Seeker of the Four Winds: A Galatia Novel (32 page)

However, the first line of defense wasn’t
Barrett’s earthen ramparts but Gizmo’s electrified fence. The
ten-foot-tall posts were already being placed around the perimeter
of the capital. Wrapped with a net of metal wires, the electricity
going to the hospital from the dam would be rerouted on the day of
battle, zapping any enemy combatants who tried to cross it into the
afterlife.

We had no delusions about the fence and wall
standing for long, but we needed every deterrent we could get. Once
the fence failed, and the wall crumbled, and they met the usual
knives, swords and guns, our enemies would come against a weapon
unlike any they’d ever fought before.

And that was the charismas.

Nate’s electrical charges, Blanche’s
telekinesis, fire starters, extra-human strength. The Charismatic
Focus Committee was going down the list of abilities now, trying to
determine which ones could be converted into useful weapons.

Nevertheless, we were already outnumbered by
the Bulwark army alone. The Regalan, Commoner and Deerma armies
hadn’t even arrived yet. Their armies were filled with seasoned
fighters. Most of our people were newbies.

We’re so frickin’ doomed
was the
general sentiment around the town.

Those of us in the know about the Seeker of
the Four Winds and the Red Squad thought of them as our
ace-in-the-hole. Unfortunately, so much time had passed without
news of their progress that we had to make plans under the
assumption that the Blood Map was a lost cause. The best we could
hope for was that the people out looking for it would come home
alive. That is—if there was a home for them to return to.

During a private discussion about the missing
squad, Veronica and Dr. Steelsun grew very quiet, their faces
anxious, and a thousand parental worries hung in the air like the
flu bug. Being a parent myself, I understood what they were
thinking.
How could I have let them go? Why didn’t I see this
coming? I should have held them closer? Do they know how much I
love them? What if they are hurt and alone?

I placed a hand on each of their shoulders
and gave a squeeze.

“I have caught glimpses of their faces in my
dreams,” I said truthfully, but made sure to skip the parts where
they were dressed like gladiators, and killing to survive. “I’m
sure they’re still alive.”

Veronica gripped my hand like a lifeline and
began to sob. Dr. Steelsun rubbed her back. We huddled together for
a few moments. No words were spoken.

..............................

Late one afternoon, I sat on my porch with a
handful of council members and several well-trained Galatians with
swords. Chief Krom had finally agreed to a meeting with Red. The
two of them were in a private discussion in my kitchen. They had
been in there over an hour, leaving Barrett and I to answer endless
questions about our mother’s condition. Mostly, we whispered about
the upcoming war and grumbled about the humidity.

Finally, the mayor and chief came out of the
house chuckling about something. That was a good sign, I hoped.
They shook hands in the human way, bumped bellies in the Bulwark
tradition, and then Chief Krom left.

Hope fluttered in my chest as I watched the
chief’s squat form bumble through my fields to return to his
army.

“Are the Bulwarks leaving?” Veronica asked
hopefully.

“Not a chance,” Red said. “But the chief
assured me that they are not making a move against Galatia until
the morning of the Solstice. And I’m pretty sure he took the
bait.”

“What bait?”

“I told him about Mike’s collection,
specifically the Wittlesbach, the guns, etc.”

The council and I hushed.

“Uh,” Barrett said sounding as confused as I
felt. “Why would you do a thing like that?”

“When I first shook his hand, his violent
nature was already apparent to me. All I had to do is plant the
seed; his greed and gem lust will do the rest.”

“Have you lost your friggin’ mind? Why on
earth would you give him even more incentive to attack us?”

“Not us, sheriff. The competition.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Be patient, brother, this type of planning
has to stew a while to thicken.”

“What about the hostages?” Simon
inquired.

“When the battle begins, they will be safer
as hostages under his protection than inside the walls of Galatia.
For now, they are being treated well. After that, he made no
assurances.”

“So,” Veronica tested. “What you’re saying is
the meeting was a flop. Chief Krom is not going to let our people
go.”

