Chapter Eight
New Bearinger
As the days passed, and the hours on the road began to feel endless, Lucien found himself liking to ride alone without any company. Every now and then he’d be drawn into a conversation by Iain or a few of the soldiers, but otherwise he kept to the middle of the contingency, ahead of the two wagons.
It was growing late when they reached New Bearinger. Lucien chose to bunk with the rest of the battle lord’s men in the soldiers’ barracks, and saw little of his parents or the others who were accompanying them after they disbursed. They were only supposed to stay long enough for evening meal, but Sy Volcheck, who oversaw the compound under D’Jacques’ banner, convinced them to stay the night and resume their trek before sunrise.
Once meal was over, he decided to climb the ladder up to the catwalk that ran along the upper portion of the thirty-foot walls which surrounded the compound. Two guards who patrolled up there saw him and gave him a little salute but didn’t approach.
The wind was brisk as it blew over the barrier. At first he debated whether to go back to retrieve his jacket but decided against it. If he went back into the barracks now, where it was warmer, he may not want to return. I’ll tough it out for a few minutes, then I’ll go inside.
He breathed in the chilly air, noting the scent of possible rain. Also mixed with it were the aromas of food and wood smoke. The sky was brilliantly clear and filled with countless stars. Just half of the broken moon shone overhead.
“It’s hard to believe the moon used to be a big round ball of white, the way Madigan told us,” he commented to the figure he knew was standing a few feet behind him. When the figure didn’t reply, he smiled. “Oh, come on, Mom. Tell me you used to be just as skeptic when you found out.”
A soft snort answered him. Atty closed the distance between them, stopping next to his elbow. She placed a hand on the sharpened end of the tree trunk that formed the upper part of the buttress. “It always amazes me how you’re able to know who is behind you.” A smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “Then again, I’m not all that surprised.”
He chuckled. “There you go again. Thinking it’s my inherent Mutah abilities that enable me to do that.” He made quote marks with his fingers for emphasis.
“If it’s not, then what would you call it?”
“Good hearing?”
“Lucien, even though your hearing is better than a Normal’s, hearing has nothing to do with it. You know that. Same for your eyesight, your sense of smell, and your intuitiveness.” She wasn’t admonishing him. Simply stating facts. Facts that he’d heard repeated all his life. Atty lifted an eyebrow. In the light from the lanterns strung along the catwalk, her dark blue hair looked jet black with traces of blue highlights. “You’ve never truly accepted that you have hidden abilities, have you?”
“I know Matt’s eyesight is unparalleled.”
“Mattox’s eyes are his mark, and you’re evading the issue.”
Lucien mentally smiled. Everyone else, including their father, called them by their shortened name—Matt, Misty, and Luc. Only their mother called them by their full name.
“And Misty’s senses when she goes hunting are phenomenal,” he included.
“So, what you’re saying is that they’re still superior to you?” She slowly shook her head. “My sweet son, haven’t you realized by now that you are superior to a Normal? At least, your senses are. And if those are, then there’s something yet to discover.”
“They’re not superior to Dad’s.”
“That’s because your father and I are connected on the deepest level. When we initially met, he was a good warrior, but in no way could he compete with a Mutah hunter.” She grinned again. “He’s gotten better over the years. Speaking of, and to answer your earlier question…” She pointed at the moon. “Your father once told me that, when he was a young boy, he often wondered if the moon would ever be healed. If it could be healed. Like our world. There was a lot of discussion about whether or not the Earth could go back to the way it was before the Great Concussion.” She leaned against the wall. “I’ve always wondered what the world was like back then. I heard there were amazing weapons. Giant machines. People could travel from one end of the world to the other in hours. They even managed to step to the moon before it split apart.”
His first impulse was to make a disparaging remark, but he knew his mother would never say something that absurd. Besides, his own teachers had hinted at such accomplishments made by their ancestors, even though there was little if any evidence to back their claims.
Something flew by overhead. He couldn’t tell what it was. Only that it blocked out the moon’s light for a second.
“Somewhere out there is a bunch of Damaged Mutah, and they’re just as unwanted by Mutah compounds as they are by us. Mom, it’s been more than four years since we defeated them. Where have they been all this time? Why haven’t they attacked other compounds before now?”
“We believe they’ve been trying to build their numbers.”
