The Death

Chapter Fourteen, Summer 2037

Gill was in his teens, the fraise ebbing from him as he grew older. The rest of the fraisers listened to him because he was older and made good calls. He’d kept them safe, kept them from trouble from the cavs and the other fraiser gangs.

Gill’s headquarters were in the rafters of a church. Real pre-Rise wood and everything. They had put up a platform with enough space for a desk and a few beds up there. He’d lain with girls (hushes were the best for obvious reasons) up here, he’d plotted revenge up here, he’d spoken with his best friends about his life up here…

“Gill?” a sharp voice that filled the room. Had to be Cassie.

He had already been looking down from his platform toward the entrance of the congregation hall.

“Gill,” Cassie said, now looking up at him.

“Heard you the first time.”

“Then say something. There’s a messenger.”

“Messenger?” Messengers had about an eighty percent chance of living; it was no small job transferring messages between fraiser faction leaders. “Where’s he from?”

“The Swallows,” Cassie answered. The Swallows were bigger than Gill’s own group; why would they be sending messages?

“Send him in.”

Turns out he was just out of view and walked into Gill’s line of sight, just alongside Cassie. There was Roc right behind him with a drawn knife.

“Gill?” the unarmed boy asked. He wasn’t looking at Gill as he said this and his hands were floating, raised in defense.

“That’s me.”

“Leroy of the Swallows…” he swallowed.

“I know him.” Leroy was the Swallows’ leader, but it sounded like this kid introduced himself as Leroy.

“Leroy of the Swallows is meeting with Inigo Patch and wants you to join in the meeting. You can come with two hushes, but you can’t come with weapons.”

“Why would I meet with them? When was the last time they met anyway?” Gill said.

“Reever had a vision that a really powerful minder is coming to town captured by the cavaliers and they want to steal him and sell him themselves. You’d get your revenge on the cavaliers and some money too from Coh.” The messenger’s voice grew steadier as he spoke. In that last sentence he even looked up at Gill on his platform. Gill’s legs were dangling over the edge right now. “They would only meet for something important like this.”

“How do I know this isn’t some fucking trap?”

“I stay here until you’re back.” The kid said it with confidence. In a world where it’s every man for himself, Gill believed this kid’s faith.

“I’ll do it if I pick the location.”

“They’re already doing it at the flagposts at dusk.”

Flagposts, hm? Leroy would have to be flown up at that rate. “What if I say ‘no’?”

“They’re going to meet anyway. They said that since they have a surprise attack ready to be sprung because of Bella’s and Reeve’s propheting, it’s the best chance all of us rooftop fraisers will get maybe ever. If you aren’t going, then I’m leaving.”

“Give me a second to think,” Gill said.

The flagposts were used to help boats spot Stablefield even from miles away. The posts themselves were on a rooftop that was really only accessible by hangars and Gill was himself a hangar. Leroy and Inigo may be rival gang leaders, but they wouldn’t make something like this up to kill him.

“Who’s idea was this?”

“Leroy’s.”

“Who’d he send to talk to Inigo?”

“He didn’t; their prophets met in a dream.”

“Dreamscoped, huh?” Gill sighed. That could have been possible from his side too if their prophet hadn’t been a bumbling idiot less than a year ago, getting himself captured and killed by the cavs. These two could just be conspiring, but that didn’t make sense because Leroy hated Inigo more than he hated Gill. If he were to reach out to Inigo, dreamscoping would have been the smartest, least-confrontational way to go, plus they could verify the truth in-dream since they were prophets. Damn, if only their prophet hadn’t been a bumbling idiot.

“Damn,” he muttered and then said, “Tell him I agree to his offer to meet. Dusk at the flagpoles.”

Dusk fell.

Gill had scoped the area out and ensured it was safe before flying to the base of the flagpole and grabbing it like a sailor in the crow’s nest. He looked down to the street below and saw a couple of passersby watching before continuing their walking.

Another hangar appeared from beneath him: Inigo Patch. He must have been waiting inside of the building. Inigo flew around as if he were being pulled, let himself be tugged slightly in a different direction which changed his trajectory and he took small tugs here and there making it look like he was hopping around on nothing; this trick was difficult to learn, but satisfying to watch.

“Hello, Gill.”

“Inigo.”

“You hear? About the kid?”

“Minder, isn’t he? With the cavs?”

Inigo nodded and then pointed. From a neighboring building was Leroy. He was on the back of a larger hanger, proving that there truly was no dignified method of flying if you weren’t a hangar. Some used swings, but those were prone to crashes. Some were grabbed around their waists. Some were carried like they had just gotten married.

Leroy made up for the awkward flight with a beautiful, fluid landing onto the narrow rooftop. He didn’t need the aid of a flagpole to keep himself upright either. His head and feet hardly moved and the body between them waved back and forth slightly to adjust for the nuances in his balance.

“Inigo, Gill.”

The two other leaders said nothing.

“You hear about the minder, Coh?”

“Only what your messenger said to us,” Gill said.

“So you know he’s in a caravan of cavaliers who don’t know that we know about their operation.”

Inigo and Gill nodded.

“Inigo knows what this caravan is made of, yes?” Leroy gestured to Inigo and adjusted his balance to account for the gesture. He looked like a reed in the wind, but in slow motion.

“How would he know that?” Gill said.

