Brett 5 | planet-helen-project

The Tarnath day had started three hours ago, the two suns beating down from overhead. Harver Jun was sweating profusely. He had managed a few hours of sleep, passed out on one of Deon’s beds. The sounds of death and destruction had done nothing to shake him from sleep, and when he did eventually wake it was to the familiar face of Ronea Hobbin. His eyes were crusted, his mouth reeked of blood, bile and Ghielrout. Everything was so bright, the shade was drawn. He needed a drink. He needed more rest.
But now was not the time. There was always more to be done.
“It’s good to see you’re okay, but you should rest.” Jun was already standing, despite Ronea’s words. “Your stitches were redone, I’m no Sana, but I think they’ll hold.” Jun steadied himself, the floor remained oriented to the side; his sinuses were jammed. There was a moment of nausea so powerful that he threatened to explode, making it to the window before vomiting off the side of the building. He wretched a few moments longer before gulping in the fresh air, and gazing out at last night’s destruction. Bodies had been cleared, but buildings were damaged; stalls and sheds and barrels and crates were smashed. Debris was strewn all over the street. Harvesthome had taken a hit, but the fires seemed to have been contained.
“Jun. Rest.” Her words were more firm, she placed a hand on his back.
“I can’t rest.” He stared out into the horizon wondering if Solstice knew of their rebellion. “There’s still work to be done.”
“The Harvesters can take care of the rest. The Woodsmen are helping to rebuild, some of them have worked through the morning!” She smiled up at him, but the remark was empty. The joy bled out of her face. “I never imagined I would see these people again. It feels like an eternity since I’ve seen them last.”
Ten years, for her. Jun ignored the statement, hope was contagious; but it festered into complacency.
“Deon fixed up some breakfast, I can bring it up if you want.” The thought of Deon cooking food for wounded Woodsmen seemed so impossible to Jun that he laughed. “I’m sorry, you probably feel sick from the Ghielrout.” Ronea moved away from him and went about straightening out the room. She threw away old bandages, packed up a small gut and needle, and did other small tasks all to appear busy. Jun could see the restlessness in her actions, and wondered why she had waited until now to do these small tasks.
“I’ll make my way down to breakfast in a moment. I feel much better now; you can leave if you like.” Jun dismissed her, but Ronea politely shrugged him off.
“I don’t mind helping.”
“I’ll be fine, Ronea.” There was a moment, Ronea flinched. Jun watched her curiously; she sat frozen for a minute seemingly staring off into space.
“I don’t.” The words caught in her throat. Jun pulled on a new shirt, wincing when it snagged on his cast. She sat there, staring. “I don’t know where my sisters are.” The words were difficult for her, and when they came out Jun feared Ronea’s composure would soon follow.
Jun didn’t know what to say. The balance of the situation was off, one wrong step and he could throw highly unstable girl off her rocker. So he waited, let her have a moment of silence. After a long moment she turned to him, her eyes wet.
“They’re out there.” It was all he could think to say; after all it was the only thing he knew was true. They may not be alive, but they were out there somewhere. Ronea didn’t seem to buy the remark, she just went about her business tidying up the room some more.
“I don’t know what to think anymore.” There was a painful silence. Jun fumbled with his socks and boots, his broken arm made the simplest tasks difficult. When Ronea saw him struggling she bent to help, Jun tried to fend her off; but the laces were done quicker than he could resort to whacking her over the head. She moved up to his socks, straightened them, evened his pant legs and went back to cleaning. Jun just watched her, on the brink of collapse. It made him wonder how people viewed him, if they had seen Ronea lace his boots they would have laughed. He couldn’t fall into the trap of contentment, there was so much more to be done.
Jun rose with a groan, and Ronea was there to push him back down onto the bed. “Don’t, you need your rest.” When she turned to organize some random objects, he rose again. She fussed with the arrangement of fire-wood stocked next the hearth; by the look on her face Jun judged the wood was winning.
“I can’t rest until this is finished.”
“It is finished! Harvesthome is ours!” She exploded at him, as if her hope had been replaced with complete and utter denial. Jun just laughed.
