. Escape was an overwhelming need that rose up and crashed in upon him, the kind of unconscious driving urge that would cause an animal caught in a snare to chew off his own limb. He could kill this man if killing him would save his life. Animal reasoning made such an action obvious and uncomplicated. There was no confusion of morality. Ash began to tighten his grip.

But it will not save my life.

Human logic brought Ash back to himself. As fast as it had come, the urge to kill the man disappeared, leaving him in a cold sweat. His grip loosened. He was out of options. He couldn’t outrun a sharpshooter.

“One …”

Without a word, Ash released his captive.

The prisoner, once freed, fell to his knees panting with fear, or a lack of breath, or both. He crab-walked toward the safety of his friend.

The other man gestured with his weapon, “Hands up.”

His face set in an expressionless mask, Ash raised his arms, alert for any chance of escape.

“What do you think we got here, Ein? Some sort of wild man?”

The man, whom Ash had released, stood up. He rubbed his neck and shoulder, massaging where Ash had wrenched it. “Taro’s teeth, I’ll say he’s a wild man,” he replied with feeling. He seemed well aware of how close to death he’d come. “The Deceiver knows what would have happened if you hadn’t been here. Kill ‘em, Del. He hurt me.”

“Plenty of time for that. What’s your name, boy?”

“Sinto,” Ash lied, the name of an old school mate coming to mind. Guarded as a child, his natural reserve had served him while hiding on Opan. He doubted these Feral’s had Icom, so they would be unable to check his real name, but it was better to be safe. Months from turning eighteen, he was still underage. Even if they discovered he was the last surviving Delian, he could be forced into an Indentureship.

“Sinto, eh?” Del murmured, rubbing his bearded chin. “Where you from?”

“Tombay.”

“Balls to that. Brother, you ever heard an accent like that?”

“No, sir, I never,” Ein replied, looking at the stranger with new interest.

Brothers, Ash realized. He should have guessed. Del, clearly the smarter and older of the two, had red hair and a dark beard that sat on an enormous jutting jaw. His partner had the same height, coloring and features, but the similarities didn’t end there: they both smelled of old sweat as though they’d never washed. It offended Ash’s keen sense of smell.

“Looks like we got here an off-worlder. There’s a reward for finding one,” Del mused. “Still, if we turn him in, them government boys will just kill ‘em. No point in going all that way, just to end up dead. May as well kill him here and save the trip.” Del’s eyes narrowed as he looked Ash over. “He looks fit.”

Ein kept his distance and rubbed his neck. “He’s strong. I bet he’d be good in the mine.”

Del’s smile was slow, his blue eyes calculating as he looked Ash over. “True. We’ll keep him on a bit and get some work out of him. We can always kill him later.” He nodded to his younger brother, “I’ll guard ‘em, you get the rope.”

“Sure.”

Ein came back and under Del’s supervision wound a rope around Ash’s neck. The twine was then pulled down his back and his arms were tied behind him. The remainder of the rope went back around Ash’s neck and was tied off so the tail end made a lead. It was a strange but effective constriction that highlighted the men’s inexperience with prisoners. This heartened Ash.

As Ein worked, Ash suffered the indignity without reaction. He was used to stoically doing as he was told and waiting to see what he was supposed to do next. He had years of being feted and paraded as the heir apparent to thank for that, not to mention being formally dressed on a regular basis by his old valet, Hen. Good old Hen. Ash felt a momentary nostalgic twinge.

“He don’t say much, do he?” Del said. “That’s good. Maybe he’s an escaped criminal and already knows the lay of the land. All the better for us.”

Del and Ein started to walk, pulling Ash along by the rope around his neck. “C’mon, Sinto. We got work for you and it don’t get done standing here.”

Ein moved into the brush to retrieve his gun. The men walked until they came to a well-hidden, rusty old speeder. With Ash tied securely between them, they got in and took off. Ash looked for some small glimpse of Seeta, Teella or Long Fang, but they were too well hidden. Contact was impossible with his current state of mind. His wolf family may never know what happened to him, he realized wretchedly.

He was flying well out of mental reach.

I have been asked many times how I was able to discover Omni. I’ve asked myself the same question. The obvious answer is, I don’t know. In truth, I believe that the time was right for its discovery. In my heart I feel that I was given many hints and in fact led by the hand; like a child through a dark wood by a caring adult. Perhaps there was a higher purpose, laboring for the benefit of all of humanity, working through me.

— Dr. Brent Jenkins, Quantum Physicist, 2075,
Biography,
Omni: All of Everywhere

A
fter some time, they landed near a dilapidated shack, thrown together from a collection of felled trees, tar, mud and rock. Near the shack was a working mine. It was surrounded by a combination of primitive equipment, all of it rusty and old. The men got out of the speeder. Ash, with the rope around his neck, arms tied behind him, was tugged out of the speeder like an animal on a lead. Aware of just how dangerous these men were, he complied without resistance. He was made to sit under a tree where his legs were also securely tied.

Ein’s expression was childlike, as if he had just received a shiny new toy. “Never have had me a slave,” he said, bringing out the makings to roll a cigarette.