“Our prophet; Leroy’s showed it to her,” Inigo said. “They’re armed. A lot of automatics, more than I like to see…”

Leroy waited and then said, “But what else was in the caravan?”

Inigo had to admit: “Tons of supplies. These guys have been raiding, pillaging, and stealing all across different landmasses. They funnel their spoils into this caravan and sell them at the docks. There’s gonna be a shit ton of stuff to take, not just Coh. Could be other fraisers too.”

“What about the guns?”

“We take those out first.”

“With what?”

“A surprise-attack,” Leroy said. “A coordinated one. We size ‘em up and take ‘em out once they get into the city and we can use the alleys and rooftops for cover. Sure as hell can’t fight them in the clearing.”

“You’re asking us to join you in this attack then?” Gill said.

“You help us, you get a fourth of the winnings,” Leroy confirmed.

“Sorry, I could have sworn you said a ‘fourth’ instead of an ‘equal third’ which is fair and is what we’ll do it for.”

Leroy shook his head. “You wouldn’t know about this if it wasn’t for us. Inigo’s is only getting a fourth as well. I had to make sure I wasn’t getting killed at these meetings either and call them together in the first place.”

“That means you’re getting half. Double of what I’m getting.” Gill shook his head.

“Inigo is already in. He has agreed to a third if it’s only our two gangs springing the attack.”

Gill drummed his fingers on the icy metal pole and it made a toing toing sound as he thought. He took a quick glance at Inigo and looked away. That bastard, agreeing to a lower cut. If he and I argued together, we could get this thing split evenly.

“Fine; a fourth of the goods,” Gill said.

Leroy let out the subtlest indication of a sigh of relief as he said, “Inigo is bringing eighteen hushes, five hangars. I have twenty-two hushes and seven hangars ready to fight. You?”

Gill had considered this already. His whole troop was nineteen hushes, four of which were too small to fight, and only two hangars including himself, but they didn’t need to know that. “Fifteen hushes, two hangars.”

Inigo thought for a second and then said, “Fifty-five hushes, fourteen hangars. That’s a lot of fraisers for the cavs to handle.”

“Too many.”

Gill was allured by that grim comment. Launching an attack on the cavs for a change instead of running from them or rescuing someone in their clutches. If it all went well, maybe most of them would still be alive, too.

“What’s the plan, Leroy?”

“The cavs are staked out. They’re waiting out in the forest which means whoever they’re trading with hasn’t docked yet.”

“Do you know who they’re trading with?” Inigo asked.

Leroy shook his head. “Doesn’t matter anyway. The plan is once they reach the city and are fully inside the walls, we jump them from the back and work our way to the front. We’ll have fraisers stationed along their most likely route and use hangars to relay messages if the cavs don’t do what we want them to do.”

“Why wait for all of them to be inside the walls? Why not wait until we know which cart has the kid, spring him, and leave?”

“We’re fighting the cavs, not just boosting some kid from their caravan. This is the biggest push from fraisers against cavs that I’ve ever heard of. Do you know of any fraiser groups that actually attacked a huge group of cavs? No, you haven’t, because fraisers don’t gang up and most of them live in the wilderness and are impossible to find. Or they’re raised on farms and blindly follow whoever raised them and they don’t gang up.”

Gill’s arms were folded. Every few seconds the wind would be enough to push him off-balance and he would use his hangar abilities to set himself upright so it looked like he wasn’t moving at all and the wind was pushing him out and back into place. Leroy’s gang had pulled smaller-scale heists in the past, usually rescue-missions. The weak ones in Leroy’s gang were sold, which meant his whole troupe was hardened and ready for a battle like this one.

It was hard to tell if Leroy’s body was still because the wind was making small pieces of fabric flap in the wind against him. His hand had stayed on the flagpole this whole time.

“When do we meet?”

“The cavs could come any moment,” Leroy said. “I already have sentries stationed on the second level at the edge of Stablefield watching the treeline in case the cavs break through.” (Of course you already do, Gill thought.) “We’ll get a message from one of the hangars if they do. I need to see what kind of warriors you have and decide the best place to station them. When can I do that?”

Inigo: “The smart answer would be ‘after this meeting’, wouldn’t it?”

Leroy: “It sounds like you’re hesitant to say it.”

Inigo: “There needs to be some insurance that none of this is a trick and that we’re truly banding together to fight this common enemy.”

A thoughtful pause before Gill said, “You know, we have been enemies for years now. I remember meeting you, Leroy, in a fight. We didn’t say a word, we just watched each other drag away a wounded member of our respective gangs. You had a terrible look in your eye and I can still remember the girl you were hoping to save… the blonde one with the thick braid. I wondered about her for a long time and now I guess I can ask: Did she make it?”

Leroy shook his head like he’d been offered a pamphlet he didn’t want.

“Neither did the kid I was dragging away. He was my friend; his name was Kim. What about her name?”

Leroy shook his head, but slower this time. “Doesn’t matter.”

“’Doesn’t matter’?” Gill spat out. “Why the hell would you say it doesn’t matter? These people were why we were fighting in the first place! Kim was my friend and I wish he was around to see us leaders finally talking peacefully, plotting to end the very thing that’s making us live on edge instead of trying to kill and sell each other.”

“Some of it’s just business, Gill,” Inigo said. “Some of it’s just to survive, to see another day.”

“Some of it. But it’s not what makes a life, not to me. And I think deep down you feel the same way.”

