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12^th January 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 1^st Moon Waxing Gibbous. Polis  

(4 moons since the fall of the Maunde)

On this cold winter’s night, the centre of Polis is quiet, because anyone who can justify it is indoors sitting by a warm fire. Those who must be outside walk the streets in heavy coats, fur boots and woollen gloves. Their eyes scrunched against the cold wind and fat flakes of snow that descend in swirling white curtains. Atop Heda’s Tower the Great Flame leaps and spits, a beacon to all making their way to or through the city.

South of the Tower,  safely within its’ shadow, are Polis’ next-best preserved buildings. Structures that survived Priamfaya to two or even three stories. The Hospital, Barracks, Stables and School are here, in patched and re-roofed brick buildings that before the destruction wrought by the bombs must have stood three or four stories higher. Clarke’s made a home for her people in the basement of what was once an office block, the remains of which stand  just a few cubits beyond the southernmost corner of the Hospital. She shares it with her mother and a floating population of young delinquents and adults. On a normal day a dozen or so people are in residence at the ‘Office’ but some nights up to thirty are asleep in the big common room. That’s likely to be the case tonight and not just because it’s freezing outside.

As seken to Tokai kom Trikru Finn’s been making wooden furniture. Some of his early attempts, the ones Tokai wanted to put straight on the fire, have made their way to Clarke’s place. They may be a little wonky and Finn will never want to claim them with a maker’s mark but covered in the thick furs provided by Harper and Colin (sekens to a hunter) the settles and benches are comfortable enough if you steady them with a couple of wooden wedges.  Tonight, they’re all in use, pulled away from the walls to form a circle around the big metal box that stands on sturdy legs in the middle of the room and pumps out welcome heat. Clarke’s impressed by the stove; she gestures at it. “What did you do to get it to generate more heat for less fuel Rae?”

The mechanic’s happy to explain her genius. “I talked with the blacksmiths about managing air flow through the firebox, then I designed a throat-plate and some ventilation controls and Barb had them make it to my specs. That plus dry wood and having a decent chimney is the secret.”

“Could I use it as an example of what we can do?”

“Sure, Barb and the Commander are aware of my input.”

Clarke looks around the room at faces that are familiar, though the ground has made them leaner and even in winter tanned by exposure to weather. Her people now have well-nourished bodies, newly muscled from hard physical work or training in combat and their eyes are bright and keen. She’s proud of them and as the recently elected leader of her small group, thirty-nine youngsters and twelve adults, she is fiercely protective of their interests. Tonight, she’s called as many of them as can make it to this meeting so they can help her put together a formal request to Heda Lexa and her Kongeda for her people to be recognised as an independent kru (clan), their chosen name is Konopkru (Young clan) and join the Kongeda (Coalition). The fallback position is to ask Indra to accept them as Trikru.   

Clarke claps her hands.  “Everyone, listen up! We’ve got a few days to put together this bid to become a clan. Wells, Rae and I will do the presentation but I wanted to give as many people as possible the chance to have input. Let’s start with why we are different from the Arkers and Sydney’s people. We need to explain that not everyone who fell from the sky is the same.”  Silence. “Come on, someone start the ball rolling.”

Harper stretches her hands towards the heat. “Starting with the obvious; we were here to help defeat the Maunon before the Arkers arrived and although Sydney and her people were on the ground they were hundreds of miles away in Yujleda and did nothing to help.” 

“We cured twenty-five Ripas.” That’s from Octavia. “Lincoln says that without our help the fisas wouldn’t have been able to cure more than a couple.”

Callie chimes in with. “The first radios were repaired and used by Monty and Raven and the mast at the top of the Tower was put there by us.”

There’s the slamming of a distant door, hurried footsteps and Charlotte tumbles in, her hair and coat are dusted white with snow and her boots drop clods of ice on the mat. “Abby’s still at the docks helping with an accident on the quay, she’ll be along when she can. Did I miss anything?”

