Rebirth City

  It’s been twelve hours since the attack began. It’s still raging, no longer just along the coastline. The marines in the vanguard did their job and secured the ports and surrounding coastline. Seventy-two longboats lay empty along the coast. Their crew docked, landed, and beached their longboats anywhere they could, every crew of fifty is advancing as a group through the city, throwing massive amounts of destructive energy at every building and anything that moves. Collapsing structures, then turning them into unrecognizable piles of rubble. Flattening the city, erasing its history, culture, and identity.

  They are not all advancing unopposed. Defender Aquinas from El’Hat study is still up and fighting. At his side is Governor Anfal Nikitin, each alternate absorbing the assault from the two teams of seven that have linked with a fifteenth War Born. That war born seems inexhaustible and more powerful than either of the city defenders.

  Fighting parity has been achieved by utilizing weapons from the dragon priests. Anfal is wielding a meta-obsidian gladius to deflect a third of the attack, Aquinas has a bracer that disperses a similar amount. The rest is captured and returned in retaliation.

  The space in the twenty yards separating them is warped from the intense temperature and pressure as explosive kinetic and thermal energy are exchanged sometimes twice per second.

  “Come on Aquinas, let’s move forward. These overconfident fools have no weapons drawn. I can handle ten War Born; I’ll leave the other five to you.”

  With a nod of agreement from Aquinas they shuffle forward through the hot, thick air but stop when another team of seven War Born is spotted advancing up the street.

  “Stop them from joining the others or we’ll be overpowered for sure!”

  Both Anfal and Aquinas turn their attention to the advancing team of fresh combatants. Their sudden onslaught slows the advancing marines, but they are not deterred. When they are a mere step away from their fellow marines and about to link with the others, the defender and governor are left with no choice.

  Defender Aquinas speaks what they both are thinking, “Retreat.”

  Rebirth, Outside City Limit

  Two borrowed inu and a minor repair to an abandoned electric carriage, provide transport for Bobby to return to Rebirth City. From his mountain side vantage, the view from the horizon up is beautiful. The appearance of the city is another thing. No buildings intact, where once stood the oldest city in South Cenoka, now lays ruins, death, and the cries of the dying. In contrast, the dense smoke plumes that rise and pollute the sky transform the sunrise into a spectacular mural of orange, red, gray, and purple slashes of color.

  The familiar voice of his commander breaks his reverie.

  “This is our break, the enemy must pause their advance to unload their ships and reconfigure for ground warfare.”

  “And what should we do during this break? Will you attack or retreat?”

  “There is a third option.”

  “Oh?”

  “Hide; dig into the countryside. Shadow their movement and disrupt their advance until reinforcements arrive.”

  “I like the idea of guerilla warfare, but what reinforcements do you hope will arrive?”

  “The PPoV has a standing army.”

  “Ha! Parden my laugh, captain, but they are under provisioned, half starved, and the Party would never let them leave their borders.”

  “I never said the odds were good. There are the fabled Defenders, the locals fought well and may still be out there. While they are provincial, they’ve been known to band together to fight larger threats.”

  “I will not laugh because the truth is too tragic. Our intelligence shows many of the Studies are under the control of the North. We can only hope to receive minimal help from that source. Do you have anything else to pin our hopes on?”

  Anfal doesn’t answer but looks at the ground in the direction they all know lays the moon and the man who stands upon it.

  Moments pass before Bobby’s turn to break the silence, “I’ll pass the word. We’ll need every wind-runner working in shifts to hide ourselves and the two hundred or so refugees we’ve collected so far.”

  “Yes, and I expect those numbers to increase as we move.”

  Missacon, a town called Paka

  Their inu exhausted, a farmhouse with a barn and kennel set on the horizon is a welcome sight. Almost a month of running has brought them this far, their head start has kept them ahead of the other refugees that are sure to follow.

  “What do you say my Lady, should we sleep under the wagon or see if whoever owns that farm will take some of your coin for a room?”

  Terara absently pats her empty purse, “Let us see what they can offer.”

  It takes half an hour to make their way up the road and down the drive and reach the farmyard.

  The home, barn, and kennel are old and well cared for. Whoever lives here is fastidious and keeps things tidy. Terara should be glad for their good fortune, but something feels familiar but off.