“Why do you think we’re here?” Leroy said.

On the flagpole? It’s another strategy of yours, right? You picked a spot that was difficult for you, yourself to get to, but easy for us, your guests. It’s a gesture of trust from you. “We’re here to team up. We’re here to promise to fight together,” Gill said.

“And I believe that is a decision that is up to us,” Leroy gestured in a circle to all three of them with his free hand. “Can we do that?” He held out his right hand to shake with Gill. “We won’t fight each other until the caravan is dealt with.”

Gill already wanted to say yes and was ready as well, but waited instead, letting them believe he was considerate with his actions. Then he unfolded his arms and shook with Leroy of the Swallows, looking him right in those battle-worn, exhausted, sixteen-year-old eyes.

Gill felt a smile grow on his face like a weed as he said, “Fuck the cavs.”

“Fuck the cavs,” Leroy said with even more conviction as they shook once and released. Gills arms stayed at his sides.

Leroy’s free hand shook with Inigo next who also looked him dead in the eye and said, “Fuck the cavs.”

Gill extended his hand to Inigo who said with inquiry, “Fuck the cavs?”

“Fuck the cavs,” Gill agreed grimly this time. “Let’s get ‘em.”

Kris was in a wagon, seated next to the cage that held the oh-so-precious Coh, the most powerful fraiser on the planet. Kris couldn’t help feeling jealousy, but he took comfort in knowing that Coh wasn’t a prophet and was only a minder. The precious cargo, Coh, had his head lolling around as usual with that thick chain of copper around his neck.

Kris anticipated the exchange with the Shepherd with excitement; they’d finally be rid of this bad-luck-charm of a child, Coh. The living weapon of mass destruction. Better off dead. There was probably a whole barrel of the fraise if they nurtured him correctly. Right now the copper jewelry was keeping it in check; usually a thick copper bracelet on each hand, or a copper pendant on a necklace was good enough to sterilize a regular fraiser, but Coh had his neck and arms nearly covered in several kilos of copper and still the cavaliers were uneasy toting him around.

The cage was made of wood. Putting a minder in a cage of metal was like trying to capture a novis with a fishnet: they’ll get out, but it may slow them down. Even with that copper…

Kris let the wagon’s sway tilt his balance as he sat on a bundle of blankets. He could feel who made them. He’d been a cavalier for a few months now as his fraise was wearing off. There wasn’t enough in him to make him valuable, but his finesse as a fading hush was greatly desired by the cavaliers. He could eat and make money with a job like this, even if parts of it bothered him. I’ll get used to it. He looked out the front of the wagon at Stablefield’s slowly growing walls.

There was a time he was afraid of this city, but now he felt like he ruled it with his swath of cavalier buddies. Only a few days, the caravan was joined by a few other cavs who reported one of their prophets, Anda, was found dead. That saddened Kris; they’d taken many a village with his direction. ‘How do you find a village far off?’ Anda once said. ‘You wait for someone to look at you. And when you’re flying a ship with a big Helm-and-Feather flag, it’s hard to keep your eyes off of it.’ He could feel eyes like someone was spraying him with long-range mist. Kris also heard that not many prophets had this ability.

He was stick of sitting; Kris jumped out the back of the wagon, but his feet tangled his footing and momentum. He turned it into a flip which he broke into a roll and tumbled to his feet.

Two of the cavaliers bringing up the rear saw.

“You fuckin’ idiot! Falling like an asshole,” said the one with a plastic blue feather in his helmet.

“That’s one way to leave the wagon,” the one next to him said. This one’s name was Briggs.

“Fuck you,” Kris said and kept walking.

The cavs laughed and then settled into grins. The rest of the walk was slow until they reached the city’s interior.

The Astronomers stayed close together on the second level of Stablefield close to the front of the city away from the route they guessed the cavaliers would take. Cavs occupied most of the central part of the city and the area closer to the docks, so here they would be safer.

There was a restaurant with a swinging, red sign that so faded that it didn’t read anything in particular but added to the aesthetic. The Astronomers sat at the table figuring this would be the safest they could be. Level three of Stablefield always had the threat of fraiser gangs and level one didn’t have restaurants or places to simply hang out. So outside at this open-air cafe they sat, split up into two different tables.

Atlas just returned to his table at with with Color, Myles, and Mariah while Langley, Marshall, and Jewel sat at the adjacent table. Myles had two metal mugs as did Atlas. A man from inside had a tray with three other mugs which he placed at the second table.

There was a brown, thick liquid in the gritty mugs.

Myles put one in front of his own seat and one in front of Color. “Have you ever had hot chocolate?”

Color brushed her hair back for a second and took a few short, hesitant sniffs. “It smells like sweet dirt.”

Myles blew on his to cool it. “It’s a lot more… dirty?”

“Earthy,” Marshall offered from the other table.

“It’s earthier,” Myles agreed.

“How did they make the hot chocolate hot?” Color said. “I didn’t see or smell a fire in there.”

Myles answered, “This place got solar panels and an electric Honda generator that a few of these buildings use. And their espresso machine is old which makes it more reliable. At least, that’s what I could sense. I’m getting better at finding things out on my own.”

Color sipped it, a little too quickly and spit out a small mouthful onto the ground. “Ow.”

“Good huh?”

“It tastes really good and sweet, but it just burned my whole tongues.”

