Sunlord (40 page)

"I will, sir."

The Caretaker seemed surprised at the boldness in the
boy's voice. He peered in the darkness and made out the dirt
streaked face of Surk, the thirteen year old boy who had been
unofficially adopted by the block. From the very beginning his life
had been a difficult one; his mother had died when he was a child
and nobody knew about his father. But he had been taken into the
care of the block, the residents always giving him food and shelter
whenever he requested it. He had often stayed in Georn's room, and
would even come into the Caretaker's. The Caretaker had let him in
with a gruffness in his voice that did little to disguise his
delight in having the boy around. Surk reminded the old man of his
own son, and he enjoyed the lively boy's company. But Surk refused
to live in one spot permanently. He preferred to be alone, and was
known on occasions to stay away for weeks on end. Some speculated
he trekked in the forest, camping alone and fending for himself. He
preferred it that way.

The Caretaker opened his mouth to dismiss Surk's
offer, but stopped as he noted Surk's eyes glinted in the darkness,
the determination in his voice making him stop to think. Surely the
boy was not serious?

The other currach whispered among themselves.

"But boy, it is dangerous," pleaded the Caretaker.
"Please let one of the men go..." He looked up, but his gaze was
not met. Rather, the men hung their heads, the fear in their hearts
too heavy to overcome.

"I can," said Surk resolutely.

The Caretaker paused, his thin brows coming together.
It was dangerous and almost suicidal to try and escape the city.
The Sunlords were all around and the Caretaker was sure anybody
caught leaving would be shot.

But then again, did they stand any chance here...?
Besides, nobody was a better climber than Surk. The Caretaker
nodded decisively. "Very well." He strode to the leather door flap
and peered out into the darkness, sniffing the air. He could smell
smoke.

"I wish you luck," the Caretaker said solemnly as
Surk paused at the doorway. "We are relying on you, my boy."

Surk nodded slowly, and before anybody could say any
more had darted out into the corridor. His soft leather shoes
slapped against the sandstone floor as he retreated into the
darkness without a word.

The Caretaker turned slowly back to the crowd,
holding a hand to his arthritic back as it jabbed with pain.

"We have work to do," he began. His gaze roved over
their fear filled faces upturned to his like a row of shinning
dinner plates. "Gather together some food, and met in the cellar.
We will be safe there."

"I have some dried meat," spoke up the young
councillor. "I've stocked up four boxes - that should keep us going
if we are stuck down there for long."

"And I'll get my hammer and some boards," said Georn.
"They should be able to close up the basement door once we're all
in."

A small wave of comments picked up as various
individuals planned what they would contribute. The Caretaker
nodded to himself as the plan for their retreat grew in depth. A
few currach had already broken the shackles of fear and were moving
to their own rooms to collect their gear. Once in the basement they
would hole themselves up as much as possible, and hopefully
re-emerge when order was restored.

The Caretaker found himself wondering if they would
find anything but a land of bloating corpses and rubble awaiting
them.

Surk knew where he was without the aid of his eyes.
He ran at a fast jog that could be maintained for hours on end down
the dark corridors and leapt down the stairs four at a time. He
sprung from the stone stairway and landed awkwardly at the bottom,
cursing as his ankle twisted slightly. He stood without a pause,
ignoring the dull throb in his foot, and was off at a run towards
the front door.

He skidded through the wide door and out into the
star speckled night, the blast of cold air hitting him like a sheet
of icy water. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, squinting in
the red light of a magnificent fire that engulfed the council
building. His breathing was harsh in his chest and he found himself
on his knees in a crouch, looking around like a hare that had
stumbled into blinding light.

All around was destruction. Only three buildings
remained standing that he could see, the rest were either half
collapsed like the one had just emerged from, or completely
demolished to their very foundations. The cobblestone streets ran
with a slick, oily grease, reflecting the flickering light of the
fire from its surface. Surk heard the steady thumping of the tank
cannons, distant and heavy like thunder.

