Rocks & Hard Places
A riddle:
You have dismantled the northern branches of the High Road, the Union’s primary channel of transporting weapons into the Republic. You have shown a tempered spirit towards your constituents, enough so that tip-offs to the City and County Watches disclosing Liberation outposts are at an all-time high. You have even taken the time to read the Ajan’s manifesto in order to understand how the enemy operates.
Then one day, the enemy changes. What was your mistake?
Simple. Rannek had been a fool to ever expect to predict the TLA. Any rebel army worth its Ore knew to switch tactics, and none had mastered the element of surprise quite like the Liberation. They moved as part of the jungle, always staying invisible until it was too late. The increase in attacks along the border showed that they were keenly aware of this advantage. As God’s Army kept pushing south in the lowlands, an attack further inside the Republic was bound to make a big splash, which was exactly what they needed to divert attention away from the border and pull off something big.
Only this wasn’t just further inside. Rannek’s arms may have been blistering with bites, the air may have been stirring with a million cicadas and bangs, but Bitaab was still the orderly north, his north, a claim he dared not speak though he felt it to be true. This was no simple ambush, but an affront to the Republic as well as the Empire, and it would have consequences. Dire consequences.
With peculiar certainty, he knew that colonel Syrkanan was smiling somewhere back on base Klinngen in that very moment.
“Listen,“ Pen said.
Rannek did listen, and what he heard was silence but for the cicadas. The gunfire rolling over the range had stopped, leaving them in a state of gloomy suspense. It would start again eventually, it always did; only Pen seemed determined to ignore that.
The jungle had dimmed down. Dark blue filled the holes in the trees’ canopy, and the many greens had turned to one deep color. The craggy foothills had allowed them to proceed another two kilobirks further into a small valley. There, one range of hills and splinted rock away from where the battle ensued, they had gathered, and remained gathered, and would remain gathered until the scouts returned.
When the gunfire set back in, Rannek checked his watch. Half of the glass casing had broken off in the crash, and the hands were tilted. They read 0872. Not long until midnight. »I don’t feel particularly good about this,« he said.
»Neither do I,« Wellan said. The head of the Guard kept his rifle at hand and didn’t move his eyes from the range as he spoke. “Which is why we need to go back.«
»We can’t leave your men behind.«
»Mallaslyn and Dhav have orders to fall back and catch up if we have to retreat. They’ll find us.«
»We don’t know whether there’s cause to retreat until they return. Was that not your reasoning? Why sent scouts somewhere you don’t intend to go?«
»Because that was over a hundred frags ago.« When Wellan turned his face, Rannek’s senses fooled him for just a breath suggesting the man had put on a mask. In the darkness of the jungle, the swollen lumpy skin covering half his face looked even less like a part of him. »Which is why we need to go back.«
»… No. Not until—« Rannek bit his tongue. A kick had hit the ankle of his unharmed leg, and looking down, he found a pair of bright green eyes glaring at him. But Pen remained silent and soon turned back to Ibiko, who sat beside her on the ground rocking slowly back and forth.
The young man needed rest more than any of them. It still shocked Rannek how crass a change he’d gone through at the sound of battle; his movement had become jerky, frightful, and his eyes left the ground even less than the day before. It wasn’t unlike what Rannek had seen in some soldiers returning from the front line. The grasp of fear. It made words useless, and though the mere thought shamed Rannek, it made Ibiko useless, too. Wellan’s attempts to get his insight on their location had failed miserably. Only Pen got him to speak now and then. What she passed on to them was no help, only ramblings.
