Onrush, Chapter 17

*copyrighted material*

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    Four months earlier. The interior smelled of reindeer skins and clay, the essences came from the leather canvas walls that sheltered them inside Ráfi’s alavvo—alavvos were teepees with circular frameworks poles arched inward manipulated by the Saami Vikings, which their offsprings had learned to use. Ráfi’s place was meant for councils and spiritual sessions, a convocation room for humans and spirits alike big enough for a roundtable—no board or chairs, just a large and unkempt pelt rug at the heart of the tent for comfort—and shamanism tools such as magic drums and tomes she’d inherit from her ancestors. Felled books that contained traditional chants to consult with sprites, Defenders, and the dead. A batch of sparkling, live coals on a steel platter to heat the portable shelter and a bowl of the same magenta-colored leaves Calvin had tasted that same night. The shaman welcomed her guests one by one into the room, Dr. Mulhouse, Cobra Killgore, Woodbone, and Calvin for last. Carol followed her master inside, he ushered her out immediately, but the old woman persuaded him to let her stay. The fox curled up near the coal tray quietly.

    Once all five of them sat down the discussion came quickly and Calvin had to follow with difficulty at every point. Cobra, with his Londoner accent, started by addressing the number of casualties in the last month. The average Rootstock soldier had experienced trouble adapting to

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Mt. Mowaki’s geography and locating enemies since the virgin landforms and flora presented an uncontrolled and uninhibited growth. Indistinguishable without the presence of the Renou convoy and a bother when it was time to return to safe checkpoints. These holy grounds were far from friendly.

    Just later on would the boy know from Randall that agent Killgore—a British emissary sent to help scout out Mt. Mowaki and study Roanoke’s diplomatic issue to revoke its awful governance with the help of the Rootstocks and supported by the Renou—had saved his life back at the riverbank by dragging him into the Instauration river, a stream believed by the natives to have healing properties amongst other things than its tempestuous freezing waters. The same watercourse he’d seen outside Woodbone’s shack.

    Roanoke—the nation under the regimen—which originated from the British colony of the same name had been back under England’s piercing eyes ever since the Treaty of Union in 1706 took place and formed the United Kingdom. Even when the Renou people hunted down the colonists out of Mt. Mowaki successfully, those that refused to leave the rest of the lands were too many. With no trouble making their own rules and betraying the Queen to keep being criminals.

    Slowly, and decade after decade, the new inhabitants of Roanoke—the freed colony—let go of their British customs and traditions to fabricate their own. Their accents and mother tongue changed when blended with the natives to breed new races.

    The Matriarch and chief of the village suggested taking into consideration the guidance already granted by her people. She reminded both Mickey and Cobra that the Defenders of Shine that were willing to help them were observing them closely but had no authority as of now until the court got a positive deliberation. The Defenders had not many useful skills in the

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physical world without this endorsement and contact with them was impossible without her people alive and well. An ancient blood pact. 

    She was also very clear that the reassembling of this alliance with the Rootstocks had been part of the Defender’s request to the village. Something the natives were still unsure of due to past quarrels with them.

    Ráfi looked at Calvin with somber eyes and proceeded to explain that an extraordinary trial was taking place in the spiritual realm. Krishanu and his sister Marut were requesting an unprecedented kind of immunity for Wyatt as he experienced imprisonment. She did not talk about his alarming condition but spoke of a process called ‘human vessel incarnation’, during which his brother’s soul would be forever bound to a Defender of Shine. One that would usually volunteer for the task at hand.

    “A volunteer? Who’s volunteering?” The kid questioned, completely mystified.

    “Krishanu is, dear boy.” The shaman answered.

    “What . . . what happens if the court rejects the request? What happens to Wyatt?”

    “Child, when you walk past someone on the street you see just a fraction of a life form’s capability to march on and live.”

    “He’ll live . . . ” He breathed, grasping the idea that everything would be okay. Yet, his body was overcome by chills. He didn’t know exactly why.

    “Krishanu has made no mistake, I’ve seen myself,” Ráfi affirmed. “But beware of what may cause you agony in the future, Calvin. Krishanu, the Defenders, or your brother won’t safeguard

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you from what the Cosmos wants to bestow upon you. The Cosmos is here to test all of us in this journey and from what I have seen, this test will be greater for you than any of us.”

    Calvin ingested her every word and choked down whatever feelings could rise from his guts to his chest. Finally, he bobbed his head in agreement.

    Dr. Mulhouse found a moment to speak up. Certainly, not the best one. “Speaking of which, Calvin, you met Cobra’s acquaintance Mr. Yuudai. His aircraft was brought down by the military, you came to his rescue when you saw him and his mate crash at that barn . . . ”

   “How do you know that?” The kid looked back at Woodbone, who chuckled, consequent to his befuddled reply. But agent Cobra did not find the fun in it either, was this the boy he’d been hearing of all this time since his assignment to the mission? He did not encourage secrecy in this alliance. 

