Clouds of Tyranny (2 page)

“
Just my luck,” she said
aloud as her legs instinctively slid out from under her and she
slid feet first along the moist dirt shoring the creek. She wanted
to spring to her feet, but was too exhausted and just stared into
the sky at the sunset’s fire piercing through the leaves causing
her vision to blur. Her spirit was diminishing; she was
caught…maybe doomed to die by these imperial soldiers whom she had
only heard about. She breathed heavily as she heard the men
approach, too many footsteps to count, and began to tear: the water
filling her lashes as she wondered what would become of her;
nineteen and doomed to die. “Ugh!” not thirty feet from where she
was she could hear a large thump on the ground, maybe a body, then
a series of moans, grunts, and gunfire. She rolled onto her side
and looked toward the shadow-covered ground beneath the towering
oak trees and saw the last thing she expected. From the darkness
emerged a soldier, a soldier crawling for his life, as the oak’s
shadow passed his head she could see him holding his throat, but
the blood flow pouring from his jugular was too much for him to
contain; he was doomed. She had caught her breath, yet her heart
beat even harder than at the height of her dash for life. She could
faintly hear a single set of footsteps; it was either one-hundred
feet way or he was light-footed, then she saw the man who was
obviously not with the corrupt and tyrannical Empire, much too
dirty. He emerged from the shadows: six feet tall (with boots on),
dark brown hair coming down past his ear lobes, dark, narrow eyes,
and slight scruff coating his jaw from left ear to right. His
attire was gray cargo-pants with extra thick patches on the knees
for durability, a vest with five palm-sized pockets (three on the
left and two on the right), wrist and knuckle guards on both hands
to protect against broken fingers, and a blue bandana holding his
hair from his eyes, but she had seen (or heard) of the
blue bandana.
He stood
there looking at her in the eye, but all her focus was on his arms:
to his side a medium-sized sword and throwing daggers scattered
from head to toe. She couldn’t move, not that it would do any good,
and her breathing seemed to stop. “Name?” he said, his voice was
stern and tough but not loud by any means, he gave off a very
docile aura; he was in control. At that moment he appeared as an
alpha wolf; quiet and reserved until it was time for action.
“Speak! I wont hurt you…unless I have to,” he yelled across the
fifteen yards separating them as he tightened his fingers around
the sword on his left side with his right hand. “T-t-t-terra. I’m
not armed.” He walked closer to her, “From what I hear, you are
always armed.” She sat on her butt with legs flat on the dirty
ground and her hands up in a surrendering way, “No, please?” He
could see the submission in her eyes, the desperation emanating
from her body, and eased his grip on his blade as he looked at her.
She was a docile girl, not more than nineteen with a red ribbon in
her long silky brown hair with green highlights, white tank top,
and parsley green skirt draping down to her knees. She looked
innocent, nothing like what he had heard of her, especially with
her gold anklet of angels holding hands around her right ankle.
“Stand!” said the man and she complied, rising to her feet as she
smoothed the skirt’s end so it glided down to the ankles now (a
modest young woman). She now stood there with the fear of God in
her eyes, “Well?” she said shivering at him. “I’m here to save you.
I just like to be on my guard no matter what? I’m Locke, I
represent the Returners and we should probably go.” “Returners?”
she retorted, she had heard very little about his group, just that
they were rebels to the Empire. He stood there scanning her up and
down: if it weren’t for the intense look it would appear to be
sexual desire, but he was simply being cautious. “Well?” said Lock
She stammered a bit and replied, “Oh, sorry…Locke. I am Terra…Terra
Bordague. A pleasure…I guess.” He nodded partially and urged her,
“We should really go!” She looked around, “Where?” “I have a safe
house in Sangrohl, follow me, don’t stray.” He began walking
without her. She followed, though she did not know why, he was
definitely scary but he could protect her and she had no one else
to take on that task.

Locke ventured through the
trees pushing branches from his path not looking back to see if
Terra was clearing them as well. Finally, after two hours of
traversing the forest, they reached the green field leading to
their destination; the coal-mining town of Sangrohl Locke stood
there looking toward the sunset in the west,
too bad we’re going west,
he
thought. After several seconds Terra staggered out to Locke,
tripping over a log as he caught her from falling to the grass by
catching her by the waist. She straightened herself up and now her
natural height was obvious; they’d be of equal height if not for
Locke’s tall combat boots. Without looking at her he pointed north
and said, “Sangrohl, that’s where were headed, I’d say a good-“ “
Thirty minutes,” Terra interrupted as she looked up at him. “Funny,
you don’t seem like that would be a often visiting sight for you.”
She sneered at him, seeing it as an insult, “Never been there, but
I know it’s up there.” He glowingly said, “Ah.” He knew it, she was
a bit damaged; like he had her pegged, just because she’s a young
girl doesn’t mean she’s weak. She speed walked north past Locke,
“Comin?” she said without looking back.