  Clovis draws the cart to a halt in the yard. Brake engaged; he hops down to assist the lady before tending to the carriages lone inu.

  “If you give me a moment, I’ll accompany you to the door.”

  “That won’t be necessary. Take your time with Bebe, she’s been a good girl and would benefit from a good scratch behind her ears.”

  “Suite yourself, milady.”

  Terara wishes she was as confident as she was pretending, something feels strange about this farm. Maybe it’s the region, she’s used to mountains and buildings blocking her view of the world. Out here where it’s flat she can see for miles. She shakes off the feelings brought by the land’s emptiness with a momentary shudder and approaches the home.

  Stepping up onto the wood planked porch, she looks at the screen door and notes the wood is thick with multiple coats of paint with no signs of chips. That’s a good sign; she tells herself to stop worrying.

  Before she can knock on the flimsy screen-door frame the inner door swings open violently.

  Terara is stunned, aimed directly at her face is a double barreled shotgun, something she didn’t know existed until this moment. Statistics, ammunition options, and care instructions fill her head as her knowledge inheritance regurgitates everything relevant to the weapon.

  She barely has time to grasp that there is a War Born woman wearing denim coveralls wielding it.

  Nothing is said for ten heartbeats.

  Finally, Terara gathers her thoughts and addresses Clovis, “Clovis, we have a problem.”

  From behind and in a voice uncharacteristically contrite, “You don’t say.”

  Risking a quick glance over her shoulder she sees there’s another War Born woman with a knife to her driver’s throat. She’s wearing a sundress.

  Collecting herself Terara says the only thing that comes to mind, “We haven’t much but will surrender whatever you require, if you’ll let us go in peace.”

  Somewhere in the heart of the house a baby begins to cry. Another ten heartbeats pass.

  Agitated the shotgun bearing War Born lowers her weapon, “Oh, Free’er! Melia, mister fussy pants is awake and it’s your turn to feed the gremlins.”

  Melia lowers her knife, “You’re both lucky the babies woke up, or we’d have you both hogtied and stashed in the barn before momma got home.

  “Finish caring for your beast and go wait inside. Momma and Pappa will be back soon enough.”

  Fliting up the steps, Melia passes through the screen door now held open by the barrel of the shotgun wielded by her sister.

  When the coverall clad woman lowers her weapon, Terara backs away slowly cautiously rejoins Clovis, not taking her eyes of the armed War Born in the doorway, “What was that all about?”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Scratching his chin thoughtfully, “I’d say they were bored and wanted to play.”

  Deadpan, “That’s some game they play.”

  “War Born, play hard.”

  “Yes, but what are two War Born women doing on a farm in Missacon and dressed like that!”

  Clovis cocks his head to the side, “She said something about babies?”

  “Yes, it’s apparently the one called Melia’s turn to feed them or so said the woman with the shotgun.”

  “A shot-what? Oh… we have those now, excellent.”

  The woman with the shotgun has been standing in the doorway, barrel down, “You two can come in and wait for mamma and pappa to get home. I won’t shoot you, `less they tell me too.

  Holding the door open with an extended arm, “I’m Sandy, that was my sister Melia.”

  Not having a better option and curiosity overcoming her fear she gives Clovis her best look of confidence and marches back to the porch and boldly enters the house.

  The room is well lit from the many open windows, the furniture is what you’d expect, just like the outside, everything is old but well cared for.

  “Have a seat anywhere, I’ll be right back.”

  Disappearing into the kitchen, Sandy retrieves some glasses and a pitcher of lemonade.

  “You don’t look to be selling anything, are you passing through and in need of a place to stay?”

  Clovis answers, “You read the situation perfectly. We are refugees intending to take shelter in Brusk Valley.”

  Sandy didn’t expect to hear that name but hides her surprise behind a question, “Refugees from what, was there a storm or flood on the west coast?”

  Trading glances and silently coming to agreement to let the lady speak for the two of them, “We are fleeing an invasion. Rebirth, the city and the state are lost, I’m afraid you won’t be safe here either. The invading army is huge and plans on sweeping west to east and leaving the continent lifeless.”

  Sandy suppresses a shiver, “That sounds glorious.”