Rannek pulled Wellan through a tangle of leaves and twigs until they were out of earshot. »Not until they return«, he whispered. »What we need is to know what’s waiting behind that range.«
»There’s no need for that, you just want it. Big difference.« When Wellan presented him the entirety of his ruined face, he couldn’t but look away. »We lost this one, Rannek. You’re of no use to anyone while we’re trapped out here. If you want to help, if you want to make the Liberation pay, we must get back to Koeiji.«
»Nothing is lost—listen.« He thrust his hand to point up at the range. »Ibiko’s people are still fighting. If they lose because we were not ready to risk our lives—«
»This mission has never been about risking our lives. If it was, why is the girl here?«
»The mission has changed, her being here is a mistake. Is that what you want to hear? I miscalculated, with her, with the Liberation, with the attack… I didn’t assess the danger properly, I admit. But that does nothing to help us get out of here. We go back, we’re running into troops that know about us and will see us long before we see them. We go forward, at least we have the element of surprise.«
»The TLA has working radios, unlike we do. Assuming the forces behind us know we’re here, the ones ahead will too. ‘Assuming’ being the key word.« Now it was Wellan pointing at the range. »I am listening. What I hear is fire ahead of us, not behind us. We’ve moved more than a league away from the crash site. Can you at least consider that maybe, there is no enemy on our tail?«
He could consider that, yet it seemed unlikely. Shooting down a Krissin, in times of peace no less, was a significant achievement in the eyes of the Liberation, and they would without a doubt swarm over the wreck to examine it, salvage the parts, the Ore. According to Wellan himself, his men hadn’t even had the time to fully submerge it in the lake. No, the Liberation knew they were out here. And they wouldn’t be the Liberation if anyone spotted them before it was already too late.
Which, to him, meant that it was not too late just yet. »I will consider it. But I must ask you to wait.«
Wellan gave a lingering grunt and scratched his ear. The moonlight only sparsely pierced the treetops, but where it did, Rannek could see the shimmer of glass fragments still embedded in the man’s right cheek. Wellan had good reason to doubt him. So far, the journey had proven him wrong in just about every way conceivable.
Something bit into the skin of his neck. Rannek swatted it, rubbed its gooey pieces off on a tree’s bark, and checked his watch. 0875. The gunfire rattled just as it had the moment they’d hoisted him over that ridge. One of the guards had explained to him what that meant. It struck him as nothing but peculiar.
Another riddle:
You are a rebel army that holds half of a country in its grasp. You master stealth, and use your knowledge of terrain and weather to your advantage against a foreign enemy. You cultivate a reputation of loyalty, making sure your attacks always hurt those strange intruders, but rarely your own.
Then one day, you attack a mining village full of your own. Not only that, but you engage in a day-long stationary fight without even attempting to sweep them. What has changed?
That one he had not an inkling of an answer for. Wellan called it a trap, but for whom, he wouldn’t say. If the Liberation could remove bridges and take out Krissins this far up north, they should have little problem overtaking a diminished mining operation. Every frag spent fighting meant another frag for God’s Army to catch wind of it, without even figuring in the transport—Ore was heavy. Did they not realize their folly? They had to. Something about this did not feel right.
All of a sudden, Wellan and his guards raised their rifles at a common threat. Rannek followed their aim up the range. The dark there was still, but hectic at the same time; thousands of insects made the jungle flicker like the static of the picture tubes.
But not all movement was flickering. A spot of blue rose from the undergrowth sitting atop a stick, bobbing step by step down the incline. The stick was straight, too straight. A rifle. The blue it carried was a beret. It stopped abruptly, waving left and right until the beret fell off the muzzle.
The signal worked nonetheless. All rifles went down, and privates Mallaslyn and Dhav emerged from the bushes. Their faces were caked with mud, as were their clothes, and they had wrung vines around their shoulders to cover themselves in leaves. Both sighed in relief as they dropped them on the ground.
»Where the hell have you been, privates?« Wellan asked sharply.
Private Mallaslyn proved quicker than his comrade. »We went around both sides, sir. To see if there’s holes in their ranks we could slip through.«
»And?«
»Negative, sir,« private Dhav said. »They’ve got the entrances to mines one, two, and three thoroughly surrounded. The other two look abandoned, just like the town.«
»You saw Bitaab?« Pen asked. »Abandoned how?«
Rannek put his hand on her shoulder. “Let the soldier talk, Pen. We’ll ask him afterward.“ His hand received a surprisingly painful slap, and off she went to tend to Ibiko.
»How many of them?« Wellan asked.
Dhav pursed his lips. »Eighty to a hundred, but scattered. One time, we almost got caught, but the enemy went right past us. They’re… they’re Liberation, sir, without a doubt. Maroon and all.« A wave of stifled sighs went through the circle. They’d all but known it—now they knew. »However, private Mallaslyn has made some observations he may wish to tell you about.«
A strike of Mallaslyn’s muddy elbow made Dhav cringe. The taller man then spoke. »It’s merely a thought, sir. Please ignore private Dhav.«
Wellan moved his face close, too close to Mallaslyn’s. »Speak up, or I’ll send you straight back.«
»I believe they’re not using radios, sir!«
How very peculiar, Rannek thought.
