97 (Rise of the Battle Bred) (5 page)

Zarastrid’s Log Day 177

Year of Our Loch 107

I haven’t written.

Agnes haunts my thoughts.

Her belly swells. It seems early. All of the women are thus.

Zainel
prances around the fortress like a proud papa. A papa of twenty-five babes. He babbles about unexpected but promising signs. Bigger bellies means the infants are taking better than expected. He anticipates a battalion of strapping boys. He only bleeds the women once a week, saying their humors are balanced as a result of the potions he administers religiously. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was enjoying this humanity too much.

The women, in their turn, all glow with a strange happiness. True, we ‘rescued’ them in a sense, from the squalor, the drudgery of meaningless lives. But some of them had families. Amazing what the promise of food does for a person. And then there is Agnes.

The Coven suspects that I have feelings for her. The most suspicious of the lot is Zeko. Of course they’re right, but I would never act on it. I made an oath, just as we all did. The greater good requires complete fidelity to the Pact.

Just as the others do, so do I desire complete subjugation. We have knowledge no other Lord nor nation possesses. We have the magicks. When our Battle spawn are born,  we will have the power to enforce our will upon all territories. Of course I desire this. I could never betray the Coven.

Crady just opened the door then butted backwards into the room.

Snoopy didn’t even blink; he was used to her after all these years. His long beagle ears brushed the floor while he panted lazily, still under the kitchen table. He liked the tile floor.

Crady was juggling her overnight bag and a paper bag full of goodies.

I grabbed the grocery bag from her and peeked inside. “BBQ chips?  Sour cream and onion chips? Pringles? Where’s the baby carrots?” I teased her.

“What can I say? I was craving chips,” She said as she dumped the bag on my table.

She was a little breathless, probably because her overnight bag weighs about a thousand pounds. She always brings enough gear to outfit a cheerleading squad and supply a couple of day spas.

My mom called from her office, “Hey Crady!”

“Hey Ms. Burrows! Come soak your feet with us!” She shouted down the hallway.

“Maybe later!” my mom answered. Mom never joined us. I asked her why once, and she said girlfriend time was sacrosanct; she didn’t want to intrude. Tonight more than ever I appreciated her philosophy. I had some serious girl talk to engage in with my bestie.

“So, my dad wants to know: was he right or was he right?”  Crady asked me.

“He had to ask?”  I replied.

We smiled at each other.

“I’ll text him that TDH is officially approved,” She said after depositing her bags on my bed.

We rigged up the bowls of hot water for foot soaking and played with all the nail polishes. I chose a shade of hot iridescent green for my toes, and a very pale pink for my fingers. I handed Crady a nail file, and she handed me the orange stick. The door to my room was closed; we turned up the volume on some sweet croons and the chat began. “So What The Heck…he
exercised
in front of you?  Sounds kinda kinky!” Crady started.

I laughed. “No, nothing like that. And just, eww!” I said, shaking my head. “He started this game with me,” I began to explain.

“Ooh, games?  Me likey!”

“Crady,” I said in the middle of a laugh. “Stop, let me talk!” Already with the giggling. This was why I loved girls’ night in. “So, he said let’s ask each other three questions. And oh, before I forget, he’s from Toledo.”

Crady frowned with the silliest expression. “Um, why was he reluctant to tell you Toledo?  Big whoop.”

“I know, right?”  We chuckled together and swapped manicure implements. “I told him my favorite subject was English.”

“Boooring…” Crady said quietly while dragging out the vowels.

I swatted at her with the file. “Anyway, I asked him what he did for exercise, because,
man
, can you believe his arms?  I mean, whoa Nelly!” I inspected my nails.

“Go on,” Crady said eagerly. “I sense the good part is coming.”

“You have no idea. I asked him what he did for exercise, and he started hedging. I was afraid he was going to talk himself out of answering, but instead, he found the park and we ran across the field to the playground. He jumps UP onto it, and starts doing these Karate Kid kicks and junk while balancing on the wood!”

“No Way!” Crady said.

