For more details and extra info on this story, check out this post! And see this page for a full list of chapters.
19 min read
The muskets cracked with increasing frequency as the three friends sprinted through the forest. Rush hoped at least some of the noise came from their own militia. One thought scared him the most.
The rebels weren’t fools. Their survival in the Pinnacles made that clear. If they were attacking Hast, a town with a strong militia, they must have prepared themselves thoroughly. Rush dreaded the carnage he would see on the other side of the trees.
Branches slapped his face as he raced toward town. His foot caught on a root, and he sprawled across the ground. He threw up his arms to block his fall and the dirt scraped against them. Lewis skidded to a stop and pulled him up; they kept running. Rush’s heart beat like a war drum, both from exertion and panic. His arms stung from the fall and his sword bounced crazily at his side, swinging with every step.
After a few minutes, Lewis held out his hand and motioned them to a halt. The edge of the forest was only a few yards ahead, and the brothers withdrew their swords. Not that it would do much good, Rush mused. The guns would reach them long before they came within sword range. Why didn’t Lewis bring his musket with him?
Lewis gestured for Rush and Olive to stay put. He crept forward, sword in front, eyes darting to take in every detail. He disappeared around a clump of trees, leaving the two standing alone.
Olive looked at Rush. “Do you really think we’ll all be alright?”
Rush couldn’t lie to her. She always saw right through it. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I don’t know.”
She twisted her braid tighter and stared toward where Lewis would be behind the trees.
The elder brother came into view, his face painted with worry. He walked urgently and spoke quickly. “They’re attacking from the trees to the west. Their shots are missing at that range, but our men can’t hit anything either. I don’t know what they’re up to. Both of you, get to the printer, barricade the door, and don’t come out.”
Rush stepped forward. “Where are you going?”
“To fight, of course. This is my town.”
“It’s my town too. I’m going.”
Lewis locked eyes with Rush. “Rush, now’s not the time. You’re going to stay in that shop and protect Olive. This is real war. People die, and you might too if you go out there.”
“So could you!”
“It’s my duty as part of the militia. Now, no more arguing. We’ll cut through the corn to avoid being seen.”
Rush stared at the ground, the fight’s seriousness settling in. Maybe he could barricade Olive in her family’s printing shop and sneak out the back door to join the battle. This possibility subdued his protests, and he followed his two friends as they ran to the forest’s end.
When they broke through the last trees, Rush stopped in his tracks and stared.
To the right, the forest curved around the edge of town, skirting the mostly harvested crop fields. Smoke billowed from within the trees, with only bright flashes breaking through the haze. Rush could faintly make out a few men standing in the forest, muskets shouldered.
Across the empty field, the militia clustered around buildings and returned fire. Shouts and gunshots rang through the empty streets.
Lewis grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward, breaking the spell. “Go!” They flew down the slight hill, Rush’s eyes were on the battle all the way. He stumbled and nearly crashed to the ground, but Lewis’ muscular arm kept him upright. As they reached the bottom of the hill, the corn stalks rose and blocked his view of the conflict.
Rush finally tugged himself away from the shooting and looked at the cornfield ahead. Many times, he had hidden in the fields to escape chores or sneak up on a friend. He never thought he’d be hiding for his life.
They plunged into the corn, careful not to trample the crops or make the tops sway. They ran in the ditches between rows, leaves hitting their faces. Lewis released Rush’s arm, and he picked up speed, bolting ahead of his companions.
He smacked face-first into someone’s shoulder.
He stumbled back, looking at who he had hit. The man, now sprawled on the ground, glanced up at Rush with surprise. He snatched the musket he had dropped and aimed it straight at Rush’s chest.
“Don’t make a peep, boy.”
Rush glanced around. In his frantic running, he had become separated from Lewis and Olive. His heart stopped as the man rose, gun still aimed at Rush.
Someone else crashed through the corn nearby. “Rush!” Lewis’ voice. “Where are—”
His brother emerged from the stalks, colliding with the man and sending the gun tumbling into the dirt. Lewis stepped back in shock and spotted Rush. “Are you all right?”
He nodded, walking forward on trembling legs. “He almost shot me.”
Olive appeared in the tiny clearing as well, eyes wide at the scene.
Lewis glanced back at the man, who was getting to his feet. “Run.” He unsheathed his cutlass and glared at the soldier, daring him to stand.
