Seeker of the Four Winds: A Galatia Novel (26 page)

It bothered him to see that the spark that he
cherished so much had gone out of her eyes.

“Uh, how’s your finger?”

“Okay.” She shrugged. “I guess.”

“Surely, Prince Loyl and the others are
looking for us by now.” She glanced out over the arena, making no
reply. “Josie, come on, talk to me.”

“What can I possibly say that matters
anymore? We’re stuck here. The map is out there somewhere, lost
forever. Galatia is as good as dead.”

“Josie,” he said, grasping her by both
shoulders. “What happened to Willow and Big Clo wasn’t your fault.
Quit torturing yourself over things that can’t be changed.”

“Every evening after practice, I go back to
an empty cell, knowing my friends are dead because of the choices I
made. How can I not torture myself?”

“That’s what Bayloo wants you to think—that
killing them was your decision. It wasn’t. It was his—and his
alone—because if you truly had a choice in the matter, Big Clo and
Willow would still be here. Right?” Taking her chin in his hand, he
forced her to look at him. “Right?”

“Well, yeah!”

“In Willow’s last moments, I felt forgiveness
radiating from her spirit,” he lied. “She died at peace without a
shred of ill will against you.”

A glint of hope lit Josie’s blue eyes.

“Really?”

The trainers barked at them to return to the
field. Lars jogged out first, but he felt Josie watching him the
whole way. Maybe he shouldn’t have lied, but as he turned back to
glance at her, he could almost see the burden of guilt lift from
her shoulders.

The rest of practice was a heavy succession
of tumbles, flips and somersaults. They began working more with
twirling their knives and swords.

“Real soldiers would never let go of their
swords on purpose,” Slaughterhouse said, “but the crowd loves the
theatrics, so Mr. Bayloo encourages you to use them in all of the
shows. If you don’t do at least one flip and a twirl during a show,
then you don’t eat. Got it?”

Lars twirled the hilt of his sword through
his fingers, tossing it into the air, then deftly caught it with
the other hand. “Got it.” He glanced at Josie across the arena with
another trainer. She flicked a quick wink at him and waved, melting
him on the inside.

“She ain’t your woman anymore,”
Slaughterhouse growled. “And you ain’t her man. You both belong to
the theater company now, so quit looking at each other.”

Lars wanted to tell Slaughterhouse to booger
off, but not wanting any trouble, he made no reply.

(Larsen Drey Steelsun)

Next month, the theater company packed up,
placed the actors in a prison wagon and rolled out of town in a
caravan heading north. A few weeks later, they arrived at an
abandoned lime quarry inside the southern borders of the Kingdom of
Tectonia. Long ago it was worked by those in debtors prison. Mr.
Bayloo rented it out from the current land owners at about the same
time every year.

The
actors
were housed inside the old
prison cells. It seemed pretty much the same scene as the last
prison, except the weather was colder here and the birds weren’t as
colorful. Crash said this area was the perfect location to draw a
large crowd, only a day’s walk from the capital city, also called
Tectonia. This was the theater’s most profitable venue of them all.
Lars didn’t care about filling Bayloo’s purse, just that they were
moving closer to the Blood Map. In the meantime, the show went
on.

One day Dregg returned from a fight with a
broken ankle.

“Your gal did this to me,” Dregg hobbled to
the nearest bench. “But I got her good. I would have killed her,
but lucky for her, Mr. Bayloo refused to break the stick. ”

“Lucky for you, you mean,” Lars said between
clenched teeth. “If she dies out there, I’ll kill anyone that had
anything to do with it.”

Dregg laughed in his face. “You got more
balls than brains, Dread.”

“You’ve seen what I can do out there. I’m the
undefeated Dread of the West.”

“Ha! You’re good, but not as good as you
think. The only reason you’re still alive is because Mr. Bayloo has
been arranging it that way.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Lars pretended
he had already heard the bad news.

“But not for much longer. Just heard there’s
a show, two out from this one, the best seats have already been
sold to generals, chieftains, princes, queens and too many noblemen
to count. They’re coming to see you to get an idea of what their
troops will be up against in Galatia. Come that day, rumor has it
that Mr. Bayloo is gonna break his stick all over your ass—your
girl’s gonna die in the first act, but they’re saving you for
last.”

