The White Renegade (Viral Airwaves) (4 page)

BOOK: The White Renegade (Viral Airwaves)
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Seraphin pressed his lips together. The
skeptar’s
rope itched under his sleeve, a constant reminder of his ancestors. Of their support and love. “You can’t know what they would do.”

“Neither can you.”

That much was true, and if there hadn’t been eleven pairs of eyes set on him, Seraphin might have given in. His anger at their hypocrisy had yet to cool down. He was lightheaded, dizzy. His hands tightened into fists. He threw everyone the most confident glare he could fake.

“I’ll just have to believe I’m right, then.”

Damian slammed his fist on the table so hard Seraphin jumped back. “What is it with you? When did I raise you to become so arrogant? You listen too much to that Alex.
Different
doesn’t make you better, son.”

Different.

The word hit Seraphin with staggering force—like a courtball slamming against his heart, like being buried under a ton of snow. For a moment he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Old Walt snickered, whispered ‘demonspawn’ again, and Seraphin’s mouth went dry. This wasn’t his first argument with his father. Never before had he used difference as a weapon. Seraphin stumbled back, not even certain the ground was still under his feet.

He spun on his heels, his hands shaking, and left them all behind. He was who he was, hadn’t chosen it at all. But Alex had taught him one thing, at least: he didn’t have to apologize for it. He didn’t have to be ashamed.

Though his father’s words ate at his heart, Seraphin strode out with his head high. He hurried up the stairs, past his mother carrying a tray of beers, and burst into the common room at an almost running pace. She’d given him a confused look, but Seraphin had no intention to stop for anyone—not even when Leanna called his name. His sister sat at the counter with her own watered beer, waiting as he had for so many years. He continued to plow forward through the crowd of chairs and patrons, hoping to be out before she could catch up to him.

Her hand grabbed his wrist and before he could do anything about it, Leanna had wrapped her arms around him. At least he wasn’t completely alone. Seraphin wiped the first tears to roll down his cheeks and held the others back in.

“What’s wrong, Seraph?”

Seraphin caressed his sister’s hair for a moment, then peeled her off him, one arm at a time. Everyone was staring at them. Tomorrow they would all know what had happened. He needed to escape.

“I like being myself a little too much, it seems.”

Seraphin didn’t give her time to ask for an explanation. He pushed the pub’s door opened and slipped into the howling winds, relishing the cold biting his skin. This resistance was a mistake, for Iswood and for Regaria. When the snowstorms stopped and fair weather returned, Seraphin intended to leave the town and join the very army they meant to stop.

CHAPTER FOUR

A bright moon shone on the squad of soldiers as they spread around the
Wet Lizard
. Although summer wasn’t over yet, the night’s cool breeze hinted at the incoming fall. Damp and crisp, it pierced Seraphin’s clothes and chilled the already cold sweat running down his body. Twigs snapped under booted feet, men and women exchanged tense whispers, and General Vermen watched from the trees’ shadow, a few steps behind their line and to the right. His gaze always seemed to return to Seraphin, now in position next to Stern. Or perhaps it was all in Seraphin’s mind.

He tried to remain calm, to make his face a mask, but it felt like everyone could read through it. He didn’t want to be here. They would know, would hear the silent prayer in his head, the desperate wish to see the soldiers pull back and leave Iswood alone. Surely his father wasn’t worth the trouble, he told himself. They should move on to more important opponents. But they had all heard General Vermen’s instructions. His orders did not lend themselves to clemency.
It’s time to teach these filthy Regarians a lesson
, he’d said, looking straight at Seraphin. The entire squad would have, too, if they’d been allowed to stare anywhere but straight ahead. Seraphin had ignored the look, grinding his teeth and waiting for the briefing to end.

They had intel telling them when and where to strike. Someone had told the army a rebel cell met in the
Wet Lizard
’s basement every Tuesday, and had done so without fail for the last three years. Regarians were creatures of habit, and it seemed that in this case, it would be their doom.

Seraphin took a deep breath and steadied himself. A part of him hoped for simple arrests. The foolish, optimistic part. You didn’t teach a lesson by arresting people, not when you were General Klaus Vermen. That much he had learned from their short time under his orders.

The soldiers’ whispers became louder, and Seraphin noticed they were passing heavy-looking buckets. One for every two men, and his hands remained thankfully empty at the end. The acrid smell of strong alcohol attacked his nose as he leaned over Stern’s bucket. Why alcohol? No one was going to drink tonight.