Rush found it in him not to argue.
He took the long way, giving the area he just left a wide berth. Who knew how many more there were hiding in the crops? Olive’s pounding footsteps followed close behind.
A minute later, he broke out of the field, a stone’s throw from the edge of town. He threw a glance over his shoulder to see droves of raiders emerging from the cornfield, advancing toward the town with stealthy steps.
One glimpsed Rush.
Shouts broke out among the soldiers as Rush and Olive sprinted to the outskirts of Hast. He heard no pursuit, but since they had revealed themselves, it was only a matter of time.
They reached the back of a house. Rush twisted the doorknob and shoved inward, but whoever hid inside had locked it. Screams leaked underneath the door at the sound of his pounding.
Grasping Olive’s arm, he spun into an alley beside the house and stared into her eyes. “We might die right now.”
She nodded, her face white and her hands trembling.
“I’m going to distract the soldiers while you run. Get to your shop, lock all the doors except the back door, and find something to fight with. I don’t care if it’s a musket or a fire poker. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
“But Lewis said—”
“Lewis said to protect you. This is protecting you.”
Her mouth opened and closed as if she was deciding which objection to voice, but Rush brushed past her. He unsheathed his sword and peeked around the side of the house into the street. A few soldiers strode down the dirt road, their guns sweeping for targets, bayonets fixed and ready to skewer anything in sight. Most of them rounded the town, disappearing behind wooden buildings. His eyes grew wide as he realized their destination. He had to tell Lewis. Assuming Lewis was still alive.
Rush tightened his grip on the sword. His attack needed just the right moment if he was to succeed. Otherwise, he’d get shot long before coming in sword range.
The raiders came closer and closer to his hiding spot.
Almost…
Closer.
Nearly there…
Silent as a shadow, a window shutter creaked open. A musket barrel peeked from the house he stood beside.
A soldier spotted it and shouted.
The musket cracked and exhaled smoke, making one raider double over and collapse. Those still alive ran to the front door, pounding and screaming threats. The shutter slammed closed, and a lock clunked into place.
Rush turned to Olive and pointed across the street. “They’re distracted, go!”
She barrelled across the road, her dress snapping in the wind and her braid flying behind her.
He tailed her, looking behind them at the unfolding scene. One soldier noticed them, pointing, but his fellows waved him off a pursuit. They were too occupied breaking into the shooter’s house.
Sheathing his sword, Rush shed all caution and raced ahead, panic urging him on. Sounds of fighting followed their escape.
They weaved between buildings, cutting through alleys and dashing down streets until they came to Olive’s family printing shop. Olive tried the door—locked. She knocked and called out, “It’s me, Mother! We’re okay!”
A window shutter opened a crack; it slammed closed and a moment later the door opened enough for the two friends to squeeze in. Once Rush crossed the threshold, the door banged shut and Olive’s mother threw the deadbolt.
Her parents wrapped the girl in a fierce hug, stroking her hair and fighting back tears. “We were so worried about you.”
Rush stepped away and left the family to their reunion, glancing around the shop. They stood in a small room, dominated by a wooden frame that appeared to be half-table and half-shelf—a printing press. A sheet sat under the large stamp and printed paper lay stacked all around it. Books were scattered on tables in various states of being bound, with covers and twine strewn across the surface. Rush usually enjoyed watching the three printers work, stamping, arranging, and binding the books. But today their work had ceased early.
With the family still in an embrace, chattering and sharing encouragements, Rush eased toward the door. His mind raced. As he stood there, the raiders were working their way through the winter stores, emptying barns and storehouses. On the other side of town, the militia fought off another group of raiders hiding in the woods. Lewis was somewhere amid this chaos. Rush had to warn Captain Bramwell that the forest attackers were a diversion. He had to find Lewis and ensure he was safe. But first, he had to make it out of this building with no concerned adults stopping him.
Olive’s father looked up at Rush just as he reached to unlock the door. His hand shot back to his side.
“Rush, thank you.”
He mumbled a “You’re welcome,” and nodded toward the door. “I need to help my brother.”
The parents exchanged worried expressions, but the father simply said, “God be with you.”
Rush slipped out the door.
He spun around, taking in the battle and getting his bearings. Between buildings, he caught glimpses of the raiders in the woods slowly retreating. Militiamen charged up the hill with bayonets fixed. If the party in the woods was retreating, those emptying the storehouses must have nearly finished.