Totally rattled at the news, Lars plastered
on a poker face of indifference. “It’s everyone else that’s in for
a surprise. See, I’ve been holding back a lot more than anyone
realizes. So is Galatia. If Josie dies, I’ll have nothing left to
lose, and you don’t want to see what that means.”

“Try me, Dread—show us what you and Galatia
have in store for us.”

Other cellmates gathered around, egging him
on as if they had caught him in a boast he couldn’t carry out.
Opening his charisma full throttle, Lars surfboarded into Dregg’s
mind on the thread of his fear, where he took over his motor
functions, forcing him to strangle himself.

When Dregg’s hands closed tighter, and
gurgles came from his throat, their cellmates scoffed. “C’mon, you
two are putting us on. He’s just choking himself to make it look
like you’re making him do that.”

But some of the other men shrank back in
fear.

Dregg’s eyes began to bulge. His face went
from bright red to blue, and he swayed, clearly beyond the point of
volition. The prisoners who’d scoffed now froze in silent horror
and wonder.

“Enough’s enough!” Crash pleaded with Lars to
stop. “You made your point, Dread. Knock it off.”

Lars severed the link. His victim fell to the
ground gasping for breath as his buddies helped him scurry to a
corner. They looked at Lars as if he had turned into the devil.

“Nice trick, Dread,” Crash said, smirking.
“Maybe you can use it in your last act.”

For the remainder of the evening, Lars’s
cellmates kept a wide space between him and themselves. Even Crash
kept his distance. To hell with them all, Lars thought, shaking the
mouse droppings out of a green blanket, and curling under it on the
floor. As he fell asleep, he had that same nightmare that had
plagued him since the demise of the bunker, being pursued by a dark
shadow with a twisted black sword. No matter how far he ran, or
where he hid, that shadow was always just behind him, waiting to
pounce.

A touch on the back of his shoulder made him
startle awake. Fellow prisoners often exacted revenge as their
enemy slept, so Lars had become a light sleeper. Flipping open his
eyes, there wasn’t a person in sight. He felt the slightest touch,
like the flittering of moth wings on his lips.

“Josie?” Another flicker of butterfly
kissing. Lars laid back down, letting his breathing relax as he
transitioned into the Mind Wander. There was Josie, dressed in a
layered ball gown, and wearing a tiara. Her eyes were big and
filled with concern, but he couldn’t help but smile.

“Nice outfit.”

She glanced down as if she had forgotten
about it. The gown instantly morphed back into brown trousers and
white tunic. “I ran across Mr. Bayloo and some big wigs during a
Mind Wander...the Alliance is paying Mr. Bayloo to rig the fight,
ensuring our defeat.”

“I heard, but I don’t understand why.”

“It’s a public relations thing,” she replied.
“Seems this war against Galatia isn’t all that popular. People
think we’re witches and sorcerers. They’re worried that Mayor
Wakeland will hex any nation that goes up against him. They hope
our deaths in the arena will prove that even though Galatians fight
well, we bleed and die like everyone else.”

“But we make Bayloo a lot of money--why would
he want to kill us?”

“Apparently, we’ve paid for ourselves a
thousand times over, and the Alliance is paying him enough to make
up for the next fifty shows.” Josie flung her ethereal arms around
Lars. There was no warmth in this state, but electricity passed
between them. “The only silver lining in this dark cloud is that we
will be fighting together for the first time.”

“Which means he can’t use you as leverage
against me.”

“Or you me,” Josie said. “And you know what
that means.”

“Escape.’

“Security is heaviest during a fight,” she
pointed out. “But making a break for it while we’re in the arena is
our only chance.”

“It seems risky.”

“I know, but there’s always Plan B.”

“And what is Plan B?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Whatever you decide, I’m with you,
babe.”

“
Babe,
” she snickered.

Pulling her mystical form closer, he kissed
her starry lips, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time.