Then Seraphin saw the men stuff all kinds of detritus near the walls, careful to avoid the pub’s grime-covered windows. They were strangers, not from his squad, and he exchanged a confused glance with Stern. Soon the soldiers signaled to General Vermen. The man answered with a simple gesture: he tapped an empty bucket in his hand, then pointed at the establishment. High-pitched laughter drifted out of the
Wet Lizard
as the first soldiers threw alcohol on the wooden walls and material under. Seraphin’s heart clenched. That might’ve been Nanny Julia. He tried not to think of it as he watched the liquid roll down the walls and soak the flammable pile at its feet.

They were going to torch the
Wet Lizard.

“Holy fathers,” Seraphin whispered.

His fingers tightened around his rifle. He could feel General Vermen’s gaze on him, daring him to move or protest. Seraphin wanted to scream, to tell everyone to get out now, before it was too late. He stiffened and stayed put instead. Heavy bullets of sweat ran down his forehead. Stern came back with an empty bucket, set it down, and readied his gun again.

“Are you okay?”

Seraphin didn’t answer. He couldn’t get a word past the solid lump in his throat. A flame flicked to life next to General Vermen, at the edge of the Regarian’s vision. Damian Holt would be in this basement. His father. His mother too, most likely. Did Leanna still drink watered-down beer in the smoky common room, waiting for the secret meetings to be over? He squeezed his eyes shut, praying harder than he ever had.

“Ready weapons!” General Vermen’s voice carried far, loud enough for his soldiers, but low enough not to be heard inside. “Shoot anyone who tries to flee. No exceptions.”

Every soldier in his squad raised their rifle, pointing them at windows and doors. Seraphin didn’t move. Couldn’t move. His heart threatened to burst through his ribcage. Stern elbowed him hard.

“He’s staring right at you,” he said.

The reminder jolted him out of his daze. They would brand him a traitor if he didn’t follow orders. Slowly, Seraphin raised the rifle and took aim at the nearest window. He didn’t need to turn to imagine General Vermen’s satisfied smile. The man had spent so much time relishing painful training sessions in the last months, the entire squad knew that delighted expression by heart. He must be enjoying every second of this evening.

“Stern … this is my hometown,” Seraphin whispered. “My family is in there.”

He heard his friend’s strangled exclamation, and for a moment there was only a long silence. When Stern spoke again, he was making an obvious effort to keep his voice down. “I have a feeling my aim will be shit tonight.”

Seraphin never had a chance to thank him. General Vermen raised his arm then brought it down quickly. Four men ran to the windows, smashed them with the cross of their rifles, then threw unpinned grenades inside. Alarmed cries turned into terror at the first explosion. The man next to Vermen threw his torch on the alcohol-soaked debris for added certainty. Great flames roared to life and sprinted across the walls, consuming the alcohol. A powerful wave of heat washed over Seraphin. He watched, petrified, as fire took hold of the wood.

The screams from inside barely made it through the ringing in his ears. Inside, orders were given to splash water on the growing fire. Mist hissed to life and drifted out the windows, but it hadn’t rained in weeks. The
Wet Lizard
was doomed. Those trapped inside seemed to understand: four of them burst out the front door.

Harold. Fred. Small Sam. Nanny Julia—he’d been right about her laughter.

Gunshots punctuated Seraphin’s mental naming. The townsfolk dropped before they had taken five steps. Seraphin closed his eyes, but the image was burned on the back of his eyelids. Union soldiers were shooting down childhood memories.

A second explosion shook the pub, and the eastern section collapsed on itself. Bright flames rose into the night sky as the fire ate through the alcohol reserve. Most soldiers took a few steps back to avoid the heat. Seraphin couldn’t move, couldn’t take his eyes off the destruction. Stern whispered his name again, and the Regarian glanced at General Vermen. In the flickering light, his smile seemed downright sadistic. There were more screams inside, and the shattering of glass.

Amidst the wavering shadows created by the fire, Seraphin spotted one more solid than others. It crawled out, sleek, and a passing flame illuminated it. A ton of rock dropped at the bottom of Seraphin’s stomach, and for a moment he couldn’t think of anything but her name.

Leanna.

