Dark Feather: A Dark Post Apocalyptic Romance (10 page)

“He could be a real son of a bitch, but a worthy and loyal fighter,” he declared. “He was my friend, and he did not deserve to die under such deceit. Those fucking cowards will pay!”

I knew the worst still lay ahead, and all of Rigby’s men were ready to lay siege.

“I’m so sorry. They wanted me,” I said as a deep sorrow washed over me.

Rigby touched my cheek, wiping a stray tear from my eye. “Whatever happens, happens to all of us.”

“They just want me. Maybe it’s best for you to surrender me. If you push hard and negotiate, then maybe they would give you your men back in return.”

Rigby shook his head. “My men are dead. Or at least, they will be. There is no bargaining with the Penna. They killed Oakes in what was supposed to be a peaceful parley.” He wiped at another tear escaping my eyes. “We fight. We stay strong. We stay together.”

No matter how hard he tried to convince me, I knew many of them would not survive this fight. “Oakes died because of me,” I said.

“Oakes died because of the Penna. Not you.”

I saw such pain in his eyes as he reached for the shovel one of his men brought over. He allowed no one to offer assistance in digging the hole to lay Oakes to rest in. He attacked the frozen ground as if it were the general of the Penna, and didn’t pause until Oakes was lowered into the ground.

When it was all done, I just put my arm around him and said, “Vengeance.”

Rigby turned to face his grieving men. “All that matters now is we find out how to ambush their encampment.” He turned to me and nodded. “Yes, vengeance in the name of Oakes, Garrett, and all the men we lost,” Rigby shouted to us all.

Cheers rang back in return as the storm clouds came rolling over, dark and bloated in the breaking dawn.

“It is decided. We prepare, and at week’s end, we head for revenge.”

The thundering sounds of a vengeful Cyan army swept violently through the icy land. The collapse of silence surrounded the Penna below. From the midday sun over a frozen landscape came the war cries of many. Some were from the Penna in warning, and others came from the Cyan, who hollered as they prepared for battle. The Penna armed themselves with weapons and courage to fight what was—hopefully for the Cyan—to be the Penna’s last battle for some time. All the Cyan had to do was kill the Penna general, and the effect would be crippling. They were outnumbered and consumed from all angles. Still, as they watched the army of Cyan coming to attack, the fight was inevitable. From the middle of the Penna camp came the ringing of the horns. The soldiers came together, as did all able-bodied men. The blood-thirsty Cyans were coming!

Rigby didn’t want to sneak in on them. He wanted them to see death approaching. He wanted them to see their demise advancing with every single inch the Cyans took as they attacked. The Cyan were out for blood, and Rigby wanted to make damn sure the Penna saw the hunger.

“Some of you will die,” Rigby called out to his men when we stopped on top of the highest ridge. “Some will be captured and most likely tortured. But for the memory of Oakes and all our fallen men, you will die with honor. Soldiers, now is your time—the time for vengeance is today!” The snowmobile Rigby was riding took off. From that very moment, the battle had commenced.

From the freezing land, hundreds of Cyan soldiers rushed to the bottom of the ridge, some with snowmobiles, others without. However, all were armed, and all were ravenous.

Balls of flame shot through the roofs of the Penna’s tents. The fabric caught instantaneously, and quickly spread to nearby structures. The Cyan forces on snowmobiles arrived soon after, throwing spears and piercing the frontlines. Undecipherable chants roared after each target was brought down. We maneuvered so smoothly, it was impossible to catch sight of our front halves. The tents and structures collapsed one by one, folding in towards the center. The berserk aura of the Cyan seeking vengeance for our fallen comrades brushed through the Penna’s camp and conquered it completely. More areas of the camp were set on fire. Flames rose high in the sky. The oxygen supply had been almost consumed, adding the threat of carbon dioxide poisoning. However, as crazed attackers, we acted as though we needed no air to live; only the search for justice filled our bodies to satisfaction. We continued on.

War cries became screams of death. Blood flowed from their bodies, painting the white red. If ever there would be the scent of death in this world, it would only come in two forms—first, when Death himself stands behind you, waiting to strike. The other time is much like this time, when no form of true Penna life existed. The icy world would soon be a barren wasteland.

The clouds covered the sun and signs of life withered in the flames, along with everything. There was almost nothing left of this once fortified stronghold.

“Forward!” someone shouted. “Forward!”

The rush of battle cries, the sprint to their deaths—it was almost too much. I could see rocks and arrows all around my feet. The Cyan soldiers, friends I had grown to care for, were fighting for their lives, fighting for what they believed in. There were men, fathers, and sons shouting and dying in front of me.