“Not a complete flop, but not a success
either. I made him better understand our history, our current
dilemma, where we have come from as a people, and the direction I
see us going. Earning the chief’s respect will go a long way in
gaining him as a future ally. Our meeting bridged, though
tenuously, the divide that separates our nations.”

“I know Bulwarks,” my brother the sheriff
said cynically. “The battle could just as well signal them to
slaughter every Galatian they see, including the hostages.”

“There will be a battle, make no mistake
about that,” Red said. “But have faith, God did not bring humanity
through a plague, nuclear Armageddon, and into the future just to
see us destroyed.”

Veronica folded her arms and frowned, not
hiding her frustration with Red.

How could my brother seem optimistic after
his meeting with the Chief Krom had failed so miserably? Made me
wonder if there was a disconnect in his thinking. I stared out
beyond the field where the Bulwarks looked like little black flies
swarming over a carcass.

“Isn’t it time to start evacuating the women
and children?” Simon asked.

“Hold on a minute,” Veronica interjected.
“Speaking for the women of Galatia, where are we to go when we
evacuate? No kingdom will take us in. What will happen to us if
Galatia is defeated and all our men are dead? I’d prefer to stay
right here to fight, and possibly die, for the people I love.”

“We are going to have to come up with a way
of evacuating the women and children without the Bulwarks knowing
about it,” Barrett said, blowing off her questions. “Regardless of
age, gender, or status, the Alliance will kill any Galatian they
find in the city after the Summer Solstice arrives.”

“Yes,” Red agreed. “I cannot knowingly put
them in harm’s way. Let the evacuation proceed.”

“Where is your faith, Red?” Veronica said
testily. “If you truly trust that this God of yours has preserved
this land for the Galatians, and that our victory is assured, then
the last thing you ought to do is send the women and children
elsewhere.”

Veronica had a way of making a point stick.
Red looked as if he wanted to strangle her, but I knew that she had
won the debate. He sucked in a sharp breath, stepped off the porch,
mounted his black horse, and rode off toward Zena City.

..............................

About two weeks ahead of the Summer
Solstice, the crown prince of Tectonia, Valdor Saberhart, arrived
in the Northlands with his father’s army. More troops from the
Commoner kingdoms came on foot, horseback, and wagon every day. By
the end of the week, over forty thousand soldiers congregated on
the edges of Galatia and were camping in the fields and foothills
outside Zena City.

I was the last Galatian holdout still living
outside the earthen wall. But Sheriff Barrett and six deputies rode
out to my homestead and ordered me to the safety of Zena City,
which was fortified with enough food and water to feed the
population for two months. I was feeling pretty good about that
until our Ancient Roman History buffs warned that situations like
this could last a lot longer than that.

Naturally, the anxiety level was high. As the
dreaded day drew nearer, people walked down the cobbled streets as
if they were on the Trail of Tears, holding their children tight,
crying as if the last hope in the world had just melted away. Old
men and women huddled in Ollie’s Tavern, talking about the Celerun
plague, the nuclear holocaust, and the destruction of Galatians
Bunker, wondering if this was the incident that would finally kill
off humanity for good.

A few days later, the Deermas from the
Southlands arrived. Ryan and I stood on the earthen wall with
binoculars to take a headcount. There must have been fifteen
thousand of them. The antlered humanoids settled on the western
side of our city, conversing on two legs, but grazing our
grasslands on all four. They sounded like goats, bleating
constantly. I was angry to realize that the furry bastards were
eating my cornfields down to the nub.

Five days before the Summer Solstice, Prince
Loyl’s oldest brother, Major Prince Gerard of
The Valley of the
Cat People,
arrived with five thousand archers and another five
thousand foot soldiers. It felt like the Galatians didn’t have a
friend in the world. The Regalan prince had his troops take up a
position in the western hillside. Prince Gerard himself rode up on
horseback to the electrified fence with a band of his archers. He
looked a lot like Loyl, and his mannerisms were similar, but his
mane of white hair was streaked with thin orange stripes instead of
black. While Prince Loyl’s crown was a thin ringlet across his
forehead, Gerard’s rose up to a tall peak, indicating his status as
first heir to the throne.

