The Warrior (The Rebellion) Page 4

  Outside, a medium-sized, gray carriage was parked against the curb with a cocky Force leaning against it. A small, stiff coachman sat on top with his eyes trained ahead. The four dark horses attached to the coach seemed equally solemn, standing motionless on the curb.

  Standing upright Force said in a mocking voice, "'Alf expected you to make a break for it. Good thing you didn’t, or you would’ve been a goner."

  Barst ignored the jibe and threw his bag in the carriage before hopping in to it. Force smirked, then slid in the seat across from Barst, whom he fixed with a patronizing stare. Barst sighed and leaned his head against the open sill.

  Guess I'll have to get some sleep again. Better than making conversation with this insolent dope. With that last thought, Barst closed his eyes and tried to ignore the bumping of the carriage beneath him. Across from him, Force snorted, and readjusted himself in his seat.

  It was going to be a long trip.

  C H A P T E R 10

  A Day with Force

  Barst woke up to find Force's gloating eyes still locked onto him. Guess he doesn't sleep. Barst grunted a greeting and glanced out the window to try to get his bearings.

  "We're passing through the Shallom Pass," Force stated unprompted. Barst threw an irritated glance his way, and then drew his full attention out the window.

  Huge walls of speckled granite towered alongside the small carriage as it trundled along the bumpy road. The early morning light cast a glare on the large, mountainous face. An occasional bush could be seen clinging onto the gray wall; but other than that, no other life could be distinguished. Barst craned his head upward, but no end could be seen to the ominous rock that reached towards the heavens.

  He brought his head back into the carriage to be met with Force's never-changing smile, "Only way in, only way out as we say. I doubt anyone’s ever escaped, and no army could ever hope to conquer Lord Barkley's impenetrable fortress," Force said, still smiling.

  "You have a pretty high regard for the one who stole you out of the cradle," Barst said, trying to knock the tiresome smile from Force's face. He succeeded, and Force's face morphed into an expression of extreme anger.

  "Lord Barkley saved me and gave me future—a longer future than you have coming anyway!" He laughed at his own joke, but his face soon returned to the purple shade it had taken. "He made me powerful." Force pointed his finger at Barst and Barst found himself unable to move. He struggled briefly, and then gave up when he realized it would be hopeless. "A lot more powerful than some ring fighter," Force said vehemently. He raked Barst with his eyes in disgust, and then spit on his face. Barst tried to stay calm, not wanting to give Force any satisfaction.

  Force slowly clenched his fist and Barst could feel a crushing force closing in on him. "Do you know how easy it would be to kill you? You're nothing but entertainment—a jester who kills. People pay money to see you die." Globs of spit were beginning to stick in Force's beard and his eyes had a crazed expression. He paused, as if thinking for words, his labored breathing the only sound in the carriage. Then his face transformed back into the same mocking smile he had earlier exhibited. "Good thing they won't have to wait long."

  Force relaxed his hand and Barst felt the pressure release. Not wanting to give Force the pleasure, Barst tried not to gasp for air or wipe the spit off his face. He decided to remain silent for his own safety. He didn’t know if Force was allowed to kill him, but he didn’t want to find out.

  When he looked up at Force, he found the smug smile still plastered on his face, and his hand was running through his beard, combing out the spit. The rate that Force changed moods was amazingly infuriating to Barst, though not much of Force wasn't. Force's smile widened at Barst's gaze, and the soldier decided to continue his one sided conversation.

  "As you can see, the Legion doesn’t only develop physical abilities, but magical as well. What I just did would make an ordinary man feint with exhaustion." He broke Barst's gaze and focused on his own hand, which began to faintly glow. Seemingly in deep thought, he continued in a quiet voice, while slowly rotating his glowing hand. "We have powers that put us above men. We have exceeded what you think of as reality and have entered a realm where anything is possible." He snapped back and fixed Barst with a cold smile, "You have no idea how weak you are."

  With that last sentence, Forces hand flashed with light once, and then re-turned to normal. Barst shivered and tried to resist the urge to sending his fist right through Force's face. Accompanied with a good statement, blackening Force's face would make his day. Though I probably wouldn’t have very many good days afterwards.

  Though he tried to ignore it, Barst was afraid. Being on the same carriage as a powerful psychopath made him nervous. Trying to get a hold of himself, he began to dissect his feelings. Why am I afraid of death?

  He had been face-to-face with death dozens of times in the arena, but he couldn’t remember the last time he had been afraid of it. Though death had been a door he was not scared to enter, it had not been a door he was going to enter until he had no other option. Now though, he found that he was terrified of death. He, who had just two days ago fought a Devil Hound, had been legitimately scared when Force had begun to crush him. The change in his attitude perplexed him.

  Eventually, his mind began to wander, and his gaze was mesmerized by the never-ending wall of shimmering granite that flew by the window. His curiosity got the better of him, and he reluctantly asked Force, "How long does this continue?"

