Rebel Spring

CHAPTER 8

LYSANDRA

PAELSIA

Lysandra left the rebel camp at dusk, grabbing a torch from the pile of supplies in order to keep the shadows of the Wildlands from tightening around her like a noose. Over the weeks since her village was attacked, since the last time she saw her parents alive or spoke to Gregor, she’d tried to harden herself in both mind and spirit. And it had worked. Even in this thick forest that filled all but those with the darkest souls with dread, she was bold and fearless.

She startled when the howl of some nearby fanged beast cut through her. A shiver went down her spine and she tightened her grip on the torch.

Yes, so very bold and fearless.

Or so she tried to tell herself.

She walked past a small clearing where a crackling fire lit the area, which had grown darker with the dying of the day. A trio of boys dragged the carcass of a freshly killed deer into view.

The camp consisted of ramshackle shelters and hammocks built into the trees like birds would build nests. Many boys, and a few driven girls, now called this their home. A refuge away from King Gaius’s iron fist. By day, the rebels would head out in small groups-hunting, scouting, thieving-to benefit the rest of them, but by night they stuck together. There was safety in numbers when one chose such a dangerous and wild place as their home. And they trained here in hand to hand combat, as well as with sword, dagger, bow and arrow, so they could go out and cause havoc across Auranos, attempting to spread the word of the king’s lies and sway all who crossed their path to the rebel side.

Alas, there had been few victories.

And worse, Jonas refused to mount an attack with his rebels on the road camps, fearing defeat and loss. Lysandra had grown weary of asking. But not as weary as she was of missing her brother, so viciously that it hurt. Was Gregor still alive?

If no one would help her to do what was right, she had to take matters into her own hands.

However, it wasn’t long before she realized that two very specific rebels had followed her out of camp.

Brion was panting by the time he caught up to her. “You walk fast.”

“Not fast enough, apparently,” she mumbled.

“Where are you going?”

“Away.”

“Are you leaving us?”

“Yes.”

His expression fell. “Lys, don’t go. I need-uh, I mean, we need you here.”

She sighed. The boy was like a friendly dog, always eager for any kind word she might offer up. If he had a tail, she had no doubt it would wag if she even looked in his direction. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help but like Brion Radenos.

But then there was the other one.

“Running away?” Jonas’s familiar deep voice made her grimace. “Without even a farewell?”

For a week she’d lived with the rebels, eaten with them by the campfire, hunted with them, trained with them. He’d barely spoken directly to her if he could help it, since she usually wanted to talk of her plans and ideas for what the rebels should be focusing their attention on.

“Farewell,” she said, giving the rebel leader a tight and insincere smile over her shoulder.

She returned her attention to the path ahead. It would be a long and treacherous hike through the Wildlands before she got to her destination. The moment she arrived at the first village in Paelsia, she decided, she would find a horse.

“You’re going to scout the road camp by yourself?”

She kept walking. “Yes, Jonas, that’s exactly where I’m going since you refuse to do anything to help our people.”

He might refuse to mount an attack at this time, but he had at least succeeded in gaining more information about the precise locations of the road camps currently under construction in Paelsia. Many who might not wish to join the rebels completely were sometimes willing to whisper secrets if there was no chance of being caught.

Lysandra planned to investigate the camp located by Chief Basilius’s deserted compound, for it was the closest location to her destroyed village. It was here she expected to find people she knew-those who had survived. If she could free any of them, help any of them, she needed to try. And perhaps Gregor would be there. But the painful hope squeezed her chest too tightly, so she put the thought out of her mind.

“Don’t go, Lysandra,” Jonas said. “We need you back at camp.”

This made her stop walking and look at him suspiciously, pushing aside the branch of a tree to see him properly through the gathering darkness. “You need me, Jonas?”

“You’ve proven your worth as a rebel-and your skill with a bow and arrow. We can’t lose you.”

His words surprised her, since she had the impression he couldn’t care less about her. “I will return.” She hadn’t been certain she would, but his unexpected praise coaxed the words from her lips. “But I need to see for myself what’s become of the people from my village. It can’t wait another day.”

“I won’t be able to protect you if you run off and do your own thing.”

“I don’t need your protection.” She tried to keep her tone even and controlled, but the suggestion that she was a weak girl who needed a strong boy to protect her was infuriating. “Don’t worry about me, Agallon. Spend your precious time worrying about Princess Cleo. Perhaps she’ll jump aboard the next scheme you come up with that doesn’t dare put anyone at risk of spilling even one drop of blood.”

She twisted the words as if they were a weapon and succeeded in making Jonas wince. His decisions were ludicrous to her. After all, each and every rebel had known the potential for danger when they’d signed up for the job!