Rigby ran up behind me and held the shield above both our heads. Rocks and arrows were denting and sticking into it. His arm weakened against the assault. He winced when something hit the shield. “Behind you!” Rigby warned.

I spun quickly and my knife slid through a charging man’s throat, his eyes staring at mine in terror as he fell. Another Penna charged and knocked the weapon from my hand. We rolled around in the snow until Rigby lifted the man while I scrambled away. The man was on top of Rigby with a knife aimed at his face. I found a small rock and threw, barely missing him. My hands touched a familiar blade. My knife… I feared I wouldn’t reach him in time. One chance. My blade sang across the space between us and found a home in the man’s shoulder. He was still going. I threw another rock, hitting him in the head. His face contorted in pain, and his strength faltered for a moment. Rigby flipped him and turned, my knife seeming to call for me to come and finish the job. I ran over, taking the knife from his shoulder. His face was red and he held his breath, fighting against Rigby’s strength while my blade slid delicately, yet ever so deadly across his throat.

More men came. I drew my sword and fought with renewed strength. I would die on my feet. A sea of bodies fighting to the death separated me from Rigby. I couldn’t breathe well. The clang of swords was deafening. I knew my vision was blurred. The man standing to my right—his head hit the ground with a thump and rolled away—and I couldn’t tell if he was friend or enemy. My vision blurred even more.

Rigby was out there somewhere. It had started with us watching each other’s backs, but now I couldn’t find him.

Near me, a rock encased in flames crushed and rolled through ten different people, knocking them rapidly to the ground. A sword whirred past my face, just missing my shoulder. I swung for the man who wielded it, slicing through his belly, and he fell.

Searching frantically for Rigby, I nearly tripped over a body. His arms were sheared off, and the blood coming from where they used to be was still trickling in the snow. Death all around, I only hoped Rigby was not one of them.

The onslaught of snowmobiles had me careening. I could barely hold my sword anymore. I could see the elite Penna wash away like a wave in front of me. The Penna were fleeing, or at least the ones who remained alive. The battle was almost won.

I turned my head to see Rigby, a sight that nearly brought tears to my eyes. He was alive and hopping off his snowmobile after knocking the sword from his opponent’s hands. Now came the point in which the general found himself facing Rigby.

“You may have defeated my men and torn down our camp, but you will never win. The Penna will prevail and your efforts will fade into obscurity. You Cyan will be nothing.” The words came powerfully from the general, but with definite trembling in the undertone.

The cold and chilling face of Rigby was less than an inch from the face of the general. A grin appeared, only making Rigby more terrifying in appearance. He looked up into the skies, then back down at the general as he stroked his sword along the general’s throat gently.

“Where are the mighty Penna now?” Rigby asked, with venom oozing around each word. “You killed a man under the guise of a peaceful parley. You attacked the unarmed. A battle was not engaged. Is this how the Penna act? Is this the action of
intelligent
men? Acts of a superior mankind? If your answer is yes, then I thank God I am not
intelligent
or
superior
.”

“Kill me already,” the general barked.

“Killing you would spare you from having to face the Penna as a loser. You are a weak man, and all will know it when you have to crawl back and lick your filthy wounds. You are no leader. You will lead your men to their deaths.”

I stood nearby. Despite the words I’d heard, I was expecting to see Rigby pull out his sword and kill the man who had ordered so many Cyan deaths. But he surprised me by getting on his snowmobile, staring down at the man he gave mercy to, as he allowed the general to run off.

The swords stopped. The thunder in the ground had left. The most elite warriors crumpled in an instant. They retreated in shame. The last drop of blood had been shed for that day.

“Tudor.”

Rigby
. I didn’t have the strength to even say his name at the moment. My heart, my body, and my mind were all spinning, and I needed another moment to gather myself.

“Tudor. Are you all right?”

I knew his arms when they wrapped around me. To feel his touch almost made me crumple at the knees. I needed him. Never before had I needed a man so much.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you hurt?”

I nodded. “Yes. The wound in my leg has reopened.” He quickly scanned my bloody leg with immense worry in his eyes. “But I am alive and well.” I tried to reassure him. I looked into his eyes and asked in confusion, not truly understanding his actions, “Why did you let him go? You could have killed him and ended this war right then and there.”

Rigby sighed deeply. “I could have killed him, yes. And he ran like a coward knowing that fact. But even if I would have killed him, his second, or third, or even fourth in command would have taken over. The war is not over by simply killing one man.”

