The Thorian Sagas. 2. Insurrection.

A few minutes after returning to the guard area, Monique became aware of a disturbance outside of their quarters.

Trouble!

She recognized that voice; Bradshaw; on the warpath as usual. It sounded as though she was alone, talking angrily to herself; muttering.

Councillor Bradshaw stormed in, then paused, recognizing a MacBeath, and others. She stood, looking around, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light.

“Has she gone out yet? Crystal?”

She could see that her niece was not there.

“When did she go?”

Her eyes flashed around the space again, seeing too many things, but not what she most wanted to see; not liking the changes she could see, but also not seeing anyone back away from her in fearful respect, as usually happened.

No one seemed as intimidated as they usually were or should be when she barged in with raised voice.

They obviously needed to be taught a lesson about how to greet her when she came to them.

She would address that, later.

“Can you not speak? Has she gone?”

It was obvious, of whom she was referring.

In her agitation, Bradshaw’s mind was too easily glimpsed.

That last tribute had indeed been a close relative, and someone dearly loved, despite the familial spat.

Bradshaw felt that someone had to be blamed for her niece becoming a tribute, but she did not know who to blame just yet.

Crystal’s name had not been on any list of potential tributes, so how had she been chosen? Someone must be made to pay.

She wanted revenge upon whomever had been responsible, and Monique and her warrior cohorts seemed to figure in her mind as being that; responsible, in some ill-defined way.

Monique spoke with what she hoped was the right amount of deference.

“She went out of the city a few minutes ago, Ma’am. She was the tenth tribute. The treaty…”

Bradshaw did not let her complete what she was about to say, with an angry wave of her hand, cutting Monique off.

“And you let her go out alone? How could you let her go out like that? She should not have been allowed to go without my express, written permission.”

Monique would have gone with her, but she couldn’t explain that to Bradshaw, or describe how Liam—a Thorian in her thoughts—had stopped her, or how Crystal had been met by that kindly woman from the Kelts.

She could say nothing of her; that the small people had met the last tribute; or Bradshaw would ask too many searching and disbelieving questions. Bradshaw would know nothing of the small people; the Kelts, nor, perhaps, what really awaited those tributes in the form of another life.

“You were not here, Ma’am, and we were given no choice.”

That was not what Bradshaw wanted to hear.She lashed out against what she could see.

“Look at you. All of you. Little better than unkempt savages with your short hair… those… those things around your necks, and it looks like you slept and worked in your tunics. They are filthy. You smell. Where is your pride?”

Monique was needled, as Bradshaw had intended, and tried to calmly explain.

“The Trader came through yesterday, Ma’am, and so did the Tributes. They were pressed for time. You were not here. No one met them, so we had to offer them our hospitality for the night, as well as to see to the goods getting offloaded here, and then moved into the city.”

That meant that all of the other tributes had been here for those overnight hours. It was even worse than Bradshaw had thought.

That should not have been allowed either.

Bradshaw did not want to hear such excuses. She reached out to grasp the necklace around Monique’s neck and to pull it off her, only to find that Monique took a step back, out of reach; parrying her hand away.

There was something rebellious in this guard’s attitude.

Bradshaw saw a flash of anger, as well as something else in that expression that caused her to pause.

She was being met with resistance. No one ever dared do that to her. It was unthinkable. It was also frightening in its nascent power.

Monique saw her own younger sister’s image flash through Bradshaw’s disordered mind along with other thoughts as to whom Bradshaw might blame or punish for this. Bradshaw would strike out, once she found a scapegoat for her anger, and Monique had been the last one to see Crystal.

Surely, this guard had seen the fear in her niece, as there always was in those tributes, yet she had still let her go.

Having such fear so obviously displayed was why Bradshaw kept the tributes out of everyone’s way.

Bradshaw’s angst and agitation were real. She was close to tears, or to an even more angry outburst, and could no longer hide her innermost thoughts or feelings.

Monique became privy to the last few hours of acrimonious fighting within this family, and the unkind things that had been said; the emotions that had been stirred up, and that Simpson had so easily taken advantage of. But Simpson was not in her thoughts. Monique was.

There were uncertainties in Bradshaw’s mind. She was tormenting herself that maybe Crystal herself had insisted that she be chosen as a tribute in response to the difficulties her mother and her aunt had put on her shoulders.

Bradshaw was feverishly searching around for anything and anyone she could blame—but never herself—and always, she seemed to come back to Monique.

What had Simpson told her? Or had Simpson denied everything?

“I am absent for only a day or so, and this is what happens?”