»That doesn’t make sense,« Wellan said. »Could be they just didn’t do so while they were passing you.«
»Sir, you are indeed correct, that could be, sir!« Mallaslyn performed the uniquely militaristic task of cowering while keeping a straight back, to the great pleasure of Dhav, whose mouth kept twitching with a hidden smile. »It’s only, that… they whistled. Just like us! Whistled multiple times, and different signals, too. If they had radios, I wouldn’t see the point.«
»I don’t see the point in speculating about whistles. But fine. Is that all?« When both men nodded, Wellan sighed, and turned his back. »I need to think.«
Rannek limped after him when he left the circle. »We should think together, should we not?«
»We will.« He kept on walking. »But I must ask you to wait.«
Rannek left him be, and rubbed his leg. He preferred attitude over dishonesty, even if it came from the man who’d always spared him this kind of lip. In fact, Wellan could have hit him, and it wouldn’t have changed his mind. The moment he had seen him after the crash, he had made the stern decision to risk what little true leverage he had to get the man a promotion. Captain Sersynin—a more fitting title for the man who kept Koeiji safe.
Yet still a consolation prize. An excuse for having a messed-up face. Who knew whether Wellan would even accept it. His wife for one, Rannek reckoned, and concluded the thought. If he was to waste his time speculating, he’d rather do it with riddles.
You don’t use radios.
It changed the picture, yet upon second thought, not for the more peculiar; this tactic had a definitive source. The Kuuth. Rannek had no reason to act surprised. The Southrons were known to supply the Union with weapons and resources through the strip of land known as the Tongue, and their devotion to secrecy was fierce. No matter how hard the Empire’s agents tried to gather intel on this most dangerous of enemies, their efforts rarely bore fruit for the simple reason that there was little to gather. No transmissions, no letters, no words ever left the Kuuth continent of Ilya. The only things he knew about them had been hard-earned on the battlefield. They were organized. Their knowledge of technology was not as advanced as that of the Empire, yet they made up for it with vast amounts of Ore. And they had Gifted of their own. With that in mind, he knew to count his blessings that all the Union received from them were weapons and pointers. After all, few things traveled as well as a good stratagem, and the TLA, main military force of the Union, had proven quite capable of learning. It was likely nothing but a minor tactical improvement.
Still, it irked him. Two enemies shifting closer together was never a good sign, which was the exact reason the Empire’s warships kept bombarding the Tongue trying to cut off the supply lines. The Kuuth were a cancer, one that befell not singular bodies, but entire tribes, nations, and history had proven that there was no way back into civilization once it had grown; for no being showed the same resolve as a captured Kuuth, and their resolve was to die.
Rannek hobbled back to the dispersing circle of guards. He found Mallaslyn with his squishy face buried in his hands, rubbing off the worst of the camouflage. The private was tall, and young enough for Rannek to wonder if he’d grow taller still. He leaned in on his crutch patting the man’s back. »Good job, private.«
Mallaslyn looked up, and just for a moment attempted a salute until Rannek waved him off. »Sorry to make you wait, prefect Lorne.«
»I managed. Your report sounded like you two carried the bulk of our stress. Feeling fine?«
Mallaslyn smiled, shyly. »I may not look it, sir, but I’ve seen my share of combat. Been scouting for the Ruckers almost half a year before joining the Guard. Not the first pair of terrorist boots I’ve seen from ground level.«
»You got that close?«
»As close as you are right now!« For half a breath, his expression betrayed his youth, acknowledging the coolness of the feat. He then looked down. »Sir.«
Rannek took his weight off the crutch, took Mallaslyn by the arm, and lead them away from the others. »I’ve got a favor to ask of you.«
»… Please.«
»Just answer her questions.« The private seemed to understand, nodding eagerly. »She’s worried about the boy, and I can’t blame her. He’s been through too much already.«
»Of course,« Mallaslyn said.