    “Ráfi and Krishanu saw you in that new epistle and contacted the Rootstocks and their leader twenty-three years ago, way before you were born. The Rootstocks started running an investigation at the time. But part of the initial investigation was stolen by government moles and even now, we are still unsure of what’s been recovered throughout the years. However, our British comrades were better at tracking these documents. Mr. Yuudai was supposed to hand me the letter and picture you were given, given to him by his own investigation team. He was our British emissary before Mr. Killgore, a good friend of mine. I’ve yet to know what the letter said to know what has gotten all of us here. Yuudai Uemura and his partner knew at that moment what would happen and still carried on with their duty . . . ”

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    Calvin’s skin took the color of paper, evidently under the weather after what he felt was poundages of responsibilities to bear. First Mr. Yuudai, then Nelson, and now Wyatt, his life hanging from a thread. 

   Woodbone took notice of it and suggested a quick break to the group. But the boy insisted it was fine to carry on, he had had this conversation with Randall before leaving town. Calvin had stood his ground then and that was what was left to do now. The old man knew exactly where to go the night of the air-to-air combat, he was there to question his actions after that. And brought him wise words to face the challenge. The kid pondered before them for a second. “H—hold on a minute. If Krishanu has seen all possible futures, that means we have all the conclusions but not exactly how to get there. Correct?”

    “Correct.”

    “That’s why you don’t know what the letter contains.”

    “Exactly.” Dr. Mulhouse grinned, acknowledging his cleverness. “I hope you don’t mind . . . Calvin. But I got it right here. My men found the letter amongst your possessions.” She said, taking out the sealed envelope and sapling picture from a pocket. The boy shook his head. “I’ll read it once we are done here. Furthermore, the Rootstocks and the Renou people were very good allies when the new epistle first entered contact with Krishanu. Both Ráfi and Krishanu shared everything we needed to know to make the bright future of Roanoke attainable. Sadly, we might have gone too far trying to make it a reality. As a leader now, I must take what has been done in the past as my responsibility too.”

    “Doctor, I must ask—”

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    “You can call me Mickey. We’ll be allies from now on. We must act like so, Calvin.” She reached out for his hand with a gentle squeeze. “The alliance was torn apart until very recently. Krishanu thought it fitting with new blood on the frontline.” She snickered but straightened her face for all her associates to see. “I promise you we won’t fail you.”

    The council ended then and there as good sleep would be essential for every soldier and guide on duty in the morrow. Leaving Ráfi’s alavvo, the boy caught a glimpse of Cobra asking Mickey for a private meetup, visibly disgruntled. He saw them stroll to the other side of camp.

    Carol and he stood by the campfire as the villagers went to bed while a small group of soldiers prepared to keep watch. Woodbone found a seat by the blazes, drank water from a flask, and asked the child if he was feeling any hunger, he took a loaf out of his bag wrapped in tinfoil. He pulled the bread, and melted butter, cheese, and chives came out of it. Randall smiled when the boy’s eyes lit up.

    Needless to say, he ate the loaf in just a few bites. Occasionally tossing chunks at Carol, who was so savagely hungry that pricked his fingers twice and had to bandage some of those digits. He chit-chatted with the old man for an hour or so before calling it a night.

***

    The preceding morning fog had descended from the peak of the mountain, covering up the rolling hills over and below the camp. No birds tweeted or squawked as the sun ascended while the surroundings suddenly grew unmoving and quiet. Having perceived whatever it was, the Rootstock guardsmen loaded ammunition and sent a small pack to venture into the woods. Lighting their way with kerosene lanterns, hearing nothing but their breaths forming hot clouds out in the cold. But the cry of horses reached their ears. Distant, but growing more loudly.

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     Calvin shook awake to the sound of gunfire and stumbled out of a small borrowed alavvo looking left and right. The natives and Rootstock soldiers staggered to the noise of deadly projectiles in search of shelter while enveloped by woozy mist. The rebels crawled behind rocks, guns at hand, trying to decipher from where would their attacker come out of. Calvin heard bullets ricochet on the trees, he lowered his head finding no signs of Carol. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. His heart raced faster for every minute without her.

    There was the sound of feet shuffling under broken branches and a sudden blast of automatic guns. Calvin pressed his face onto the ground, holding his breath, and his fingers intertwined over his head. A dozen figures sprinted into the campsite, heavily armed and mayhem began. Both sides fired back and bullet shells dropped like golden grasshoppers.

    The boy squeezed his eyes at the deafening noises of war. Knowing he must have lost Edna's gun somewhere between the time he fled the hunting party and the moment Cobra rescued him because he could not find it. Certainly, the worst moment to realize it, why was he so useless?