Her eyes flashed in anger.

“How did it happen? What was the problem? We were to provide only one tribute, that much was clear, and it was already seen to before I was called away.Then suddenly we had to find three?” She couldn’t believe it.

Monique said nothing about what she knew. This was not a problem that had anything to do with her; except it would be made to seem that way. Bradshaw would see to that.

Bradshaw’s mind was working rapidly, seeing the complete collapse of her family if she could not reverse this. Any sacrifice would be permissible to reverse this damage; even the sacrifice of Monique and her team.

“You said she left just a few minutes ago?”

This MacBeath woman did not seem as respectful, or as scared as she should be. None of them were. She was even defiant, with a smile upon her face. Usually anyone Bradshaw tore into became a quivering mass of jelly.

Bradshaw was not going to argue in front of an audience where she might lose, and this seemed as though it might be the first time for that, if she pushed it.

This one met her eyes defiantly and was even smiling at her. She noticed other things too. Bearskins on the cots? A fire? And each of them had those necklaces that only Thorians and tributes ever wore. And they openly carried weapons with the gate closed, and the city secure.

Something had changed that she was not aware of. She should have kept a closer eye on them over the years.

An uncomfortable feeling ran up and down Bradshaw’s back. It was as though this warrior guard had changed out of the usual way, and without her noticing anything in the four years this one had been placed in charge of the gate.

She would shake things up once this was resolved, and she would make some changes. She suppressed that feeling and focused upon what she could see, determined to find something to use to put this MacBeath down and make her uncomfortable.

This warrior was scruffy too, and none too clean from what she could see, with her hair cropped short. She also had a weapon with her. She looked like she could use it too, and she was better muscled and much more confident than she’d remembered. There were also scars on her body that she should not have got on guard duty.

From thorn bushes; likely when she’d dragged them in for that damned fire.

“Why are you armed?” She waited for an explanation.

Monique was ready for her, reading her thoughts ahead of her question. “Our responsibility is to guard the gate and the city, Ma’am. I am always armed.”

“Even in the city?”

“No matter where I am.”

She didn’t like that answer, but it showed that she took her duty seriously.

“Not when you approach a Councilor.”

Monique looked directly at her, unfazed.

“Pardon, Ma’am, but 'you', approached 'us'.”

This one was too quick with her answers for Bradshaw’s comfort.

“You seem to have a ready answer for everything.”

Monique did not respond, recognizing the precarious mood that Bradshaw was in.

Those MacBeaths were all insubordinate, and troublemakers, which was why they were put on guard duty, and were kept out of the way of the council and were not allowed to influence anyone else.

It was time they were put back on the list from which Tributes could be drawn. That would make them more careful about whom they annoyed, but there was another way to deal with them. They still had time.

Bradshaw made up her mind.

“You and some of your fellow guards, come with me. We shall correct this. There might still be time. You shall go out of the city and retrieve her; that last one, and bring her back. She cannot have gone so far.”

Bradshaw was doing this deliberately, punishing them, sending them out armed in order to get them caught up in trouble, considering what Stoker had said about going out of the city armed during the day.

Monique would not argue with her; which Bradshaw expected of her after that unthinkable possibility had been suggested. At least she would not argue too forcefully, but she would have to appear to be shocked by that suggestion.

She protested.

“But, Ma’am, that would be breaking the Treaty. Ten tributes went out. We fulfilled our obligation, and as you know, none of us may leave the city.”

“Do you dare question my authority?”

One did not cross, or question, Bradshaw.

Monique tried to appear suitably apologetic.

“I am sorry, Ma’am… it’s just that… in all of your talks to us, during our training, you emphasized…”

Bradshaw cut her off.“That was then. This is, now. Things have changed. If I say you go out. You go out, and will, if I demand it. This is more important than any treaty.”

To her, it was.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“That tenth one should never have gone out. That was a mistake. I was not here to authorize it.” She saw a way to fell two birds with one stone.

“If you can get her back after she has already left the city, then the treaty was not broken. We met our obligation by sending out, ten, as we were required to do. God knows what happens to them, so how would anyone know if one of them is not accounted for after they leave here? I only hope you get to her in time.”

“I am not sure I fully understand.” Monique wanted to hear her spell it out for them all to hear.

Bradshaw glared at her. “You know what I mean well enough. You shall go out into the wasteland and recover her; that last one, and return her to the city. She cannot have gone so far.”

Monique saw where this was going and protested further.

“But… that is forbidden. We’ve had that drilled into us from being children. We are safe in the city. Outside, is danger, and we are forbidden from going into the wasteland.”