  "For about three miles. Then, you get to the Fiorh Gate, from there you have about only one mile to the next gate with two checkpoints in-between. Thus the saying only one…"

  "Way in, only one way out. Yes, I know," Barst said irritated. Force didn’t seem to mind, and just fixed Barst with his galling smile. "What happens if some-one tries to escape by climbing the mountain half-way, then just walking past all the checkpoints?"

  "Serves them right." Forced laughed at his own words as if they were hilarious. “Well first, walking for three miles on a seventy degree surface is extremely difficult. Second, the walls of the checkpoints go higher than half way up the mountain, so you would have to hike up really far. And third, you need to have equipment to do any of that. And finally, there's the Watchers."

  Force paused as if for effect. "Let's say Lord Barkley gave you all the equipment, which is ludicrous, you have to escape the Watchers’ eyes, which can't be done. The Watchers, caus' of course you don't know, are magically enhanced ravens that never sleep and are always patrolling the pass. When they find someone, the whole five hundred on them flock down of their victim and peck him to death." Force's face took on a maleficent shade and his smile widened. "Sometimes Lord Barkley holds demonstrations. And let's not forget the facts; of the hundreds of people who have foolishly tried to escape, not one has reached the entrance of the pass. And besides, you wouldn’t want to risk being captured would you?" Force asked, mockingly pouting his lower lip. “You know the terrible things that happen to a person caught defying Lord Barkley’s commands. The last thing an entertainer like you would want, is to be buried in salt, until every last morsel of water is sucked out of your pathetic body.”

  "Well I'll guess I will have to win the tournament," Barst said half to himself, ignoring Force’s juvenile jibe.

  Force's smile widened even more "Well, I hate to break it to you, (though Barst thought he couldn't wait to divulge the news) but you have no hope of winning." Barst's eyebrows drew close in confusion as Force continued, "The whole thing is rigged so one group wins, and you're not in it."

  "How?" Barst asked, still not completely believing. He could imagine Force lying to him out of pure spite.

  Force clasped his hands in front of himself, as if he were explaining a very difficult concept to a child. "At the tournament, there will be lots of betting. Lord Barkley wanted to make sure the team he bet on would win, so he rigged it—and I mean really rigged it. He put almost all the skill on one team so the others will have no cha
nce. So I guess you can't even win the tournament. But think of the bright side, maybe you'll die painlessly." With that, Force’s smile climaxed.

  The cart shuddered to a stop, and Force pulled himself out the door. Barst sat there in thought. At first he had been disinclined to believe Force, but what the soldier had said made sense. No Lord ever wanted to be a loser.

  So for once I am the Fodder. It seemed fitting, yet he didn’t want to go out yet. Not without finding out if it was Her.

  That was is it! Barst sat up to his full height in his seat. That was why he was afraid of death. His hope now had a foundation.

  It had become such a foreign feeling he could hardly recognize it. So long had he lived with a meaningless and undefined hope. Now though, he couldn't help but picture the future with Her.

  A bitter thought came to Barst, Why does death come when I don’t want it, but doesn’t come when I don’t care. It seemed to be a very cruel world to take his family and then wait for true hope to spring up again before snuffing out his life. He would have to beat fate this time. So resolute were his thoughts, he barely realized Force had entered and the cart had jerked back into motion.

  C H A P T E R 11

  Only Street

  Jonathan was walking with his family along the village's only street. The smell of roasted meat filled the air and made his stomach grumble. Familiar faces were smiling and laughing and the dull roar of conversation gave the village a festive air. Snow had begun to layer the ground the night before, and a chilly breeze was inconsistently wafting across the village. Jonathan looked up at his mom whose pale cheeks were red in the cold. She was breathing fast from the walk, and the cloud of her breath hung in the air. She looked down at him, and her face split with a mesmerizing smile that was naturally contagious. Jonathan's little sister, Amy, skipped ahead and entered a crowd of girls, who were trying to catch a cat behind the butcher's house.

  Someone called his name, and Jonathan turned to see Her smiling at him. He froze in the moment—heart stopped at her grin. She waved and began to walk over to him, Her eyes dancing in the light of the snow.

  Then the horn rang out. Jonathan gasped, and the villagers froze in fear. They had been trained for this, but none of them had ever believed it would happen. The silence was broken by the first shout, and then the world dissolved into a blur. Barst was dimly aware of his mother holding his shoulders yelling in his face to get home. His feet felt foreign as they flew across the snow as he shot down the path. He dumbly glanced back to see his mother running for his sister.

  He stopped for a moment and searched the terrified faces. He saw Her, eyes now full of panic, looking up at him. He took a step towards Her and then stopped as a whizzing sound filled the air. A cry sounded as the first arrows stuck, and he saw the village smith go down, a black shaft protruding from his back.

  Jonathan turned and sprinted for safety, as screams sounded behind him.

  Barst jerked awake in cold sweat. His heart was thumping against his rib cage and he could feel the blood pumping in his ears. He glanced around to make sure he was still in the carriage. Across from him, Force was fixing him with an even bigger cocky smile, "Bad dream right?"

