Adversaries Together (8 page)

Wynne cut his way through the mob with their
red eyes and blackened hands. He had tried not to permanently harm
any of them, but soon gave over to rage. They clawed at him. No
matter how fiercely he struck out or pushed them back, they surged.
He had nothing but they didn’t seem care; he saw skeletal hands and
wild eyes coming towards him like some kind of nightmare. He hacked
his way through the great hall of the municipal and down the
hundred stairs to the thoroughfare. When he finally made it through
the mob, he was alone in the middle of the great road surrounded by
shattered buildings. He turned, hobbled backwards slightly, and saw
his ward’s municipal burning down. He froze for an instant, and
then he ran.

Wynne had made his way south to the harbor,
where he saw the great eastern lighthouse that had been an
unblinking eye watching over the bay The Blockade. It stood empty
but had become a target for the Silvincian, who pelted it with
tarfire out of boredom but also to let the city know they could
strike out at the city whenever they wanted. Nevertheless, it had
given him an idea. Across the bay, on the western shore was the
original lighthouse. Smaller, older, and abandoned since the
creation of the great lighthouse some sixty years ago. Few Rikonese
even remembered it. Therefore, he had made his way there. Two days
through the city and a day waiting for the tide to recede enough
for him navigate at night the thin jetty that attached the old
lighthouse to the shore. Here he was now, surviving but just
barely.

Like the glassy-eyed suicide runners, Wynne
was finding it increasingly difficult to see a world where life
wasn’t choked out in the city. The Blockade was pure, it was
perhaps the greatest military success he had ever seen severing
Rikonen from the rest of Essia. There was no way to escape by sea
and the northern roads to Paraonen and Heveonen though open and
inviting, were leagues long through dead farmlands. Farmlands that
now only yielded dust growing from twirling devils into huge brown
storms. Drifts of gray dirt lacerated the roads from the fields
choking off travel. The Rikonese were just as likely to die on the
roads as going up against The Blockade, except that the marines
would be a quicker death.

Nothing was coming out of the city; nothing
was coming in. The farmlands had begun to turn the first summer of
the siege. The grains and grasses died, the soil dried up and
wouldn’t accept any kind of nourishment, and then the winds began.
At first small dust devils could be seen in the distance off the
roadway in fields that had been plowed, planted but yielding only
dead earth. Then, the intriguing tiny tornados suddenly turned to
huge dust storms, simooms like those talked about in the far south
of The Aral, sweeping across the plains and blotting out everything
for hours at a time. The brown sky would cover the small towns and
villages in huge drifts of dirt, the villagers emerged plagued with
a heavy, dry cough. Their mouths lacked saliva and their lungs
hacked up dust. The bizarre dunes of dead earth ringed the city,
dry waves crossed the plains to compliment the static bay; no one
was coming to save Rikonen.

The city was feeding on itself, and Wynne
could do nothing about it. He didn’t have to be in the lighthouse.
He could have been out in the city looking for Fery, he could’ve
headed back into the city to find the remaining civics (if there
were any), or leading people out of the nightmare one at a time.
But, he wasn’t, he was staying in the lighthouse fishing the dead
from the bay. The isle was out far enough from the mainland and the
Blockade to be disregarded. It was easy for everyone to continue to
ignore the lighthouse.

The sea, which had once been the lifeblood of
the city, had become a harsh reminder of their plight. The great
lighthouse as it was routinely shelled by the Silvincians
highlighted the poisoning of their lives. Few came to the docks,
few travelled the coastline, and the few fisher folk that remained
had reverted to hunting sea-rats (the gulls that coveted the filth
of the city) and digging for snails and clams (a dwindling resource
as well). The bay was dying, the water becoming sick and stagnant.
Even in his forgotten corner, Wynne was only surviving thanks to
the disgusting tiny black snails at the base of the lighthouse and
the dwindling supply of goosefoot he had scavenged. He had lost
nearly three stone. The simooms and The Blockade were squeezing the
life out of the city, out of him. He had spent the year dying.