“Grown up, Ronea. Even your little sisters would see the truth.” He spit the taste of retch from his mouth. His arms throbbed terribly, but it was wrapped better now; a proper cast encased it. “After everything that’s happened to us, this is just the beginning.” She seemed taken aback by the words.
“Just beginning?” Tears stung her eyes, she looked up at him with pleading. “How could you say that? Do you know how many people died last night? Do you have any idea what —what we did?!” She was grabbing the front of his shirt now, her curly red hair was a mess. She looked pathetic, her natural beauty twisted in grief.
“We’ve started something. We’ve proved our resolve.”
“How can you be so cold?!” She shook him; her arms were not very strong. His rage was flaring.
“How can you be so foolish? People are dead, crying won’t bring them back. They died for their freedom, for the freedom of their families and hopes of their children. We have given them a chance at a new life. Sacrifices will be made, it’s the only way.”
“Death. That’s the only way, to kill and die.” She was shaking, her small hands releasing grip on him. “You killed all the Justices, and now you want to kill more.” She looked up at him, tears strolling down her heart-shaped face. She stared at him coldly. “How many have to die, Jun? How many people must I kill?” Jun understood. She was traumatized from her first murder. He never should have let her volunteer, Not everyone will survive the night.
“We must be strong.”
“Ellis Tuln is dead! Jore Jun is dead, He is Dead Jun—“
In a surge of anger Jun slammed Ronea against the wall. She yelped in fright, he pushed his face an inch from hers. “Don’t you think I know this?!” He stared deep into her eyes, eyes that tried to avoid his glare. “Don’t you think I know the weight of my decisions?! Don’t you think I may have considered my loses, the weight of the blood on my back?! Don’t you think that I know what it’s like to lose loved ones?!” He wasn’t screaming, he was whispering. She was quivering, she was afraid of him. But she was also brave.
“Don’t talk to me about loved ones.” Her voice was dark, and for an instant she found her backbone. Her jaw was set. “You don’t know anything about loss.” He couldn’t believe her words. Did she think this was her burden to bear? Did she hold the weight of the guilt? He almost laughed, he almost smashed her face against the wall too. Then he realized. Jore Jun.
They had been lovers. Or so he had heard.
He backed away from her, but she didn’t calm down. Her eyes were wild, she looked like a feral beast with her bright red-hair tousled. “Sana Lanson’s still alive. What could you know about loss?” Her voice choked, tears streamed freely again. “You saved her life. Some of the…Harvesters said you carried her all the way back to the Bounty…Y-You… You were there when they killed Jore.” She had lost control of her breathing, and it took a moment for her to catch it. She was sobbing, she was too fragile for the weight Jun had thrust upon her; and she was cracking under its burden. “Y-You…You did try to save him right?” She was lost. If she ever recovered it would be long from now. Jun didn’t have the metal strength to deal with her, so he just remained silent. Big brown eyes were red with tears. She only broke more, her slight shoulders shook as she sobbed. Jun closed his heart from emotions. He couldn’t look back; he couldn’t go back, so why should he look?
“You killed your loved ones. How do you expect me to sympathize with you?”And then she was gone, pushing from the room in an emotional wreck; trying to appear as though she was strong. Jun stood alone in the silence that followed. He watched the empty doorway where he half expected to see Ronea come back and apologize. Some things were certain, not everyone was going to survive; but perhaps some could be spared. Ronea and her sisters were never meant to kill, they were never meant to deal with the weight of guilt. So it was up to those who could shoulder their weight, to carry the burden for the rest of the weak.
So Jun shouldered the death of Jore Jun. He would never forget the sacrifice the young man had given for the cause of Justice, never forget his courage, and strength. And most importantly, he would never forget the sight of his neck exploding. Jun had to be stronger, had to be quicker. He was going to repay all the pain given to Harvesthome, all the death dealt to his people.
He wiped his brow with the back of his arm. With Corna and Tarna directly overhead, the ground was radiating heat. The suns have been up for nearly twelve hours, it was painful to think they would reign for another twelve before sinking below to the Horizon. They should be resting with the wounded, regaining their breath, and refilling their stomachs with the rest of the town. They had worked all through the night, only to continue fighting on through morning.