“I know, right?  Then he does these moves; it looked like he was stabbing junk, and his face was all serious, like the Grim Reaper. Oh my heck…he could BE the grim reaper. That man knows how to administer DEATH!” We were really into my conversation, and then it hit us, what I had just said. The mood in the room plummeted.

Crady was the first to speak. “As in, Death
death?”  She asked in a quiet voice.

I squirmed, my feet sloshing in the hot water footbath. It was time to pull them out and dry them on the fluffy lavender-scented towels we had ready. “Uh, yeah. I mean, it was like this orchestrated routine, right?  Kind of choreographed or something, so not like he was in an actual war…” my voiced drifted off. Crady was dabbing her feet dry too, and I got up
to dump all the water in the bathroom. When I got back, Crady had this expression on her face. I knew the one. “What,” I said to her.

She looked up at me, butterfly headband long gone for the evening, so her curly black hair bounced a little. “You know that’s not normal, right?”

I nodded slowly.

“And you know that is THE. COOLEST. THING. EVERRRRR!” She broke into a wide grin, and I joined her.

“His shirt rode up a little during one of his moves…” I started.

“OMGOMGOMGEEEEEEEE!” She screamed.

“William is a
hottie
,” I said.

Our laughter pealed around the room enfolding us in its ripples.

Crady threw a pillow at me, and if we didn’t have wet nails, it would have turned into a nasty dogfight of epic feather pillow proportions. But we had to watch our mani/pedis.

Zarastrid’s Log Day 254

Year of Our Loch 107

I’m frantic. We lost one of the mothers in childbirth last night. The babes are coming early. None of us planned on a shorter gestation.
Zainel flies from one cell to the next, shouting out orders to those of us not squeamish around birthing women, and the slaves are working doubly hard. Zeko killed one of them who complained of being overtired.

In an effort to divert the Coven’s attention away from my feelings for Agnes, I have intentionally stayed away from her. I have no idea what she’s feeling, if she is laboring or still waiting for the birth pains. She must know I care for her, even though I am absent.

I can’t stir up the Coven’s ire. Or further rouse the anger of Zeko. These are dangerous times.

The beat of war drums sound not too distantly. The religious leader of nations is calling for war. The Coven chafes under the rule of the deluded church. As soon as the infants are grown men, we will have the upper hand. But first we must do all in our power to preserve the lives of the infants, and those of the mothers as well. The Coven, while without hearts, is not heartless. We will allow the mothers to nurse and teach the babes until the fifth year.
Zainel insists a mother’s love will ensure the healthiest outcome. It will be most efficient to have the mothers teach them language and toilette skills. Upon their fifth year, the Coven will surrender the boys to Zeko, the Battle Loch. I admit to misgivings.

I hear
Zainel screaming for more hot water; I must away.

William

William lay on his bed in the dark, arms behind his head. He couldn’t get Jane out of his head, couldn’t tell if he wanted to. Her shimmer was everywhere in this damn town. He’d seen it almost as soon as they entered the town’s boundary. Long pale pink streaks fanned out all over the roads and side streets. There were more at certain places of course, such as the school and her street. The video store and the local pizza joint, the library, and the playground where he’d done his Misrillet were some other spots.

He pondered what it might mean, that he could see her paths so clearly. He knew the history of his people, the abilities that the Warlochs had ‘bestowed ‘ upon them. Among other things, the ability to see certain people’s spark of life, or aura or whatever you wanted to call it. Anciently, his people thought it was magic. Now they understood it was enhanced genetics. He’d been taught that the genetic link to another person helped in the field of battle. You could keep track of a certain foe, or find the healers more quickly. Some legendary warriors could see everyone’s path, others could only see some. He’d never been able to see anyone’s before. He figured it was latent or maybe never coming at all. Now it was here full force, but only for her path. He hadn’t told his father yet.

William reflected on the day. It started in the wee hours, when he finally convinced his father to pull over by flashing his lights behind the moving truck. They needed to consult the map. A friendly police officer stopped to help them and they continued on. When he started seeing the pink paths everywhere, it made him gasp. And he was Warrior; he never gasped.