    He met eyes with a serviceman that tripped over him, as he scrambled to find his gun the boy dug his fingers on the soil to throw mud at his face. Granted the chance, a villager slid down the man’s throat with his antler knife just before being taken down himself. The kid ran like a lost sheep. The buzz of passing slugs fed his adrenaline, he eluded yet another serviceman who tried reaching his arm and ran after him. Baffled, the kid caught a glimpse of Carol running his way and finding a gap between his legs to jump over the chasing enemy. Carol sank her teeth in his hand and he wailed, he tried shaking her off with no avail. Calvin was quick to call her back before any enemy tried to kick her with their combat boots. She sprinted after the boy and tailed him out of the campsite, there were casualties. Lots of them in either faction, down in a pool of

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their blood. And when it seemed he was surrounded by the military’s cavalry at gunpoint, he heard her shout his name.

    “CALVIN!”

    The kid turned on his heel and the impact of Mickey’s grip around him pushed out the air in his lungs, she was riding a pitch-dark stallion. Her torso bent down to pull him up onto the seat at the front. The noise of her rifle was next, the whimper of the animals and their mount speeding up past the horsemen with incredible haste. He felt the wind on his face and found the lead rope bouncing with the horse’s movement, he grabbed it in an attempt to just hold on to something. Losing track of his fox completely.

    “Good idea, you lead the way!” Mickey chuckled.

    “Wh—what!?” He fretted, keeping his eyes on the trees ahead. Taking care of the woodcutters’ horses back in the day had proved to be useful at that instant.

    “You are doing great!”

    “Well, I’ll be damned if I don’t!”

    They galloped deep into the woodlands as Mickey took down enemy after enemy they came across using her rifle. The scenery displayed manslaughter—recruits of both sides taking lives at random, guided by their faction colors only. Once past all of them, there were no signs of a fight ever taking place. 

    But Mickey re-loaded ammunition popping in shiny belted magnums in the rifle chamber. Then said, “Get ready, Thunder. They’ll be here any minute.”

    Calvin cocked his head, “Who’s Thunder?”

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    She grinned and slapped the back of the black stallion. “This bad boy has carried a whole generation of Renou! The fastest charger of them all!”

    A nasty zizzing suddenly whelmed the grove, echoing violently as they moved. Intensifying, running wild like an instrument out of tune. The awaited enemies finally made an entrance, the Visitors, with their black winter garments and masks—accelerating from behind with the horrendous clangors of their huge amalgamated motorcycles.

    “What the hell are those?!” Calvin’s eyes grew large.

    “Monowheels! Three of them after us. The government paraded their final prototype for a couple of years before finally utilizing them against us!”

    “The Pegasus Expo, you mean?”

    “There you go!” She beamed.

    The three chasing vehicles carried two soldiers each. A driver sat within a vertical ring and a shooter with an automatic musket stood on the inner part of the said vertical ring just behind the driver. The shooters needed to hold on to a handlebar at the top inside of the ring and open fire with the other.

    Mickey took a hold of the horse’s lead for a brief moment and urged Thunder to dash forward. Luckily, the uneven grounds and obstacles kept the Visitors at a somewhat safe distance, but not enough for them not to discharge against them. The projectiles hit the dust, ripping out pieces of whatever got in their way as well. Fronds, tree crusts, vines, rocks, and sprigs, lifting clouds of dirt.

    The rebel leader revealed a harness tucked in one of her belt pouches and buckled it up around her waist. She secured the end of a short hand-made rope to the seat and tied herself

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down with it. She shoved her right foot into one of the saddle’s stirrups with Thunder still in motion. Her left knee pressed onto the stallion’s loin, back to back with Calvin.

    “Woah! What are you doing?” He gasped, realizing she was getting ready to fire back.

    “Your eyes on the front, Calvin!”

    Mickey shot the fleshy rubber wheel of the closest enemy vehicle but the material seemed to be bulletproof. “New wheels, huh?” She scoffed. “What else? Let’s see . . . ” Dr. Mulhouse scoped through her gun’s front and rear sight, scanning the monowheel’s engine. But quickly changing her mind to target the gunner’s hand, fingers wrapped around the handlebar. The driver activated a series of high-speed rings attached to the motorcycle for protection, but the machinery was not quick enough, she ended up blighting two of his fingers and he fell off, rolling on filth. The kid saw him jump back on his feet like nothing, still holding his gun in the other hand, he pursued them but he was no match with only two feet. He then watched Mickey shoot the driver as she tried timing the protective rings carefully. She shot around three times but missed, then focused and hit him two times on the chest with little effect, then finally the skull with a clean shot and a loud pop. The rampant monowheel collided with the other two chasing vehicles as they followed the horse through a narrow trail. And that was it, they were gone with the distance.

    “Are Visitors superhumans or what!?”

    “They are regular humans like you and me! But the Roanoke Military is boosting their organs with plant-based infusions and drug cocktails, even after deadly impact their bodies function perfectly for more than just a couple of hours! They keep being imperfect but given the chance, they can kill almost anything!” Dr. Mulhouse took ahold of the reins once more, exited the forest trail, and proceeded to take a shortcut back to the campsite. She looked for something else in

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her bags and took out a stem full of the previous magenta leaves with blue dots. “This. This is what they are after . . . ”

END OF CHAPTER #17