Still Falling: Book 1: Solstice 31 Saga (32 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

The War Begins

“The Emergency Module was now running a new agenda. It ran upgrades and repairs on Ulric’s HUD, without direction, permission or reporting it. Logs and data collection are now more neatly edited. We were still able to uncover that Ash had quietly murdered Volk and his driver.”

--Solstice 31 Incident Investigation Testimony Transcript: Emergency Module Digital Forensics Report. Independent Tech Analysis Team.

<<<>>>

They arrived at dawn on the fifth day after the funeral of Volk. The BUGs had swarmed over the Manor days ago, and Em had the entire picture. All but a final few guests were now gone. Everyone hated the Keeper Volk, even the other Keepers. Some came for the feasts, some to just make sure he was dead.

They were met by the head servant, Samson. “Greetings, my Lords.” He bowed deeply. “Please come and have some breakfast.” He led the way through the main doors into the foyer and nave of the Keeper’s Temple.

The main hall was warm, even though the room was huge. Eight hearths blazed big fires. A table surrounded with ornate chairs in the center of the hall was heavy with food. There were breads and pastries and meats and foods of all kinds, enough to feed a hundred people.

“Bring tea and leave us,” Ulric said.

Em was in his HUD. “There are six cruel and corrupt servants here. There are 94 slaves. Barcus, they brand them like cattle. One was just murdered this morning by a guest who is still here. Samson is behind this panel listening to the conversation via a device hidden in this vase.” The panel and listening device were highlighted in his HUD.

“These six servants are currently packed and will flee before the High Keeper’s men get here in three days. They know they are coming. There is a wagon full of gold and silver coins and other valuable items ready to roll now.”

“This is a lovely temple. I may consider accepting this as a post,” Ulric indicated he knew they were watched.

“We should have a tour and review the staff. If you know what I mean...” Ulric was really good at that greasy inflection.

Barcus finished his tea and only managed a half a roll and stood up. Po had never sat. Po stood at his elbow, and Grady was tending the fires. Ulric refilled his large wineglass and stood as well.

The sun was finally up but had not reached the windows of this hall. Samson was there without calling him.

“I want to see where the staff lives,” Ulric said haughtily.

“Very well. Right this way,” Samson said with a slight bow and gesture with his hand.

“Not the house staff,” Ulric added, grinning.

Samson's eyebrow raised and a sly smile found his lipless mouth.

“Understood. Right this way my Lords.” Samson led the way.

They were taken to the courtyard. Across from the main stables was an older, more dilapidated building. Voices and even laughter could be heard behind the door. The BUGs showed Barcus what was going on inside. Almost all the slaves were assembled in the same room.

Barcus realized it was the old blacksmith shop, converted to a common room. The forge had been converted to a fireplace to warm the room. Since it was not designed for that, the room was smoky.

Some people were drinking from a small, rough barrel of an unknown drink.

Some of the people were festive, some serious, some wept as they looked toward the hall in the rear.

Samson kicked the door open in an obvious attempt to be dramatic. The room went immediately silent when Barcus ducked under the door, followed by the others. On seeing them, the slaves immediately moved to line the walls and kneel on the cold floor, heads down, men and boys to one side, women and girls to the other side.

All except one man.

He was old and bald. He had a white beard that was roughly trimmed, probably with a knife.

To Po, Barcus asked quietly, “Why do they do that?”

“To make it easier for you to...choose,” she replied.

Samson was moving toward the standing man, lifting a whip from a peg as he crossed the room.

“Say the word, my Lord.” Samson was looking at the man’s scarred face.

Barcus and the man locked eyes. He was defiant. His head and face were covered with scars that were the obvious result of this defiance. One of his eyes looked clouded, probably damaged in the past by the whip.

Barcus walked up beside Samson and held out his hand for the whip. “How touching. They are celebrating the life of Volk.” Smiling wide, Samson ceremonially put the whip in Barcus’s hand, nearly drooling at what was about to come.

“Samson, please assemble the rest of the household staff for introductions in the main hall. We will be there soon.”

“Yes, my Lord.” He scampered off to the door behind him.

“The Keepers never come down here, only their...guests,” Smith said.

Barcus moved in close. Uncertainty came to the man’s eyes for the first time. The door closed behind Samson with a blow and swirl of snow.

“Keepers will never set foot here again, nor their guests,” Barcus said without blinking.

That was when Smith recognized Po. He froze, his eyes wide.

“Come with me,” Barcus said to Smith “Po, get them all up and dressed as best they can.”

He turned, expecting to be followed. The man did.

Ulric finished his wine and filled the goblet from the barrel. It was bitter beer with a slight hint of lamp oil.

He sat on the floor in the middle of the room and said, “Gather round, children. I have a story for you about a mouse and a lion...”

Barcus crinkled his forehead at that. “The Mouse and the Lion” was his favorite story as a child.

Barcus walked down the hallway. Horse stalls on either side had been converted to living spaces for the slaves. He had seen it on the HUD already. His anger was building. He opened one door, and a woman was tending the wounds on a young girl, deep cuts in her wrists and ankles and whip marks all over her.

Room after room of women and boys beaten, burned and whipped.

Smith spoke, “More than usual. His ‘friends’ enjoyed his funeral.”

Finally, Barcus stopped in front of a door and pushed it open. He used his flashlight to see the strangled dead body of the raped young girl. Em had seen it via the BUGs. They had been too late.

He turned and kicked open the next stall.

The whip flashed and cut deep into the fat flesh of a man raping yet another girl. The first had not been enough. The whip fell again and again as Barcus’s fury grew. The man was screaming, “Please, stop! Don't you know who I am?!”