They found Pen and Ibiko sitting on a mossy boulder amidst a village of backpacks and rolled-up blankets, one talking, the other rocking still. Pen noticed them approaching, and Rannek once again noticed her eyes. So bright, even now.
“Are we moving again?“ Pen asked.
“We will soon, I pray,“ Rannek said. “Private Mallaslyn can answer your questions now. You wanted to know about Bitaab?“
She looked at Ibiko for a breath, and switched to Gralinn so he wouldn’t understand. »Not sure I still do. He needs distraction, not bad news.«
»The news isn’t bad, not really,« Mallaslyn said. »I only saw the town through binoculars, but it was still light enough to see. No trace of fighting, no barricades. It’s all cleared out.«
»… You’re sure?« When the guard nodded, Pen turned to Ibiko. She put her arm around his shoulders. Her voice turned as soft as silk. “Bitaab’s empty. They must have left before the fighting started.“
No reaction came from the young man. Rannek made an attempt at kneeling down, and slipped only to be caught by Mallaslyn. »If they fled to the mines, they could be safe. It does not seem the enemy actually wants to attack.« The private found him a nice tree to lean up against. »The battle remains stagnant.«
»Good to know,« Pen said. »But confusing. Why would the Liberation stay back?«
»A riddle, and only one of many. We’ll worry about it when we’re safe back home. Do you think he can move?«
»Yes. Not as well, maybe, but still better than any of us.« She paused. »Ibiko said something, he… give me a breath.« Pen whispered into Ibiko’s ear, too quiet to understand. And he reacted. He only shook his head, granted, but it was more than any of the men could get out of him.
Rannek enjoyed the sight for as long as it lasted. Pen comforting the young man, encouraging him, keeping pressure off his mind despite the stress she, Wellan, all of them were feeling. To see a caring Pen was to see her shed the look of a child. He’d witnessed it not too long ago, with the good doctor Mireri, who he suspected saw the very same thing. He must have.
Faroe.
“Th-There’s…,“ Ibiko stammered. His voice was feeble. “There’s a c-cave.“
“Where?“ Rannek limped closer. “Does it connect to the tunnels?«
But the young man just shook his head, and lowered his eyes, and silenced. “It doesn’t,“ Pen said. “He’s saying we could hide there.“
“Wellan won’t go for that, and I’m with him. We need to stay on the move.“
“We need to rest,“ Pen said. A bit of child did return to her voice, sounding tired, and hungry, and exhausted. Still, she refrained from arguing further. A rustling noise made their heads turn. Led by Wellan, the other guards came walking out from among the trees and started picking up the luggage. The head of the guard steered straight for Rannek. The mask that was his new face looked as decisive as his old one ever had. The wait was over. »You get your wish. We’re moving forward.«
»But the Liberation—«
»We’ll handle them,« Wellan cut him off as he pulled one of the backpacks over his shoulders, grimacing. »If they’re no more than a hundred, the ring they’ve established around the mines can’t be that thick. We can take them out before they even notice.«
»… You’re not being too confident there?«
Wellan turned to him with a look that told him there was no discussion to be had. »Going back’s not an option.« He nodded at Pen, and after a breath, she whispered to Ibiko and made him stand up. »We don’t have time. Come.«
Wellan headed for the range, leaving them no choice but to follow suit. Rannek limped on his crutch alongside Pen, Ibiko, and private Mallaslyn, who had donned a backpack and two blankets and was struggling against the thick greenery obstructing their path. Under the swishes of machetes, they scrambled up the incline toward the rolling thunder of gunshots. Slivers of rock popped up more frequently, claiming their ground against the dry crackling soil. The canopy many heights above them grew less dense, until Rannek could look at the entire valley to their backs. It looked peaceful. Deep greens, deep blues, and no movement but the flickering of insects.
He was wrong. Something else was there. Faint flashes, illuminating the greens at the valley’s entrance for only the fraction of a breath. And not only that—sounds. The same sounds coming from behind the range. Going back’s not an option. Rannek sped up his limp, hurrying up the treacherous hillside until he’d closed in on Wellan. »They’re behind us?« Rannek asked, panting. »You could have told me!«
»I didn’t want to spook the girl.«
»We’re under attack, Wellan! How can we—«
»Do you hear bullets hitting the trees around you?« Wellan turned his face. »They’re not concerned with us. We’re safe for now.«
»Then who are they firing at?«
Wellan shook his head and marched ahead. »Just think for a moment.«
He shuddered at the prospect of another riddle, but then the answer came to him in an instant. They hadn’t been the only Krissin. The other unit may have survived the crash as well, and would’ve taken a similar path. Syrkanan’s men… They didn’t stand a chance against the Liberation, no more than his own outfit. What he’d seen flashing in the trees was the sight of them dying.