“I hate when that happens.” Myles kept blowing lightly. In his first sip, the whole drink tasted much richer and stronger than the Swiss Miss packets back home. The Sage could pick out the tastes and isolate them much better than before: cocoa, the sugar content, a little bit of flour of all things, the milk and its consistency.

“Why do you have hot chocolate? Shouldn’t you get coffee?” Langley said to Atlas from the other table.

“Once I finish half of this, I usually let them top the rest off with coffee.”

“Where does the coffee come from?”

Atlas answered, “There are entire landmasses that are lowered closer to the water to make a better climate for plants. They sell huge amounts of vegetation, including coffee beans, to the people living above. Since there are far fewer people on the planet, the whole earth doesn’t need many of these floating farms. Considering the sweetness of the hot chocolate and the almost-reasonable prices, I’d say the sugar business is also doing well.”

That answer slowed conversation as they all began blowing on their drinks. A minute later, the surrounding chilly air had cooled their drinks enough and Atlas was on his way back from getting a warmer of coffee when he paused and the group listened.

There were footsteps overhead followed by a loud thump and a second or two of quiet before another thump.

“Atlas, what is that?” Mariah said.

Atlas pointed with his mug at the rushing shadows and figures just over the street that whisked in and then out of view. “Hushes by the sound of it. And a lot of them. They’re jumping from building to building just overhead. Must be some big chase going on for that many to be running around though.”

“Why would so many hushes be out? A game of chase would probably have a lot more screaming, huh?” Myles said.

Atlas sipped his hot chocolate coffee and thought about it. Then his eyes opened just slightly bigger. “The caravan. You think they have something to do with it?”

The rest of the Astronomers looked at him dumbly. Maybe?

“And if they do?” Jewel said.

“It may be a good opportunity if they’re planning on causing some confusion,” Atlas said, starting away from the cafe and heading in the same direction they heard the overhead footsteps. He took the mug of hot chocolate coffee with him.

Myles looked at the rest of the Astronomers for guidance, but they were waiting for him to make the next move. Shit.

“Atlas just left, didn’t he?” Marshall said, rising.

Myles rose with him and then the cafe’s dining area was a flurry of scooting chairs and soft footsteps on the wood floor. Jewel and Color started viciously sipping their drinks despite it likely burning their tongues.

Fuck me, Myles thought and then said, “Just leave the drinks!”

Neither of the two female hushes left their drinks as the Astronomers took off. The cafe door opened behind them.

“Oy! Bring those cups back! Those ain’t cheap or free!” It was the barista and owner, ghoulishly-white looking man whose skin matched the white washcloth slung over his shoulder.

“I’ll bring it back, I promise! It’s just an emergency and I love this drink!” Color shouted back as they found a makeshift staircase that took up an entire alleyway’s width. Atlas had just reached the top and was watching different fraisers rush past him, some of them offering rude comments as they passed.

“Move it, dick.” “Watchit, fuckstick.” “Who the hell are you?” Others spoke in suspicious glances, but he clearly wasn’t a cavalier.

Atlas took a sip with his back to the oncoming fraiser traffic. There was a quiet hush who spotted him and sneaked up behind him in passing and made a grab for his mug. Without looking, Atlas anticipated the movement, moving the mug at the last second as the hand snapped at nothing. Atlas returned the mug to where it was. The fraiser caught his balance smoothly and looked back with a sour face.

Atlas stayed where he was as he said to the staring hush, “What are you planning on doing at the caravan?”

“None of your business, assface,” the hush said.

“If you tell me, I’ll give you this drink. Want this drink? Coffee and milk.”

“Want this dick?” the kid said and turned around, jumping in unison with another fraiser onto a beam and running across, fearless of the three-story fall.

Atlas took in his surroundings as the Astronomers gathered around him. “There are way too many fraisers for this to be a single gang.”

“So?” Myles said.

“It means they teamed up, which doesn’t happen because they all dislike each other because they have a nasty habit of selling each other into the cavaliers’ possession.”

“Why would they do that?” Jewel said with her cup in both hands right next to Color who was doing the same. Because of their exceptional balance and sure-footedness, they hadn’t spilled at all.

Atlas shook his head. “If they know about Coh, how did they find that out?”

“Maybe they had a prophet who saw the future,” Marshall said. “Isn’t prophesying literally in their name?”

“If they know… they’re going to take Coh before the Shepherd gets him.”

“Which would royally fuck up our plans…” Myles said. “We need Coh, don’t we?”

Atlas grunted a ‘yes’ as he started tepping down the wooden staircase. “We need to get to the first level and intercept the caravan! Myles, Mariah, stay on the second level out of sight of the fraiser gangs and do your best to locate Coh; he’ll be in one of the wagons. You’re prophets, after all.

“Marshall, Color, Jewel: Stay on the second level and be ready to jump onto the wagon with Coh inside. If possible, take Mariah and Myles with you.”

“And you?” Myles said, starting after him.

“I’m on the first level to see what chaos I can raise.”

“Raise it like a kid,” Langley said. “We’ll stick to the second level. I’m just going to stay with them.”

“Great.”

The two parties split ways, Atlas continuing down to ground level and the others crossing on the third level, both in the caravan’s direction.

After crossing the street on level three, they dropped to the second and squeezed through an alley that was definitely not wheelchair accessible. Once they made it to the next street and were looking down from ten feet up, they saw the caravan’s beginning rolling by: a few slouching, armored men with stubbly faces or full-grown beards holding spears or semi-automatic rifles.