Red rode outside the wall to greet him. I
came along, gun holstered on my belt, but we kept the fence as a
barrier between us.

“My brother, Prince Loyl, is he still among
the Galatians?”

“No,” Red said.

“Some believe you are holding him here
against his will.”

“Some believe incorrectly.”

Prince Gerard’s slit pupil eyes squinted at
Red as if he was debating whether to believe him or not. He started
to leave, but as if having second thoughts, he halted his horse,
and called out to Red and me, “I want you to know that my father
tried to turn the Alliance’s arrows away from Galatia, but he was
one voice against many. It is with deep regret that Regala D’Nora
is forced to position against you.”

“I regret it, too,” Red said.

“Is it true that you have found the Blood
Map?”

“Only half.”

“In its entirety, the Blood Map might have
made our people friends,” Prince Gerard said. “But the fates will
not have it.”

“Fate is not beholden to the predictions of
those it governs,” Red replied

The prince’s slit pupils dilated more as he
studied Red a bit closer.

“The rumors that your an unconventional
leader seem to be true, Mayor Wakeland.”

“I’ve been called worse, Prince Gerard.”

The prince grinned, showing his sharp fangs.
With a tsk of the tongue, his horse carried him across the meadow
toward the Regalan campsite on the western hillside.

(Michael Penn)

On the fourth day before the Summer
Solstice, Red was spotted on his knees next to the Mouth of God
with his hands folded in prayer. A small group had gathered to
watch. I wasn’t sure why; were they hoping for divine reassurance
about our fate? Red’s gray eyes lifted to heaven, his lips silently
moved. Then, lowering his gaze, he recollected himself. Clearing
his throat, he addressed the spectators.

“Please, let your friends and neighbors know
that I’m holding a public meeting in National Square within the
hour.”

Back at Bryce’s cottage, where Barrett and I
were enjoying a game of checkers, Isaiah came to deliver the news
about the meeting.

In turn, Barrett looked at me as if I had
somehow betrayed him.

“What is this about, Mike?”

“No clue,” I shrugged.

We arrived at the square outside of the
National Building where the crowd had already grown quite large.
Nerves were pulled tight, but the flowery scent of hope lingered in
the air. Was it possible that Red was about to divulge his plan to
save the city? He stood on the landing at the top of the steps, and
waved at me to come stand by his side, while Sheriff Barrett came
to stand at his right.

He began by thanking everyone for showing up
on such short notice, then acknowledged their fears and concerns. I
had no idea what was coming next. If I had, I might have pushed Red
down the steps for his own good.

“We have endured more than our share of
trials,” the mayor addressed the people, “but rest assured, God has
not forsaken us. No, quite the contrary. He told me to bring you
here today to ask you to do penance, to atone for the sins of
humanity and its lack of faith in Divine Providence. In return, God
will deliver Galatia from her foes and sustain us until the end of
time.”

“The end of time is four days away,” a man
shouted from the crowd. “We don’t have time for atonement.”

“If God wants to help us,” a woman joined in,
“tell Him to send us more guns!”

The crowd murmured assent. Many nodded their
heads. Though I was a man of faith, I found myself doubting my
beloved brother’s words. The stress of leading the Galatians had
made him crack. I wasn’t sure what to do, how to appease the
growing agitation of the crowd.

“We must place our trust in the power of God,
not in manmade weapons,” Red said. “If firearms make it into the
hands of the soldiers of this era, the world will set foot on an
inexorable and irrevocable path of destruction. Only this time we
won’t be able to blame the Celeruns for our demise. The blame will
rest solely in the hands of humankind. Therefore, we must throw our
guns into the Mouth of God, where the Angel of Galatia will forge
them into weapons suitable for this time period.”

“Good mayor, tell us what must we do to
receive these heavenly weapons?” a woman asked in earnest.