“Not much. I’m putting together a list of how we differ from the Arkers and Sydney’s bunch.”

Charlotte changes her boots for felt slippers and hangs the heavy coat on an empty peg where it starts to steam. “We’re the only ones who’ve surrendered our guns. We don’t know Sydney’s stance on guns, but Kane’s refused to hand theirs over.”

Finn snorts. “We only ever had one gun, Bellamy’s pistol, and then a couple we stole from the Mountain Men!” Charlotte mutters something that sounds like ‘it’s the principle that matters’ and Clarke gives him a mild glare.

Callie shuffles along a bench to make room for Charlotte. “We don’t know much about Sydney’s people full stop. Yujleda aren’t saying anything and if they’re in radio, or any kind of contact with the Arkers Kane’s not admitting it.”

Murphy moves forward to stir the contents of one of the pots on top of the stove and Wells uses a long pair of tongs to turn each of the potatoes that are baking in the ashes, he gives one a firm squeeze. “Not long now Murph, you can put the cabbage on.” Murphy drops chopped greenery into a pot of boiling water.

Wells squats back onto his heels.  “Medical skills generally are another obvious plus and Abby’s refused point blank to return to the Ark or should I call it Arkadia now?” He looks across to Clarke. “I think she’s happy here in Polis, don’t you think?”

That question makes Clarke pause. Is her mom happy? Without her dad? “Um. Yeah, she’s super busy but likes working with Nyko and she loves teaching, really loves it. Doesn’t she Charlie?”

The younger blonde nods enthusiastically and adds. “But most of all she likes learning new stuff from Nyko and Luna. When she’s making notes about the properties of some herb that they’ve just explained to her, she hums a little tune.”  Clarke smiles, remembering when she was little, how her mom used to hum or sing when she was happy and Jake would join in even though he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.

“Yeah, she likes it here and won’t go to live in Arkadia. She doesn’t trust Kane, thinks the whole ‘Chancellor as elected dictator’ system stinks, and hates the new Commander of the Guard one Edward Gru and anyway she doesn’t think it’s right that the only people he’s invited to Arkadia are Raven, her (I’m her not as welcome dependant) and those of the 100 who have parents living in Arkadia. I agree with her, his selective approach sucks and I hate Gru, he murdered my dad.”

“He’s a nasty fucker is Gru.” Raven’s going to add her two pennies worth. “Kane’s stuck in the past; he always wanted to be Chancellor and now has his dream job with an ‘Emergency Powers’ boost. He doesn’t want interference from people with political ideas like Callie, or political families like Wells and there’s no way Gru wants you in Arkadia Grace. You’d make things awkward for him with the Guard.” The tall ex-guard can only agree and like Callie try not to show that it hurts not to be wanted by your own people.

She chips in on the conversation but turns it. “Don’t forget Maya and the Resistance Clarke. The Commander made them your responsibility.”

“Yeah, she did.”  Clarke looks at the young couple sitting to her left. Jasper and Maya have been officially dating for a few months now and she’s never seen anyone look as happy or should that be sappy? She wonders for a moment if she looks quite so stunned when she’s sitting next to Lexa. Not that she gets that much chance to, not in public anyway, her relationship with Heda is acknowledged by those few who are close to Lexa, but no-one else is supposed to know about them.

Octavia frowns “I don’t think Indra would want Maunon to become Trikru.”  

That uncomfortable thought silences them for a while. The seven survivors of Mt Weather’s Resistance Group are slowly adapting to the outside world and its’ culture. Maya’s skills as a nurse and apprentice fisa are regularly praised by Abby and Nyko; while her father Vincent, together with the other surviving adults, Karen, Millais and Franz, are all working. Karen and Franz’s children go to Polis school.   