»We can’t help them,« Rannek said, to whom he was not sure.
Wellan scoffed. »Got our hands full helping ourselves. Keep walking.«
Rannek looked at his head of guard, and found a bitter solace in his eyes. He’d seen battle, most of the guards had, even Mallaslyn. They would come upon the ring of rebels and catch them unawares, using their own tactics against them. The outfit behind them, though tragically, could prove a diversion in their favor—perhaps the enemy would assume them to be the last of the crashed. He prayed they would.
A peculiar answer was given to his prayer in the form of a haunting reddish glow, bloodying the shapes of men and trees and bushes all around him. Rannek turned and looked up at the sky like an unfathomable puzzle, no—a riddle.
You’ve come to the end of the road. An enemy with superior numbers is closing in and will kill you shortly. There are no reinforcements on the horizon.
Yet you fire a flare. Why would you do something so mind-bogglingly foolish?
Wellan had stopped beside him, following the red star’s rise into the night sky. He then turned and cupped his intact ear toward the hill’s peak no more than a hundred birks ahead of them. Rannek followed his example, and trembled.
The gunfire ahead subsided but for a few lackluster bangs and pops here and there. He limped in front of Wellan and saw his worst fear reflected in the man’s face. They were trapped on the range. The forces ahead, radio or not, now knew there was a skirmish to their backs. And the valley below was sure to fill with TLA by the frag. They were out of options. There was nowhere to hide.
Rannek grabbed Wellan by his collar and yanked, almost throwing the both of them into a tumble. He kept on yanking until they had arrived at the tail of the group. There, he shoved him in front of Pen.
»Are you crazy?« Wellan hissed.
Rannek ignored him and turned to the girl. »Tell him what you told me.«
Pen looked overwhelmed. She likely hadn’t even figured out what that flare meant. »… I’m—Ibiko told me about a cave.«
»We can hide there?« Rannek asked.
»He says we can. It’s been a while since he went there, but—«
»Where?« Wellan asked. Pen looked at Rannek, then back at him, and finally at Ibiko. When she pointed her hand, Wellan threw off his backpack and signed Mallaslyn to do the same. »I’ll take Pen, you take the prefect. Let’s go.«
Pen and Rannek mounted their backs not daring to object. Moments later, they were rushing through the undergrowth fighting down the pain suffered from scratches, bites, falls, following the instructions Pen whispered in Wellan’s ear. Private Mallaslyn bore the prefect’s weight quietly, though Rannek could feel his strength fading. Their way led them not up, and hardly down, instead winding along the hillside aiming for the nook between the two arms of foothills that embraced the valley. Foliage, vines, thorns, flapping wings swatted his face in revenge for all the bugs he’d slain. His trust in Ibiko was measured; it was a long shot. But it was the only shot they’d get.
When they closed in on the nook, the outfit halted abruptly. “Stop!“ a voice called out to their left. Mallaslyn turned aiming his rifle by instinct, and Rannek lost his grip and fell. He crashed onto the ground with a throbbing ache in his leg, raising himself up just in time to hear the voice speak again. “O-over here!“
»Ibiko,« Rannek said, not daring to shout. »It’s just Ibiko!«
The guards lowered their guns, to his relief. Wellan soon came back with Pen, who hopped off to search for the young Bitaabi. They followed her, heads shooting all around the jungle as the gunfire beyond the range died out completely.
They found Ibiko beside a grove grown on rocks and boulders, a hill upon a hill, one of many scattered along the range. He leaned against a rotten stump of enormous size whose roots had held on to the rock long after its death. With a heaving chest, he signed them to stay silent.
And then, he was gone. A breath of confusion passed before Ibiko’s hand reappeared out of the curtain of roots, bidding them to follow. The guards looked at each other with doubt, and even Wellan hesitated. Only Pen stepped up to the entrance, and before Rannek could stop her, she’d vanished too. He reached through the curtain, finding an opening. He sighed. Then, Rannek proceeded into the cave.