A covered wagon, which appeared to be the back of an army jeep, came into view. The canvas was repaired in all of the joints and strapped over the top. Behind it were more wagons. And alongside them were more cavs.

The whole group was staring with a medley of apprehension, fear, and contempt. So many cavaliers in one place.

Myles could faintly hear everyones’ minds whispering something, but one stood out in particular.

Color. Her mind formed no words, only a higher-pitched and falling note of emotion. She looked away from the caravan and at Myles. “Can you hear what I’m feeling?”

Not really, but he guessed it wasn’t good so he nodded twice.

“I don’t like them at all,” her voice broke on ‘all’ and the simultaneously reached out to embrace each other. Color cried for a moment or two while Myles laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

There was Atlas, eye-level with the caravan just a few yards down the street. He was standing, face was relaxed, that fucking mug in hand, the other hand in his jacket pocket, like a baseball manager watching the opposition take to the field. Seeing Atlas calm apparently had an effect on the rest of them.

Not a word was said as the crew under that faded red sign observed the modified wagons passing through the street. Marshall’s head stayed forward as he sensed the wagons passing: he detected the metal wagons being pulled by the horses with their bobbing, tired heads. Even the drivers let their whips hang gently, ensuring their pace was slow as they navigated the city. It was like watching a parade in downtown Winton, but without any drum lines, highschoolers, boy scouts, veterans, floats, or candy.

And a huge cage was passing them now, as nonchalant as an ice-cream truck.

“Color…” Myles tapped her shoulder and said, “That’s what chased us.”

Color looked down the caravan line at the open-air wagon that was finally passing into the city and saw the large steel cage. In it, seemingly asleep, was a massive, black, bony head of teeth. No eyes. Hands like stone, a tail that slipped through the back bars. It looked tired and …sad. As if it had accepted its caged fate. Myles felt far less fear as he studied its defeated attitude. It rustled a few times, letting its head rock back and forth with the rattling wagon.

“Novis,” Color breathed. Myles could sense her heart speeding up.

Myles looked back at Langley whose mouth was partly open and chest took a couple of slow, large heaves. On the ground, Atlas spotted the monster as well.

In a few of the uncovered wagons were emaciated fraisers, some with copper necklaces and all of them apparently asleep or with their eyes open enough for onlookers to see the gaping, hopeless void behind their corneas.

Just as many cavs were on their feet as there were in the wagons, keeping up with the rolling carts and making sure nobody fooled with their cargo.

Some of the cavaliers eyed the relaxing fraisers at the level-two balcony. The cavs had unsettling, malicious smiles that said we own this place. We could own YOU if we wanted. You want a ride in a cage?

“YOU!?” a voice said from just up the wagon line. All of the Astronomers and some of the cavs watched a single brown-haired and young cav fall from the wagon and scramble to his feet. He fumbled with a pump-action rifle. “YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU KILLED KENNY AND BRYSON!”

In Marshall’s mind, those names rang a traumatic bell as a torrent of feelings and black memories roared into his mind. I killed Kenny, Bryson, and Anda. I killed three people. Killed them dead. A man of my word, that’s what I am.

The cavalier’s hand shook with rage as he slid and clicked a bullet into place. “YOU BLIND PIECE OF SHIT, YOU KILLED ANDA TOO!”

Marshall’s mouth curved downward and he bristled. “I’m the piece of shit?” And put his hand on the daisho at his hip. “Fuck you, I’m BLIND BECAUSE OF THEM!”

“Hmmm,” Atlas murmured, glancing up at the screaming blindfolded kid. The cav yelling up raised his rifle and it barked as the bullet left the chamber and sent a few splinters flying next to him. There were several loud shrieks of surprise that seemed to come from everywhere.

Atlas took another sip of his hot chocolate and coffee concoction and let his eyes roll up to see the commune of fraisers now poking their heads over the third-story building’s lip.

Then all attention faded from that small outburst. Astronomers and cavaliers alike stared up at the third-level.

On the rooftops, dozens of heads were appearing. Dozens of fraisers, tons of them, all from different gangs and factions assembled and began watching the cavs who looked up at them now. The Astronomers did the same, wondering.

In just a few seconds, the fraisers’ number was roughly uncountable and the whole alley’s third-level rooftops were lined with sharp-eyed, wordless little devils. Most were holding wooden spears unlike Color’s metal-headed spear.

“Not good,” one of the cavalier drivers said quite audibly and the fraisers began yipping and shrieking in fury as they started a hail of spears and then began spidering or flying down the walls, some of the hangars were carrying hushes and placed them on the ground. The whole congregation seemed to be either hushes or hangers moving in on the caravan.

“Aren’t you supposed to sense this kind of thing?” Jewel said to Myles, hand once again on the hilt of her katana.

“Not like that!” Myles yelled over the battle cries. He felt a need to cover his ears; he didn’t want to hear these horrible sounds.

Atlas took a long drink from his mug and put it down. As he straightened his posture, he sensed it.

Coh.

In the wagon just in front of the one with the cav that threatened Marshall, maybe ten meters away. The fraise’s potency had finally seeped into the surrounding air.

The cavaliers had started shooting and slashing some of the close-range fraisers, but there were dozens more. Even at each of the gunshots, only Mariah and Color let out a small cry. The cavs and the oncoming fraisers continued battling with a mix of high-pitched and deep warcries.