Dax stretches his long legs towards the stove. “Harrumph. We don’t know about Sydney in Yujleda but Arkadia is still dependant on the Commander’s generosity for its’ survival this Winter and probably through into the Spring, maybe even longer. I’m not dissing them for that, they only arrived early November, so had no chance to plant crops that would ripen in time and negotiations about territory and hunting took a while. But look at us. Sure, we received some kit and help as a reward for helping with the Mountain but we’re self-supporting, working in technology or using grounder skills. You’ve got the list Clarke.”

“That’s another good point, thanks Dax.” Clarke flicks through the pile of papers; people start to chat as she searches through the bundle. “Here it is! We’ve now got thirty-three sekens. Twenty in Polis, thirteen in Ton DC. Five of us are working in Polis Hospital (me, my mom, Maya, Charlie and Myles), two in Polis’ school (Karen and Bellamy), five are working with technology for the Commander (Raven, Monty, Wells, Jasper and Pascal) and seven are in transport using horses or the trucks taken from the Mountain Men (Grace, Franz, Monroe, Dax, Mbege, Vincent and Callie).” Clarke hums as she turns a page and starts to scribble. “I can say that we’re all active in Polis’ and Ton DC’s communities’, are self-sufficient and contribute to the Kongeda.”   She looks up as Murphy and Wells start serving the food. The earthenware bowls they hand out vary in the proficiency of their execution, this time it’s Bree and Tim’s first few attempts as sekens to a potter that have stocked Clarke’s cupboards with wonky crockery. While they eat the venison stew, cabbage and potatoes, their talk about who is doing what continues and Clarke makes more notes.

14^th January 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 1^st Moon Waxing Gibbous. Polis Tower. The Red Room. 

Lexa turns away from the window as Strik Selene taps on the door with her metal hand and announces the arrival of Heda’s closest collaborators; Wochas (Chiefs) Leto kom Podakru, Luna kom Floukru, Windsong kom Ingranronakru, and Indra kom Trikru. The advisors follow them; Barb kom Trikru, Captain Ontari kom Azgeda, Fisa Nyko kom Trikru, Fleimkepa Titus kom Trikru and Eva kom Trikru. Missing are Gustus and Anya who are in Ton DC and Knox respectively.

At Lexa’s gesture of welcome, they greet her with deep bows before almost as one they move towards the big sideboard where Skaikrasha has set out refreshments, including a samovar of tea, plates of nuts, fruits and her delicious oat and honey biscuits. “Heda, can I pass you something?” It’s Indra’s question. The Trikru Chief still finds the informality that Lexa has gradually introduced into these meetings difficult and it is her fixed view that Heda should always be served first.

“Mochof (Thank-you) Indra, I will have a biscuit.”

This meeting has been called to discuss the future of the people who fell from the skai and Lexa invites Indra to speak first, as most are living in her territory and it is her kru that has most contact with them.

“Heda I will give a short summary of Trikru’s relations with the Skaikru. The first to arrive were the goufas (children) who landed on the Maunde (Mt Weather), after a few days they were followed to the ground by four planas (women) in a smaller ship. Some moons later nearly two thousand more arrived from the skai, these new people we called Arkru. Trikru have had no contact with the Skaikru who landed in Yujleda.” Indra unfurls a map and points. “Arkru have stayed within the territory gifted them. This brown line is the boundary and they occupy the lake, dam and valley beside the Maunde. No Trikru wanted that land, it’s too close to the Maunde and in the treaty we agreed with Kane there is provision for our people to visit the site of the funeral pyres sacred to that great battle. There is a further promise that if Arkru gets the dam and its’ tek to work the elektricity will be shared equally between them and Trikru.”

Indra pauses and Windsong, with a nod of permission from Heda, asks a question. “I was told that Arkru did not want all the goufas and planas to join them. That they considered some of them to be criminals and natronas (traitors). Is that true?”

“Sha. When, with the assistance of Heda, I negotiated their landholding Chancellor Kane gave me a list of names. These people he said had committed serious crimes against Arkru when still in the skai and must be surrendered to him to face their justice.”