  Barst just glared at him and took a peak out the window. He must have dozed off again. The sun was beginning to dim and the horses' panting could be heard from outside. Guess they aren't magical enough to not need sleep. They had been going for almost a day and Barst was beginning to wonder how much more the horses could take.

  "How far away are we?" Barst’s legs were cramping up, and he felt the urge to stretch them.

  "We’re almost there. Cleared the last checkpoint a minute back. You can see the castle now."

  Barst's curiosity got the better of his pride, and he craned his neck out the window.

  “Castle” seemed to be an understatement. A dark wall rose up to at least a hundred feet from the muddy ground. The bulwark seemed to run on forever until it collided with the mountains on either side of the surrounding valley basin. The only thing that peaked out behind this huge barrier was the gigantic tower that was lined with battlements of its own. An equally large moat, filled with some murky liquid, stretched out in front of the wall. A few purple banners hung across the wall, but they did little to suppress the foreboding air that rolled off the castle. Barst studied the walls, looking for an entrance, but retreated inside the carriage unsuccessful.

  "Where's the gate?" He asked in spite of himself.

  "Ah," Force responded with his usual smugness, "the gate is continually hidden by magic. It is supposed to be for protection, but I suspect it may be for the imposing look."

  "So how does the driver know where to go?"

  "He doesn’t."

  Barst felt himself getting angry. "Then how do we get in?”

  "You'll see."

  Barst sighed exasperatedly and threw his head back on the wood behind him. Force just continued smirking.

  Barst's body was jerked forward when the carriage stopped abruptly. He put his head out the window to see the ground rapidly retreating from underneath the carriage. He stared, stunned, before the horse's shrieks brought him into action. He flung the door open and was about to jump out when a strong hand fastened onto his shoulder. Barst reflexively spun, catching Force in the face with his elbow, before letting himself fall from the levitating carriage. He hit the soft ground on all fours and quickly forced himself onto his feet. Barst heard Force's cursing inside the carriage, but Barst just stood, unsure of what to do next.

  A loud, deep laugh came from the direction of the castle causing Barst to spin around. Not two feet from him stood a tall, lean man who was folded up with laughter. One of the man's arms was pointed at the floating carriage while the other was holding his side. The man was garbed like Force with the exception of sandals instead of boots. Force stuck his head out the open door of the carriage—one hand holding a bloody nose—glared down at the laughing man.

  The man stopped his chortling long enough to say, "You should have seen," but collapsed into laughter before he could finish that thought. Barst smirked with amusement. Well, at least they aren't all as bad as Force.

  The man finally got the better of himself, stood up, and formally addressed Barst. "Sorry about that. Terribly rude. My name is Kyle."

  And they don't all have stupid names, Barst thought.

  "You are probably wondering why your carriage is floating," Kyle continued in the same calm and debonair manner. "Well this is our method of getting things over the wall. We used to use the gate, before it was decided to hide it, but now we just lift things over. A lot more complicated, but it’s a fun job to have, especially when people throw elbows in each other's faces. Great shot by the way."

  He offered his non-pointing hand to Barst and looked at him expectantly. Barst took it and said, "I'm Barst and I'm going to fight for Haddix."

  "Oh really. What team are you on?" Kyle asked with interest.

  A puzzled expression came over Bart's face, but Force shouted down vehemently "Horst's team. He's a weakling."

  "Your nose can attest to that," Kyle yelled back earning him a glare from Force, who quickly retreated into the carriage muttering profanities.

  Kyle turned his attention back to Barst and gave him a look of pity. "Tough luck. Good luck anyways though." And with that he vanished. Barst started with surprise, and then looked around wondering what he was supposed to do. Above, Force was still swearing inside the carriage, and the horses were in a state of panic.

  All of a sudden, his vision was bleached white, and the ground left his feet. The air froze in his lungs and he struggled to breath, but to no avail. Then, not a second latter, his vision cleared and he found himself in a stone room face to face with Kyle.

  Kyle smiled apologetically and said, "Sorry about that. I should have given you warning, but I didn’t think of it until now. Well anyway, welcome to the castle." He waved his hand in a circling motion.

  "Is that where I am?" Barst asked in b
etween huge gulps of air.

  "Yes, in fact we're in the wall. This is my office where I transport all the goods into the castle."

  "Why don’t you just do what you did to me instead of lifting them in?"

  Kyle pursed his lips, "Energy. It takes a lot more effort to teleport you than it does to lift you. If I had to do that with objects as large as that carriage, I would pass out. I feel a little worn from just moving you. Maybe you should lay off the beef for a few meals." Kyle said the last part with a smile.

  "Why did you teleport me then?" Barst asked. He had, by now, caught his breath.

  Kyle grinned mischievously and rubbed his hands together. "So I can leave Force hanging out there. It takes some energy, but it worth the reaction."

  Barst smiled, "Glad you all aren't like him."

  Kyle nodded before turning around to the door. "Don't worry, you just got the bad apple. He didn’t spend all his time bragging about how amazing he is, did he?"