“Err, Vestra-”
But she silenced him with an upshot hand,
continuing to peep out from behind the wall. Qyro gulped, trying to
ward off a growing anxiety. It felt as though the entire situation
had loosened all reins of predictability it could have had.
Vestra continued to silently gaze across the
street behind the house. Finally, she turned back and took in a
deep, steadying breath.
“The village’s been put on curfew.” she
breathed into Qyro’s ear.
“Curfew?”
“Yeah,” replied Vestra. “The rebels don’t
look like they afford their villagers alotta freedom…” Her voice
roughened with anger. “Leave alone taking over their homes, and
making them all hostages.”
“If the place’s in curfew,” said Qyro slowly,
feeling a rising sense of panic. “Doesn’t that mean our job’s gonna
be … slightly harder? How the hell are we gonna get in and get out
of here, without alerting these madmen watching over the
curfew?”
“See those guys in long white cloaks walking
around?” said Vestra, extending her arm to point down the street
beyond them.
Qyro saw one of them, the white cloaked men,
striding by down almost every street. All of them were holding
Sparklers and masked.
“Yeah, I see ‘em.” said Qyro, his eyes
shrunken to slits as he surveyed them. The figures wandering around
at the distance. “They’re probably the rebels controlling the town.
The ones working for Razvol.”
Vestra nodded and said, “Yeah. And they’re
the ones we’ve gotta keep ourselves off. The job’s done as long as
we creep by without letting them see us.”
Qyro swerved around slowly to look at her.
“This is a joke, right?” He turned back, watching the rebels stalk
by each street, and made a quick calculation. “There’s probably a
rebel to glance wherever we move every three seconds. This is
impossible!”
Vestra seemed to be holding back the same
fear. But when she spoke, the steel in her tone seemed to outweigh
all fears. “Listen, this is not something we can back out on, Qyro,
and you know it. We both know that there’s something a lot bigger
than it appears going on. By the look of things, we’re carrying the
weight of the entire world on our shoulders now. This task has to
be accomplished.”
Qyro frowned, feeling the resolve in her
voice reach him as well. “And so it is.”
“We can do this,” said Vestra, a sturdiness
in her voice. “We have to.”
Qyro knew she was right. He took in a deep,
panic quelling breath and looked sideways at her. “So what’s the
plan?”
“Same one as always.” Vestra said, her black
eyes sparkling. “Improvise.”
Qyro smiled. “The only plan that ever
works.”
And the two of them slowly crept down the
village, passing lane after lane without alerting the attention of
any of the white cloaked, masked figures.
__________
Rambo tapped his Sparkler over one hand as he
moved down the deserted village lane, his eyes peeled for movement.
Of any sort. His job, as a member of his rebel organisation, was to
ensure that the villagers were kept under their well restrained
leash. As a person working for Razvol, he had learned to guide
himself ruthlessly over the years, just as the rest of their entire
squad had to, if they wanted to survive.
He knew that this hour of curfew was the one
where villagers were most likely to be spotted moving about. And
that was when the fun began, for the rebels. Finding villagers
lurking about during curfew was a source of gleaming joy for the
rebels … That was the very reason they were here. Because they
thrived a living out of bullying other innocent people, to get what
they wanted.
As he reached the end of the lane his path
crossed with another cloaked rebel, who paused for a moment as the
two of them met.
And then, with a nod through his mask, the
other one said, “Found anyone?”
Rambo recognised the voice of his fellow
rebel, Dariaz. “Found any villagers breaking curfew, you ask?” He
shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Keep your eyes peeled for the alleyways.”
Dariaz informed him. “That’s where we usually find them
hiding.”
Rambo knew he was right: it was common to
find the villagers hiding behind dustbins in dark alleyways. Where
they think they escape the rebels’ watch. How very foolish of
them.
The two of them strolled down his lane,
talking.
“You know,” said Dariaz slowly, an edge of
uncertainty in his voice. “The boss … seems kinda off his nerves
lately.”
Rambo snapped his head around, knowing that
this was no topic to be taken lightly for discussion. The boss.
Razvol. He was kept as a sealed segment of discussion, and
conspiring or talking trash against him was indeed very badly
punished. Razvol scared the wits out of everyone in the village.
Not only the villagers here, but his own men as well. The rebels
too knew enough of him to know not to break any of his ground
rules.
But as Rambo studied what he had heard, he
felt a veil of fear driven silence break apart in front of him…
He realised that he had been feeling the very
same way off late: Razvol truly
did
seem out of his nerves
lately. And now, hearing someone else among the rebel squad voice
it, he realised that it hadn’t been his own imagination: something
really was up with their steely leader all of a sudden.
“You’re right…” he said slowly. “I thought he
was too.”
Dariaz turned, and Rambo could sense the
gleam of a satisfied smile beneath his mask, now that the two of
them were agreeing to open the borders on something that had been
closed by convention.
“Yeah,” Dariaz said a little more loudly,
nodding. “He keeps to himself - that is to say, more than
usual.”
Rambo uttered an amused chuckle. “More than
usual. Yeah. True.”
“I think something’s been happening off late,
don’t you?”
“What do you mean?” Rambo gave a glance down
every alley as he passed, to make sure there weren’t any villagers
hiding beneath the garbage cans as they usually did during curfew
time. “What’s been happening?”
Dariaz sent a well rounded look about them,
before turning to Rambo with his voice lowered. “There was this
strange attack, I heard, in this planet, Tansof. And I heard it
involved,” His voice dropped even softer, a bare hiss. “involved …
mystics.”
Rambo gave a slight start and spun to face
his comrade “Gosh! Don’t say that word, would you?”