She repeated the usual rote from childhood. Bradshaw would expect some objection.

They had heard Bradshaw tell them that, often enough during their training.

Bradshaw silenced that objection. “I am authorizing it, so that gets around that difficulty. Are you warriors…or something else?”

She decided to try a different approach, one that would be more effective.

“If you do this for me, I shall be forever in your debt.”

Monique held back from laughing out loud. It was an empty promise. Bradshaw’s duplicity was known to them all.

Unstated, but clearly seen, was what was in her mind. Monique had a sister and other family in the city. They all did. Those family members would suffer if they did not comply.

Bradshaw knew that they would do this once they’d thought about the consequences if they didn’t do it. One never disobeyed a direct order of a Councillor.

Bradshaw had no difficulty meeting Monique’s eyes, glaring at her, waiting to see what her response would be.

Monique knew what that meant. She also knew that she had no choice.Bradshaw’s word was worth spit, but she could not easily go against her.

Monique knew Bradshaw’s niece was not recoverable, and so too must Bradshaw, but she was still intent on sending these guards out of the city armed, to attract the attention of those outside.It was her way of clearing out the worst of this nest of resistance to her wishes.

“I know this has never been done before, but it must be done now.” Bradshaw was adamant.

Monique continued to argue, but more weakly, as she knew was expected of her, though the wastelands held nothing to cause her fear at this time; then gave in.

“Then I must do as you ask, Ma’am.”

She still tried to sound respectful, even if she didn’t feel it.

And about time.

“Do you have a written order for me, Ma’am?” She knew better than to ask. There wouldn’t be one. No trail of accountability.

“No. Of course not. The fewer who know of this the better. Just make sure you bring her back… before the end of the day, and I will be in your debt.”

Nothing in writing!

Monique knew that her head was to be on the block for this. If they went out, it would be without permission. No other councillor was a witness, and Bradshaw would deny all knowledge of it. If Monique succeeded (impossible, of course), Bradshaw would claim the victory in her family. If she failed (inevitable), then Monique and the others would shoulder that blame, somehow, and the repercussions would be felt through all of their families.

Even if she succeeded there would be a price to pay. Bradshaw would still survive, no matter what happened out there, so Monique had to think of her loyalty to her own comrades first.

Bradshaw would go back on her word. She always did.

She, Monique, and she alone would have broken the law, whether or not she succeeded. But that was always Bradshaw’s way. No witnesses.

Monique could sense and smell the treachery in the air, could even read some of it in Bradshaw’s mind.

They were none of them beyond that age where they could not suddenly be chosen as tributes on some trumped-up charge or other, and would be. That ultimate threat.

However, from what they’d learned over just the last few days, that possibility no longer held the fear for her, or them, that it might once have held.

Bradshaw’s supposed gratitude was as worthless as any of her other promises from which she always managed to extricate herself. She did not like to be beholden to anyone, and she bore grudges badly.

Having succeeded, she turned and bounced out of their way. She would watch them leave.

Monique signaled for some of her team to make ready to go out, following Councillor Bradshaw’s instructions.

She also reached out mentally, to Liam, to let him know of this surprise.

‘Liam. Are you there? We have been ordered out of the city to recover the last tribute, and we are being sent out… armed.’

He was there, as though expecting something like this. He seemed to find it amusing, not at all surprised.

’I know. Ten of you should go out, but no more than that. Leave the others to guard both gates. Do as she asks, but leave your arms outside of the lower gate, buried in the sand. Pick up those sticks the small people left for you. Defend yourselves with those.

She would take orders from Liam, a Thorian she had never met, over the orders of the head of the city?

Yes, she would. She could trust him, but not Bradshaw. Thorians did not lie.

You will not be able to recover that last Tribute, but you can explain that you tried, when you return at dusk.’

If they returned.

Bradshaw would be even more incensed when they dared to return without her.

Liam spoke further. ’Do not go far. You will know when to stop. Wait for the approach of dusk, then you can return to the city and explain what you will.’

He warned them of something else.

’Watch out for the sand serpents. They will try to confuse you with a sandstorm around you, and cause you to lose your way as they do with all who blunder there, that they do not know. They mean you no harm, provided you stand your ground, but they can be devious. Touch them with those sticks and they will soon desist.’

Sand Serpents?

Monique had never heard of such things.

He continued. ‘If you find yourself in real difficulty, take one of those pebbles the Kelts gave you and hold it tightly in the palm of your right hand. One of the Kelts will soon be with you.’