Authors: Jeffrey Johnson
The Column Racer
Jeffrey Johnson
Text copyright © 2012 by Jeffrey Johnson
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Jeffrey Johnson.
eISBN: 978-0-615-72650-2
Jeffrey Johnson supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
Cover Design by Claudia McKinney
I want to first thank Ali. She is my soulmate and the love of my life. She has always believed in me and helped me find my passion for writing. None of this could have been accomplished without you. I want to thank my mother and father, who have always stood by my side, and supported me always with all the love in their hearts. I want to thank Bea and Dr. Baron (Todd) for all their love and support. This is the first of many, many more books to be written by me. I can’t wait to share my other stories with the rest of the world. Thank you.
She sat on a chair hand-crafted by her husband. Her husband was no fine craftsman. He had never been called upon to make anything for anyone. But when his wife had asked him for a kitchen set, there was no money to spare. So, he did something illegal. For this, his wife was grateful, and the man carried no regrets. Everything sat as evenly as it could, or at least what could be expected, considering it was made from the hands of a non-expert. But it passed. Whatever sat a little wobbly or tilted to one side was fixed with either stacks of old paper or scraps of wood, shoved beneath, resembling a wedge of cheese.
She took another drink from her cup of milk, freshly purchased from market, and gave a pleasant sigh as she finished reading an article on Areli Roberts. She had heard her name tossed around over the stretch of the year, but this was the first tangible thing she had been able to find out about her. Many believe the young girl, only fourteen-years-of-age, is going to Abhi Hall the following season. But, it all rests upon this week’s upcoming race. The last race for the Oroin Academy Season. If she wins, it would be a remarkable feat, placing her in a class of only two other riders. Many have her favored to win it, of course, but she knew some poor smuck would still take the one to a million odds that she doesn’t. As she set the cup down again, she wished more stories like this would fill the paper, and she feared to leave the page, as she didn’t want to read about the horrors happening elsewhere.
But alas, you can only stay on one page for so long. With a lingering hand, she turned to the front page. The headline story was that of Degendhard the Great. His sketch filled the front of the paper so frequently that she feared it to be a permanent thing. It was the same news. How many of his followers captured. How many women and young girls he’d raped and murdered. How he had rebuked the rule of the Empire, and how the Emperor has sworn to eradicate the menace. However, the woman knew the stories to be lies. Degendhard was the kindest man she knew.
Heart more pure than gold
, she would tell her children.
He is the reason they have fresh milk in the pantry. The reason she and her husband are able to feed their children each day, pay for their education, and send them to school looking respectable. He is the reason they don’t have to fear for their lives or the well-being of their bodies come tax month.
The Emperor is a brutal and evil man
, she would tell herself,
someday, I know it, I see it in the stars, Degendhard will free us from his tyranny.
The woman almost jumped out of her makeshift chair as there was a heavy knock on the door. She looked to her husband. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. It was only the first of the week and past supper. Who would be calling at this hour? Her husband set down the board that he was whittling away on. He was so pleased with his table and chairs that he had decided to take up wood-working full time. His wife could tell he was contemplating whether or not to take the knife with him. He walked over to her and rested it on the table next to her.
“Whatever happens,” said the man, “at least take out one of them. Stab him here.” He pointed to his neck. “They don’t have armour here.” She nodded, gripped the knife in her hand, and then held it in her lap, trying to conceal it as best she could. Her husband walked to the door; she grabbed his wrist.
“Wait,” she said, “should I warn the kids?”
“There will be nowhere to run,” said the man, “even if there were . . . even if . . .”
“I understand,” said the woman, believing in her husband’s judgment. She watched him walk towards the door, wondering if this could be about the chopping of the tree. But she shook her head, knowing that that happened years ago. So, this must be something else. Something that weighed heavily upon her ever since Degendhard’s name was released to all the Empire. The man took one last mournful look at his wife, trying to remember her in this moment. He took in her beauty, that really only he could see. Others might have thought she was homely, but he saw her only as beautiful. If this was truly the end . . . he wanted her to know that.
I love you,
his eyes spoke to her. She sensed this and whispered, “I love you,” back.
The man took a deep breath and turned the handle. It wasn’t who he expected. It was just a boy, with blue eyes and shimmering black hair. He had visited them before, but never in this shape. The boy quickly entered the home, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He was flustered and anxious, beads of sweat poured from his forehead.
“We must leave,” said the boy, “NOW! Grab your things.”
“What is it, Talon?” asked the woman, standing up, feeding off his worry.
