Amber squeezed tighter to Willow. Fear overwhelmed the terrified younger girl. She did not cry, whimper, blink, or move. The two girls crouched in concealment along the road. No one in the three columns noticed them hiding in the underbrush – just as Amber predicted when she concocted this plan. They remained perfectly still, not even rustling a blade of grass. The darkness and silence shielded them from detection. Yet, they hid just steps from the passing guards.
Thank the Creator, assuming there is one, thought Willow, for the two purple moons. They glow in the night sky but provide no light. If the white moon shined tonight, it would cast enough light to reveal us. On this night, however, the darkness protects us.
“We are small,” Amber persuaded earlier in the night when convincing Willow to try this farfetched scheme, “we can disappear into the bushes. The Crimson Guards are looking for adults armed with weapons. They are not looking for children. Because of our size, we can hide right next to them, and they will never notice.”
Willow, at first, protested the idea, but Amber reminded her, “Who is better at hiding, children or adults? Who spends hours playing hide-and-find, children or adults?”
As Willow felt Amber’s body tense with fear, she remembered the younger girl’s boldness just a few hours before. Now that guards with razor-like weapons marched next to them, panic overwhelmed the child. Willow, likewise, felt the tension of the moment. Sweat sprung from her brow. Her breaths grew shorter. Breathing became harder. Her heart thumped wildly. The color drained from the blonde-hair girl’s already grayish skin. Her fingers anxiously twitched uncontrollably. She, however, knew paralysis often accompanies fear, and through the challenges thrust upon her – departure of her family, living alone, traveling with the JRB, and encountering the Disinherited – knew the difference between experiencing fear and not succumbing to it. Willow’s heart banged in her chest cavity, and she doubted the viability of their cuck-coo plan, but in the intense moment, she maintained her poise. She remembered Nameless and the great bird that saved Daks’ life, even though the boy just moments before tried to slay the bird, and at this moment, terrified by the glowing blades swinging maliciously in the hand of every guards, Willow, seven-of-nine, believed the unbelievable. At that moment, she looked calmly on the marching guards and felt no fear. For the first time in many months, the young flesh-weaver shed her once ever-present cloak of trepidation.
Willow and Amber watched quietly as the guards matched past their position. They made no sounds – one because of fear and secondly because of confidence. In the darkness of the predawn hours, no person noticed them crouching in the underbrush just steps from the road. The guards passed so close that the girls could smell the must from their seldom-washed scarlet-colored uniforms. The line of guards strode past the girls for some time. Willow wondered when they should spring their plan into action. Willow waited. She looked to Amber, but the younger girl offered no help in her statuesque condition. Frozen by fear, Amber said and did nothing. Willow continued to wait, but she worried at her indecision. As she listened to the rhythmic steps of the marching company of Protectorate guards, serenity descend upon her as she remembered the prophetic utterings of Amber just after sunset, “You will know when to begin.” Willow trusted the truth of these words.
You will know when to begin, Willow said to herself. You will know. Now is not the time, but when it is the time, you will know. Accordingly, the girls hid patiently along the rode as a seemingly endless stream of guards marched in front of them. You will know. Be patient.
Q7 looked toward the final bend in the road. He saw nothing in the early morning darkness – save the dimly illuminated road. Q7 looked appreciatively toward his glowing saber, remembering not only its formidable use as a weapon but also its use as a feeble, but effective, light source. Looking anxiously toward the final bend, the shrill voice of a teenage girl drowned the thud, thud, thud of the guards’ feet: “I RUN BENEATH THE TWO VIOLET MOONS!” The scream immediately shifted everyone toward a heightened attention. The same thought formed in every member of the three columns: The villagers are planning to attack. This is the reason Commander Lupier wanted us to leave earlier. He knew of their attack and wanted to surprise them. The Commander must be concerned about this attack. Otherwise, we would not change plans, but the Commander did change plans. Additionally, the highest-level leaders burned our supplies, which we all know supposedly motivates us toward victory. Why would they feel compelled to motivate us? There is only one reason: they are worried we will be defeated. All of the scarlet-clad guards possessed the same thoughts, but they said nothing. All of them knew that vocalizing dread ended careers in the Crimson Guard. They were supposed to be people of courage – fearless people who reveled in the slaughter of their enemies. At this moment, however, a twinge of fear crept into the mind of every glowing-blade-bearing member of the Crimson Guard. They yearned for battle but preferred to see their enemies.