He drew himself together and scurried away, moving
from the centre of the road and into the shadows of an alleyway. As
he moved behind the towering wall of a residential building he
caught a flicker of movement from his eye, noting that he had moved
away just in time to avoid a group of Sunlord troopers that had
rounded the corner.

Surk threw himself into a pile of rubbish that had
gathered behind an old shed in the alleyway, raising his head just
enough to get a clear sight down the alleyway. He held his breath
as he saw at least five Sunlord troopers walk past, looking like
towering black monsters, their armour glinting like a bug's. They
did not fire their massive guns, rather they had them thrown over
one shoulder, wide black metal muzzles pointing up at the night
sky. They moved like shadows, their footsteps a regular tromp,
tromp, tromp over the flagstones. Surk couldn't help but feel
irked, as if his personal space had been invaded. The Sunlords are
here, in our city, he thought. They had been the subject of feared
talk and many tales had been told of them, but now that he had seen
them with his own eyes walking the streets of the city Surk felt a
new bolt of fear in his guts. They had been invaded.

Surk waited a little longer after the steady thumping
footsteps of the small band of Sunlord soldiers had died away in
the distance, the purposefulness of their stride telling Surk they
marched towards some unknown objective. He didn't care where it
was, as long it was away from him.

He shakily stepped away from the pile of rubbish,
brushing the lawn clippings from his grubby, hardy clothing. He
stepped forward towards the road again, almost tiptoeing, ready to
bolt back into shelter should he spot any sign of another
Sunlord.

He hugged the rough wall and sidestepped out, looking
up and down the length of the street. The wall of darkness was
almost like a cage, and he felt like a trapped mouse being stalked
by a hungry predator.

So where do I go? he thought wildly. He panted and
drew a hand across his face, forcing himself to calm down. When his
breathing had slowed he raised his eyes once again.

The quickest way out of the city would be to the
west, down past the old man's shop where he used to buy the things
requested by the Caretaker. From there, over the bridge spanning
the Park Brook that ran along the fringe of the city. But what if
the Sunlord's were there? The bridge was narrow, and was bordered
by the smithy and a huge, rundown industrial building. Even a
single Sunlord could position himself on the bridge, blocking off
any escape.

What about the old sawmill, he thought. He knew of a
place where the boarding in a wall had collapsed, and he could run
through the length of the building to end up on the outskirts of
the city beyond the Park Brook.

That would be the best way. Small puffs of steam came
from his throat as he broke into a run, his legs pumping like
pistons, moving him swiftly through the shadows. He kept close to
the side of the road, almost in the gutter, leaping over pieces of
debris that had lodged there since the winter rains. His
unconscious mind directed him, his eyes searching and finding a
place to land his feet as he sprinted through the confined space.
He ducked and weaved as the low overhanging roofs of shops loomed
closer, his surroundings bathed in pool of darkness. He was running
away from the fighting and the light of the blazing fire had
diminished considerably. The sounds of gunfire and screaming had
also quietened, as if this area had not been affected by the
rolling wave of Sunlord invaders yet.

He fought the urge to cast glances over his shoulder
as he ran, his mind playing tricks on him, his ears hearing the
steady thumping of marching Sunlords at his tail.

And he ran through the troubled night, phantoms at
his heels and panic in his heart, pushing on until his lungs burned
like embers in his chest.

* * *

Josian squinted into the setting winter sun, shading
his eyes with a broad hand as a shadow moved towards them. The
figure's back was against the clouded sun that cast a long,
skeletal shadow along the path before it.

The old tosutri the farmer had given them stopped in
its tracks, the blankets and baskets of food clattering as the
beast raised it's head and snorted. The tosutri was a beast common
to the farmlands, and they were used for carrying burdens or even
pulling a ploughshare. It's hide was not unlike the donkey and it
walked with the same gait, except the tosutri had a longer neck,
its eyes spaced widely on either side of its wedge-like head. The
old beast snorted, flaring its wide nostrils, as the stranger
approached.