This night was colder than usual, so Wynne
decided to risk a fire. He set a small burn in the furnace of the
watch room below the light room. The warmth was welcome and he
began to doze off. Not long before the dawn he snapped awake,
convinced he had heard some crash below. He sat still like some
timid, trapped animal. Then he heard the crash again coming from
outside and definitely against the building. For a moment, he
panicked—he was weak, thin, and alone, but then he remembered he
was the only one that knew this. Tossing his blanket aside, he
reached for his spearbow, and crawled over to the window nearest
the sound.

Opening the shutters with the tip of his
spearbow, he heard the crash again, this time accompanied by a
series of curses. Someone was out there. Using the shutter as a
kind of blind, he peered down in the direction of the ruckus. There
were three men wearing what appeared to be the uniform of the
civic. They were trying to pry open the main door to the keeper
den. They wouldn’t get far. After the fall of the municipal when he
had first arrived at the lighthouse he’d chained the main doors on
the outside and then barred the den from the inside (entering from
the tunnel that connected it to lighthouse proper). Soon, they’d
realize the keeper den was a dead end and start to look for a way
into the tower.

These men might not be scavengers, their
uniforms weren’t pristine but they were still well kept, the red
and grey.

Were these the real
thing?
He wondered.
Can I take that chance?

He didn’t want to lose another home, but he
knew he couldn’t wait this out. He needed to take action.
Outnumbered, he still had a tactical advantage—he knew the terrain.
He leaned out the window onto the gallery and took aim. His shot
lodged into the main door of the keeper den, the harpoon stood out
well above the heads of the men. It did what he wanted—it shocked
them. The men leapt back and crouched, two drew their short swords
while the third turned to look directly to where Wynne was.

“
That’s enough of that.”
Wynne called down having already loaded another harpoon.

Raising his hands the unarmed man’s face was
one of panic, “Wait. Wait. We’re not here to fight…”

“
Then why are you here? Why
are you bashing our door in?” He hoped they noticed it; he had to
make them think he was a multitude or else he’d be over
run.

“
We don’t want any trouble
with you all in there.” The unarmed man called up as one of the men
holding a sword spoke over him, “How many of you are left in
there?”

“
Then move on.” Wynne
called down.

“
We can’t do that. We need
to talk to Wynne Landis.”

He winced; it had been a long time since
anyone had said his name and felt even longer since anyone had
needed him for anything, “Who are you, then? Who are you to
him?”

The unarmed man stepped closer his voice less
worried and calmer now, “We’re from the remaining civics,
we’re…”

Wynne shot another harpoon that struck the
ground a few steps in front of the unarmed man. “Close enough,” he
called down.

The man stared at the harpoon but kept
speaking, “We need Landis. The Alders have one last plan to save
the city and they need him.”

The men with swords stepped closer to the
speaker muttering something that Wynne couldn’t make out, but he
could tell that from their body language and tone they were of the
opinion that they could storm the tower and take him. They weren’t
wrong. Wynne would probably take one out but the other two would be
able to get to him with ease. There was nowhere for him to go, he
didn’t have the strength to keep them at bay. Was the leader
telling the truth? Was this Wynne’s chance to get back to the
world? Or, at least, what was left of it?

“
Do you know where he is?
Can we talk to him?” The leader called up.

“
Yes.” Wynne replied
airily.

“
Landis?"

“
Yes.” He called down
annoyed.

“
Can we come up? Can you
let us in?”

Wynne let out a long sigh, and then snapped
back to the situation at hand, “No.” One of the swordsmen had begun
to drift toward the tower door, so he let loose another harpoon
only this time directly at the supposed civic. In a move whose
quickness stunned Wynne, the swordsman was able to swat it away
before it struck. Well, not entirely, the harpoon did graze
him.

Wynne cursed, “Move any closer to me and the
next spear will be in your chest.”