Q7 paused ephemerally at the girl’s words. She mentioned the two violet moons, the same two moons that fascinated him.
“I RUN FOR NAMELESS!” bellowed a youthful male voice.
“I RUN WITHOUT FEAR!” shrilled a genuinely confident teenage girl.
“Truth,” gasped a winded deep voice.
Q7 marched onward. He readied for an attack.
The sub-division leader in charge, SD1, demanded, “Swords to the ready.”
Q7 followed the directive and gently waved his blade lazily in front of his body – not intending to use it on anyone. The Crimson Guards marched onward. They were eager for conflict, but their confidence waned.
Q7 still saw nothing, except the final bend in the road. The glowing sabers projected a small amount of light, but light does not turn corners. The bend limited the line-of-sight, which obscured whatever lay beyond the road’s crook. He wondered what kind of enemy waited in the shadows. No attackers ever announced their presence, he thought. Who dared taunt the Protectorate? Their courage fed his dread. While trained to ignore fear, Q7’s mouth suddenly became dry. His moist hands re-gripped the blade’s hilt. Q7’s beating heart pushed heavily against his ribcage. He glanced from side to side and noticed his companions experienced the same concerns. An uncharacteristic cloud of trepidation hung in the air.
SD1 ordered, “Halt the line. Defend the mark.” The marching columns instantaneously ceased marching and organically began to re-shape into defensive positions. Q7 stilled as guards amassed beside him. The command “defend the mark,” instructed the line to cease their advance and take defensive positions. The front of the marching columns width of three burgeoned to ten guards standing shoulder to shoulder. The guards said nothing as they waited for their veiled foe to round the corner. Q7 noted the shifting feet of the guards around him. They seemed uncertain where to stand. Despite years of training for these moments, each tentatively shifted body part revealed an inner concern at their situation. The low-level, low-tiered supervisor realized, for the first time in memory, the hunters felt like the prey. He breathed deeply in an effort to calm his mounting concerns.
Talon charged forward. Rose ran a step behind him, and Violet ran two paces behind her. Gryph huffed, and surprisingly, he nearly kept pace with Violet. Daks, Talon assumed, ran somewhere just behind Gryph. Talon noticed the light emerging from around the road’s first bend. He noted the sounds of hasty, shuffling boots, which seemed more like people taking a predefined position rather than the rhythmic thuds of marching feet. Long shadows of marching guards fell at Talon’s feet. Still, he ran. Once he turned the corner, Talon knew he would encounter the Protectorate’s army, otherwise known as the Crimson Guard – each member armed with the most formidable weapon, a glowing blade. The sun-sculptor knew the guards longed to thrust their blades through his still-beating heart. Equipped with only a useless concoction and faith in its utility, Talon rounded the bend in the road. Just steps away, he looked into the bloodthirsty eyes of
scarlet-clad Crimson Guards. Upon seeing him, the guards thrust the point of their blades toward his chest.
Q7 looked into the face of boy, no older than sixteen years old. As he looked upon his foe’s eyes, he remembered the encouragement from his grandfather, who was a carpenter by trade, to “live with courage plumb” – a recessed childhood memory from the days before Crimson Guard marched upon his hamlet. Q7 never knew what his grandfather meant, until now. The reckless boy ran like a madcap toward their defensive position. A few other people turned the corner just after the boy, two teenage girls and a balding, oval-shaped man. Upon seeing the foe, Q7 gaped at the peculiar sight. No more thoughts formed in his brain as he struggled to formulate some notion that might explain this image. Q7 thought of the other “expendables” standing next to him who, likewise, struggled to understand their current predicament. Q7 thought, we are going to live. Even though we are nothing but fodder for the enemy, these hapless children and old man pose no threat to us.
Q7 stood in the middle of the newly formed first line of defense. The sabers danced in his companions’ hands as he waited for the charging but impotent “brigade” to impale their bodies on their blades. Only two steps away, Q7 looked into the eyes of the charging, curly-haired youth. The boy’s eyes showed no fear. He ran with a peace Q7 longed to possess. Instinctually, Q7 lowered his blade.