After twenty minutes of fast-paced walking
through the high grass, they reached the small coalmining town of
Sangrohl: Sangrohl has a long and desperately disappointing history
behind it, including death, destruction, and invasion. The town
itself lies in the large canyonesque crevice separating the
Sangrohl Mountains on either side of the town. Some of the
neighboring kingdoms call it the “town of climate separation” due
to the fact that the mountain range to the east of Sangrohl is
wrought with deathly steam filled cavernous mazes throughout its
interior, which is filled with Grohlrats; a large fanged rat the
size of a Saint Bernard, among other dangerous “things.” To the
west lie the other mountain; covering in a blistering cold that
would slay any man that venture inward unprepared and is rumored to
house a dragon, though, no one has ever actually seen it. The town
itself is made up of poorly constructed shacks and plywood homes,
Sangrohl is “unofficially” Empire territory, nobody dares leave
their indoor premises after dark because that is punishable by
death at the hands of the Empire.

Locke grabbed Terra by her
arm before she could get into the front corridor leading to the
town, “Hold up a minute,” whispered Locke. “What’s up?” she
replied, looking at his hand that was wrapped tightly around her
forearm. He released her once he realized how tight he was gripping
the young girl and he saw his white grip marks fade into her pick
flesh. He looked into eyes and explained himself, “This place is
dangerous, stay close and behind…quietly.” She nodded with cautious
and blank eyes and wondered if he could be trusted or if he was
leading her into something she had no interest of being a part of.
He crept into the town slowly with Terra on his heels and looked in
every section before continuing forward. As they walked through the
dirt covered floor of the town to his safe house they only saw one
living thing: a mangy cat that once was a beautiful orange tabby,
but now was a dirty grapefruit-like color with patches of hair
missing from it’s once beautiful coat. It trotted in front of them
and gazed at them as it ran by with a squirming field mouse in it’s
drooling maw. As it ran in front of Terra, it made eye contact with
the single eye it still had intact. She sighed a consolable breath;
was this cat the one that had run away over a year ago?
I hope not
, she
thought.

At the far north corner of
the town atop a series of wooden stairs were a series a small
shacks made up of sheet metal and large debris hanging loosely
against the wall of the mountain. After ascending the steps, Locke
stopped at one of the thick steel doors and slid it open as he
looked at Terra to enter, which she did after great hesitation.
Inside she noticed that the interior of this specific domicile
seemed to match the town, which wasn’t flattering by any means.
Locke entered himself and slid the door shut and quickly tightened
it with a series of locks; five of them, and walked past Terra into
the living area which housed an old chair that could barely contain
it’s stuffing and had several springs popping out, a brown cloth
couch with a green pillow and a gray pillow, a glass coffee table
with wooden trim, and a book case with nonspecific books such as: a
bible, “History of Brahm”, “World Encyclopedia 2500 – 2600”, and
lots of recipe books for medicine and tonics. On the top shelf
there were cabinets with glass windows revealing the vials of
colored liquid and cloth pouches about the size of a fist. Terra
seemed to get the impression that this is where Locke came to lick
his wounds; during their walk to Sangrohl she noticed old forgotten
scars on his body; a large one on his neck was painfully obvious.
“Have a seat,” ordered Locke as he entered that back of the shack
and went behind a curtain. She looked around…
Where?
She thought. She wiped crumbs
and a dead bug from the couch and sat down over her skirt and
crossed her ankles in front of her. She sighed as she looked around
that room. Locke returned with a chunk of bread and a glass (a
dirty one) filled with a dark green liquid, “Here,” he said while
handing her the items. She took the bread and hesitantly took the
glass as well; she took a bite of the bread which was surprisingly
good and questioned Locke with her eyes about the drink with a
bizarre look, “It’s a vitamin mixture, it’ll give you nourishment
and help you sleep,” he answered. “Hmm,” she said after taking a
drink, “It’s better than it looks.” “Many things are,” he retorted,
“You’ll be safe here and I will be back soon, get some rest, we
leave at dawn.” She was chewing and drinking like it was her last
meal as she nodded her head, “Where you goin’?” “Got an errand to
run,” he said as he crawled out the window, “There’s a snub-nosed
under the couch, lock the window.” He shut the window and crept
back down the stairs the way they had come. She got up and
tightened the latches on the bar-covered window then walked into
the curtain barring room Locke came from as she finished her bread.
Once inside, she looked upon the dishes lain across the counter and
within the sink, which looked as if they hadn’t been cleaned in
her
lifetime. She took a quick look around
for observers and stared into the mirror resting on the wall
adjacent to the sink at the gash below her left eye, at which she
cringed at the sight of. She took the middle finger of her right
hand and slowly glided it across the wound, as it passed the wound
vanished: no cut and no scar. Just the dry blood on her cheek
remained. She smiled at herself in the mirror and turned away to
grab a rag from the shelf overlooking the dirty sink. On the floor
lies a bucket of clear water. She balled up the rag and dipped it
in the water. After wringing out the cloth, she proceeded to wash
her face and clean her dirty, bruised leg. She felt better now and
was feeling a bit tired; Locke’s drink certainly did the trick. She
walked into the room with the couch and laid down with her face
toward the back cushions and balled herself up to create more
warmth, using her skirt as a blanket on her ankles and feet. She
drifted way and the sandman brought happier times.