Her face was covered in soot, her dress torn by the glass. An adult couldn’t have escaped through that tiny basement window, but at fifteen, his sister was lean enough. Tears had struck clear lines in the grime on her visage, and she stumbled away from the pub, taking two steps before she fell back to her knees. Seraphin moved forward. It caught her attention, and for the briefest moment, their eyes met. Long enough for her surprise, fear, and anger to register.

Then multiple rifles detonated. A bullet hit her shoulder, another her chest, and a third blew half her face away. One moment he was looking at his sister, the next there was blood and flesh and his brain refused to really understand. He stared until her body hit the ground, his mind a strange and empty buzz. Then his knees gave out.

Stern caught him and wrapped his hands around Seraphin’s, on the Regarian’s rifle. It forced him to hold steady and remain standing.

“Keep your cool,” Stern said. “Shoot. Miss. You have to get through this.”

Seraphin didn’t know if he could. A strong nausea threatened to overtake him, and the gunshots made him flinch. Who were they aiming for? Who else had just been killed? And more than anything,
was Alex in there?
He noticed someone’s back as they tried to escape, aimed to the left, and shot. The knockback slammed into his shoulder. Seraphin welcomed the pain. It kept him awake, aware of what was happening. He was wearing the Union uniform, shooting at his people. His sister lay dead in the grass nearby. She had been fifteen. They had blown her face off.

Smoke stung his eyes and filled his lungs. Seraphin’s mind hid in a dark corner, but he kept shooting. He couldn’t drop the act. He was a soldier and this was his duty. He shot, again and again, always missing, always faking. His hands and shoulders went numb, the shapes and bodies blurred before him, but the stench of charred flesh remained vivid. Flames leaked out of the basement’s window now. The screams had vanished.

“You can stop,” Stern said.

The order had been given at some point, and Seraphin hadn’t heard. The other soldiers were lowering their weapons. Some pulled back into the woods without a glance at the carnage, while others shared Seraphin’s daze. It had been a brutal extermination. The memories seared into his mind would follow him everywhere. General Vermen’s smile, in particular, came back to the forefront of his thoughts. He had
enjoyed
this. Had ordered it with great pleasure. This night was his doing, his wish.

Seraphin followed the rest, stepping under the once-familiar pine trees. Shaky fingers found their way to the red string at his wrist. His
skeptar
, a vehicle for his ancestors’ souls. Leanna’s too, now. It seemed strangely appropriate, that his father had dyed it red with blood. The braided string seemed to throb under his touch, warm beneath his fingers. Seraphin had chosen this path. He shouldn’t have, but he had. It was time he accepted his actions and owned up to his mistake. His ancestors demanded retribution.

CHAPTER FIVE

Nothing had prepared Seraphin for his first battle.

Freezing autumn rain covered the battlefield, obscuring their sight and drenching the soldiers to the bones. It pattered on the leaves around, the sound constant and far too close to footsteps for Seraphin’s comfort. They were in the middle of a thick wood on Regaria’s eastern shore, they couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead, and there was a cell of Regarian guerrilla fighters hunting them down.

He’d only been in the army for a few months at the time. Seraphin remembered clutching his rifle, fingers so cold he couldn’t feel the firearm under his skin. He remembered wiping his glasses over and over, to no avail. He remembered setting his back against Stern’s, whispering a prayer of protection.

He remembered the first shot, too. A clear bang through the muffled sounds. Then a soldier had crumpled to the ground with a cry, and the two forces had engaged in a chaotic skirmish. Between his blurry vision, the rain on his glasses, and the curtain of water falling, Seraphin had never felt so blind. His heart jumped with every shot he took, half hoping the fleeting shadow he’d aimed at would drop with a yell, the other wishing he wouldn’t manage to take a life.

It wasn’t until Stern let out a grunt behind him, stepping back as a bullet grazed his arm, that Seraphin understood taking a life might mean saving one. His resolve hardened, and when the first men fell to his shots, the guilt was but a tiny twinge at the bottom of his stomach.

It came back in full force later that night, as he sat in a common room with a roaring fire, wrapped in a heavy blanket. Every surviving soldier of the squad—most of them, it turned out—had one. The cold had seeped into every cell of their body and it seemed even the flames wouldn’t get it out, so they’d collectively opted for a less secure but just as enjoyable method of warmth. Three bottles of strong alcohol were passed from one soldier to another. Seraphin had filled small mugs for Stern and him, and the two men occupied a more isolated corner of the room.

BOOK: The White Renegade (Viral Airwaves)
4.9Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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