Jonas shot Brion a withering look. Lysandra had learned quickly that a few kind words, a mere touch of his arm, or a smile would have Brion eating out of her hand and telling her secrets. Such as Jonas’s clandestine visit to the princess, which resulted only in failure.

“We should go with her,” Brion said firmly, ignoring Jonas’s glare. “We need to see for ourselves the proof of how the king is treating our people.”

Lysandra’s heart swelled. “Thank you, Brion.”

His eyes locked with hers and he offered her the edge of a smile. “Anything for you, Lys.”

Jonas was quiet, his expression hard, as he looked at both of them in turn.

“Fine,” he finally said. “You and Brion wait here for me while I go back to camp and put Ivan in charge while we’re away. We’ll go together and we’ll return together.”

Lysandra wasn’t sure why the stubborn rebel leader’s decision felt like a major victory for her. But it did.

• • •

During their two days’ journey, the trio encountered an enormous black bear who’d appeared to them like a demon, barricading their path. Brion had barely managed to escape the swipe of its razor-sharp claws, and Lysandra had felt the heat of its breath on her neck as she snatched him out of its way just in time. Later,

they also found a small camp of outlaws who, when offered the chance to join the rebel ranks, unsheathed their daggers and threatened to cut the three into tiny, bloody pieces and eat them for dinner.

They took that as a firm no.

Finally they emerged from the forest and moved east into Paelsia-the tips of the jagged Forbidden Mountains visible at the horizon, stretching tall and ominous into the gray clouds above.

Chief Basilius’s compound was a walled area with clay and stone huts and cottages. Everyone who’d made it their home had scattered after the chief’s murder, leaving it deserted. It had been transformed into a temporary city of tents for the guards and soldiers who surveyed the area.

Here, the ground still held some vegetation, the trees some leaves. To the south, the edge of the Wildlands was a half day’s journey. To the west and toward the Silver Sea lay small villages, including the remains of Lysandra’s.

Swarming with Paelsian workers, the king’s road cut into the ground like a fresh wound. It was incredible to Lysandra how quickly it was being constructed, as if the king had slid his finger across the dusty Paelsian landscape and the road’s path had magically appeared wherever he touched.

But there was no magic here. Only sweat. Only pain and blood.

The three looked on grimly at the sight before them from where they crouched unseen in a forest thick with evergreens near the compound and camp.

A meager river wound through the dusty land parallel to the road, the only fresh water this area had to offer. Beyond it, literally thousands of Paelsians lined up along a two-mile section to toil. All ages-from young to old. Two Paelsian boys worked feverishly thirty paces away from the hidden rebels, sawing a thick tree trunk. Others carried heavy stones that had been painstakingly chiseled flat to the front of the road, which was out of sight from where Lysandra pressed up against a tree, the bark’s sap leaving its sticky trace on her skin. Whenever anyone slowed their pace, the crack of the guards’ whips sounded out, slicing brutally across bare backs.

“You see?” Lysandra whispered. “I wasn’t lying. This is what it’s like here. This is how our people are being treated.”

“Why are they being abused like this?” Brion’s voice was hoarse. “No one could work at this pace without rest.”

“These are not people to these guards. They’re animals who serve one purpose.” Lysandra scanned the area until her eyes were strained, searching for familiar faces-searching for Gregor. Her gaze finally moved to Jonas’s tense expression. He stared at the sight before them with disgust. His hand had dropped to the jeweled dagger at his waist as if he itched to use it.

“We need information,” Jonas finally said. “But how do we get close enough to talk to anyone without the guards seeing us?”

“They keep the slaves in line by intimidation and threat.” Brion’s brow furrowed. “But there are no chains, no walls.”

Lysandra had stopped listening. She’d spotted someone she recognized from her village and her heart began pumping hard and fast. She waited until a guard on horseback had turned his back so he wouldn’t see her approach, and then she slipped away from the shield of trees and into the midst of the Paelsian laborers.

“Vara!” Lysandra thundered up to the girl, who looked at her with wild, scared eyes. “You’re alive!”

“What are you doing here?” Vara whispered.

The area was as crowded as a small city and buzzing with activity. Everywhere Lysandra looked there were piles of wood and rock as tall as cottages. Dotted along the edges of the road were large tents where the Limerian guards could take breaks and step out of the harsh sunlight.

Lysandra pulled Vara behind one of these tents to shield them from a nearby guard. “Where’s Gregor?” When the girl didn’t reply, she shook her. “Where is he?”

“I–I don’t know. I haven’t seen him.”

Lysandra’s heart twisted. “When did you see him last?”

“In the village-when they descended upon us.” Her voice broke and her eyes welled with tears. “Lysandra, so many are dead!”

It was only confirmation of what she already knew was true. “How many still live?”

“I don’t know. You shouldn’t be here! They might capture you too!” She bit her bottom lip, frowning. “But. . but you’re a good fighter-I know this. You can help us.”