“What…? Atlas!” Myles said. All of the Astronomers were on their toes now.

Atlas’s eyes fell on Coh’s cart once more and froze as a terrible idea lit his brain up.

The cavs were preoccupied with the oncoming fraisers who had appeared to have put aside their fraiser-gang-related differences and concentrated their forces on the common enemy: the cavaliers and their caravan. Several of the cavs had the sense to wonder if the fraisers knew about Coh. If so, that was bad. And if not, it was still bad.

The horses were whinnying and pawing the stone, backing and forwarding ever so nervously. They were accustomed to gunshots and clanging metal, but these closed quarters and many moving bodies were rather claustrophobic.

“That wagon,” Atlas said to the Astronomers, pointing to a covered wagon two segments in front of the novis-trailer, “has Coh inside. Go and get on it before it gets away. Keep everyone, fraisers and cavs alike, off of it. GO!”

All six kids started running along the balcony amongst the cascading fraiser onslaught which had now reached the cavs who were slashing, shooting, killing, and yelling their own battle cry.

Myles dared to watch as Atlas removed the Barterrod in a single motion, whipped it into a long battle-axe, running past Coh’s, between several smatterings of fights between fraiser and cav, up to the excited and forgotten novis in its cage.

Myles guessed what would happen and arrived just above the wagon carrying Coh. He felt that familiar gastral feeling of ‘running-for-his-life’ again as he heard a,

CLANGG said the cage as Atlas’s axe fell onto the lock and the novis burst out of the cage. It was like releasing a dieting diabetic onto the world’s last soda-fountain: the novis went berserk and scrambled like a dog, mutilating the fraisers and cavs that it could reach.

Atlas sensed danger behind him and turned. As he did, he let the Barterrod transform into a sword and swung upward at the musket aimed at his head. The musket flew from the offending cav’s hands as it discharged and Atlas used the rest of the sword’s inertia to cut him deep in the neck.

After removing the sword, Atlas walked to the front of the wagon to the senior cav sitting with the reigns in his hands. He tossed them and sighed as the chaos behind him ensued; he had accepted the ruin that was the caravan. He looked up at Atlas and through his whitening beard, he said, “Well, we’re fucked. And whoever you are, you fucked us good, letting out that novis.”

Atlas answered with a quick breath and a few nods. Then he left, sprinting toward the fleeing Astronomers. A few seconds later, that man was stabbed to death by gore-covered, bloodthirsty, and desperate children.

Benny was one of the grunts. One of the boring, ground-level cavaliers who moved boxes, pulled ropes on boats, and cleaned the guns. Wasn’t a particularly good shot, wasn’t as funny as some of the others, but he had friends. Emphasis on the ‘had’ part. He’d discovered only a few days ago that they’d been killed in the outpost they were watching and that blindfolded kid that they were holding was nowhere to be found. Anda was dead too. Just a day before he met up with the caravan for the trades in Stablefield. There was plenty to trade and the dumb kid with the blindfold would have been part of a bumper-crop of fraisers for that quarter. He was still in agony about losing Bryson. Bryson had a girl in Stablefield, too. Bryson was liked by some of the cavs, but Benny looked up to him.

This was exactly what he was mulling over on the side of one of the wagons as they rolled into Stablefield. So when he saw the same kid, same blindfold, and different outfit standing at the second level, blind but somehow looking down at him, like nothing was the matter. Benny had to scream out, as if questioning his own eyesight:

“YOU!?” Kenny and Bryson died at this kid’s hand. “YOU KILLED KENNY AND BRYSON!” I’ll bet he didn’t even know their names. He threw his rifle over his shoulder (unloaded as usual), and fumbled a round from his pocket. I’m going to KILL this kid. I’m going to KILL. Gonna KILL.

The blindfolded asshole’s head faced Benny, the surrounding air now as tense as a bowstring. Maybe they’d have been able to track him too if they had their prophet.

“YOU BLIND PIECE OF SHIT, YOU KILLED ANDA TOO!” His hands shook in their plight and he jammed the bullet into place, pushing the bolt-action into a ready position.

“I’m the piece of shit?” The fraiser barked back. “Fuck you, I’m BLIND BECAUSE OF THEM!”

Raised the rifle and WHAM went the bullet, a distinct smell of gunpowder and bacteria dying on the hot metal, simultaneously seeing splinters fly from some of the nearby wood in a little dustcloud.

Benny was vaguely aware of several of his fellow cavs behind him and then a noticeable silence falling over the area. He saw that everyone was looking up and saw

Fraisers everywhere!

Oh, shit.

There was a second, just a second, but there were a lot of feelings inside of this second which gave it weight and made it feel far longer. The cavs relied on the tension between different surviving gangs of fraisers on the rooftops. What incited them to join together and fight alongside one another?

There was no second thought from the surrounding gallery; they started damn near falling down the front of the buildings in a mad tussle toward the caravan and the carts.

Benny looked back at his target, the blindfolded kid, but they had taken off down the balcony toward the back of the caravan. He removed his cutlass with a shingg that faded.

Some guy down the street drew something black out of his longer green jacket. It impossibly turned into an axe and he went for the amped-up novis’s cage.