“Then you should have let me kill him. He doesn’t deserve to live!”

“Do any of us deserve to live? We are all guilty of doing the same thing as that man. He is no worse than all of us.”

“But why let him live? He killed Oakes right in front of us. He broke an unspoken rule in the conduct of war. We were in talks, not battle. He deceived us and we lost a friend because of it.”

Nodding, he said, “He did. But I felt killing him would have been giving him mercy. Now he has to live with the knowledge that the Cyan are stronger.
I
am stronger.” He wiped my sweaty hair from my forehead and added, “The day will come when I will indeed kill him. But right now, I didn’t want to kill his body. I just wanted to decimate his soul.”

Rigby swept me up into his arms and helped me to his snowmobile. He straddled the seat behind me and placed a soft kiss on my neck.

I sighed and nodded, understanding his decision. “I think Oakes would have been very proud of you. You made him proud today.”

“Not yet. But someday I will make him proud. Someday I will avenge his death in a way that does not involve killing. But until that day—”

“That day will come,” I interrupted. “I never believed so before. But since meeting you, I know there isn’t anything you can’t do. I have faith that you will make that happen. As crazy as it might sound,” I looked around at the battlefield we’d just fought on, “I feel safe. You make me feel very, very safe. You give me hope.”

“I hope I always can make you feel that way.” He patted my leg and started the snowmobile. “Well, for now, the battle is won. We came and achieved what we set out to do.”

We leaned into each other’s bodies to begin our journey home. Visions of the battle haunted me, as they always did when the adrenaline began to leave me. My body shook, my stomach churned, and I broke out in a sweat. Every awful emotion washed over me. Emotions that I didn’t allow to enter while in the midst of war came flooding in. I was used to this, but it didn’t make it any easier. After each fight, I paid the price. I often wondered if I was the only soldier who suffered from the aftermath soon after the dust settled, but today, as I rode behind Rigby and felt his body shake, and sweat bead on his clammy skin, I knew he too fought the demons of all who were killed. It was inevitable that our shields would eventually have to be lowered, and when that happened, we had to face death head on.

I thought for a moment about not making it, not being with Rigby, and the possibility of loss. But I just closed my eyes, allowed my body to relax against a true hero, and drifted away to slumber with the clang of swords still in my ears.

In the middle of the night, I snuck into Rigby’s quarters. The moonlight reflected off the smooth metal of his sword which lay next to him while he snored softly into pelts of fur. Gently, I ran my fingers through his dark, coarse hair. Rigby flipped on his side and jabbed a dagger from under his pillow against my soft neck. I didn’t even muster a fretful look in my eyes.

“If I had come here to kill you, you’d be dead by now,” I said with a smile.

“You and I both know it would not be that easy.”

“Easy enough,” I said, watching him re-sheath his sharp knife.

“What are you doing in here, Tudor?” he asked with a slight twinkle in his eye. “Is something wrong with your own tent?”

I wondered what the answer to that question was, as well. Part of it was because I couldn’t sleep, and another part of it was something I found hard to put into words.

“I miss your touch,” I confessed.

Rigby sat up completely and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close to him on his bed. He kissed the top of my head, my cheek, and then he softly kissed my lips.

“I miss the sting of your hand,” I continued with the confession.

He pulled away enough so he could study my face. He raised an eyebrow in response.

I made eye contact with him. I refused to let my pride get in the way of my need. “I miss the feel of submission.” I stood up without saying another word and stripped off my clothing, never breaking eye contact with Rigby’s stare. I stood naked before him and whispered, “Spank me.”

Never in my wildest dreams would I imagine myself being so bold, so open. But I had always been one to take my destiny into my own hands. If I wanted it, I did what I had to in order to make it happen. This was no different. I wanted to surrender to Rigby’s discipline. Giving up control made me feel more
in
control than ever before.

Rigby adjusted his body so he was on the edge of his bed. He patted his lap, silently ordering me to obey.

Without hesitation, I laid myself across his lap and awaited his punishing touch. A loud slap bounced off the canvas of the tent, followed by another, and another. Rigby took no time to pause between spanks. My body tensed with each searing swat, and my hands reached for the fur pelt to squeeze.

Rigby swatted one cheek and then moved to the next. The rhythm burned my hide but soothed my soul. My mind relaxed even though my body hummed with life. The pain of the spanking made me cry out his name, but never once did I beg him to stop. I wanted more. I wanted to feel my body melt against his until we were one.

“My dark feather,” he purred as he spanked. “You have shown more strength tonight than you’ve shown in any battle.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my teeth together. The punishment almost became too much to bear. But I wanted to reach the edge and then dive headfirst. Complete submission to the man… I loved.