“Me neither,” Del agreed. “I only ever worked like one.” They both laughed.

Del squatted down near Ash. “This is the deal, Sinto. You’re going to work our mine. Got that?”

Ash nodded.

“If you do a good job and bring out lots of rock, we give you food, water and even free board.” He chuckled, amused by his little joke. “Maybe even a woman once in a while if you do real good.” Del was nodding while speaking, as if explaining it all to himself. “But if you don’t work, you’re going to go hungry. We might even beat you up some.” He paused to let that thought sink in. “You wouldn’t want that.”

Ash shook his head emphatically.

Del’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “Or we may just kill you straight out.”

“I’ll work,” Ash replied, not wanting to infuriate his captors. If he seemed submissive, perhaps it’d give him an advantage. He would be given the chance to get away and when he was, he would take it. All the while he was calculating, taking in his surroundings, preparing himself for any opportunity.

Del studied Ash, rubbing his chin through his thick beard. “You thinking on escape? I wouldn’t try it if I was you, Sinto. You got Chinters.” He laughed loudly.

Ash frowned. He had heard the phrase: “Chinters Chance” or “Chinters.” The fringe dwellers often used the expression. The story went that William Chinter was a fourteen-year-old boy that was kidnapped and sold into an Indentureship. Before regulation, private concerns often procured such slave workers. William, being in the wrong place and wrong time, was taken. His parents, Liz and Tim Chinter, never gave up, finding their son three years after he had been kidnapped. He had died of frostbite after his last escape attempt — they were just hours too late to save him.

William had an Icom implant, which had been disabled prior to his kidnapping, but the Icom writing facility had been preserved. His parents had retrieved the diary of their son, post death, and published the autobiography of his experiences. It became a United Worlds bestseller. Those guilty were punished, laws were changed and Indentureships became more regulated.

William Chinter had never given up trying to return to his family. He had escaped twenty-two times, his punishments after each escape becoming more and more severe. Every detail of his experiences, his treatment and his bids for freedom were carefully recorded. The child never once doubted; he was certain he would be reunited with his family once he was free. William had unswerving confidence and faith. This was a recurring theme throughout his Icom record and his parents did find him after he escaped. William Chinter had died with a smile on his face.

Now “Chinters Chance” or “You’ve got Chinters” was a common Freeworlds expression meaning, “In your dreams,” or “There is no chance at all.” Del wanted Ash to know that no matter what, he would remain a slave.

Del, the older brother, went to the scrap pile and started moving bits of metal. “Yep, this’ll do. We can make something out of this later.”

He and Ein were both weary of mining for tadium, the rare metal that was used in matter transport. The mine they were working did have small amounts of tadium but digging was back-breaking labor. They had planned to make a big strike and be able to live on their instant wealth. So far their plans hadn’t worked out. They had taken up selling wolf pelts to other Ferals, as it seemed an effortless way to make quick credit. Unfortunately, finding and killing wolves hadn’t been easy either. But with a slave laboring in the mine, they wouldn’t need to work at all.

Del left in the speeder and returned with a neck shackle and chain. He removed the rope and fastened the fetter around Ash’s neck so the metal ring was securely in place. The handcuffs were next, and Ash had his arms locked together, behind his back.

That same day Ash’s routine was set. He worked with the ring around his neck, but without a chain during the day. Instead, one of the men sat outside the mine, on guard. The two men had, from scrap metal, erected solid bars at the mouth of the mine, securing him inside. It was heavy enough that it took both men to move it. At dusk Ash was again chained, always by both men, one standing at a safe distance with a weapon trained. Ash was never allowed out of the mine or allowed to properly wash. If the sanitary conditions were appalling, the food was even worse. Escape was impossible.

Ash grimaced. His leg manacles had rubbed off his leg hair. He considered notifying the Authorities via Icom, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was still seven months too young. He needed to be eighteen or he could be forced into an Indentureship. Also, he felt uncomfortable after those broadcasts. The authorities wanted him, but why? Until he knew more he wasn’t willing to give himself up to them. He would find a way to escape. If matters became desperate he would send an Icom alert then.

Ash had mind-touched his captors many times, but was unable to find out much of use. They were brothers, both lazy. Del was indifferent to his misery but Ein had an almost childish sadistic streak; he enjoyed punishing him for any infraction. Thankfully Del kept Ein mostly in check. No education and moronic intelligence — it was a continual source of amazement to Ash that the brothers had thought of such a foolproof method of keeping him prisoner.

Winter was coming on and it was cold in the cave. Despite the lack of food, hard work and endless monotony, what Ash found most difficult to endure was loneliness. His power grew weaker during the privation of captivity, and he found he could not psychically reach far from his body. There were not many animals within mental distance to touch; even the birds kept away from the desolate mining area. Ash missed living contact. For the past four and a half years he’d spent every spare minute that he had in contact with the animals of Opan and, if he was close enough, with the fringe dwellers. Contact was second nature to him. When he wasn’t experiencing an animal through mind-touch, he would at least be communicating to one, like he did with Seeta, Long Fang and Teella.