“
There are three of us and
only one of you. What makes you think we can’t take you?” The
swordsman he struck angrily yelled up at him.

“
You probably can. But I’m
betting that not one of you wants to be the first to
die.”

“
Landis!” The leader called
up.

“
What.”

“
We have Fery.”

He flinched as if he’d been punched in the
gut. Sickness overcame him and then it was instantly replaced by
rage, “Where? Where is she!”

“
She’s safe. She’s at the
Union, safe with the rest of us.”

“
Bring her here. Let me see
her.”

“
We can’t do
that.”

“
Why not? You’re lying.
She’s not with you.”

“
Yes, we do. We found her
after the rovers hollowed the central municipal. She’s been with us
since.”

“
Why now?”

“
It took us awhile to
figure out where you were. And then it took us awhile to get
through the city to you.” The third man finally chimed in
scoffing.

“
That’s weak.” Wynne was
still skeptical.

“
You’ve seen the city,
Landis. It’s a madhouse, a maze of desperation. I’m sorry we
couldn’t come sooner. But Fery is safe, and she needs you. She sent
us out for you.”

He winced, he could see his face, and he felt
a surge of guilt and shame. He blinked, shook his head, “You said
the council wanted me? Which is it?”

“
Can’t it be both, Landis?
Wynne, Wynne, come down, come with us. We can give you a new home
with your daughter; we can give you a chance to rescue the
city.”

Wynne laughed bitterly, “Can you now?”

“
He’s gone, Soren, he’s
worthless to us now.” The third swordsmen addressed the
leader.

Soren turned his head and said in a harsh
tone, “Shut your mouth. We’re not here for what you think.”

“
Seems like some dissention
in the ranks.” The second swordsman began to inch toward the tower
again, “And if your boy doesn’t want to be skewered he’ll move the
fuck back.”

“
Light be damned, Garner,
back off. He’s not an enemy.”

“
The bastard nearly took my
arm.” Garner bit back.

“
I’ll take out your eye
next, boy, if you don’t hold your tongue.” Wynne
taunted.

“
Landis, your daughter
needs you, wants you back. But, we need you back more, we…the civic
needs you back. We have a plan to break The Blockade.”

“
The Blockade can’t be
broken.”

“
Not from our side,
no.”

Wynne perked his head up from the spearbow
sight, Soren was looking right at him, and the other swordsmen had
withdrawn.

“
You have my daughter.
You’re using her as a hostage to get at me.”

“
We’re not criminals
Landis; we’re civics like you. I’m Soren Redding, third ward.”
Wynne realized he knew of this man, knew the name from his own men
in his own ward.

“
Redding? Redding’s the man
who quelled the Graft riots?”

“
Yes. Well, no. The riots
weren’t quelled. They ended in…” Soren stuttered obviously choked
up.

“
It ended in
death.”

“
Yes. Yes it did. I failed
that day.” Soren’s tone was genuinely lamenting. He looked
wounded.

“
The Alders didn’t think
so.” Wynne needle the man, testing him.

“
The Alders were
wrong.”

Wynne smirked, “So what makes them right this
time?”

“
What else is there?” Soren
gave a half-laugh filled with a kind of resigned desperation. He
stood still looking up to the gallery.

“
Sir, can we trust him?
Shouldn’t we just give up?” Garner asked

Soren turned to face his subordinate, “Yes,
we can, and no, we can’t. Don’t ever ask me again.” He turned back
to look up at the gallery but Wynne was gone. Just then, the door
of the tower opened and Wynne walked out into the courtyard. His
spearbow slung around on his back, an unsheathed sword in one hand,
and a stuffed satchel in his other.

“
Yes, you can, and no, we
shouldn’t.” he said.

Wynne shook hands with Soren, nodded to
Garner, “Didn’t want to hurt you, son.”

Garner scoffed and held out his hand, “If you
wanted to, I’d be hurt.”

“
True enough,” Wynne
smiled.