“Oh, fuck, oh motherfucker,” Benny muttered as the axe busted the lock right off and the novis stumbled out of the cage in a ball of rage. Benny was killed in passing as the novis’s claws slashed his ribs and he bled out, choking on his own blood and moaning, over a span of an hour on the side of the road.

Color jumped perfectly onto one of the wagon’s beams and dropped to her hands. She swung herself inside and found herself in a small area with two other fraisers kneeling, inspecting one of the boxes. Only one of them looked at Color and looked back at what they were studying: A cage with a skinny, tanned fraiser in only baggy trousers and at least thirty pounds of copper around his neck and on his wrists.

“Who’re you with?” the one fraiser who looked at her asked, apparently unconcerned with her presence. “I don’t know over half of the others here. You with Gill?”

Color had no idea what they were talking about and kept quiet as there was another thump overhead as someone landed on top. Jewel and Marshall entered into the vehicle which was now moving at a good pace through the streets of Stablefield and away from the fighting.

Langley eased Mariah into the back of the covered, packed wagon. Mariah and Jewel looked back at Atlas who was now running for the wagon.

“We’re with the Astronomers,” Marshal said as he lay eye-level with the unrecognizable fraiser. “Jewel, Color, let’s kick ‘em out.”

“Wait, what? Who-“ Jewel and Color grabbed them before they could react and tossed them out and they landed excellently on their feet and rolled off the inertia. Atlas was only a few meters behind the moving wagon and ran past the two jettisoned fraisers.

By now the novis had already jumped out with a shriek and went to work on the crowd. It was surrounded by either captors or food and now that it was out, it killed anything it could touch.

That Atlas character was quick! He ran with his green jacket swirling behind him as he passed Myles. Langley jumped out, sailing in a smooth curve and grabbing Myles from the second level.

Color and Marshall had started for the front of the wagon where two cavs were stationed, steering the wagon. One of them popped up with a rifle and fired a shot. Color yelped as her reflexes kicked in and she dodged. Her ears and Jewel’s stopped working, letting them live in a dazed world of silence.

The bullet sailed past them and with a wet crunch it destroyed Mariah’s head.

“MARIAH!” Myles said from Langley’s arms.

She folded over the back lip of the wagon and then slowly fell out onto the zooming street, rolling twice and lying still.

“NO! NO, NO, NO!” They flew over her and Langley tossed Myles into the wagon. Atlas caught up and leaped in, significantly filling the back and blocking the view out the back.

Langley zoomed back to Mariah’s body.

Color drew her one throwing knife and Jewel drew the one Color had given her. They took one single motion to glance over the stacks of supplies and threw their knives at each of the cavs in the front. One stuck into the driver’s neck which he grabbed at, but the second glanced off the rifleman’s helmet.

The driver was no longer available to control the horses and they careened slightly to the left, enough to put the second cav off-balance. The pothole that they hit next sent him tumbling off the side.

Atlas turned the barterrod into an axe once more and as they rolled past the cav, he leaned out the back of the wagon, slashed down and hit him in the thigh so that he wouldn’t continue shooting at them. The Barterrod, stuck in the cav’s leg pulling Atlas out of the wagon.

“Oh!” he heard from the back of the wagon along with other gasps of surprise.

With the grace of a newborn-deer, Atlas fell onto the cobbled pavement and rolled several times, much like Mariah, hearing at least two of his ribs break.

“PUHhh,” he said on impact. His head slapped on the pavement which jammed his teeth into his lips, drawing blood. The left side of his face burned and his mind was dazed.

He rose slowly, ensuring that his arms and legs were okay. Only the ribs broke. Good, good. His mouth was coppery. He spat a loogie of scowling red onto the street and a thick drop swung onto his chin, leaving a small red trail into his mouth.

A few hundred feet behind him was Langley who had landed at Mariah’s side, hood off his head. He rose from Mariah’s side and clutched his stomach, starting to vomit. He walked a few steps off and started convulsing, letting out his hot chocolate.

Since the street was curved, Atlas didn’t know the novis was charging toward the Astronomers Bug and couldn’t warn Langley. The novis pounced into view and slammed Langley down to the ground.

“Langley!” Atlas said. “Oh, no.” Rising to his feet and holding his side.

The novis didn’t use its teeth here. Instead, it stomped Langley, jumping up and down on the boy, snapping all his bones inside of his skin. This kill was done out of anger. The novis looked like it had waded through a swamp of blood since it covered its legs all the way to the second joint. The mouth and head was splattered like paint with dark red.

His gaze was fixed and sad. Once the novis was done, Atlas rounded up whatever was in his mouth, spit red, and wondered if his teeth looked pink. The Barterrod was still in his right hand thanks to the desperate tumble he took and the cav was clutching his leg on the side of the road, screaming in pain.

The novis rounded the bend with slower steps than a run, but clearly set on Atlas.

He whipped the Barterrod to his right side and it turned into the five-foot axe, but with an extra six inches on it and straightened himself. He slammed the axe down twice to intimidate the beast.

“’You and me? We’re gonna have a rollickin’ time,’” Atlas quoted as he approached the challenger.

Myles was stunned at Mariah’s death and sank to the floor. He looked to his right and saw a shirtless boy weighed down by plenty of copper jewelry in a wooden cage. He appeared to be asleep or deeply hazy despite all of the surrounding excitement.

Jewel had grabbed the reigns and continued following the wagon in front of them which hadn’t noticed the wagon behind them had been seized.