The guards on Q7’s right and left both stepped in front of their supervisor. Upon seeing the seemingly feckless foe, the man and woman lurched forward in hopes of being the first member of the Crimson Guard to fell an enemy. The two guards thrust their blades toward the defenseless, but wildly charging, boy. Q7 felt remorse, just as hunter might before ending the life of his evening meal.
The two renegade guards released huffs of jubilation. They jabbed their blades into the boy’s gut and then gargled sounds of evil joy.
The boy, however, continued to run. He dashed between the two guards, apparently unaffected by the glowing blades.
Impossible. How could they miss, wondered Q7?
Q7 then, mechanically, lifted his blade toward his foe. He held the blade directly in front of him. The line of guards to his right and left, standing shoulder to shoulder, followed his lead. They squeezed together to close the gap created by the man and women and shoved their glowing blades into the path of the charging children. The recently promoted and demoted guard felt remorse at the impending loss of life. Q7 tried to pull his blade back; he wanted to keep it away from the charging enemy. His squeezing companions, however, wedged his arm in its place. The “pig lover’s” futile efforts to lower his weapon weighed heavily upon the gray-haired man. Q7 never harmed anyone before this night, and he hoped not to reverse his life’s trajectory.
The boy veered toward the guard in the center of the line, Q7. The boy ran directly at the low-level supervisor’s blade. Q7 instinctually gripped the blade tightly in expectation of the collision. The guard clamped his eyes shut, no wanting to watch another person suffer anguish.
Poof.
Q7 reluctantly unclamped his eyes and watched the blade dissipated in his hands. The indestructible weapon instantaneously turned into a thousand disconnected light participles, and then, just as quickly, it vanished entirely. Q7 held nothing. Shocked, Q7 fell to the ground as he and the charging boy collided. The boy scurried to his feet and bolted toward the other guards. From the ground, Q7 watched as his companions encountered the same results. Their glowing blades - just like his weapon - dissipated, dematerialized, and vanished. He staggered to his feet and looked upon his dazed, bewildered company.
The guards dispersed. Most moved away from the charging “enemy.” Some stood still, unsure what to do. A few dropped their once indestructible weapons. Others charged wildly at the rambling youth; their glowing blades wildly swinging and missing. Q7, however, noted the effect of the charging “enemy” remained localized. The other two divisions of the company held their lines, still ready for the attack. Q7 surmised the only division currently in disarray was the expendables, who were positioned slightly ahead of the other two groups. So long as the confusion remained confined to the “expendables,” victory awaited the company.
As the expendables descended into a chaotic collage of guards retreating, charging, dispersing, clumping, and deserting, Q7 remained focused on the task: bring order to his subordinates before the confusion spread. He stared intently at the boy who barreled over him, and within seconds, came to a startling conclusion.
“Grab them,” commanded Q7, suddenly realizing the charging foes lacked any offensive weapons. Amidst the confusion, no person responded to the order.
“Grab them! Get them! They have no weapons! Get them!” bellow Q7 frantically. This time, the expendables heeded their supervisor’s directive. The large collection of Common Guards moved closer to one another and started the initial steps of reforming their ranks. A couple emerged from their underbrush, which apparently they sought as a place of shelter. The dissension into chaos reversed directions, and order began to return. We have them now, winked Q7.
“Oh, no” muttered Gryph. He continued his run toward a cluster of glowing sabers, but his zeal from the initial foray just dissipated like the Protectorate’s weapons. Their entire plan hinged upon creating mass confusion among the guards. When Gryph heard the supervisor yelling, “Grab them,” he cringed. Upon hearing these words, the guards began to reform their line. Order was being restored.
Further, Gryph noted the Crimson Guard divided into three sections, which meant even if one sections slipped into upheaval, the other two sections were insulated from the disorganization. The crux of their plan centered upon creating a panic, which would spread like a wildfire through the ranks. At present, even if one section turned to bedlam, the other two sections were insulated enough to avoid the sway from the whirlwind of confusion.