It was too much, and when Jun looked around he saw his men falling asleep where they stood; but stand they did. Without the strong cross-breeze they would have all been trapped under the shade until the hottest part of the Day passed. Most everyone was in the shade by now, but Jun had plans to carry out. And to carry out those plans, he had taken a strong force of Woodsmen. There were still things to be done; still loved ones to be killed.
Ronea had been right, despite her irrationality. He had killed all his loved ones, except Sana; and even Sana was only a shield. When he descended into the Bounty, he was surprised to see most of the wounded up and walking. The tables that had been emptied were now clustered with hungry rebels that wolfed down their food to run off into the morning sun for more mayhem. The fighting had stopped shortly after the Justice’s Hall was burnt down, he overheard some Harvesters saying. After that more efforts were made to putting out fires and cleaning the streets of death.
Jun would have stood around to hear the rest, but he couldn’t hear anything over the growl of his stomach. He had lasted through twenty hours of night with no food, but he was still human. So Jun walked over to a table and sat.
He sat.
It felt so good. The last time he just sat, he was a Justice. Except his endless exhaustion kept him planted. He stared at the table in front of him, fighting sleep. He needed sleep. There was still so much to do, but Ronea had the right. The Harvesters were doing what they did best: work. When breakfast slapped on the table in front of him, he jumped awake. Deon had outdone himself. Slop for breakfast; which was a traditional slop of wheat brag and Thrush-sap. The sap went a long way to making the doughy grain bearable, but fell short in two aspects. The first being Thrush-sap was mildly addictive, so there never seemed to be enough; and the second came from the unchanging fact that wheat brag was wheat brag. It was bland, viscous, and earthy. If it didn’t taste like you were eating dirt, it was only because it tasted more like mud.
But the grains grew thick in the wetlands South of Solstice, and were sold relatively cheap. Massive crates were stuffed with the ready-to-eat grain, and shipped north to be traded for the much higher quality of Autumn-grass. Wheat brag had its benefits; it was never in short supply, it only needed to be boiled to serve, and it was disgustingly filling. Jun scraped another spoonful into his mouth and winced at the stitches tugging at his split upper and bottom lip. The stitches were even tighter than the day before, making eating the wheat brag even more unpleasant than it had to be.
He took the small wooden cup and poured the rest of the Thrush-sap over the grain slop. What a waste. Thrush sap was wonderful, created by the boiling of Thrush-silk over a Forte-night. It didn’t fill a man, or even leave him satisfied; but the moment of consuming it was always worth the after affect. It was known to give a short burst of energy, and an uncontrollable giddiness in children. Thrush-sap was a common sweetener, added to Autumn-ale for those who couldn’t bear the bitter taste of the fermented grain. Joleb Makus had been known to cook the sap in his incubators during the winter months, turning the material into a hard block. Many had fallen in love with the Thrush-sap treats, but Jun had just called them Thrush-rocks.
In any event, Jun was certain the sap wasn’t good for you; and Joleb Makus was long gone now.
He pushed the empty bowl away from himself and sat for a moment, nursing the pain in his mouth. The sweet-spicy tingle of the Thrush-sap made his mouth water; and he had to fight the childish urge to ask for more. There were hungry people who needed filling, now more than ever. All the Woodsmen would be here soon, even Manala with her entourage of herbalists. Jun smiled, looking down at his empty bowl of wheat brag he realized something.
Harvesthome was theirs.
They could mix the Grass-kin with the Autumn-grass, they wouldn’t need wheat brag anymore. He would never have to eat the vile grain again. It would take time to educate the Harvesters on the process, and even longer to re-appoint new tasks but some people would need to be in charge of cooking for the village. Jun thought first of Nor Makus, but still hadn’t heard if she made it back alive or not. Was Corin with her? Were they both safe in Harvesthome? There was still much to do, yet he just sat at the table staring at the bowl.
“It’s not going to refill itself you know.” Jun raise his head to the sound of a familiar voice. Sana Lanson stood on the other side of the table from him, her shoulder wrapped in an elaborate bandage. She stood in the morning light, her hair was a glowing braid of silk. There was no sight of blood on her white skin, and though she looked paler than usual, her face shown with vitality. She smiled and took a seat; pushing the bowl of wheat brag toward him. “You can have mine, fatass.”