“Help you? With what?”

“Our escape.” Vara nodded firmly, but Lysandra noticed there was a strange, unhinged look in her eyes. “It was already supposed to happen. I’m only waiting for the sign. You’re the sign. You must be. It’s time for us to free ourselves.”

“What are you talking about? Is there really a plan for escape?” It lightened Lysandra’s heart to think that her people would be planning a revolt here, even against so much armed opposition. Jonas had been right about one thing-attacking a place with so many guards would lead to many, many deaths of rebels and slaves alike. And certainly no guarantee of victory.

Most Paelsians accepted life as it was handed to them, believing that fate and destiny were unchangeable. Jonas was one of the few she’d met who had something inside him-something that defied this belief. This certainty shone through his very skin, and she knew it was what had singled him out as a leader. Jonas was a leader. He believed that destiny wasn’t to be accepted with head bowed; it was to be challenged at every turn.

That Vara, too, wanted to break free was a sign that there was a chance for others to do the same.

“I dreamed it would be me,” Vara whispered. “That I would kill them all.”

She turned and Lysandra winced to see the red lash wounds on the girl’s back. What remained of her dress was in tatters.

Still, there was something very wrong about the way Vara spoke. “Of course you will. They will die for what they’ve done, I promise you that.”

Vara glanced over her shoulder and gave Lysandra a big grin that sent a shiver down her spine. “Watch me.”

“Watch-watch what? Vara, what are you talking about?”

Picking up a mid-weight, jagged rock from the ground, Vara began walking directly toward a guard. Lysandra’s heart began pounding wildly. What was she doing?

“Sir. .” Vara said.

“What is it?” The guard looked at her.

Without hesitation, she smashed the rock into the guard’s face. He let out a pained roar as his nose and teeth were crushed by the force of it. She crouched over him when he fell to the ground and continued to beat him with the stone, over and over until there was little left of his face but red pulp.

Lysandra looked on from the edge of the tent, horrified, as other guards shouted out an alarm. They rushed toward the assault, pushing past other workers, swords drawn.

There was no hesitation as one guard thrust his sword through Vara’s side, straight through to the other side, and she let out a piercing scream, losing her grip on the bloody rock as she fell to her side on the ground. Dead within moments.

Lysandra clamped her hand down over her mouth to keep from making a sound, but a strangled cry escaped her throat. Other slaves were not so quiet. Many began to wail and scream at the sight of the blood, the dead guard, the dead girl.

An older man with thick muscles and a heavy beard roared out in fury. Lysandra took only an instant to recognize him as Vara’s father. He ran toward the guards and took hold of a guard’s sword, wrenching it from his grip. He struck quickly and brutally, severing the guard’s head where he stood.

In mere moments, three dozen Paelsians joined the fight in an attempt to kill as many guards as they could-with rocks, with chisels, with their bare hands and teeth. Other slaves stood back, looking on with fear and shock etched into their faces.

A swarm of new guards approached at a run. One raised his arm to bring his whip down upon a young boy, but then the guard staggered backward. With wide eyes, the guard looked down at the arrow that had sunk into his chest, just below his shoulder. His gaze shot to Lysandra.

When he opened his mouth to yell, to point her out to the other guards as a target, another arrow impaled his right eye socket. He fell to the ground without uttering a sound.

The first arrow had been from Lysandra’s bow. Her already callused fingers felt raw from the speed with which she’d nocked an arrow and let it fly.

But the second. .

Brion and Jonas swiftly moved toward her. Jonas let free another arrow aimed toward an approaching guard, catching him in the throat.

“Get her,” Jonas barked.

Brion didn’t argue. He grabbed Lysandra and threw her over his shoulder. She was shaking violently and couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t see straight.

She fought him, digging her fingernails into his back. “Let me go! I need to help!”

“And let you get yourself killed?” Brion snarled. “Not a chance.”

Vara had walked right into that without thinking twice. There had been no organized plan of revolt. The girl was mad. The death she’d seen in the village, and whatever nameless abuses she’d suffered here. . they had driven her insane.

Jonas led the way, making use of his jeweled dagger, slashing his way past any guard who stepped into their path so the three could make it back to the tree line. Once cloaked by the branches, Brion finally put Lysandra back down on the ground.

She stared back at the camp with horror. She couldn’t count the bodies that now lay bleeding and broken and surrounded by masses of chaotic, rioting slaves and the guards attempting to restore order. Thirty, forty. . maybe more had been slaughtered in mere moments. Both Paelsian and Limerian, their blood now soaked into the parched ground.

It was a massacre.

“Are you all right?” Brion was shouting at her, but his voice sounded a million miles away. “Lys, listen to me! Are you all right?”