In short, Gryph knew their plan was failing. Order was being restored to the one section they attacked, and even if they succeeded, the other two sections would evaluate the situation rationally, and accordingly, never fall for their grandstanding bluff.
Gryph stopped and looked. The weaponless guards ceased their phobia-induced stampede and slowly reestablished their line. While their faces still bespoke an overwhelming fear at their situation, the restoration of order ensued.
Willow and Amber waited in the underbrush. Three dozen guards formed lines and held their positions – just steps away from the hiding girls. The elite group of protectors formed a perimeter around a few – apparently – highly valued members of the Protectorate, who gave the aura of prominence. The sentries stared intently in all directions; they looked for even the slightest movement. Their stares pierced through the darkness with an unnatural potency. They held their glowing blades in their hands, while each of the guards carried at the ready an assortment of daggers, spears, chains, spikes, axes, and maces. The group made no advances. They stood completely still, satisfied to defend this spot rather than advance into unknown conditions. The man in the center of the perimeter barked instructions, which the others followed with an absolute allegiance. Even with the nighttime fog creeping into their surroundings, the girls noticed the malevolent smirk from the man in the center.
A crimson-clad messenger ran toward the circled mass and reported to the man in the center, “Commander, the expendables are under attack. The enemy is able to destroy their weapons.”
“Impossible” snapped Lupier.
The messenger said nothing in response. He waited for the Commander’s instruction.
Most of the three dozen subordinates subconsciously shifted their stances. The subtle movements revealed a deep-seeded concern. As members of the Crimson Guard and as part of the Protectorate’s elite section of guards designated to protect the Commander, they learned to trust one thing above all others: their weapons. Their glowing weapons provided an insurmo
untable advantage against any opponent. For these guards, faith in their weapons was absolute. Their weapons never faltered, never.
Lupier cursed inaudibly. Despite his denial, he trusted the messenger’s words. The Commander faced a daunting challenge. The guards trusted their weapons holistically, and suddenly, he realized such reliance served as a fault. Acknowledging the enemy could best their “indestructible” tools, he feared his guards might lose their courage via their faltering weapons. He needed a solution that prevented the guards from relying upon their most reliable tool – the glowing saber.
Commander Lupier directed the messenger with a brusque, authoritative voice, “Tell the Sub-Division Leaders, pile the remaining glowing weapons, all of them. Pile everything that glows, regardless of what it is. They need to put everything into one stack. Do you understand?”
The messenger repeated the instruction, “Pile everything that glows into one stack. Everything means everything. What is the authorization code?”
Lupier said, “Lupier, confirmation purple moons.”
“Lupier, confirmation purple moons,” repeated the messenger.
“Confirmed,” said the Commander
The messenger raced into the darkness toward the remainder of the company.
The concoction works, thought Willow. Amazing. The concoction actually works.
Lupier countenance remained calm, but within, he fumed with anger. He cursed the dense fog that created a murky haze. He regretted leaving in the darkness rather than waiting until morning. In retrospect, he would make the more conventional (and previously planned) decision to march under sunlight rather than by saber-light. He regretted extinguishing the torches. He knew the guards could not reignite the still drenched torches. With their weapons soon discarded, the guards lacked any light sources. On most nights, the large white moon provided a modicum of illumination, but the purple moons failed to illume the darkness. He regretted mentioning “moonjackals.” At the time, he enjoyed needling those under his command, but now, without sufficient lights, he knew the guards thoughts would quickly drift into their fears over the ferocious beasts – thanks, in part, to his comments. He regretted “torching” their encampment. At times like this, when problems began to mount, the encampment provided a haven where the company could regroup. For the remainder of this night, however, his company would simply hunker on the road and wait for dawn. When the sun returned, they could continue their relocation efforts. While the commander fumed, he knew a successful relocation under the morning light would erase this string of poor decisions.
