Chosen (9 page)

General Smith brushed aside the concerns of the men. He was more worried about No Name. He directed the men to clear a large area of snow next to the mare and to scour the area for anything they could burn.

He knelt back down on the ground and held her head in his lap again. He bent close and whispered words of encouragement to his friend and constant companion. Her breathing was growing slower by the minute. He shouted to the men to hurry, panic evident in his voice.

The men returned, breathless from their efforts, and piled several items made of wood, mainly old tree branches that had fallen
off inside the buildings they grew inside, as well as broken pieces of what used to be furniture, near the fallen mare. One of the Protectors lit the large pile and soon it was blazing. The men stepped back from the intense heat and kept their eyes on the General and his mare.

Ted kept his eyes glued to No Name. The fire was putting out great amounts of heat. The General found himself shrugging out of his bearskin coat and laying it gently across the mare's neck. No Name seemed to be breathing easier, and was soon able to hold her head up for a few moments.

One of the men brought the General some dried beef and a piece of hard yellow cheese. Ted took the food and thanked the man absently, distracted by the mare. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed the man's arm.

“You are not one of the Protectors. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Begging your pardon, General, sir…” The man stammered as he tried to pull his arm from the General's vice-like grip. “My name is Edwards, James Edwards. There are several of us townfolk out here searching for you.”

The General let go of the man's arm. “I apologize, Mr. Edwards. These last few months have made me even more suspicious than usual.” Ted indicated a log next to him, asking the man to sit. The General noticed the man's age for the first time. His back was stooped, and his head was covered in wiry, snow white hair. His face was also covered in white hair, a contrast to his nearly black skin.

“Why did you and the others volunteer for the search? Has something happened to the other Protectors left at the encampment?” Ted held the man's brown eyes with his blue ones, demanding an answer.

“The Protectors are fine. Only exhausted, same as you and your horse.” The old man gave the General a sideways grin, waiting for the grizzled man to deny being tired. “Me and some of the other men and older boys decided that it was time to lend a hand. It hasn't escaped notice that you and those Protectors have been doing a lot of fighting these days.” James Edwards turned his face to the fire. He picked up a stick and poked and prodded at the embers and coals, causing sparks to lazily spiral upward.

“The Horde and Cowboys have sure been up to some bad business lately. You boys ain't had a chance to do much, 'cept fight. It don't take no genius to see that you can't keep that up for long. So.” He turned back to the General, the fire reflected in his brown eyes. “We decided to lend a hand where we could and give the Protectors a chance to rest.”

Ted Smith gave a grudging nod. There was no arguing with the man's logic. He and the Protectors had been fighting non-stop for the past four months. Usually, the Horde and Cowboys were quiet during winter. The harsh weather made for difficult traveling and fighting conditions. But this season, the skirmishes had been endless, with the Horde attacking from the west and the Cowboys attacking from the eastern plains.

Only the superior skills of the Protectors, led by the General and his Lieutenants, kept the damage done to a minimum. Four Protectors had been killed in the fighting, as had several dozen townfolk. Among the dead were women and children. The enemy did not care who they killed. Some women, young girls, and children had been taken, never to return. A quick death was a mercy. Those taken back to the Horde or Cowboy encampments were raped and tortured for long periods. If a woman became pregnant, she was allowed to give birth, and then she was killed and her child raised to hate the Jhinn, never knowing its own mother was one of them.

James Edwards excused himself and Ted found himself alone with No Name. He walked over to her and sighed in relief as he saw her sleeping peacefully, breathing deep and regular. He sat with his back against her now delightfully warm belly. He reached over and took his coat off her neck and used it to cover himself from waist to chin. He crossed his arms under the heavy coat and faced the fire.

His thoughts turned to home. On Gentra, it was always warm, so near the vents on the ocean floor. Forka didn't think he would ever get used to the cold of the Earth winter. Some nights, even a warm fire was not enough to drive the cold from his bones. He went to bed cold, woke up cold, and stayed cold during the course of the day.

I have failed in my duty.