Urgency quickened his breathing. Their winter stores were disappearing into the woods—and the town’s survival with them.
Footsteps sounded behind him, and he spun around, drawing his sword. But it was only a few militiamen—led by none other than Lewis. He carried a musket and an ammunition bag bounced against his hip. Rush brightened and joined the party, matching their pace and jogging alongside Lewis.
Lewis frowned and glared at his brother, but to Rush’s delight, made no motion to send him away. “Did you at least leave Olive with someone?”
“Her parents locked themselves in the shop.”
He shrugged a reluctant assent. “Just stay behind me. We need to find you a gun.”
As they rounded a corner, they spotted a band of raiders, arms loaded with burlap sacks, cutting through the corn back into the woods. A dark shape hovered over the forest and Rush gaped.
He had heard whispers of these vessels, able to float in the air like a cloud, but had never seen one up close. Airships, they were called, and so they appeared. A wooden carriage resembling a ship’s hull hung from a massive sky-blue cylindrical balloon. Rope ladders hung from the top deck and loot-carrying soldiers climbed them to the safety of the ship. A curved window in the carriage’s front revealed more marauders inside, watching as their comrades fled.
All members of the small party picked up their pace; Rush slowed and fell behind the others. With the enemy in sight, he didn’t feel so confident in his abilities.
One militiaman—an officer—turned and barked out orders. “We’ll never catch them before they get inside the ship. Head into the forest. Stop the main attack from getting on board. Maybe we can delay their departure long enough for the others to arrive and seize the ship.”
The soldiers all nodded, and Rush tried to fit in, brandishing his unsharpened cutlass. He refused to hole up inside, but a sword would do little to stop the raiders. Lewis caught his eye and nodded down one street toward their house. “Get the gun on the mantel. You know where Father always keeps the ammunition, right?” Rush nodded. “Load the gun as fast as possible and run to the forest. You’ll know where we are.”
Rush sheathed his sword and took off down the path, kicking up dirt as he went. He had only loaded the musket a few times—usually, Father or Lewis did. He was never very good at it.
A minute later, he burst into their house and snatched the musket from above the fireplace. He rooted around in a nearby crate, withdrawing a pouch of musket balls and patches, a powder horn, and a thimble for measuring the powder. Uncorking the powder horn, he poured a pinch into the pan near the trigger and then stood the gun upright. The tip rose above his eye level. Jumping on top of a stool, he gained enough height to look down the barrel. With some difficulty, he dropped the powder, patch, and ball down the muzzle, shoving it all into place with the ramrod. He could only hope he had loaded it right. A mistake might mean the weapon exploding in his hands.
Dashing back from the house, Rush headed up the gradual incline toward the forest. He heard little gunfire, which probably meant someone was losing. He glanced toward the airship floating over the woods. Perhaps he could hide and shoot the rebels as they boarded their vehicle. He slung the musket over his shoulder and ran up the hill.
As he entered the forest, darkness enveloped him. The evening sun cast scant light through the leafy canopy and he blinked several times, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
Rush advanced as quickly as the terrain allowed, eyes glued to the ground, watching for pitfalls and overgrown roots that lurked beneath the autumn leaves.
A stone’s throw ahead of him, a cluster of enemies ran through the trees. They flickered in and out of view as they passed behind trunks. Crouching behind a bush, he shouldered his musket. He took aim but hesitated; it would be suicide if he shot now. They’d spot him immediately.
His heart sank with realization. The men he watched flee were likely the main attack, retreating to the airship. If they were so close to their escape, Lewis and the few militiamen had failed. They might all be dead in the forest. Rush lingered behind the bush, heart beating as the soldiers ran past. Once he was out of their range of detection, he passed behind them and ran the way they came.
After following their trail back for a minute, he heard moaning and pleas for help. His pace slowed as he saw soldiers spread across the site of battle, some from the militia and others from the raiding party. Heart pounding and hope plummeting, Rush made a circuit of the area, checking every body. Lewis was not among them. Sighing with relief, he stared at the dead and dying men with a heart torn in two. These men needed a medic, but Rush had to join the fight—and he knew little of medicine, anyway.
He glimpsed several figures running through the woods. His heart lept into his throat and he slipped behind a tree, peeking his head around.
