Unknotted

Invasion and Gunfire

Rokan

I stole a glance at the Core, issuing a silent prayer of safety and victory. White light and portals tumbled from it, making the night bright and obscuring the city lights of Tredema, which hovered in the background of the Core. Magic pulsed through me, despite being outside the territory I was knotted to. But how long would the tide last? It had been in so long that the inevitable ebbing had to be coming.

I checked my rifle’s clip, found the bullet side full—thank the Core—and the tranquilizer side half empty from an earlier encounter with some Namenite soldiers. Then, I nodded to Chet. All Keadanian soldiers looked the same in our armor: form-fitting gray leather body suits under silver gauntlets and greaves, breastplates and pauldrons. Painted on the pauldrons and breastplates was Keadan’s symbol of a Sparker. Our helmets were sleek, rounded and had retractable face shields as glossy and opaque as black polished glass. All of it held enchantments to shift with us when we assumed our beasts forms. With the tide stretching longer and the likelihood of the ebbing increasing, not many, me included, would risk transforming unless we wanted to stay in that form until the tide returned again.

Chet led me down the narrow alley, our boots quiet on the dirt road. Shops and residences made with shiplap siding closed in tight to either side. When the tide had washed in and the campaign began, our squad had been larger. As we drove the Namenite soldiers out of their sub territory and the tide stretched longer, Chet ordered we fan out, search every building, and gather everyone we found. Keep searching until we located the target.

Phiston Grutcher. The Namenite sub-dominant of Lothnoy Creek. His picture rested in the top corner of the screen that stretched across the inside of my face shield. Phiston had a broad face, made broader by a bushy auburn beard. Below the picture blinked stats like estimated height and weight. He certainly wasn’t a small target. A little shorter than me but with a hundred more pounds to throw around.

Below that was a list of his household: nine wives, a handful of concubines, and dozens of children. Many Namenite men, whether they had territory or not, often lived separately from their mates and the resulting children. During times of peace, their harems were scattered as if they needed to plant as many stakes into the territory as possible to bolster their magic. Namenite sub-dominants, hybrids who possessed a portion of land under the authority of a pair of ultras, often gather their harem to guard against losing any of their “anchors” to the land’s magic. If Phiston was like any other Namenite sub-dominant I had brought in, he would have his harem close and highly protected now. Chet and I would have to proceed carefully to avoid unwanted casualties.

“Do you have your rifle set to tranq?” I asked Chet.

Chet’s finger shifted above the trigger and a click followed. More often than I would like, I had to remind him to use his rifle’s tranq option first.

Gunfire cracked through the night a few streets down. Muffled shouts and screams filled the little town. Scaring civilians caught in the crossfire of the Expansion War was the worst part of my job. Only the assurance that I was helping bring hybrids into a better, stronger territory soothed my guilt.

Namenites believed larger, widespread families held more magical power. The more hybrids bound by coavani knots to their territory and to each other, through Core-ordained unions or births, meant more access to the land’s magic. The theory had some grounds of truth, but that couldn’t have been the whole of it. Otherwise, why would Keadan, which practiced monogamy and had smaller families, continue to thrive and withstand assaults from its rivals? Why did my magical strength continue to grow even though the closest thing I had to family was my unit, my friends, and an estranged father?

I was certain the Namenites had it wrong. The Core couldn’t approve of this society that degraded its women to birthing factories and neglected its children. I had met enough Namenites to know those who participated in harems—because not all did—had children who only knew their fathers by name and through their coavani knots. Young, immature hybrids ran rampant in the streets with their mothers overstretched and lacking the loving guidance of a true father. The result of such a structure were communities of uneducated, half-starved child delinquents begging for something better.

Something better could be found in Keadan.

I doublechecked that my rifle was set to tranquilizer, and silently followed Chet around the corner into the back alley behind a convenience store with a residence above it. A small infant cry carried through a window cracked open on the second story. I froze, my back pressing tight against the rear of the store. Hasty shushing from several feminine voices followed the cry, a deep voice growled commands. Fearful whimpers rose, then fell into silence.

I could picture Chet’s predatory grin. A lot of women and children gathered in one spot was a good indicator of a Namenite dominant with his harem. Perhaps we have finally found Phiston.

“We need to gather the rest of the squad,” I whispered into the helmet’s microphone that connected me to Chet. More Keadanians attacking at once often pushed the Namenites to surrender faster with less gunfire.

Splitting up the squad wasn’t necessarily what I would have chosen to do. It made my shoulders wind up tight beneath my ears, even though I could check each squad member’s status in the display along the bottom of the face shield’s digital screen. As of that moment, each was accounted for and breathing, but that could change in an instant. And I would be too far away to lend aid.