Violet winced upon hearing the supervisor scream, “They have no weapons.” She knew their plan was failing. Despite the success of the concoction, they truly lacked any means to defeat an entire company of the Protectorate’s Crimson Guard. Upon hearing the command to “grab them,” Violet knew they needed another plan. They needed a fresh idea to salvage this debacle. She quickly ducked in the underbrush lying beside the road. From her vantage point, she could see two groups of guards: the discombobulated first group they just encountered and a second, apparently, unaffected group. The girl with amethyst eyes waited out of sight as the first group of guards began to reform. She noticed the second group remained poised and ready for conflict. While the first group appeared disoriented, at least initially, this group remained composed. They looked intently into the darkness – ready for its uncertainties. The guards formed a defensive position; they swung their glowing blades maliciously from side to side.
“Violet,” whispered a barely audible voice.
The girl twisted quickly and saw Daks Bullskin just two steps away from her. He, like her, crouched covertly along the roadside.
“What are you doing here?” demanded the girl in a quiet voice
“I might ask you the same thing,” whispered Daks. “As for me, once the battle began to go poorly, I ducked into the underbrush. We need a new plan.”
“Yea, I know,” said Violet in hushed tones.
“Have you seen anyone else?” asked Daks.
“No,” said Violet, “not since we made the charge. Everything just happened so fast. Guards were running everywhere, and I just kept moving toward the glowing weapons. In the chaos, I lost sight of the others.”
.
Lupier’s messenger ran toward SD2; he presided over the poised second group of guards. As the messenger arrived, the guards cleared a path toward the Sub-Division Leader. They recognized the messenger as the commander’s preferred liaison. They knew he carried a message directly from Commander Lupier.
The messenger raced toward the SD2, whose stoic demeanor reflected the self-assured vibe of his subordinates. The messenger blurted with unusual haste, “Pile everything that glows. Everything means everything. This message comes from Commander Lupier.”
SD2 paused for a moment. The messenger seldom delivered odd directions, and this certainly was a peculiar order. Because of the strange directive, SD2 requested, “Confirmation?”
“Lupier, purple moons.”
SD2 nodded with acceptance. “Pile everything that glows,” he bellowed to the entire second group. His efficient subordinates immediately took charge and created an orderly means for the over one hundred guards to pile all their glowing supplies – including their weapons. The guards, who were accustomed to following instructions without asking questions, followed their lead. In an orderly fashion, the guards passed their glowing supplies and weapons toward a center pile. As the materials from the outer edges of the group, darkness crept over the guards, especially those further away from the mounting pile of glowing paraphernalia.
As the gear passed from hand to hand, SD2 directed, “Re-light the torches.” The guards with extinguished torches retrieved the flash stones from their bags. They scraped their respective stones together but to no avail. The guards were unable to generate the needed spark to ignite their still soaked torches. A few guards generated a flicker here or there, but nothing substantial enough to re-light their torches.
“What’s taking so long,” roared SD2 through the nighttime foggy haze, knowing he gave an impossible to follow command. With the piling weapons, light became scarcer. The Sub-Division knew they needed another light source – now.
SD2 waited but no answer came. The guards continued in their futile efforts to generate a spark from their stones. Finally, a common guard admitted, “The flash stones only work with the fire-brimmed torches (meaning the torches were special made to ignite with the tiniest spark – a spark unable to ignite anything else). Our torches are still soaked from being dunked into the water. We won’t be able to light until the sun reaches its zenith.”
SD2 screamed, “A lot of good that will do us,” but then his shoulders fell. He knew the CG was right. A soaked torches takes many hours to dry. SD2 knew this is why the Protectorate seldom extinguished torches or fires. A flame can burn despite heavy moisture, but trying to start a fire with saturated materials was impossible. SD2 lambasted, the commander erred in ordering the snuffing of the torches.
Gryph tumbled into the trees and underbrush surrounding the road. Their plan, by all appearances, was a disaster. He wanted to hide before the guards “grabbed him,” as their supervisor suggested. The guards were just steps behind him when bolted from the road. Their footsteps thumped rhythmically in pursuit. As he sprung from the road into the bushes, he heard a pursuer bellow, “I’m not leaving the road. There might be moonjackals in there. No sense in getting that guy when those creatures will do the work for us.” His fellow pursuers agreed. They were not leaving the safety of the road. Moonjackals, thought Gryph, what are those? I never heard of such things, but that sounds like something I should remember. Apparently, these scary-looking, bloodthirsty, death-loving guards are terrified of some creatures that lurk just beyond the road – “moonjackals”.
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