The resonances of a sound punishment, blended with the sounds of a sensitive, delicate, woman crying, seemed foreign to me. Never would I show my weakness. Never would I show my pain. But in this moment, across Rigby’s lap, I allowed myself to be the softest, and the most feminine woman I could be.

When tears mixed with the sweat from my brow, Rigby finally stopped the bare bottom spanking. He pulled me into his arms and showered me with kisses. Such softness, such tenderness from a man who could kill with ruthless abandon. Protective masculinity blended with willing femininity in that war-worn tent—a yielding love created.

I nestled into the crook of his neck. “I love you,” I whispered against his skin.

Rigby pulled back enough so he could look into my eyes. “And I love you, my perfect warrior. I have never felt such a surge in my heart before. Never before has my heart beat so hard.”

He brought his lips to mine and mastered my mouth as only someone with Rigby’s power could do—fierce, powerful, but tender. Our tongues danced together, tasting the newly declared love just spoken.

“Please make love to me,” I begged between the kiss.

He froze and took a deep breath. “In time.”

A sharp pang attacked my heart. “No, the time is now.” I rested my hand on the bulge of his pants, feeling it flex beneath my touch.

Rigby took another deep breath and closed his eyes. He let out a soft moan but lifted my hand and held it in his large palm. “In time,” he repeated, but with less conviction.

“I belong to you, Rigby. Claim me.”

“We are not married. The idea may be archaic to the Penna, but to me, it is very important. I want to give you marriage and all that comes with that union.” He helped me off his lap and reached for my clothing to dress me.

The tears stung the back of my eyes. “You reject me?”

Rigby finished dressing me and then wrapped his arms tightly around my slumped shoulders. “I honor you. I value you. I respect you so very much.”

I looked into his eyes and began to cry. “Do you not see me as a woman? Do you only see the archer before you?”

He pulled us both down to his bed. “I have never seen someone of such beauty. Yes, I very much see a woman.” He brushed the loose strands of my hair behind my ears. “But I can only claim what I make mine. My bride will remain virtuous until we are united. Ancient in thinking, I’m sure. But there was a time before the entire world froze when people valued love, commitment, and even sex. I wish for that time to return, and the least I can do is make that happen with you. I want a bond of the past to help us survive this dark and miserable future of bleak whiteness.”

I nodded, understanding his belief. Disappointment soon was replaced with admiration.

“I feel I owe you an explanation,” I said.

Rigby kissed my head and continued to rub my back in tiny circles. “For what?”

“During the attack that killed Oakes, the Penna said I was a traitor to the Penna as I was a traitor to my father.”

He nodded. “Yes, I remember that.”

I stared at him, surprised. “And you asked nothing about it?”

He smiled softly.

I took a deep, calming breath. “He spoke the truth.” Tears stung the back of my eyes again, but I refused to let them fall.

Rigby reached out and stroked the side of my face, tracing the signs of a scar. “I see it gives you pain.”

I nodded and looked down at the ground. “Yes.”

“Would telling me what happened ease that pain?”

“No. But I feel I owe you the truth regardless.”

I paused a moment and could see worry in Rigby’s eyes. The unknown had to be attacking his curiosity and fear. I took another deep breath and began the long, painful, but true story.

* * * * *

Everyone had flocked to the great hall, for after recent battles, my father—the Penna general—was due an outstanding celebration. The faded notes of a string quartet could be heard faintly through my bedroom door. I saw a stark full moon and knew something was looming. To be honest, I was quite pleased the worst of it had come to an end. Months before, my father’s men, carrying out his orders, had thundered through the waving valleys of Old Montana. In their wake, they left nothing but high burning fires and bodies of dust on the southwestern terrain of a frozen state that no longer existed.

My servant no longer waited in the wings and began to speak as I brushed through my hair. “Come on, Tudor,” she said. “Whatever is bothering you, you need to shake off. We just had a huge victory.”

But when all is said and done, was it a victory?
I thought. Women and children slaughtered as the fire fed upon their flesh. I had never witnessed it, of course. My father kept me training, saying I wasn’t ready. I was never ready in his eyes.

After closing my eyes briefly, I painted a fake smile on my face and left my room to join the party.

I took a pause when the strong scent of booze and sex wafted in my face. All those at the party were in the midst of imbibing rivers of red wine, dancing, and some were engaging in sex. Public displays of nudity were common at my father’s parties. Dark and eerie violin music played throughout the hollow corridor, adding a thick level of lust to the atmosphere. The erotic song of the violin almost seemed hypnotic. An empty seat, right next to my father, had been left for me. Beside my father’s chair sat Blaxton, his next in command. Not slowed by frost or ice, Blaxton was wholly terrifying.