Locantar had been following close behind the tosutri,
one hand upon the worn saddle for guidance, and he too stopped.
Locantar raised his thin currach brows questioningly, and for an
instant Josian was convinced Locantar's milky white eyes glimmered
with sight.

"It's a boy," reported Josian as the stranger grew
closer, a small cloud of raised dust in his wake. Travellers were
not common along the roads ever since the invasion, and in their
week long journey Josian and Locantar had not met with a single
soul. The only sign they had to convince them that they were not
the only sole survivors wandering along a barren lifeless plain was
the occasional farmer still tending his field. It was one of these
such farmers who had offered Locantar the tosutri to aid the old
missionary.

Josian pulled his heavy cloak over his shoulders as
the wind at their backs picked up, reminding them it would not be
long until the winter storms set in.

"Hello there," hailed Josian.

The small stumbling shadow of the boy stopped
sharply, looking up for the first time and noticing the two dusty
travellers. His eyes were dry and his breathing ragged, his
footsteps dragging and leaving comma shaped scuffs on the gravel in
his wake.

Josian gasped as the boy's upturned eyes met his own.
They were wild, lost eyes that reflected a pain racked soul. Just
looking at the exhausted figure Josian felt the fear and
desperation that was the boy's sink into his own heart.

The boy made out the shapes of the towering,
frightening looking men, catching the musky smell of the tosutri in
his nostrils. He started as his exhausted mind played out the
images, making them seem like grinning Sunlords, mountain-like
shadows blocking out the sky as they reached forward. His heart
beat tattoo in his thin chest, burning up the last reserves of his
strength, as his knees buckled and he stumbled backwards.

"Hey, are you all right?" Josian reacted quick enough
to catch the limp form in his arms. The boy had fallen unconscious
in his grasp, his head lolling back and his mouth wide and dry.

"Locantar," called Josian, settling the boy in his
arms and raising to his feet. "Pass me the waterbag - the kid is
almost dead."

The blind preacher had the leather waterskin in his
hand by the time Josian had reached the tosutri. Together they
forced a little liquid between the child's parched lips.

Locantar felt a weight lift from his chest as the boy
groaned, eyelids fluttering, as the water trickled down the side of
his face. Now that the panic was past Josian had a chance to study
the boy.

He judged the child had been running for hours on
end, without pause for rest or food. He saw his legs were shiny
with a layer of sweat despite the winter cool and his muscles
trembled and cramped. The boy's face was streaked with dirt and
sweat. Josian saw the boy wore respectable clothing, and despite
his current exhaustion looked well fed.

Then what was he doing out here?

Locantar beckoned with a bony hand. "Josian, fetch me
that blanket - this boy is freezing up."

Josian did as he was asked, and lay the thick prickly
hide over the resting boy. Locantar placed the waterskin on the
ground beside him and turned his white-eyed gaze to Josian.

"He is close to the edge," he muttered. He sniffed at
the air, testing it. "It is almost night. We should camp here and
care for him."

Josian nodded as he reached under the belly of the
tosutri and unbuckled the harness, hauling the heavy saddle from
the beast's back. He lay the pile of clothing and baskets to the
ground, glancing uneasily at the blanket clad form in Locantar's
lap.

"What do you think he's doing out here? We're still
two leagues out of the city."

The other shrugged noncommittally. "He is obviously
running from something...never before have I seen someone push
themselves so far - but wait, he's moving."

Surk fell back into consciousness, fitting back into
his body as if it were an ill-fitting suit. He was suddenly aware
of an intense ache in his chest and his legs felt as if lead
weights had been embedded into the bone. The strange but not
entirely unpleasant odour of the drosk hide blanket permeated his
senses, the rough texture warming his skin. The few drops of water
that had been placed through his lips only served to heighten his
raging thirst, and his first conscious thought was to search for
more. He shook his head, clearing away the cobwebs that had formed,
and opened his eyes to his new surrounds.