A few raiders, separated from their group, jogged through the woods with guns in hand. If Rush made any move, they might see him—they traveled within a few feet of where he had stood minutes before. He held his breath and withdrew behind the tree.
As he tracked the crunch of leaves and sticks beneath the marauders’ feet, his brows furrowed. Why should he hide from these men? They invaded his town and killed his countrymen. He should confront them head-on, not cower like a puppy. Bringing the musket to full cock, he stepped into full view and aimed at the rebels.
He squeezed the trigger.
The powder inside ignited, a blinding flash shooting from the side. For a moment, he could see only the purplish residue of light. His vision cleared to reveal all five men still standing, staring at him. His courage crumpled.
A blond soldier, around thirty years old by his looks, raised his musket. Another man pushed the barrel down and shook his head. “Leave him, Ward. It’s just a boy.”
Ward scowled but obeyed. Instead, he lunged toward Rush faster than he had seen anyone move in his life. A hard punch to the stomach sent him doubling over and gasping. The man loomed over him, his musket still pointed at Rush. “That’s for almost killing me. And so you don’t follow us.” He rejoined the group, and their footsteps receded until Rush could hear them no longer.
Rush wheezed, stumbling and leaning against a tree. The raider—Ward—should have left him alone. Rush’s anger flared up and he glared after the party. Still struggling to breathe, he drew ammunition from his bag and began reloading the gun. But without something to stand on, he couldn’t see down the barrel. He spilled half the powder the first time, then refilled the thimble and tried again with better results. He shoved a patch and musket ball down with the ramrod.
Cocking the gun, he plunged back into the battle, sprinting toward the sound of shouting and gunfire. It seemed some conflict had broken out near the airship.
As he neared, he watched the fight. Raiders climbed rope ladders to the airship twenty feet overhead, sacks over their shoulders. Many grappled with militiamen on the ground. More shot from the top deck, picking off men on the ground who fired at the ship’s balloon. A familiar blond head stuck over the deck railing.
Ward.
Rush jumped forward, intending to climb the rope ladder, but a hand on his shoulder held him back. He spun around, fists clenched.
Lewis, battered and weary, looked down at him. A streak of blood ran from his hairline, but he was alive. Rush brightened despite the surrounding chaos.
Lewis shook his head. His eyes were void of energy but carried a steady strength. He yelled to be heard above the crash of battle. “Stay down here and get some shooters off the top deck. I’ll try to delay them up there.” He released Rush and darted forward.
Rush reached after him. “Wait!” But he was already gone, weaving through the destruction left in the clearing. The rebels were dead on the ground or safely on the ship, and those on deck drew knives, sawing the ropes holding the airship down. His eyes widened. He had to stop their escape.
Rush raised his gun, aiming at the soldiers on deck. He fired—but along with the ball, his ramrod hurdled out, sailing toward the airship and diving to the ground before reaching it. The musket ball flew somewhere into the woods. He mentally chastised himself for forgetting to remove the rod after loading.
The airship’s ropes fell away; it lifted higher and higher. Lewis still clung to the rope ladder. Rush could only watch in horror as Ward spotted his brother and aimed his gun over the railing.
The musket’s snap and puff of smoke would haunt Rush forever.
Lewis’ grip loosened as he went limp, and he tumbled from the ladder, tumbling to the ground.
Rush’s mouth fell open. His body froze, dizziness sweeping through him. He stared at the airship floating away, loaded with their supplies. He stared at his brother, bleeding on the dirt.
He stumbled over to Lewis before his legs buckled and he collapsed to his knees. His breaths came in shaky gasps. Militiamen shouted and jogged around him, checking bodies, assessing wounds, but Rush was only dimly aware of their presence. He lifted his brother and cradled him in his arms, whispering frantically, checking for a heartbeat. “Stay with me. Come on, you’ll be okay.”
But Lewis was already dead.
Time stopped. His whole body went numb—he couldn’t think, he couldn’t feel. He knew only his lost brother and the face of the man who murdered him.
Then it all returned. His head bowed over the body and a single tear dropped to Lewis’ chest.
Rush didn’t know how long he knelt in the clearing, his brother’s blood soaking his pants. It could have been seconds. It could have been years. All he knew was the emptiness in his chest and the kindling of a flame in his heart.
Want to stay updated as new chapters come out? Sign up for the email list and stay in the loop!
0 Comments