“Not even if I was starving.” He smacked it back at her, and she simply deflected its path with the back of her hand. It clattered to the floor and Deon screamed. Jun ignored the crabby barman, refusing to believe how full he was. She looked at the grain splattered on the floor, her face grew a shade paler. She was still weak, and it may be a while before she returned to strength. She was alive; that was reason enough to feel any sort of victory. He had never heard of anyone surviving a shot-wound, but if anyone could, it was Sana Lanson. Jun knew she would see this out to the end; despite the violence. “You should eat, you need to regain strength.”
Sana ignored him, lifted the cup of Thrush-sap to her mouth and drank greedily. She grimaced before putting the cup down. “Well Deon’s sap hasn’t changed. Still sweeter than sin.” Her voice had less strength behind it, or was he imagining things. Jun looked at her again, she looked different than yesterday; as if winning back Harvesthome for just a night had melted some of her sternness. She looked younger, younger than him. Even at the end of his twenty-fifth year he felt like a boy at times, despite the trauma of his life. He had been through more shit than anyone in Solstice, and still he felt ill prepared for what lie ahead. He could bear the weight of responsibility alone, he would need companions.
He looked down at the wooden cup that had held the Trush-sap.
He felt like a Thrush-ray, a single feeble floating invertebrate. He may be passionate, but a floating sack of undulating skin pulled over a gas filled carapace was completely useless alone. It was only in their nests of thousands that they became dangerous; it was only in a pack that their hunger could eat through harvests and leave a town desolate and starved. Jun was like a ravenous Thresh-ray, but alone he couldn’t even finish a bowl of wheat brag. He needed the strength from the nest.
Harvesthome was that nest.
“Imagine my surprise when I woke to find Ronea watching after me.” Jun mumbled across the din of the bustling tavern. Tables were being set and cleaned, people moved in and out shouting about this and that. The people of Harvesthome were alive again. “Whose idea was that?”
“Certainly not mind.” Sana replied, quickly adding, “Ronea was clearly unstable, she shouldn’t have been chosen to kill that Justice. It should have been me. She didn’t have the spine.”
“But she survived.”
“Did she?” Sana stared at him; her brilliant green eyes were dark. “Seems like we may have lost the Ronea we once knew, and do you think she’ll be the first?” There was a brief pause, but Jun couldn’t answer. She already knew it anyway. “Ronea wasn’t made for stuff like this, she’s a housewife; only good at cleaning and cooking. Otherwise useless.” Sana didn’t seem angry, she was being honest. “We can’t rely on her to fight with us. We don’t need housewives.”
“Harvesthome will have need of Housewives soon enough.”
“And Ronea should be one of them. Jun it’s time to start thinking about the people. I know you don’t plan on stopping here, but not everyone is fit to continue on with you. When the stakes were Harvesthome, everyone was willing to fight. But we’ve won it back; you can’t expect more from them.”
“And how long do you think we’ll hold Harvesthome if Solstice learns—”
“Stop talking, you’ll just pull your stitches again.” Sana leaned forward gingerly, the weight of her arm was wrapped in a sling to keep her shoulder from bearing its weight. Her skin was as pale as the bandages, the time spent in the Queenwood had drained the color from her. She was a Woodsmen, to the bone; and she was strong like one too. “If Solstice knows what we’ve done, we won’t survive. Whether we have housewives or not won’t make a difference will it? They’ll come marching up the Knife and put us all to the blade. You know this, and you know that I know this.” She took a couple deep breaths to steady herself. “We need to act, because whether they know now or then know next year; they will come.” Despite her obvious fatigue, Sana was passionate. She knew what was at stake. She’s impatient, head-strong, and cock-sure. But she was right.
When he had heard about the Harvester resistance out by Jola Harven’s ranch, he wasn’t surprised. With the upheaval of society, there was always those who were bound to disagree. Hyatt Mejini stormed into the Bounty, just as Sana had tried her first spoonful of wheat brag. He reported the group of Harvesters hiding out at Jola’s ranch, and how two Justices were seen taking refuge in their stables. When Hyatt’s scouts demanded the Justices be turned over, Jola had them fletched with feathers. Hyatt managed to escape, the two scouts lay dead in Jola’s fields.