Ash had buried the King’s Mirror at the first opportunity and so far its hiding place was secure. Sometimes, late at night, when Del and Ein were asleep, Ash would dig it up and hold it. It gave him comfort, reminding him of his childhood home. He was drawn to the Talisman as if it was a living thing. Not only that, it seemed to Ash as if the Mirror didn’t like to be alone either.

Ash listened to the silence of the night. The brothers were asleep. He crawled to his hiding place, lifted the rock he had placed as a marker, and dug down.
Yes.
The King’s Mirror was aglow. He had been accustomed to almost total darkness, so the blue radiance was intense. If he hadn’t been held captive he would never have noticed that glow.

Ash looked at it for some time until something tight inside him loosened. He gazed fondly at the largest stone. That oval Damithst was as big as an eye. Technically, it was this large stone that was the talisman. The other stones had been added later, and as time went on the guard was referred to as “King’s Mirror” or “Chayton’s Right Arm.” The account of Jenkins and the Talisman was a closely held secret. It was a verbal history, passed from father to son. As a direct descendant of Jenkins, Ash knew a little of the Legend. If his father was alive, and he was still on Delian he would have been told the entire historical account once he became Trueborn.

Ash caught his breath in sudden realization. Now he would never know.

He was the last of his race, the only one in the entire universe who knew the history of the King’s Mirror. Ash swallowed, feeling the loss of his heritage anew.

He recalled his father telling him that the first King of Delian had abandoned his birth name and identity, and had chosen the surname of Chayton. The name meant falcon in the Sioux Indian tongue. The first King of Delian had been half Sioux. The Sioux were a warrior nation of spiritual people. Brent Chayton had chosen this name because the falcon was swift, beautiful and regal. It was also aggressive, which marked the falcon as a leader.

His father also told Ash what his own name meant: Ashton came from old English, meaning pleasant and blessed, while Rynan was a Gallic derivative of King. Ash smiled. Ashton Rynan Chayton. He remembered being quite satisfied with the significance of his given names at the time.

The first King had named Delian after the Delian League, founded in 477 BC on Earth. An enthusiastic student of history, he had admired the concept. When Athens began as a Greek city state it was surrounded by undesirable land, which could barely support a few olive trees. It was off the main trading areas; it had no port and its army was weak. Despite all these flaws it became the most prominent of the Greek city states. It was the first democracy of a substantial size and, in many ways, became one of the few true democracies Earth had ever seen. It became a center of thinking and literature, producing philosophers like Socrates and Plato; art and architecture flourished to an unparalleled degree. The King of Delian wanted his new world to follow in its namesake’s footsteps.

But this was all background. The real story was about the first King of Delian, Ash’s great, great, great grandfather; how he had founded Delian; and how his wife, a famous seer, had discovered the King’s Mirror. Ash thought back, recalling his father telling him the tale at his bedside as a child. Ash closed his eyes, holding the Talisman close, and curled up to remember his home, his childhood, and his mother and father. Without a ripple, he slept, dropping into the pool of his past.

K
ing Jarith’s straight, coal-black hair was tucked behind his ears. He was speaking softly to the eight year old. This was because this story was a secret, and like all secrets it needed to be shared in whispers. “Listen, my son, and I will tell you a tale that my father told me, and his father told him, and his father’s father before him. Once upon a time there was a young warrior who was born and lived on a Sioux Indian reservation on Earth. His name was Brent Jenkins. Brent’s mother was a Sioux Princess, but Brent’s father was not an Indian.”

“Life was hard for Brent. This was because he was what is known as a ‘breed.’ This meant that when Brent was with white children, they didn’t want to play with him because he was “red.” When he was with Sioux children, they didn’t want to play with him because he was a “breed.”

“But why?” Ash asked. “Why wouldn’t they play with him?”

“People are often afraid of anyone or anything that is different. It is called prejudice, Ashton, and it is something ignorant people do when they don’t know better.”

Ash frowned as his innocent mind processed the concept. It was a foreign idea, not easy for a child to understand. Ash had never observed or been victimized by such narrow-minded behavior. After a while, Ash said, “It’s stupid.”

Jarith’s laugh was low and soft. “Yes, son, it is stupid. I am afraid that humans individually, and as a whole, are capable of great stupidity.” He took Ash’s hand. “The police, the authorities for the Reservation, were bullies, too, and from a young age, because he was a breed, Brent learned how to fight and look after himself.”

“He was a good fighter?”

“Oh, yes; with hands, knees, elbows and feet. He learned to be merciless when he fought, although I never heard that he killed anyone. He had inherited the warrior side of himself from his mother. Brent avoided fighting when he could, but if he had to fight he was ruthless. It was a hard world he grew up in.”

Ash nodded.

“Brent’s mother, although full Sioux, was outcast to some degree as well. This was because she had married a white man rather than a full Sioux brave. His father was white, living with her on an Indian reservation. So this family of outcasts had each other and, in truth, with the love they had the intolerance they suffered didn’t matter. Brent rarely went to school. He spent much of his time in the woods or at home, learning on his own. Brent’s father was a hobby astronomer, and gave him an abiding interest in the stars.”