“I do know. You are the dead man.” Then he broke his neck.

Barcus then turned to the Smith, so only he could hear, and through gritted teeth, said, “I am so sorry this happened to you. Will you help me make sure this never happens to them again?”

The girl was suddenly hugging him around his waist. “I want all these people in the main hall in fifteen minutes. It's warm in there. We will set up a triage hospital. I'm sure there are feast cots. And breakfast is there for all. I have one more thing to do.” He paused before leaving as the girl ran out.

“Are any of the house staff innocent?” Barcus asked Smith.

“Evil. The lot,” the old man said.

“
I second that, Barcus. Evil,”
Em added.

“What is your name, Father?” Barcus asked.

“Smith, my Lord,” He replied.

He started to walk past, winding up the bloody whip. The man stopped him with a hand on his chest. Even Barcus knew the gesture was a risk for the man. “Thank you, son.”

“Call me Barcus.”

***

He walked into the hall. The whip in his hand was still dripping blood.

The household staff was lined up, smiling. They were soft and fat with the look of cruelty, smirking. It was the bloody whip that was making them smile.

Ulric entered the hall. Grady was still helping Po organize the others.

Barcus paused before them, saying nothing for a long minute until the smile had fallen from all their faces.

“Get out. Take what you have now, the clothes on your backs and go. On foot,” Barcus growled.

“We most certainly will not,” Samson said, motioning to two guards that stood there. “We are the house...” The mouse-faced man was cut short.

Without a moment’s pause, Barcus shot him in the face with the Glock. When the guards rushed forward, they died as well.

The rest moved quickly, fat and corrupt. “Come to the nave. Move. Bring those pieces of shit with you.” They were simpering, begging forgiveness, offering bribes, confessing as they dragged the bodies as far as the bottom of the steps.

As the door slammed behind them, Barcus said, “Now run.” He let the bloody whip in his left hand unfurl.

The remaining five ran out the gate and never looked back.

***

Barcus returned alone. He didn’t know Ash killed them all after they cleared the main gate moving toward the village.

In less than an hour, everyone had assembled in the main hall. Most seemed confused. They all knew that the household staff was gone and not permitted to return. Now, the sick and wounded were everyone’s priority. They were still very afraid of Barcus and even Ulric, who was refilling his wineglass from a pitcher on the table. Barcus stood head and shoulders above them all. He was about to speak when he saw Po stand on a bench.

Speaking in common tongue, she said, “Some of you may remember me. My name is Po.” She slid the collar of her tunic off her shoulder to reveal the scar branded above her left breast. “I was born here. My parents had died here before I knew them. I would have died too if not for some of you.”

She paused and looked right at Smith. “Volk gave me away as a party gift to an old Keeper years ago, to gain favor. I was glad to be away then.” She said, almost ashamed.

“I eventually came to be in the service of Lord Barcus.” She looked at Barcus. She took a deep breath, “He is the first Keeper I have ever met that deserved to be called Lord.” Her lips were trembling. She knew Barcus didn’t like what she was saying. But she was free. He knew she was, now.

“The first time I met him, he saved my life. He didn't even know me then. But I have come to know him. He has saved my life more than once, even at the risk of his own. MY life.” Her voice cracked and tears spilled from her eyes.

Everyone was silent.

Her hands were clenched into fists, hugged to her chest. “MY life.” Her soul was bare on her face. She sobbed openly for a moment, then took a deep breath.

“He has given me everything and has never taken a single thing from me that was not freely offered.” She risked a look at Barcus, and more tears fell.

“He is fierce and strong and kind and sad and so very angry...” A sob slipped out.

“He is also humble, does not want to be called Keeper or Lord or even Sir. Just Barcus. But he is more powerful than even the High Keeper. I have seen his magic.” Quieter, “And I think...he truly loves us. All of us. The way the Keepers preach about love, but never do. Not just empty words echoing in a Temple.”

“I would die for him.” Almost whispering now, but the room was so quiet, all could hear. “But that's not what he wants from me, from us. He wants us to live. Not for him...but for ourselves.”

Straightening and taking a deep breath, she continued louder now, even though the room was silent, even the children. “We have come to take you all from here. If you want to come. As soon as it can be managed. But come only knowing you will be considered heretics. You will live under threat of the hammer. But never from us.”

“Now eat this fine breakfast Barcus has arranged for you.” She was smiling at him now with glistening eyes.

They were all staring at him now. But he could not speak around the lump in his throat. Finally, he managed.

“Eat!” was all he could manage. The children ran up first, followed by their mothers to make sure they didn't gorge too much.

He went to Po, who was still standing on the bench, wiping her eyes. He gently lifted her and set her down. Shy, suddenly. “Thank you. You are too generous.” He lifted her tunic’s collar back up into place. His hand came to rest on her slender throat. “We need to get them out of here as soon as possible, Po. Take anything we may need.”

Po and Grady began organizing people and tasks while they made sure everyone was eating. “Boots for everyone first,” he heard Grady say.

Barcus carried over a small loaf of fresh bread and some cheese to stand next to Smith. He ripped the loaf in half and handed half to Smith. Barcus took a bite of his, then broke the cheese in half. “Smith, I don't think I will be able to do this without you. I'm not a Keeper, really.”

“Yes, you are. You must be made of magic, lad. I watched Po grow up in this tortured place. A heart made of stone, that one. I think Volk gave her away because he was afraid of her.”

Barcus looked at her. She was bringing food to the ones not able to rise from their cots. Others were beginning to help her.