  Lady Terara is shocked at her honesty, “Glorious? It’s unprovoked wholesale murder.”

  Sandy takes a seat to keep herself from looming over her two guests, “I’ve been here for the better part of a year. Farming and raising a child have not been enough to quell the urges; the urges that our people suffer.

  “If my parent’s fail today, I’m afraid of what may happen. I thought I would abandon my child and return to my people out east. But the idea of joining a marching army is a powerful one. You should not have told me of it.”

  Wanting to change the subject, the lady asks, “You and Melia are both mothers? Excuse my bluntness, but this is a most unexpected situation. How did two War Born women find themselves living on a farm in one of the most remote parts of Missacon, and with babies of their own? None of these things are common to your kind.”

  “As I told my mother when I showed up on her doorstep all those months ago. It’s complicated.

  “We have time to… to… pass. It can’t hurt to share our story.

  “Melia and I belong to a stable War Born enclave that has successfully provided a safe home for our kind for hundreds of years. Discipline is strict and rules are rigorously enforced, one of them is, no children are to be raised there.

  “I see your about to ask for an explanation, you’ll not understand the answer. Just accept it as a right and just provision that ensures our community stays in equilibrium.

  “As you must have already concluded, Melia and I were with child and were required to leave.

  “When I left this home as a child, I was told I was welcome to return, any time, no questions asked. So here we are.”

  After sipping her lemonade, “Your mother is compassionate; I look forward to meeting her. But more so I would very much like to meet your babies. While we wait for your mom and dad to come home, why don’t you tell me about your children. Maybe you’d let me hold them?”

  Sandy flatly states, “No.”

  She abruptly stands, “Excuse me I must continue the dinner preparation or momma will be disappointed.”

  With that said, Sandy leaves the two confused refugees to themselves and returns to the kitchen.

  Not long after, the playful sound of squealing babies and a woman’s laughter emanates from upstairs.

  Time passes, nearly an hour goes by with the two refugees sitting in the quaint farmhouse front room, while hearing sounds of play upstairs counterpointed by the sounds of food preparation from the kitchen. After the chaos and of the invasion, a week avoiding hunting parties, and a cross-country rush to stay ahead of the mass of refugees that follows, this sudden homey experience brings a level of peace, neither knew they needed.

  Unexpectedly, Melia is standing in the middle of the room, smiling, “Are you two asleep? I asked if I could join you.”

  Lady Terara snaps out of her trance first, “Yes, of course. We are your guests after all.”

  “Not so fast, this isn’t my house. You’re not guests until pappa says you are.”

  “Of course, I did not intend to invoke any rights associated with a visitant treaty.”

  Plopping into a plush chair, “Our mayor back home had us all attend classes on the etiquette and customs of you humans, visitant treaty is a new term to me, but I can guess its meaning.

  “What did Sandy tell you, maybe I can fill in some blanks.”

  Melia’s offer sounded sincere, Terara decides to pick up where her previous conversation broke down.

  “Can you tell me about your children?”

  “No, what else would you like to know?”

  Clovis steps in, “I’m curious about this mission you mother and father are on, that is so important.”

  “Doing chores and caring for babies can only distract us from our nature so much. Finding an outlet for our aggression is their mission.

  “Twice a year there are regional contests that include wrestling both livestock and people. The problem you see is that women are only allowed to compete against other women and none will face either of us.”

  Naively Terara asks, “Can’t you spar against one another?”

  “We’ve done that a thousand times. Our people are rarely monogamous in our personal relationships because of our nature, sparring the same person over and over is just as boring and unfulfilling.”

  Catching on, “Ok, I believe I understand that your parents are asking if you be allowed to join the men in competition?”

  Barking a harsh and abrupt laugh, “Oh, I wish. We’re hoping they’ll let us compete against the beasts. The men would be no challenge.”

  The clatter of an inu drawn carriage draws near.

  Melia leaps up and darts into the kitchen, “I hope you’re done, they’re home.”

  A moment later Sandy exits the kitchen while wiping her hands on the apron she now adorns and joins her sister in the front room facing the door.

  Terara and Clovis watch with fascination as the two War Born women stand fidgeting excitedly while awaiting their parental figures to enter the house.

  Finally, after several minutes, the door opens, and momma enters.