“What do we do now?” Color said to Myles, eyes wide and hollow.

Myles was on the ground looking up at Marshall and Color now. He was the acting leader now that Atlas took a bad fall. That shook him back to life; he was responsible for more than just his own life. Where were they going right now?

“Mariah’s dead,” Myles said it like a robot. If he put any emotion into it, he would start crying and be unable to say it at all. Then he took a moment of thinking. They’d made it to the wagon and now several things needed to happen. Infrequently do children pinpoint the moment they became adults, but Myles Willis could feel, in the moment in the back of that wagon, his childhood was a thing of the past.

“Jewel, stop the wagon,” Myles instructed.

The cart slowed and then stopped, the excited horses shaking their heads.

The group noted the quiet for a second or two, but eventually noticed the screams and crashing that was happening back where the caravan had split. The fraisers and the cavaliers were still hashing out their longtime feud.

There was a grumbling crunch of gravel underfoot, and still, only the sound of a war less than a quarter-mile away.

Marshall started moving boxes off of Coh’s cage. Then he pulled the top part of the wooden cage off.

Myles exited the wagon and Jewel hopped off the driver’s seat, jogging to him. Color helped Marshall get the shirtless boy out and sat him next to the cage. They removed all of the copper they could, but stopped at the strange handcuffs and other loose bracelets that were locked on due to the handcuffs.

Myles turned around and simply thought for a second. “Shit.” A few seconds and then: “Shit. Does anyone have a knife or sword to spare?”

He was met with concerned looks and Color said, “What are you planning on doing with a knife?”

Myles stomped his foot. “Atlas just got Mariah killed! ‘Go jump in that wagon where Coh is’; are we insane? We didn’t come here to get killed, we came here to get away from the novis, lay low, and go back! We aren’t following any more of Atlas’s stupid plans. I’m not letting any more of us die. And where the hell is Langley?”

Atlas came into view in the next minute, favoring his steps like he was hurt. The barterrod was still clutched in the form of an axe.

“Atlas,” Myles called. “Where is Langley? Do you know?”

Atlas silently approached. Myles liked this response about as much as sitting in a dentist’s waiting room.

Atlas reached them, splattered in thicker, redder blood than a humans and walking with a limp and a hand on his ribs.

Novis blood, Myles thought, knowing his prophesying deduced this for him.

“We should get off the road,” Jewel said, looking both ways on the street.

“In there,” Atlas struggled to say. He was pointing to an old and expanded grocery. One of the Japanese ones with a little garage door on the side and huge windows to let in all the humidity, but they weren’t in Japan and everything was sealed to keep in the heat. The Astronomers barged their way in.

Atlas picked Coh up like a baby, smearing novis blood, cav blood, and his own blood all over the boy. The whole tattered group bumbled into the weather-beaten establishment.

The former grocery was now a workshop and had a man and his apprentice who were watching the spectacle from their window. They spoke English, but with a cut of Japanese accent.

“Ey, ey, ey, what are you doig? Why are you hea?”

“Someone explain to him what ‘quorux’ means and then tell him ‘quorux’,” Atlas said, putting Coh down on a table. There was one large, open table in the middle of the room while the walls were lined with different tools used for mechanical parts. Ratchet sets, wrenches, carving materials, tons of bladed tools, and then toolboxes which Myles, upon trying, was able to sense were brimming with more tools. The bottom shelves were also lined with propane tanks.

“Where’s Langley!?” Myles shouted.

“There’s too much to explain,” Marshall said to the man and his apprentice. Both were wearing thick leather aprons and sharp, annoyed expressions.

“You smoke?” Atlas said, reaching into his jacket. The two men took a large step back and put their hands out defensively. Please, don’t hurt us.

Atlas removed a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket and removed one. He repeated: “You smoke?”

“Get outta our workshop! Who are you?”

“Let us stay here for a few minutes and we’ll leave. We just need some time to breathe.”

The shop owner balled up his fists and then held out a hand. “Gimmie ‘em.”

Atlas closed the box and tossed him the cigarettes.

“Ten minutes, then I boot you out. We have work,” said the senior man as he removed one of the darts and stuck it in his mouth.

After the two owners left and everyone was standing around the table collecting their thoughts, Myles said, “Atlas, where’s Langley and how will he find us?” Don’t you dare say he’s dead.

The older prophet said, “I killed the novis which killed Langley.”

Myles knew Atlas was telling the truth, but he must have been lying.

“’Jump on the wagon; Coh’s on that wagon’…” Myles quoted, almost with a laugh. Langley was dead? Impossible. Nobody got the better of Big Bad Langley.

Myles gritted his teeth, couldn’t see straight for a second, and started whaling on Atlas who slowly pushed him away. Once Myles’s rampage left Atlas, the Sage ran at Marshall who backed up a few steps, “Whoa! Myles!”

Myles grabbed Marshall’s shorter sword and drew it.

The whole gang took a large step back and issued a huge gasp, aside from Coh who was still too loopy to process anything.

The blade found its way onto the corpse-like Coh’s neck and Myles held it there.

“MYLES, NO!” Atlas said and for the first time, the son of a bitch seemed frightened and held his position around the table.

Myles held his scowl and was partly delighted to find he didn’t feel the slightest remorse as he said, “Two of ours for one of yours sounds like a fair deal to me. Unless you start listening to me now.”