“They’re coming,” said Talon through his teeth, “I don’t know how they found out, but they’re coming. Now, we need to run. We need to hurry.” The husband and wife had never spoken of this day out-loud, but they had planned for it independently. The woman rushed to get the kids.
“You don’t have time to pack,” yelled Talon, “they could be here any moment.” The man dropped the sack that was in his hands and ran to the fireplace. He grabbed a pitcher of water and a vase full of freshly cut flowers and threw them on the flames. He stomped whatever else was left, not caring about wrecking his shoes, defiling them with ash and soot.
He winced as he burned his hands and arms, removing the steel grate that clung onto the logs. Sweat worked its way into his hair and skin, and smoke covered his eyes. He grabbed a nearby rag and started digging beneath cinders and stones that sat below the logs. He was fueled by desperation.
“WE MUST HURRY!” said Talon, but the man ignored him. What was beneath the fireplace was the reason they were now being hunted. If they were on the run, then he wanted this with him. So, his family could start anew. His wife screamed his name.
“Hurry,” cried the woman, “we don’t need it.” He ignored her as well. He needed to have it. They needed to have it. His hands found the softness of the cloth bag, which was buried beneath the stone and earth. He yanked it out the hole and ran towards the door, where Talon and his family were waiting fearfully. His wife slapped him when he got out of the house. Tears and pain welled up in her eyes. Home was no longer home. They were on the run.
“Horses,” said the man, “where are the other horses?”
“There are no other horses,” said Talon, “we need to run for those woods. You and your family can hide in there while I fetch more horses in the meantime.”
“You’re mad!” said the man, “we’ll never make it.” His wife scolded him again.
“He’s trying to save our lives!” said the woman, “can’t you understand that?” The man was about to say something, but blood splattered onto his face. His hands caught his wife’s lifeless body, an arrow protruding out of her skull.
“Oh, my stars,” cried the man, trying to shake his wife awake. Another arrow flew through the air. This one impaled the man’s eye. Talon reached for one of the three children, two girls, one boy. They gave him the youngest of the three, their beloved sister, knowing that they were both about to die.
“Run for the trees!” screamed Talon, “don’t stop running. I’ll try to buy you time.” Their sister screamed for them as they departed, her ears filled with the promise that they would see her again. “Hang on to me,” yelled Talon, “don’t let go. Do you understand me? Don’t you ever let go.” He was quick with the bow, something taught to him at birth. Three arrows were notched and fired in rapid succession, nailing three gold-armoured soldiers in the necks. He heard a roar from a distance. He would die, and the little girl too, if they didn’t move.
“Okay,” said Talon to the girl, “hold on to my waist. We’re going to sprint to those trees. So, you must hold on.” He looked ahead of him, as the girl’s other two siblings were exhausting any energy they had left to get to the same place. The man was right. They were never going to make it. Any of them.
Talon kicked his horse. He forced his mare into a full sprint. He tried not to look at the other two siblings as he quickly caught up to and passed them. He would wonder constantly if they continued to run to the end, or if they had given up. Arrows rained down on them heavily. He knew the soldiers were vastly skilled with the bow, and any shot they took, whether riding or standing, would be deadly accurate. Talon had to be creative with the reins and artistic with his legs. He was not going to make killing them easy.
As he rode, he wished the girl would have been placed up front, but in the hurry of the moment, he had made the error of placing her at the back. Guilt would plague him if she were a porcupine and he were not. As they neared the woods, he could hear a sound. It was a deep lulling sound that spoke the name of death. He kicked his horse harder, forcing her in a straight line. Now wasn’t the time to be cute. It’s either they make it into the woods or they don’t. The battle dragon was upon them. He could hear the flames rumbling in its throat. They were almost there.
The warrior on the dragon’s back had a grin to his face. He laughed at the two bodies that thought they could outrun Imperial archers, and now the next kill was his. He lifted the reins three times, and tapped his dragon on the neck twice. The great beast roared with pleasure, wetting its mouth with oils. The warrior wanted to get as close as he could get to his target. He didn’t know why, but he wanted this kill to be personal. He wanted the ones he was pursuing to know that they never had a chance.
The warrior and his dragon were right behind Talon and the girl. He had let them get closer to the woods then he would have wanted. He swore inside his helmet and cued his dragon to open its mouth. He could feel the rumbling of the flames as sparks flew into oil, which would cover a great distance when the dragon exhaled.
Talon was almost there. He, his horse, and the girl just might make it. But then he saw the trees brighten as if struck evenly with all the force of the sun. His heart dropped miles below the surface of the ground, as he knew he had failed the girl. He had failed himself. They were going to die. He knew that now.