My father was a man of heft, with sunburned pink skin and a thick gray beard like that of aged sheep’s wool. It was only the two of us. My mother’s death, when it happened, was sudden.

I remembered walking in and feeling her cold, dead fingers. When my father found me weeping at her side, he told me tears were not befitting of a Penna and I was never to cry again over someone’s death. He showed no sadness, no emotion, and absolutely no love. When my mother died, I noticed Blaxton’s face was cast with utter disgust. Blaxton eyed my father with rough glances. He didn’t even bother to conceal it. I knew my father had played a part in her death. Everything in my soul knew he was only surviving in a world of darkness and cold. My innocent mother was just another victim in his cruel rampage of power.

I sat down next to my father and watched the grinding of bodies, the heavy drinking, and the laughter of the drunk—having started at dusk. As the hour grew late, their merry antics only grew sillier, almost as if they came down with a rising fever. Polished trays of silver lined a table from end to end. Smoked and spiced swine rested in the center of the table. Pastries made with blue-green algae were everywhere to display our great wealth.

My father grabbed a fistful of dried blue-green algae used to season our food and crushed it between his fingers. He spoke, “Eat up, men! We need to keep our strength up. There are more Cyan to kill!”

Overjoyed, a slump-shouldered soldier hollered with a swig of wine in his hand. “Under your leadership, we will kill every last one of them.”

The grizzled looking Blaxton placed a gleaming knife on the side of his plate and raised his voice above the noise. “We celebrate a victory over innocent men, and for that we are proud? The last attack was on innocent villagers. They did not deserve to die.”

My father slammed down his fist and glared at Blaxton with a flushed red face and wild eyes. He lurched slightly forward over the table. “You would be advised to keep your opinions to yourself.” I watched him bite a chunk out of the roasted meat.

“What I mean—and so do many of my men— is that hacking down unarmed villagers who are already as good as dead from cold and starvation, is simply an easy target.”

I knew Blaxton was no doubt loyal to the Penna, but I’d never seen him act so bold.

My father’s jaw stiffened. “Their lives and their land became forfeit when they decided not to join the Penna. You are either with us, or against us.”

Blaxton simply raised his glass with a haughty expression on his face. “If you say so, General Dane.”

My father seemed shocked, as if he could hardly believe what he’d heard. He looked to the other soldiers in attendance. “
If I say so
? If I say so, we will drink their boiled blood and dance on their bones. All non-Penna people will know their place.”

I grabbed my father’s forearm—clenching it equally soft and hard— before trying to think of something to say. “Let’s enjoy the party. We won the last battle, and we should celebrate. Let’s not talk of death and killing right now.”

Watching my father’s rigid posture relax made me feel relieved to drink. It was very warm inside the great hall, and the bray of drunken men and the madness had no end. Women continued to please the soldiers however they desired, late into the night.

My father patted my hand with his blood-stained palm. Sweat glistened across his forehead. “What a fine daughter I’ve raised. You will breed strong boys.”

“Why Father, I might want to at least finish my meal first,” I replied, forcing a smile.

Very quickly, Blaxton’s silence came to an end. His voice was urgent. “There is another matter…” His voice boomed loudly throughout the room.

Father looked away from me with a monstrous frustration building up inside. “What matter?” he asked.

“Someone will betray you tonight.”

The partiers in the great hall grew silent as the music was hushed. A chorus of panicked voices filled the room.

A soldier screamed, “Don’t listen to him. Everyone in this room is loyal to the general.”

My father slammed his balled, meaty fists on the table, asserting his ferocity, and roared at the top of his lungs. “Traitors, in my army? I’d never believe such a thing.” It was clear my father was highly intoxicated at this point and he just laughed. “You are a fool, Blaxton, or you have drunk too much.”

“I speak the truth,” Blaxton said, with no worry on his face or in his voice whatsoever.

My father laughed again, and in a mocking voice called out, “If there is a traitor in this room—show yourself. Show yourself!”

“Your trust will get you killed,” Blaxton warned. “I know for a fact you will be betrayed tonight.”

My father’s nostrils flared and his voice was hot. There would be nothing that could take us back to the moments before. Blaxton didn’t flinch even when my father looked directly into his black-ringed eyes. I did the same. It was almost like being hypnotized, no matter how much I wanted to tear away; I looked again and again.