“You, the traitor’s son,” the man spit on the ground at Bec’s feet, “A disgrace in the name of god, do you stand before us. Who are you to demand this wretch? Give us the boy, to finish him off. By mercy, do we claim him.”
Bec stood his ground and swung one sword up, wickedly fast, missing the man’s face by a mere inch. He held it there, the blade’s sharp point dangling threateningly in front of the leader of the group. The nomads gasped.
“For all those gathered here today, I ask you: forgive my friends. They do not know your people’s ways. I would think you are customary with the citizens’ ways as you trade here each year. There is no need for this bloodshed. Let her go!”
“A noble cause,” the man responded, “But a shame nonetheless. We must prevent the takings. She is guilty and he, guilty of her defense!”
Bec’s thoughts raced through his head. What could they have possibly done to anger the nomads so badly? It didn’t matter though, he needed to get Caza out of there. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Layla finally start the bike and speed through a gap in the group. Men and women jumped back, yelling in alarm as the bike rushed past them.
He sighed and straightened up. She was safe. He turned his attention to the nomads. Many seemed still eager to engage in the conflict.
“It would not be wise to fight. I wish you no harm or ill-will,” he scoured his mind, trying to remember his mother’s lessons about dealing with nomads, but couldn’t remember anything. Finally he concluded, “I will call the guardians, if you do not release her.”
A murmur ran through the crowd. “Do you threaten us, traitor’s son?” the leader demanded.
Bec was starting to become annoyed. “No, it’s not a threat … but a promise.”
Suddenly, an arrow spiraled directly at him, coming from somewhere in the group. It seemed time slowed as they watched the boy gracefully shift sideways, dodging the arrow by a mere few inches. A quiet gasp escaped from the crowd.
His steel gray eyes seemed to harden in anger. “So this is how you want to play.”
---
Layla struggled to maintain her grip on the bike. It was large and uncomfortable underneath her, as it was accustomed to Milo. She felt his grip loosening from around her waist. No, no, no! She turned the bike sharply, and slowed down into her garage.
The ship her family owned, stood, grounded in the garage. It was a Helva 22, an expensive model that had to have been ordered from god knows where. It surely was not made on New Earth. Layla had never particularly cared where it had come from or why they had the ship, but it occurred to her that her father was the one to have gotten it. The garage was filled with tools and parts, things she’d supposed he’d used to make personal modifications to the ship. The ship itself was sleek and black, its wings and body gracefully shaped, unlike most of the other bulky ships and transports on New Earth.
“Welcome, Mistress Layla.” The interior of the garage lit up, the dim lights growing brighter and the touch screen “walls” fading into the real glass panels. “Do you need help?” The house computer, Pav, asked.
Layla grunted as she slipped out from under Milo’s weight. “Open the hatch on Helva 22,” she commanded. She checked her watch. 8 minutes had passed. They could be at Arthurs in less than 5 more, but time was running out.
The door leading into the ship slid open with a hiss. Layla grabbed Milo’s shirt to steady him. “On the count of three you need to get off the bike and stand, it’s not far, I promise.” Milo was pale and shaking; he didn’t seem to be focusing on anything for very long. “Ready?”
He nodded slowly.
“One…two…three!”
As Milo moved to stand, but his legs didn’t seem to be able to hold him. His knees crumpled and he almost fell forward, if it weren’t for Layla supporting him. Milo gripped her arm, his fingers digging into her skin as he suffered through the pain. He bit his lip to keep from yelling out.
Layla wrapped her arm around his back, helping him to stand. They made it into the ship, slowly, and Milo couldn’t suppress a groan as she helped him sit in one of the chairs.
“Upload computer.” Layla let go of Milo and rushed towards the front of the ship, sliding her hand across the black glass panel. Light coursed through it, exposing the display of touch commands and movements. Her forehead furrowed as she squinted in concentration. The ship shuddered as it roared to life and began to hover a few feet off the ground, awaiting her commands. She steered the ship forward, up, and out of the garage. She sped through the city and followed the paths until she reached the edge, then took a deep breath and pushed the ship over the lake, towards the mainland.
---
Milo gripped the harness that held him against the seat. It alarmed him that the pain was a dull throbbing in the back of his mind, as long as he sat still. As if in a daze, he found himself staring down in wonder at his side. He had rarely seen injuries, except occasionally when his friends got hurt, but nothing like this. He could feel the hot blood seeping into his shirt and jacket. Not just a scratch, he thought to himself. The gash was the size of the length of his hand, but deep. His thoughts felt thick and fuzzy in his mind. He stared down at his side uncomprehendingly for a few long seconds. Why is it black?
YOU ARE READING
Our Price: Of Shifters and Rebels
Fiksi Remaja"Pathetic," Leo muttered. Bec saw Layla's hands clench and unclench as she struggled to contain her anger. She's going to lose it. He knew her, after all these years. "You all-" Leo began, but he never finished the sentence. Layla spun around, her a...