He was startled to see it stronger on their new street, and then, when he sat on his mattress and stared out through the blinds, there she was, flying along and trailing her pale pink shimmer behind her. He sat forward when he saw that she was about to crash, but she veered around their truck just in time, pounding it with her hand as she passed it. He stared at the glowing hand print she’d left on the side of the truck for an hour, watching it slowly fade to the slightest imprint.

Her paths crisscrossed, some glowed more brightly than others. It seemed the brighter the shine, the more recent she’d been there. The pink was everywhere…he suspected it meant she’d lived here her whole life.

Warriors, as a rule, were transient. Their lives were irrevocably altered by their ancestors who’d revolted against the Warlochs. Now they were hunted like dogs. William’s hands fisted behind his head. They were built to fight, bequeathed a destiny to battle…war was in their blood, but now they were merely prey of the Warlochs. With all of their gifts, some might call them curses, they couldn’t seem to overcome the relentless predators that chased them across the globe.

Predators that killed so viciously it made him ill to think about it. Predators that he feared might have found him and his dad already, after the prickle of danger he’d felt while walking Jane home.

His mother had been killed protecting him when he was just an infant. His father had finally told him about it last year. It was welcome information about a mother he never knew and a woman his father never talked about. The knowledge had given him a better sense of his worth; his mother had deemed him worthy of her last life.

Even so, he and his father didn’t have a sterling relationship. Neither one of them spoke much; they were all about action. The morning ritual of Misrillet was about as close to communicating as they got: that, and the hand-to-hand combat drills.

Starting a new school was no big deal. He’d attended a different one almost every year of his life. He found himself following Jane’s paths to school, curious about the girl whose life he could trace so easily with just his eyes. Seeing her for the first time in full sunlight was the second shock of his day. It made him angry. If she had been plain, maybe he wouldn’t have been so curious. But no. Plain Jane, he snorted to himself. If only.

Jane’s eyes were like silver; she possessed a penetrating gaze. Her hair fell in long waves and was the color of some sleek animal’s sable coat. Her white teeth gleamed when she smiled, and she had the most endearing crooked grin, when she relaxed. The blush slayed him, though.

He’d lied today. Didn’t even bat an eye when he did it.

He’d told her he hadn’t noticed, because some part of him sensed that she might never look at him again if he admitted it. But that telling flush of color just positively wrapped itself around her creamy skin and made him crazy. To think that he had that kind of influence on her did something to his heart.

He thanked the gods she’d confronted him about it, because that gave him an opening to ask about it later. To hear her explain her vulnerability actually made perfect sense to him. Being unable to camouflage oneself could be very dangerous in the field of battle.

Her admission made him catch his breath. It brought out a protective instinct he hadn’t known he possessed. She maybe was joking about her ‘imminent death’, but he would make sure it never came to that anyway. That’s what he was made for, wasn’t it?

The question game he came up with was brilliant. Not given to smiling, he did smile when he remembered getting to ask her about the very thing that obsessed his thoughts, right after her pink shimmers. Just asking her about it made her skin flush the reddest it had been all day.

Possessed of the keenest senses, he could spot the instant her skin color changed, and could almost hear her heart rate increase at the same time. He knew her scent now too, a mix of newspaper ink and lavender with a touch of female sweat.

Most of his life, he cursed the dubious gifts the Warlochs had given his race, but he conceded that maybe it was kind of cool to be able to smell Jane Burrows as soon as she entered a room.

Being able to perform Misrillet for her had been a bonus. He knew he was a man of few words, like his dad, so being able to bring her into his world, if only for a few minutes, relaxed him. Maybe he didn’t know how to chat up a girl, unless they were talking world history, but he could capture her attention this way. To what end? 

His mood tanked. A Warloch would eventually find he and his father, one of them would expire, and they would have to move again. He swung a fist into the wall in frustration.

“William!” His father shouted from somewhere in the house. William could feel the jolt of his father’s heavy steps approach his room. His door opened and the lights turned on. His father literally filled the doorway.

“Dad,” He said.