Dariaz nodded fervently. “I know … that word
gives me the shivers too. We’ll just call them … The freaks. The
M
freaks.” His voice fell back to a bare whisper again.
“Anyway, the attack seemed to involve-”
“Hang on, hang on just a second – there’s a
villager behind that dustbin in that alley, I can see him
hiding.”
“What?”
The two of them turned and entered the alley
by the right, and sure enough, there was the undistinguished shadow
of a villager stirring behind it.
“Come out, pal!” yelled Rambo, raising his
gun. “You’re cornered and over. Who are you?”
The rubbish can suddenly toppled forward. And
behind it, Vestra and Qyro stood with blazing swords in their
hands.
“We’re the freaks,” said Vestra.
“The
M
freaks.” smirked Qyro.
Without warning, the two of them pounced…
And before Dariaz or Rambo knew it, the two
of them were pinned to the ground by the two blue robed
figures.
“What - what do you want?” gasped Rambo,
struggling to speak as the boy’s hand clamped his mouth shut hard.
By his right, he could feel Dariaz trying to shake off the other
figure who kept him pinned down, hard.
The boy sitting over Rambo bent down,
breathing into his ear, “Oh, we just want a favour from the two of
you. A
little
favour.”
__________
Two white robed, masked figures had stormed
into an alleyway a minute back, under the presumption that they had
found a villager breaking curfew hiding behind the garbage can.
Now, the two white robed, masked figures came striding out of the
alleyway, a new grace and power in their stride as they slowly
walked down the same lane.
They reached the end of the lane that they
were supposed to be monitoring, and halted. One of them nudged the
other by the ribs.
“What?” Vestra hissed, her eyebrow rising
beneath the mask of her rebel disguise.
“Which way now?” asked Qyro. “Where did they
say Razvol lives?”
The two of them had pinned the two gullible
rebels they’d drawn into that alleyway down. They had then squeezed
out the valuable information from them - information of where their
leader, Razvol resided. And then, knocking them unconscious, the
two of them had stolen their cloaks and masks, disguising
themselves with it. Now, with the quickly woven plan moving
smoothly, they were beginning to feel slightly more confident.
“Where did they say Razvol lives in?”
repeated Vestra, who turned and gazed at the distance across the
small, one storey buildings that spawned down the lane.
“We need to get to the tallest tower. That’s
where he is.”
“Right.” said Qyro, in a measured whisper.
“Let’s hurry, then.”
The lanes and streets seemed to press into
them with an atmosphere of darkness and gloom. As they strode down,
they were careful to avoid any other of the white cloaked rebels
who were seen at almost every street.
The village’s buildings were all tarnished,
with a shabby, ill maintained air. The primitively laid brick
structures ran along both sides of the street, rising no higher
than two storeys. But the tower that they were heading towards
could be seen clearly on the other side of the village. It was
visibly the tallest tower in the village, sprouting like a pillar
into the sky.
Despite the thrill and urgency boiling within
them, the two of them kept their pace steady and measured: they
didn’t want their hastiness to give them away to the other rebels
they passed about the place. But they couldn’t help letting their
strides drag them an ounce or two faster as they started
approaching the tower.
“This is probably gonna be easier than we
imagined.” said Qyro hopefully.
“Don’t count your eggs before they’ve
hatched.” warned Vestra. “The last thing we need is for something
to go wrong because we let our guards down.”
Qyro gave a nod. “Of course.”
Less than a minute later, they were almost at
the tower. The street they were now striding down was lit stronger
than the ones away from the tower, with the streetlamps on either
side casting a brighter, more menacing glow over the lane.
Qyro and Vestra kept their gazes steadily
fixed over the tower. It could now be seen towering over the entire
village, establishing its supremacy over it. It was at the very end
of the lane they were now walking through, its entrance seen
faintly less than a hundred metres before them.
Vestra broke her pace, slowing slightly to
throw a glance backwards. Just in case they were being followed.
But the street, for the entire distance it could be seen through,
was empty. The two of them reached the entrance of the large tower
and halted for the breadth of a moment.
“Well, here we go.” Qyro said, as the two of
them lingered at large double door of the tower for a second.
Vestra gathered her composure with a quick
breath, and then pulled the double doors open.
A sudden blinding light … A brutal electric
pain … Vestra faintly felt herself fly backwards gracefully, and
slam over the cold ground beneath, before darkness enclosed her
completely…
His mind reeling, Qyro gaped at Vestra lying
sprawled on the ground, before twisting head around towards the
door again. A pack of rebels came streaming out of the doors and
stood surrounding him and Vestra’s body…
For a second that seemed to compress a few
centuries, Qyro let his gaze travel over the batch of rebels around
him, all of them standing with their Sparklers aimed.
The realisation hit him with a pounding
force: they had been discovered.
Fiery panic surged up within him.
As the men raised their Sparklers, a second
or two away from firing, Qyro felt everything vacuumed from his
mind. Without the nudge of a conscious thought, he ripped his cloak
off and had his sword unsheathed.
A dazzling orange flash immersed the scene as
he lit his sword, and as one, the rebels stumbled backwards in the
sudden blinding light. As they regained their stance, he had
already sent his sword cutting down three of them. The others
slowly repositioned their guns and sprayed jets of blue light at
him, which he swirled his sword around to block and cut off. But
Qyro knew his chances were dwindling. There were almost a dozen of
them. Against only one of him.
Thrusting out the hopeless feeling, he
launched over them. His sword swiped the air, making a clean cleave
across two of their torsos. Twisting about just in time to cut off
another jet of light sent at his chest, he dodged another,
sidestepped and then sent one of the men on his right soaring with
a blow from his fist.