Chet shook his head. “We can take them.” His voice sounded prickly and I kicked myself for not phrasing the suggestion as a question. His dominance rested close to the surface, especially during a battle, and everyone, especially someone like me who was close to his dominance level, had to be careful not to trigger it.

I nodded, trusting his judgement. My friend was an audacious leader, and often, his risks paid off.

Chet darted across the store’s rear entrance. The door had been kicked in and hung crookedly on its hinges. I flanked the other side. Holding up three fingers, Chet counted down.

I nestled the butt of my rifle into the pocket of my shoulder, scanned the alley once more, then turned back as he dropped his last finger.

Darting in, Chet raised his rifle to eyelevel. I followed half a second later, bringing up my weapon. The store was trashed. As far as I could see, empty of life too. Motioning for me to follow, he led the way up the side stairs. The worn wood creaked softly under our boots.

Chet didn’t hesitate at the top. He exploded through the door. Shouting erupted and shots fired.

I was rushing up the last two steps when someone charged out the door. The Namenite collided with me. My feet slipped on the stairs. We tumbled down in a knot, my ribs knocking painfully against step after step. Hitting the bottom, I groaned and struggled to my feet.

The Namenite rolled away and darted behind a partially looted shelf. I slammed my boot into it. It teetered, cans and bags of food tumbling off, and crashed on top of the man.

Slowly, I rounded the shelf, my rifle trained on where I expected the find the Namenite. The shelf trapped his lower half. My display screen kicked into action and scanned this man’s face. He was dressed in casual street clothes and had an olive complexion that made his blue eyes, narrowed with anger, shine bright. Sweat plastered his black wavy hair to his forehead.

Scan completed, a feminine voice rattled off: “Admon Kosevan, ultra-dominate of Namen territory. Order: capture alive.”

A burst of surprised exploded through me. The Namenite ultras weren’t supposed to be anywhere near here. I tensed, aimed my rifle at his shoulder, and squeezed the trigger. But Admon jerked to the side. The tranq dart stabbed uselessly into the floor.

The ultra slammed his hands down onto the ground. Magic pooled in white light beneath his palms as Admon activated his coavani knot. The ground rocked and tossed me to my knees. More shelves toppled over, their goods tumbling to the ground, jars shattering on impact. The flickering lights swayed dangerously overhead.

In a blink of an eye, Admon’s beasts form consumed him. His enchanted clothing melted into his skin and a massive, oversized bison body pushed the shelf off. Where the body moved to neck and head, his second form took shape. Thick layers of fatty gray skin wobbled and flowed seamlessly into the bowl-shaped head of an elephant seal, complete with a long droopy snout. It wasn’t the most flattering form, I had to admit.

The ground continued to shake beneath me as I struggled to rise. Of course, the earth remained unmoved beneath Admon’s hooves. Tides, it was so blasted frustrating being outside my territory, fighting hybrids with access to their coavani knots. They had the advantage of land magic, while I was left like a raft in turbulent, Ripple-infested waters, tossed about by their whims.

Admon charged. I managed to throw myself out of the path of the collision. But he swung his head, blubbery neck jiggling. His drooping snout folded back to reveal finger-length tusks. Those tusks pummeled my shoulder. Pain flared through my collarbone. Had I not been wearing armor the bone would’ve shattered.

I jammed the butt of my rifle into Admon’s neck. It had little effect through the blubber. Admon batted his head again. His tusks nailed me in the back. Again, my armor protected me against the punctures, but bruising would follow.

Admon stomped his forefoot. Magic ignited beneath it in a blinding flash. The floor, bare earth as most floors in Cenzia were, swallowed my boots.

“Tides,” I swore, fighting the binds of earth. “Chet! A little help!” Only muffled shouts and crashing answered.

Admon released his beasts form, standing again on two legs, and smirked. “You think a pathetic submissive like you will take territory from me?” He pulled a pistol from behind his belt and leveled it at my face.

“Chet!”

“I don’t think so.” Admon pulled the trigger.

My head snapped back, an explosion echoing through my helmet. Cracks raced across the face shield where the bullet ricocheted off. I shook off my sudden daze only to hear the gun fire again through my ringing ears.

I didn’t remember pinching my eyes closed, but I had. Pain bit my face, as if I had put it into a colony of fire ants. More pain stung as I opened my eyes to see the face shield shattered and a smoking gun still level with my forehead.

Admon smiled. “Goodbye, little submissive.”