Terra emerged from a small
and homey cottage on a pond abundant with carp and toads; toads
larger than most fish, but cuddly as if they were descendant of
slimy teddy bears. The green grass was plush and pillow-like; she
never had the need for footwear in this place. Her favorite rabbit
was nibbling on the cabbage she grew in her vegetable garden on the
side of her sparkling tope painted cottage. Very Peter Cottontail
looking with his light brown furry body and white fluffy nub of a
tail that flickered as it moved. She did not mind when he did this;
her veggies seemed to grow faster than she could pick them almost
to the point of over population. Seeing the rabbit nibble on the
green leaves tempted her to go over and see how her garden was
faring. The rabbit, being a sketchy creature by nature, fled into
the forest and into his log descending into his subterranean lair
deep within the dark wood. She watched as he scampered home and
couldn’t help but giggle when the rabbit’s pointy ears and bright
eyes were still visible from inside the darkness of the log.
Guess he forget about his ears,
she thought happily. She admired his innocence
for a moment, then turned her focus on her vegetable patch; it
seemed to grow every time she gandered at it. Cabbage bigger than
her own dainty head, scallions exploding out of the ground, carrots
overlapping its brethren, and gigantic clusters of potatoes
practically screaming to be pulled immediately. Next to her
cornucopia of vegetables was her fresh herb garden, which she never
picked, it always amazed her that something could be so plain yet
so beautiful. For her, a fresh, dew soaked bush of rosemary
appeared and smelled more sublime than the finest long-stem
roses.

After admiring the life she
had created and maintained over the past years, she went toward the
top soil lain beneath her rain runoff pipe from the cottage to
fetch some Stickyworms; large worms no longer than her pinky but as
thick as her thumb. Stickyworms resembled ‘caterpillars’; an insect
she saw in a book left over from the old world. She thought back to
her book, ‘Creatures of the Pre-Calamity’, hard to believe that
worms were once not much thicker than yarn and frogs were as tiny
as her frail little nose.
How did anything
survive being so small?
She thought. She
dipped her fingers into the sludgy black mud and picked six nice
fat Stickyworms and held them in her cupped palm, in which they
were overflowing, and ran back to the front of the cottage to grab
her handmade fishing rod; thick wooden shaft, glossy line thread,
and a reel fashioned out of a large copper spool that her mother
taught her could be used for many things like a pen-mate or a toy
for their pet weasels or even to thin bread for bread sticks before
baking; she had been told by her mother that doctors us the wooden
spools to hold open the mouth’s of their patients. She sat at the
edge of the pond with her pole and began to tie a fresh hook to the
end of the line. After a brilliantly small knot she attached the
gargantuan worm to the end,
Should catch a
fatty,
she thought as she cast her line
and sat waiting for a nibble. As she sat, she looked at the reel
that so much reminded her of her mother seeing as how her mother
was its creator.
Oh Mom,
she thought as she closed her eyes and pictured
her mother’s sweet face those many years ago…