Harvesthome needed to be one, resistance would only lead to weakness. Jola had to be silenced.
The wind picked up again, and there was an audible sigh from the Woodsmen. There was no shade around Jola’s fields; which is what made the siege so difficult. Jun stared at the shuttered house, it was closed up like a cocoon, wrapped in wooden planks nailed over the windows and doors. Nervous eyes peered through the cracks. There was no telling how many there were, and even less certainty on how brave they were feeling. Everyone held their breath, it was the classic standoff.
Jun just had to figure out a way to end the rebellion without losing anymore men.
“What should we do?” It had been the first thing Hyatt had asked him after his report. Jun sat at the table in the Bounty, Sana clutched her spoon like a knife; her eyes burning with expectancy. Killing Justices was no simple task, but convincing the Harvesters to join hadn’t been difficult. The Justices had always been a hated presence in Harvesthome, and after being revealed the truth it was a matter of containing the outbreak and turning the Harvesters loose. But this was different, Jola Harven was not a Justice, he was a Harvester; and a legendary one at that. He was stubborn, and crotchety, and unwilling to be bullied by the laws of Solstice. When the market note was created to keep the Harvesters from raising their prices, Jola was the first to be on it. He didn’t care if foreign traders worked with him, he was racist and power hungry.
He didn’t need the occasional trader, and he would be damned before some law-man forced his Autumn-grass down in price!
Everyone knew Jola, they respected his backbone; even when he had to give up half his work force when Solstice refused to by a single grain from his wares. Jun had thought Jola would be the first to join him; he was a sick and bitter old man. The revolution would have been a means for him to get revenge, no one hated Solstice more than Jola. Which left Jun to believe a single rationalization. Jola was afraid. He was afraid of the repercussions from Solstice; if more Justices should be sent then perhaps they would spare his business, maybe even reward his courage.
Jola was playing it safe.
“Hyatt, don’t report this to anyone else.” The words made the man tense, Sana looked confused.
“You’re going to let him get away with this?” Sana couldn’t believe it, even Hyatt seemed taken aback. “Jun, you can’t. How will it look if the Harvesters find out that we are sparing a resistance within their own members? It’ll give others the option to back out, we’ll lose support—”
“Wrong.” Jun’s words stopped her dead in her sentence. His mouth stung now that the Ghielrout had worn off. “If we kill Harvesters then we will become the monsters, and then all we have done is replaced the Justices with a less structured system of merciless punishment. We’ll create fear, and then we threaten to lose our support altogether by another revolution.” He turned to Sana, “We can’t afford to rule through fear, we don’t have the resources or the numbers to do so. Therefore we need approval and compassion from the Harvesters.”
“That may be so, but we can’t ignore the Justices he has held up.”
“I know that.” Jun turned to Hyatt. “Gather the harts again, we ride off by midday.”
“Midday? Corna will burn you alive, and with Tarna is full view it’s unlikely the men will stay out in the heat for long.” It was Hyatt’s turn to be skeptical.
“If we leave at Midday when the Harvesters are in rest, then we won’t attract attention to ourselves. He ride out to Jola’s ranch and talk to him before anyone learns that he’s managed a resistance.” Jun leaned close, blood was dripping into his mouth again. “We give them one chance. One. And then we run them down, burn the ranch and all the bodies with it.”
But now that he stood at the edge of the property, his resolved wavered with the sweltering horizon. These weren’t Justices, these were Harvesters; cowards, but Harvesters all the same. If he could convince them to believe in his cause, he could spare the lives of his men while adding to his own numbers. The heat was oppressive, the Woodsmen stood lining the property like sentinels of death. Twice Jun had called for Jola to come out of his Ranch house and talk, and twice there had been no reply. With the heat reaching a climax, tensions were getting high.