Ted Smith turned his face and buried it in No Name's side, trying to crush the vision of Sloan being thrown across the back of a
horse, blood dripping from a head wound. There had been a lot of blood. He absently told himself that head wounds always bled that much, that it didn't mean the man was dead or dying.

He won't live long at the hands of the Horde.

He swallowed hard against a lump in his throat. There had been two others taken along with Sloan and they had barely occupied a mere second of his thoughts. And yet he knew that Sloan's life was worth more, much more. If he were to die, it could mean the end of all life in the galaxy.

Ted couldn't let that happen.

Before exhaustion overcame him, he had already begun planning a daring rescue of his missing Chosen.

* * *

Ted awoke to the strangest sensation he had ever felt. It was warm, wet, and tickly. He opened one eye and laughed aloud as he saw No Name's nose just inches from his own. She opened her mouth and wiggled her lips as she touched his face with her soft, whiskered nose. He reached up to pat the sides of her nose. Her beautiful, liquid brown eyes closed as she enjoyed the scratch.

“Are you going to just lie about all day?”

She shook her head, whinnied, and rolled her eyes at him. To prove her point, she got to her feet, though a little unsteadily. She looked down at him and tossed her head as if to say, see, I told you I could do it!

Ted yawned and rubbed his eyes. He would need to sleep more than a few hours to regain his full strength. He stood and gave No Name a thorough examination. She was unhurt, but still weak and shaky. She grazed for a few moments on the sparse brown grass in the clearing around the fire before laying back down to rest.

“General.”

He turned and greeted 2
^nd
Lieutenant Tess Golden. He wasn't surprised to see her. Of all his Chosen, Tess was usually the first to step up and offer aid, be it to carry messages, fill a gap in defenses, rebuilding after an attack. She put her heart and soul into her role as Protector.

Those traits will serve her well in the future.

“Lieutenant, how far to the encampment?”

“Not far, maybe fifteen miles to the east.” She handed him a water skin with ice-cold water.

He drank deeply. “How did you find me?”

“It was blind luck that we were even searching this area, sir.” Tess shook her head, her unruly braid swinging from side to side. “It's as if fate intervened.”

“Perhaps it did.” His lips twitched as he fought the urge to smile. Tess did not have much of a sense of humor and would be quite upset if she thought he was laughing at her. She believed wholeheartedly in fate and destiny. Little did she know the role that fate had in store for her.

“Spread the word that we'll be leaving within the hour,” Ted ordered.

“So soon? Shouldn't you rest another day or two?”

“We don't have time to rest if we're to plan a rescue, Lieutenant.”

Tess blinked slowly. “Rescue?”

“Yes, rescue. Has the cold damaged your hearing?”

Her face reddened. “I'll see to it. Sir.” She added the last as an afterthought.

Ted fought the urge to call her back, to explain his seemingly rash orders. When any of the Jhinn or the Protectors were taken, there was never a rescue. They were left to whatever horrible fate the Horde decided to inflict upon them. The Horde easily outnumbered the entire Jhinn camp, let alone the handful of men and women sworn to protect them. He had always refused rescue, knowing the futility of such an act.

And yet, he had no choice but to attempt the very thing he'd always ordered against.

He went in search of something to eat to break his fast. The morning was bitterly cold and he briefly regretted that his rumbling stomach was taking him away from the roaring fire. He heard voices coming from several different directions. He nodded in silent approval. The men had set up a perimeter with the General, No Name, and the large fire in the center.

He could see the crumbling ruins of several buildings behind the bare, skeletal branches of the trees. A strange curiosity overcame him and he turned to the left to explore one of them. He passed through a gaping hole in the wall and stepped into a small room. There were small piles of debris everywhere and he used the toe of his boot to move aside the top of one of the piles, which crumbled into dust. His foot hit something hard that fell down the debris pile and came to rest on the floor with a dull clunking sound.

The blue paint on the miniature automobile was chipped and faded. The wheels still spun. Forka pushed the tiny car across the floor. It didn't go far as the floor was covered in a thick layer of dust. He picked up the car and placed it in his pocket.