He was surprised to find light behind the many layers of roots and vines. A narrow gap chiseled out of the moss-infested stone allowed him to limp down into a long winding cavern strewn with faint lines of moonlight. His eyes adjusted, slowly, until he could make out the fissures in the roof of roots and rock that let the moon shine through. It looked oddly serene.
A different light made the lines disappear and painted the cavern in purple. Mallaslyn passed Rannek holding an ore candle, scanning their surroundings. »What is this place?« the private asked.
»Ibiko says the kids from the village often camp out here,« Pen said. »The older ones hollowed it out over the years, made it bigger. I think we’ll fit.«
Rannek smiled. »Snugly, but I won’t complain.« He patted Ibiko on the shoulder, and the young man even returned his view, albeit not his smile. He was scared to death. Yet he’d still saved them. Rannek wished he had a promotion to give him, too.
Wellan entered after his guards, and with their help piled up a wall of rocks roots and pebbles and to conceal the entrance further. Along the cavern’s jagged walls, they sank to the ground one after the other and sat shoulder-to-shoulder in silence. It was only after Wellan let out a sigh that the others finally expressed their relief. Mallaslyn alone kept studying the cracks and corners of the cavern, making the light from his candle dance over the walls and faces.
»I don’t know how many times we can do this,« Wellan said with a whispery voice. »Two times we’ve come out by nothing but the skin of our teeth. Do you want to try a third?«
Rannek bore his stare. »I’d rather not.«
»Then we will stay here. The other squad almost killed us with that flare, but they might also have saved us. If anyone else saw it, God’s Army is on the way.« He paused, and threw a pebble into the air to then catch it. »And regardless, we didn’t check in with the colonel. He’s already sent reinforcements.«
»We don’t know that.«
»Have you met the man? He has. And he can’t wait to blame you for squandered resources, I’m sure.« Wellan threw the pebble again, and lost interest, and dropped it. »Private Mallaslyn, can you steady that candle? It’s making me anxious.«
»I apologize, commander,« Mallaslyn said. Yet he continued to stand and scrutinize the far left corner from the entrance. »There’s something here, I think…«
»Sit down, or—«
»Can we count on this being over in a day or two?« Rannek asked. »If there’s a hundred, two hundred Liberation soldiers in this jungle, they could hold up reinforcements for a while.«
»Why would they do that?« Wellan asked.
»Why are they here? We don’t know, is my point. We will wait the night, and the day, if need be, but we’re out of food. We need to—«
»We need to what?« He may have whispered, but his tone was that of yelling, causing his men to stare like children caught in a parents’ quarrel. »What’s your next cunning move? This isn’t just another problem to be solved, honored prefect, there’s no way to clever our way out of it. I’d rather fast for a few days than run even further into the enemy’s trap and Mallaslyn, I swear to the Allfather you will sit down or I’ll bury you so deep in paperwork you won’t ever stand up again!«
Peculiarly, Mallaslyn still did not respond, and leaned further into the corner. »An opening!« he whispered.
Pen furrowed her brow. »Ibiko said there are no other rooms.«
»If I need openings, I’ll send for your mother!« Lacking a response, Wellan palmed his face. »Am I surrounded by nothing but—«
»You’re wrong,« Rannek said. »We still don’t know why they Liberation would ever act this way. I don’t think it’s a trap.«
»Said the hare before the snare broke its neck. We will cease talking, it’s too much noise. We’re hiding, did you forget that?« He rose to his feet. »Mallaslyn, so help me Vohl, you will stand—«
The light inside the cavern grew sparse as Mallaslyn’s candle disappeared into the crack with him. Stripes of light reappeared drawn across the beige guards, and Pen in her loose sarif, and Wellan with his hand reaching for the man that wasn’t there anymore. For a breath, there was no noise but the muffled chirping of the cicadas.
Then, Mallaslyn’s cry swelled up as soon as it cut out, and left an echo that lingered in the space beyond the crack. No man could speak, though no mouth was closed. They all kept staring at the corner with horror written across their faces. Only one pair of eyes looked to Rannek.
They were oh so very bright.
Martin Surga 