Jun wiped his forehead again. He had to make a move. Hyatt Mejini’s hart pawed at the ground, he had a staff slung across his back; a bow hung loosely from his hand. Jun glanced down at his broken hand and considered his options, however limited they were. He could silence the resistance through diplomacy, or by coercion. In either case he risked losing good men, but if he didn’t silence the resistance he could lose the fragile control he currently had on Harvesthome; and if he trusted Jola Harven to remain quiet he would be a fool. Jun sighed. It wasn’t hard to decide what to do. Deciding how to do it was the more difficult task.
If your enemy is in a defensive position, access the situation. He could hear the words of Old Prime Justice Makor Betheloo in the back of his head. If their position is on a flat, surround them. If they are in a valley, take the high ground. But if their defense is enclosed; burn them out. A Justice credo, one that Hal had always hated. Memories came to mind, and for a moment he was half certain he could hear his voice.
“It’s not honorable to kill the defenseless.” Hal was seated next to Jun, they had just survived a battle lecture with Makor Betheloo. They learnt the chain of command, battle maneuvers and quick language for combat commands. They were ancient ideas that most everyone understood; a quick flanking position, the hammer and anvil, things that any junior officer would know. Jun and Hal had spent an entire afternoon at the Bounty drinking Autumn-ale and complaining about the technicalities of strategy. Jun was laughing, Hal was turning red, embarrassed around their group of peers.
“Not honorable? Defenseless? You make it sound like Justices were meant to kill children!” Jun slapped his mug on the table. He was well sauced, but still sober enough to enjoy getting a rise out of the predictable, “Hallen Alwice; the most pretentious and honor-fucked of the Justices!” There was a roar of laughter from the table, as the other Justices clashed full mugs and slammed them down empty.
“You don’t see an issue with using fire to burn a defensible structure?” Hal asked, timidly sipping his ale. Jun cackled.
“No! In fact, just like you agreed earlier, I think that our strategies are outdated and non-practical.” Jun motioned for a bar-maid to fill his ale, and she cautiously gave him a look over before approaching. “How can we be concerned about morality if we think that the honorable way of fighting is outdated? We’re here to uphold Justice, to stop the Woodsmen from raiding and killing.” Jun watched the bar-maid pour and for a change didn’t reach out to grab her. “Hal, how can we be honorable and stay alive? It’s not possible.”
“It is.” The others chuckled, but most had moved on to pawing at the bar-maid; even Jun was half distracted when Hal said; “You’ll see Jun. I won’t sacrifice my morals.”
“If you don’t sacrifice your morals, then you sacrifice your life; and the lives of those around you.” The words came out of Jun’s mouth as he stood on the edge of Jola’s property, his memory melting in the intense heat. No one replied, if they had heard at all they were keeping it to themselves. “Win the fight, at any cost.” The words were empty, another belief of the Justice system. What if the cost was greater than the victory? Hallen Alwice, the only Justice who seemed to measure consequence.
And then throw it in the face of his loved ones.
“Hyatt.” The man shifted in his saddle, coming out of a trance. “I am going to talk to Jola, alone.” The last word was emphasized to cut the objection. With Sana back at the Bounty puking wheat brag, he would never get a chance like this. If Jola was coward enough to kill a defenseless cripple, then even his own men would have trouble living with him. Jun had to be strong. He had to be sure; he had to be swift, and resolute. There was no turning back.
“You don’t have to go through this.” Hyatt called to him. Jun laughed and looked up to the tan man on the back of his elegant hart.
And saw Hal staring back at him.
Jun froze. A splash of blood ran down between his head where Sana had cleaved him. He wore his green Justice cloak, stained red with his blood and black with dirt. The light of Corna shown behind him, glowing in his long blonde hair. Jun couldn’t believe it. How could he? It was impossible. The Ghielrout. That had to be it.
But the pain in Jun’s stitches as he smiled up at his dead friend told him that the Ghielrout had passed. He was seeing something, an illusion, a vision. Jun shielded his eyes from Corna’s wrath and swallowed back the guilt he felt suddenly. He was delusional from the heat, it was the only explanation. Yet something told him it was more than that. “It is not honorable to kill the defenseless.”
Jun could only smile.