He examined the room more closely but found nothing else of interest. His stomach gave a loud rumble, and he exited the dwelling to complete his search for breakfast.

The sky was a leaden gray. The air had a bite to it that smelled of snow. The General regretted leaving the bearskin coat back at the bonfire. He sniffed the frigid air, caught a whiff of bacon, and followed the scent to a frying pan full of sizzling, thick slices of meat.

The men welcomed their General and gave him a plate heaping with eggs and several crispy pieces of bacon, edges burned black. Gentra had no food resembling bacon and he had come to love the succulent, greasy meat. Most food on Gentra was vegetarian in nature. The only meat consumed was scrago. The animals did not have to be killed to harvest their flesh. Scrago had dozens of fleshy appendages dangling from their long, sinuous bodies. Harvesters would cut off some of these appendages, which had no feeling, so cutting caused no pain.

“Eat fast. We leave within the hour,” Ted said around a mouthful of eggs.

Robert Marshall blinked slowly, pulling the fork out of his mouth slowly. “Staying another night would be—”

“We're leaving. Eat and gear up.” Ted marched off, nearly throwing his empty plate at one of the Protectors, eager to avoid a confrontation with his second in command.

I'll need to rely on my authority to keep them in line.

As he walked through the camp observing the men and women, he ignored the pointed stares and shouted questions. He checked on No Name, stroking her soft nose. Ted handed her reins to a Protector.

“Keep her at a slow pace. I'll be keeping a close eye on you,” Ted said gruffly.

He mounted a horse another Protector brought to him, ice blue eyes roaming across the camp, making sure the men were mounted and ready to ride. With a swift kick of his heels, he moved to the head of the group and made for the Jhinn encampment.

* * *

When the party arrived at the Jhinn encampment, Ted dismounted amidst a flurry of activity. The townfolk were hovering, hoping to hear news of what had transpired in the ruins of Denver. He swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat. The trip back had been exhausting and had given him the opportunity to push his missing Chosen to the back of his mind.

Here, among the Jhinn, he was reminded of the absence in their questioning eyes like a slap in the face.

Fighting down bile, Ted turned and made for the bathhouse.

When Widow Foster saw him enter, she nodded in greeting and shooed her four children to the back of the building, giving the General the privacy he usually desired.

Ted used a piece of thick leather to grab the hot handles of the buckets and poured scalding hot water into the center tub. He then used buckets of cold to temper the water. He preferred it on the hot side; it reminded him of swimming in the super-heated water back home.

He tested the temperature, and then stripped down. He stepped into the tub, hissing as he slowly sank into the luxurious warmth. He grabbed a cake of yucca soap off a wooden table and a soft piece of leather and scrubbed the grime and sweat from his body. He lathered up his hands and scrubbed his greasy, dirty hair.

Being dirty like this was unheard of on Gentra. The only thing one had to worry about was the occasional build-up of algae, though that did not feel as repugnant as sweat and dirt.

As he lay soaking, Sloan's face swam into focus in his mind. Ted tried to force the image away, unwilling to witness the bloody face of one of the Chosen, the possibility that he might be dead.

After rinsing the soap off, he stepped from the tub and dried off with a piece of supple, absorbent cloth. He dressed in clean clothes and called out for Widow Foster's oldest daughter, Jan. Her daughters often shaved the Protectors for free.

He took a seat in a wooden chair and Jan proceeded to trim his hair and beard. When she was finished, it still looked disheveled. He looked at his reflection in a small mirror and sighed.
It is as good as it is like to get.
Ted could never get his wiry hair to cooperate.

He gathered up his dingy clothes and ran back to the bunkhouse. He hadn't bothered with a coat and the temperature outside was below freezing.

“May I have a word?”

Ted groaned inwardly. He had hoped to escape to his area of the bunkhouse without encountering anyone. The last thing he wanted was to explain his seemingly rash plan to rescue those that had been taken by the Horde.

“Word's been getting around that you mean to go after the men that were taken,” Robert said.