(Larsen Drey Steelsun)

On the morning of the show, a pointy-eared
Forest Gnome with pickle-colored skin and a hook nose that took up
most of his face, entered the cell. He carried a golden suit of
armor for Lars—gifts from Mr. Bayloo. The armor came in so many
pieces that Lars couldn’t tell the elbow guards from the knee
guards, so the gnome stayed to help him strap it on the right
places. The golden helmet, which sported a fluffy black plume, had
Dread
engraved across the forehead. The chest plates were
molded like rippling pectoral muscles.

The Gnome held up a mirror. Lars turned to
the left, turned to the right, and flexed an arm muscle.

“Wow,” he said, admiring his buff physique.
“I look awesome—like a real gladiator.”

“Don’t get a willy over yourself,” Crash said
irritably. “Your face is still ugly.”

“Have you seen that crowd?” An exuberant
voice bellowed in the back ground. Lars tuned to see the flamboyant
Mr. Bayloo strutting toward him in six-inch high red platform
boots. He had on red jacket to match with double-breasted silver
buttons. His gray pants were striped in the same shade as the
jacket and boots. A black bicorn with a huge white plume that
jostled and swayed with the slightest movement topped the outfit.
“We got dignitaries, nobles, generals and fancy ladies from every
corner of the West. We got soldiers, merchants, and we even got a
goddamn queen. And you know why they’re here, Dread?”

“To see me die, I suppose,” Lars said with a
tired sigh.

“Curiousity, of course. We’ve had a delicate
two-hundred-year peace, but troops of every nation are on their way
to the northlands. Seeing the Dread of the West and his woman in a
live performance will answer many of their questions.”

An angry lump formed in Lars’s throat. In a
stroke of inspiration, he used his charisma to enter Bayloo’s mind,
but touching the theater owner’s psyche was like punching a stone
wall. What the hell? Undeterred, Lars took over the mind of the
guard next to Bayloo, forcing him to go straight for Mr. Bayloo
with a knife. Lars had heard Mr. Bayloo had been a champion fighter
in his day, but the speed at which he moved still surprised him.
The theater owner had his own knife out, and slit the guard’s
throat, before Lars could blink. The dead guard dropped to his
knees and Mr. Bayloo pushed him toward one of the trainers as if it
were just another day at the office.

“Take the dead meat to the kitchen.”

Lars gagged.

OneMonth After Leaving the Slayer
Homestead

(Dante Armstrong)

The idea of returning to Jo without her
little sister in tow made his head throb. He had known Josie since
she was ten years old. Losing her couldn’t have hurt any less than
losing one of his own siblings. His throat tightened when he
thought about her being lost and alone out there. Or worse...no, he
refused to entertain that line of thinking any longer.

It was possible that she was holed up
somewhere with Lars, waiting for the rest of the squad to find
them. Maybe they had trailed the Seeker of the Four Winds on their
own, found it, and were already back in Galatia. Though those
seemed implausible outcomes for the two inexperienced swimmers who
fell into rapids—considering other possible scenarios was just too
painful.

Rolf had taken the horses and traveled alone
by land, while the rest of the squad traveled down the Kalida River
in search of their missing companions. The plan was to meet up with
Rolf again in the outskirts of Tectonia, an area Dante knew well,
having lived in Tectonia for several years. Many Galatians still
lived there, including Josie’s father, Geoffrey Spaulding. If they
needed assistance, they could count on Geoffrey to help them.

Loyl, Lindsey and Dante had spent weeks
bobbing along the edges of the river in a rowboat as they attempted
to retrace Lars’s and Josie’s accidental journey. Though most clues
had probably been washed away by the winter thaw and subsequent
spring flooding. If it hadn’t been for Lindsey Burning’s ability to
see the unseeable, using her charismatic
rewind
on rocks and
dead wood, including ships, the search would have ended
swiftly.

After what seemed like the hundredth ship,
she found Lars’s and Josie’s imprint on a large merchant vessel.
They had been rescued! But then Lindsey described what had
happened.

“They were held in chains on one of the lower
decks. When they tried to escape, a big fight broke out on deck.
Josie and Lars dove off the side of the ship, but they were
captured again and transferred to another ship. There’s a name on
its side, but I can’t make out the letters.”