“Let’s hope Jola Harven feels the same.” Jun turned his back on the illusion and walked out into the field. The Autumn-grass dragged along his Harvest pants, thin razor edges snagging here and there. The heat was stifling, his head swam. He was losing his mind, and the idea of facing down a paranoid coward was the last thing from bright. But something inside him was demanding his honor. He walked proudly and marched toward the ranch, there was movement behind the slats in the windows. People were rearranging, shifting, regrouping, getting ready to attack, coming to see the fool walk to his death. The thoughts were yelling in his head.
Then there was someone standing in the Autumn-grass ahead of him. A figure that had appeared one moment after not being there the last. Jun came up short and watched the figure stand tall, his Justice cloak flapped in the wind. A chill shot through Jun’s spine when he realized there was no wind. Hal turned to him, his face a blurry suggestion of what his definite features used to be. “I found your Mother, Jun. I saw what you did to her. Don’t you think she would have been better off not knowing?”
“Shut up.” Jun pushed past the phantom, the ranch looming before him. He couldn’t acknowledge it. He wouldn’t be taunted by ghosts. “You’re not real.” He needed to focus on the task at hand. He couldn’t be distracted, too many lives lay in his hands. When he was only a dozen paces away from the ranch a voice rang out in the silence.
“Halt! Halt you fuckin’ Fool!” The raspy voice was desperate, trying hard to sound intimidating and yet reading feeble all the same. The image of Hal was beside him again, but thankfully remained silent. Jun’s was light headed. “Haver Jun?” The voice was tired, it was the sound of a man who couldn’t believe what he saw. For just a second Harver Jun related with Jola Harven, and in that split second Hal disappeared.
Jun suddenly realized, just how Hal must have felt facing the Woodsmen alone.
He was going to die. It was a simple fact.
“Harver Jun?!” The voice was raspy, but it wasn’t old. Someone else was speaking.
“You’re a dead man, Jun.” “How could it be?” “This isn’t good…”
“Quiet! Watch your sights.” The command was nervous
“He’s dead, though!”
“He’s not fucking dead, he’s right there! Now…”
“Jola Harven.” Jun’s voice was loud, he projected it so the Woodsmen could hear from their distance. “Get your ass out here now, before I command my men to stop waiting and burn down your ranch and those fucking Justices with them.” Silence followed. Jun imagined what an arrow would feel like, punching through his chest. Yet the more he fleshed the details, the less afraid he became. They were waiting, they were afraid.
“Harver Jun, you’ve set foot on my property. You know how I feel about that—”
“I’m not waiting Jola.” Jun cut him off, the silence followed but the tension that filled it was a chorus. Jun’s blood was pounding through his head, his heart raced. This was it, he was risking everything for the life of his men. He was throwing himself against fate, if he died what would it mean? What mark would he have left on the world, if Helen never even heard his name? If he died here, it would all end here. He would become a forgotten memory, the horrific events of the night before would only lead to another Blood Harvest. And then it would lead to even worse conditions for the town.
But here he was, standing before his imminent doom; even though there was no need to risk himself. He vaguely remembered this feel when he charged the Justices with his hart. He had expected to die, yet he acted. He had so much more left to do. He had to live.
Yet death would be easier. Faced with all the fears, had he cracked? Was that why he was here?
For a moment Jun sympathized with Hal.
Then the door opened and the large man stepped onto the porch, in his right arm was a crossbow far too big to be for hunting deer. A wooden pipe hung from his quivering mouth, smoke falling heavily around his scraggly white jaw. Jun smelt the stink of Ghielrout, and his mouth went dry. Jola Harven took two steps out of the doorway and risked a glance up to the Woodsmen. They stood like statues, Jun knew without looking. That’s why he was down here. Maybe his cause wouldn’t die with him. He needed to be a martyr for his cause. Was that honorable?
Was it the fear.
“What’s a dead boy doing on my land?” Jola took the pipe from his lips and blew the smoke in Jun’s face. Jun could feel the blood drain from his face. The fucking smell was going to make him sick. If he survived this, the first thing he was going to do was strangle Nor Makus. “Was it you that betrayed us to these Woodsmen?” The question was condescending, but Jun knew the fear that rest behind it.
“These Woodsmen are you saviors.” Jun stepped forward and Jola raised the crossbow.