  She takes stock of her daughters and two apparent guests before brushing a rough hand over her white hair.

  “I have good news, the competition committee has agreed to allow you two to compete.”

  The girls allow their happiness to touch their eyes, but their demeanor changes. Both women no longer look like excited little children and stand with muscles tense.

  Sandy speaks, “You’re not saying everything, do not hold back because we have company.”

  “A messenger arrived while the council was conferring.” Glancing at the two strangers she continues, “There’s been an incursion to the west. It’s most likely to spill over into our lands.”

  Sandy looking determined, “Then we will fight them. They will not drive us from our home, mamma.”

  A man, who must be pappa opens the screen door and enters the room, his black hair a stark contrast to mammas, “My sweet baby, not this time. There will be thousands of them, you have no chance.”

  Melia speaks direly, “Then our fields will drink the blood of thousands. We’ll bleed this human army until they no longer have the will to fight.”

  Mamma sobs, “Oh, honey. Not this army. They are War Born and lead by ones with the gift. Even the legendary Terius the Terror could not stop this force on his own. You must come with us, everyone at the competition meeting agreed we need to flee.”

  Lady Terara was held back initially because it was a conversation for family, when it turned to the invasion she stood up.

  Addressing both patron and matron of the house, “If you forgive my intrusion, my name is Terara. My companion Clovis and I are seeking a night’s respite from the hardships of the road. We too are fleeing the invading army from the north.

  “I’d like to invite you to join or follow us to Brust Valley. They are building a fortress meant to shelter refugees and to serve as a barrier against the invaders while our Defenders muster a response.”

  Pappa Ned looks the two up and down as Clovis stands silently at Terara’s side.

  Finally, having come to a conclusion, “That’s a good offer if I ever heard one. If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to take your offer of hospitality to our neighbors.”

  Clovis and Terara talk over one another as they rush to agree, “Of course.”

  Momma realizes she skipped introductions, “Please excuse my manors, today’s unsettling news has me forgetting my manners. I hope the girls greeted you appropriately and extended our hospitality.

  “I’m Liz and this is my husband, Ned. You’ve already met our daughter’s Sandy and Melia. We’d be honored to offer you both rooms for a night or two, as well as provisions before seeing you on your way.”

  “Thank you, one night will suffice, we must be on our way at first light.”

  “That will be for the best, we have a lot of work to do. It’s been agreed that we should leave nothing behind for the invaders. It will take us a day to load our wagons with everything we can carry, and another two, maybe three days to ruin the crops and destroy the buildings.”

  Terara is amazed at the strength of this woman’s convictions, clearly this home has been occupied by her caring family for centuries. To be so calm as she condemns it to destruction is a level of strength she could never emulate. It makes sense that she can coral two War Born women, she’s stronger than they are.”

  Ned has been watching his daughters as they rock back and forth and knows something is bothering them, “Melia what’s going on in that silly head of yours?”

  Eyes glossy and red from trying to hold back her tic, she fails, “Eh-hem. It’s just something Sandy once told me. Ehhhm, she should say it.”

  “Go ahead pumpkin let’s hear what you have to say.”

  Quietly, almost meekly, “Can we do it? You and the others can leave tomorrow. Melia and I can have the surrounding farms razed in a few hours. I’ve been wanting to do this since before I left.”

  Ned looks thoughtful, “I guess if it has to happen, it might as well do some good. We’ll notify the other families that you’ve offered to take this burden off all of our hands.

  “I’m famished; is dinner ready?”

  The anxiety that has been mounting for months drains away at the news that she gets to destroy her childhood home; Sandy curtsies, “Yes, pappa. I’ll bring out the food while Melia sets the table.”

  Sandy scampers off to the kitchen, while Melia, also showing signs of normalcy, goes to the dining room and starts unloading dishes from the display cabinet and setting out a service for six.

  Ned takes his wife’s elbow and accompanies her to the table and takes the seat at the table’s head.

  Glancing at their guests before addressing his wife, “Those two seem lovely, how long will they be staying?”

  Patiently Liz prepares a measured response.

  Terara weighs the pros and cons of asking Liz about the babies and concludes the daughters must be following mammas lead, and there’s no way she’s strong enough to make any headway against mamma Liz.