Finally she looked at him, into his blue eyes, which held deep concern for her. “I was trying to help,” she said faintly.

Relief flashed through his gaze, followed by anger. “You had me worried. Do not do that to me again, you hear me?”

A breeze brushed against her face when before the air had been still. Brion felt it too, and looked up. A roaring noise approached, growing louder by the second.

“What is that?” he asked.

Something strange and unexpected now moved across the land, pulling up dust and debris, wood and rock, as it gathered strength. Something that had formed out of nothing so suddenly that no one had noticed until it fully hit.

A tornado. A swirling cylindrical mass that twisted its way toward the road camp. The winds picked up, blowing Lysandra’s hair back from her face, making it impossible to speak. The noise was so loud now that they wouldn’t be able to hear each other anyway. Dark storm clouds quickly gathered, blocking out the sunlight within seconds.

Slaves and guards alike ran to escape its path, but some were swept up into it, disappearing for moments before being thrown free, like broken dolls as they hit the ground.

“It’s coming!” Jonas shouted. Brion grabbed her hand and they started running but didn’t get far before the force of the approaching wind blew them off their feet. Evergreens were pulled up out of the ground by their roots and hurled through the air like arrows.

The roar of the tornado was like thunder-only more deafening. More terrifying. Lysandra couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t think. Something whipped past her face, cutting her cheek, and she felt the warmth of her blood. She found she now clutched on to both Brion and Jonas for fear of being picked up and carried away by the cyclone. For a moment, she was certain that would happen.

Nearby, a thirty-foot-tall tree rose up from the earth and crashed down to the forest floor, missing them by only a few paces. She stared at the tree over Brion’s shoulder, knowing it could have crushed them to death.

It felt as if it had gone on forever, but finally the tornado grew smaller and smaller until it disappeared completely just before it fully reached them. The thunderous noise faded to nothing. A few more moments of eerie stillness stretched out before the birds resumed chirping and the insects began to buzz. Cries could be heard from the camp a hundred paces away as all present reeled from the disaster.

A pair of guards had spotted them through the felled trees and had broken away from the rest of the pandemonium. They stormed into the forest line, swords drawn.

“We need to move,” Jonas growled. “Now.”

Clutching tightly to her bow, Lysandra shakily got to her feet and tore after Brion and Jonas through the forest, her boots sinking into the loose earth and tangled roots.

“Halt in the name of the king!” one guard shouted.

A branch whipped Lysandra in the face, and she tasted the coppery tang of her own blood as she shoved it away. They couldn’t slow. After what had happened at the road, these guards would cut their throats immediately, assuming them to be slaves who’d escaped during the disaster.

The shouts of the guards faded, but the three continued to run for as long as they could before finally slowing.

“What happened?” Brion said, his expression strained. “What just happened back there?”

Lysandra found she was shaking. “What part?”

“All of it. That tornado. .”

“A coincidence,” Jonas said. He was winded but kept striding quickly.

“Too strange to be a coincidence.” Brion scratched the back of his head. “Buckets of blood spilled results in something like that? Out of nowhere? My grandmother used to tell me stories. . about witches, about blood magic. .”

Lysandra looked at him, her eyes widening. “I saw a witch like that just before my village was attacked. She was using blood magic to try to see the future, I think. My brother called her an Oldling, one who worshipped the elements. She-she’s dead now. Like so many of the others.”

“I don’t believe in magic,” Jonas said firmly. “Belief in magic is what has kept our people down for centuries, what keeps them from fighting back like they should. What I believe in is what I can see with my eyes. Paelsian weather has never been predictable. That’s all that was. But as far as the camp-I’ve now seen what the king has done. You were right, Lysandra.”

After what she’d experienced, Jonas’s confirmation was small comfort. “As long as the king lives, the road continues to be built and our people will die every day.”

“We need something to use against the king.” Jonas’s brow furrowed. “Something that holds value for him that can help shift some power to our rebels. Something that will give us a chance to hurt him, to slow him down so we’ll have the chance to stop him completely.” He was quiet for a moment, but then his brown eyes met hers. “I know just the thing.”

She stared at him for a moment. “What?”

“Not what. Who. Princess Cleiona.”

“Her again? What about her this time?”

“No, listen. I don’t think she’ll always be an asset to the king, but she is now, particularly when it comes to his new grasp on Auranos. If she wasn’t worth something to him, something very important, she’d already be dead. That makes her valuable to us.” His lips thinned. “After what I’ve seen here today, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to free our people from his tyranny.”

“You mean to assassinate the princess to send a message to the king,” Lysandra said, her voice breathless.

“Jonas. .” Brion looked uneasy at the suggestion. “Are you sure you want to do something like that?”

“I’m not planning to assassinate her.” Jonas met each of their gazes in turn. “I’m planning to kidnap her.”