“Wouldn’t that be difficult? I mean, in order for their ranks to grow, they have to infect more Mutah, and then recruit the ones who survived.” He gave her a confused look. “Mom, I know Normals can’t, but are Mutah able to tell which ones have been infected?”
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s impossible for anyone to tell who has been ill and recovered, until they reveal it themselves.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m talking about the Mutah who were ill and recovered. The ones who aren’t Damaged. Can they tell which Mutah end up Damaged?”
“No.”
“Then how do Damaged find other Damaged in order to recruit them?”
He watched as his mother’s eyes widened. She glanced downward, into the interior of the compound, but he could tell she was thinking. After a moment, she peered back at him. “That’s a very good question.”
“You mean, no one’s ever wondered or figured out how Damaged are able to recruit other Damaged?”
“We’ve thought about it, but we haven’t tried to investigate it. Our focus has been on trying to protect ourselves.”
Lucien crossed his arms over his chest. “A few years ago, when Iain was learning to become a doctor, he told me that physicians once chose between two fields of medicine. One was call preventative, which meant they worked at trying to prevent people from becoming ill. But since the Great Concussion, that field’s been pretty much pushed to the side because diseases are no longer the same as they were hundreds of years ago. Which is why, today, a doctor’s skill is in curing and coping, not prevention.” He paused, then continued. “If we were able to come up with a way to know which Mutah are Damaged before it’s too late…”
He caught sight of the moon winking again as another night bird passed in front of it. The creatures were on the hunt for prey, and would be streaking through the skies until dawn.
“You’re right,” Atty acknowledged. “It’s one of a countless number of ways our lives today differ from the past. Who knows? Maybe one day we’ll be able to find a method.” She sighed and rubbed her arms for warmth. “I came up here to see how you were doing. I didn’t get the chance to talk to you on the trail.”
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Answer me something that I’ve been mulling over? The Damaged attacked Foster City, then Alta Novis, right?”
“Correct.”
“So why didn’t they attack here at New Bearinger?”
Atty brushed a wayward strand of hair from her eyes, tucking it behind an ear. “We think they may have planned to, after defeating us at Alta Novis. But because we pretty much decimated their numbers, we guess they chose not to, and withdrew west into the forests.”
“Speaking earlier of being on the trail, are we going to stick to the road until we reach Green River? Or will we cut through the woods at some point?”
“We’ll keep to the road. It’ll be safer than trying to maneuver all the men plus the wagons through the forest. Besides, our numbers are growing. We’re picking up another hundred troops from here to take with us when we leave in the morning.”
“Right after breakfast?” he halfway teased.
“Of course.” She smiled and turned to go down the ladder.
He caught a movement right above her head. A blackness framed against the starry sky, looming larger as it approached. With sudden clarity, Lucien realized the creature wasn’t going to fly over them. It was aiming directly at them. Without thinking, he grabbed his mother’s shoulders and shoved her downward, out of range. At the same time, he ducked to shield her.
Hard, leathery wings slammed down on top of him. Lucien struggled to ward off the thing’s talons, when his hand grasped a scaly leg. Instinctively, he twisted the leg, and the creature screeched in anger. The thing fought back, biting and raking his skin with its other foot. If not for his gloves, he knew the creature would have torn through the tendons and bones.
His grip on it was solid, but because he was holding onto the thing with his right hand, he couldn’t draw his sword with his left. Somehow he found the dagger in his waistband and wrapped his fingers around the hilt. With a swipe, he sliced through the thing’s breast, and hot blood splattered across his face and into his eyes and mouth. Mortally wounded, the creature doubled its efforts to free itself. Pain streaked across the back of Lucien’s head and neck as it struggled in its death throes.
He heard his mother screaming his name. At the same time, he heard distant yelling. Giving the leg he still clutched another shake, he pivoted around and flung the creature as hard as he could away from them. There was the familiar twang of arrows being launched, followed by boots pounding the boardwalk as they drew nearer.
Something warm coursed down his face and back as Atty grasped his arm, her voice stricken with fear. “Oh God, Lucien! Lucien! Are you all right? Guards! Help him down, and someone fetch Dr. MaGrath!”
“Mom?”
“Hush, sweetheart. Don’t struggle.”
“What?” The pain wasn’t so much a factor as the dizziness. He couldn’t focus. He reached out to her, when a strong hand took it.
“You were attacked by a bat,” she informed him, holding him tightly against her. “We have to get Iain to tend to that immediately. Help me pray that the damn thing wasn’t rabid.”