Jacob McLeod folded his huge arms and looked down at him. William knew he resembled his father in both appearance and size, but he still felt intimidated by him. Especially when he wore the expression he had on now. It was his ‘I’m uncomfortable talking to you but I’m going to anyway’ look. He began.

“I know this is hard.”

William frowned at his father but didn’t speak.

“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”  Jacob asked.

William just shrugged.

Jacob relaxed his pose a bit. “I’m going to figure this out. We’re going to be able to stay longer this time.”

William sat up in his bed. “How?”  he refused to allow room for hope in his voice. He had no more reason to stay here than any other place. None.

“I figured out a way to contact a few of the others. We need to stand together. The Warlochs have divided and conquered long enough. We need to do what we were bred to do. We need to fight!”

“You mean you need to fight,” William said bitterly.

“We’ve been over this, William,” Jacob said. “You must see the logic in my decision.”

William nodded slowly. This was a new side to his father. He was used to their original plan…lay low, don’t make waves, keep a watch out for the predators and fight until death. And then do it again. And again. And again. But after the last battle, his father had changed, and he had changed. He had a lot more to lose now.

“The Old Ones thought that splitting everyone up and scattering them throughout the globe was a good strategy. I’ve had enough time, and enough deaths, to realize the strategy is not working. We need to gather everyone in. We need to work together and fight the battle that should have been fought a couple thousand years ago,” Jacob said with fervor. “I’ve been in communication with some others. They agree.”

William schooled his features to show no emotion, much as he had done for his whole life. “The code worked.”

Jacob nodded slowly, a small smile about to glimmer on his hardened face. “Our people are slowly coming around to the truth. And anyone dialed in to the World Wide Web will be gradually finding the Easter eggs I’ve left at strategic websites. I’ve set up a handful of secure email addresses, and I’m getting responses every day.”

“Easter eggs?”  William asked.

“You remember. Messages stored in hidden icons,” Jacob told him.

“That’s what the code was for…” William felt a stirring of hope in his chest. He stared at his father as if seeing him for the first time. The weariness of his features had taken on the look of determination instead. His battle-hardened body stood even taller in the doorframe of William’s room. He knew his father better than anyone else on the planet, but seeing this fervor from him pricked his heart.

They were both tired of running, but there was something else burning inside of his dad. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Before he felt the connection fade between them, William spoke.

“I can see someone’s path here,” He said.

Jacob’s head jerked up. “What?”

“As soon as we hit the town’s boundaries, the main streets, I could see a path. It’s everywhere,” He was carefully meting out the information, trying to gauge his father’s reaction. How much he would tell him remained to be seen.

Jacob entered William’s room with a step.

“Just one path, or any others?”

“Just one,” William swallowed, but didn’t reveal anything else yet. He thought of the pink swirling all over, and the paths intersecting in the hallways at school. She was a senior; she’d been attending the school for four years. The pink was layered brighter in places she spent a lot of time in, so naturally the library, (her favorite subject was English, after all) and the bike rack outside the school glowed with her essence.

“Eventually you’ll probably meet him. It’s a small town. Interesting that you see this one now. I could only see my parents’ paths and your mother’s.”

Jacob’s eyes closed as he seemed to be recalling his wife. He shook his head. “The Old Ones say that there is a genetic component to this ability. Something about the rods and cones in our eyes being attuned to DNA strands in others. Of course, the early Warriors didn’t know about genetics and physiology.” He smiled.

“Her,” William said. “I already met her. She lives on our street; she goes to my school.”

Jacob lowered himself to a stranded folding chair in his son’s room. “Well, I’ll be. Is she pretty?”  Jacob grinned at him.

William was unsure how to respond to his father’s teasing. This was unusual for him. Then again, planning on engaging the Lochspawn was unusual too. It seemed to bring a side out in his father that was more carefree, more vital. He gave a short nod.

Jacob’s smile grew broader. He must have sensed William’s discomfort, however, because he said nothing more and stood to leave.

“I’ll fight with you,” William told his father.

Jacob didn’t look back as he left the room. “Oh, I know you would, son. I know you would. But you’re not going to if I have anything to do with it.”