“Stay right where you are, Jun.” Jola’s hand held the bow rock tight. Jun was surprised to see the strength in the old man’s arm. The crossbow had to weight a dozen pounds.
“If you shoot me, my men will not spare you.” Jun stared deep into the man’s eyes, he couldn’t flinch. The others were watching. He had to be brave; he wasn’t just fighting for his selfish sense of honor. This is for them. “They will charge down here and light the ranch on fire. You will burn in the barn, or run from the smoke. Then we run you down and kill you one at a time.” Jun risked another step, and when Jola didn’t stop him he went for another. “I am here because I trust you.” The old man spat. “Have you ever known a Prime Justice to step in front of the fray?” There was a pause, of course Jola didn’t know a half-grain about history, but everyone knew the Prime Justice was a dupe. Of course Jun had known the truth, but the other Justices were too busy taking advantage of their power.
“What are you doin’ here.” Jola was blunt.
“I know you have Justices in there. And I don’t want to have to kill you.”
“That be where they’re stayin.”
“Jola.” A warning, his only one. “Do you speak for everyone when you say that?” There was a silence, a few eyes twitched nervously to him. Their faith was shaky. “If you do not turn over the two men, we will kill them all. They do know that, right?” A few cursed, some spat and jeered, but not as many as Jun would have expected. He was uncovering a kernel of truth. “They realize that once this starts, we will not spare a single life. Be it woman or child—”
“You’re a monster!” A female voice cried out.
“They realize this.” Jola replied as the woman was stifled and the commotion faded farther into the ranch. “They know it’s a fool’s practice to listen to empty threats, and even a sin to fight against the Justice.” He spat out the side of his mouth. “We’re not afraid of a few Woodsmen, and we are certainly not afraid of the likes of you. You’ve died once, and you can die again.”
“Yes, but can you?” The question seemed to throw Jola. “I already died once, I can die again. And then I can die, again and again. But you. You can only die once. Then that’s it.” Jun laughed, his stitches tweaked his mouth painfully. “You die and your legacy fades with you, just because you decided it was wiser to protect two Justices than it was to spare the lives of innocent Harvesters and leave the wicked for the Creator to judge.” Jola growled at the mention of the Holy Horizon. The Harvens were a religious bunch, the only family known to be so.
“I will not taint my honor out of fear! I do not fear you! I will not fear the end.” Jola made a move to leave, Jun knew subduing him was pointless. He was too stubborn in age, too irrational to make the right choice. The choice to spare violence. Jun resigned himself to failure and turned away from the ranch. As he walked back through the field, he became sickly aware of how many eyes watched him. The Woodsmen, the Harvesters, maybe even the Justices were all wondering what may happen next. Jun had to fight the feeling he was going to get shot in the back; he had to fight to remain walking.
When he reached Hyatt Mejini, clouds had moved in front of Corna. The shade spread across the ranch; and the ranch seemed to bleed its life. Harver Jun mounted Mightyhorn and stared down to the ranch. They had their chance, and one foolish man forced them all to die. It was all up to Jun now, the weight of dozens of innocent lives rested just above his shoulders. He feared the weight may break him. Yet this was the moment, and as he sat astride Jore Jun’s hart he felt a strong wind blow the dark hair from his eyes. He needed these people, he couldn’t kill them.
So he kicked the deer, and it leapt back toward the ranch. Jun held tightly to the reigns, Mightyhorn flew with amazing speed. He bounded over the bound bales and shot through the sharp Autumn-grass sleekly. When Jun got close enough he pulled on the reigns and Mightyhorn leapt to a stop. The animal breathed heavily under Jun; it could feel the tension from behind the bared windows. Even Mightyhorn was smarter than Jola.
“Harvesters. Jola Harven has condemned you all to death. Once I reach my men, we will charge down and kill every living soul in Jola’s ranch. I have warned him once, now I warn you all. This once. Flee now, and when I get back to my men you will be left unharmed. If you stay in the ranch, you will go up in the flames.” Jun turned Mightyhorn and kicked again; and the deer flew through the Autumn-grass like lightning. Odd how he ran quicker from the danger.
Even an animal has survival instincts. Jun prayed the Harvesters did too.