Lexa intervenes. “Kane had many demands at the start of those negotiations, that neither Indra nor I was prepared to concede. Eventually it was settled that he could ask any of those who fell from the skai to join his people, but he had no right to demand that we surrender them to him. For example, he invited Monty, Clarke, Raven and Abby to join Arkru and he wanted the boy Bellamy to face trial for attempted murder. None of them chose to go to Arkadia. Many of the goufas accepted his invitation to rejoin their parents and now live in Arkadia.”

“Did Kane demand that those who landed in Yujleda be handed over to him too?”

“Yes, he had another even longer list of names that he presented to me.” Lexa walks over to the sideboard pours herself a beaker of tea and picks up another biscuit. “If he wants them, he can ask Albion kom Yujleda to release or surrender them, I cannot interfere with how Albion treats these people whilst they are on his land.”

Next Leto asks to speak. “I can see that the status of these skai people must be decided and soon. Arkru have negotiated an agreement with Trikru but are not part of the Kongeda. Without membership of the Kongeda they cannot trade freely and if they are attacked the Kongeda will not defend them. Those not in Arkru have even less status. If they live in Trikru territory they are at your mercy Indra and those in Yujleda are at Albion’s.”  The Trikru chief bristles slightly and Leto is quick to placate. “I am not saying that you would treat them badly Indra, especially as some were instrumental in bringing down the Maunon but I wouldn’t trust Albion kom Yujleda.”

20^th January 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 1^st Moon Full Moon. Polis Tower. The Throne Room. 

Years of training to mask her feelings allows Lexa to watch seemingly unconcerned, as Clarke takes the brand for Konopkru, when her heart responds to the smell of her lover’s flesh burning by almost leaping from her chest. But Clarke is yuj (strong) and makes no sound as the hot metal scars the soft skin of her forearm. Nyko binds the wound quickly and Callie, bandrona (Ambassador) for Konopkru, stands behind her wocha as Clarke sinks gracefully into the thirteenth kru’s chair, a striking construction designed by Finn and Raven made from delicately scented cedarwood that is set within a sturdy frame of silvery aluminium alloy that was salvaged from the dropship.  Lexa’s speech welcoming the new kru is short and the ceremony concludes with all present drinking toasts to the Kongeda, Heda and Konopkru. Formalities over, the politicking starts and Lexa starts to ‘work the room’, engaging with each of the bandronas, and wochas, who attended the ceremony. Some drinks later she finds herself face to face with Sloop the bandrona for Yujleda. As usual Sloop is dressed in a voluminous gown, this one is her Winter ‘best’ and is of a heavy yellow linen decorated with appliques depicting scenes from the farming year, ploughing, sowing, hoeing, reaping etc.

“Heda these youngons and their tek have proved useful, but such a small kru will surely struggle to meet their obligations to provide gonas and tax revenue to the Kongeda?”

Lexa fences carefully back, conversations are never straightforward with Sloop, suggesting that Floukru is of similar size.

During the discussions between all twelve bandronas, led by Heda, about bringing this new kru into the Kongeda, Yujleda had not openly opposed the move. What Sloop had raised, supported by Balder, the bandrona kom Trishanakru, was the issue of such a small kru having equal weight within the Kongeda as the larger krus, such as Ingranronakru, Trishanakru, Trikru, Yujleda and Azgeda. “These bigas (great) krus have so much more to offer the Kongeda by way of trade, gonas and territory.”

That ‘issue’ had been ‘parked’ and Konopkru’s induction had gone ahead, but Lexa’s suspicion is that the great disparity between krus in terms of territory, numbers and wealth is not something that Albion kom Yujleda and the volatile Fenrir kom Trishanakru, wochas of their respective krus, are going to drop. Talks about a voting system that is weighted to favour the larger krus is something she can see in her future. She doesn’t quite groan at the idea, which has some merit, but can foresee long, wordy and tiring negotiations with far too much time taken up listening to Sloop. Ugh. Lexa turns the talk to Yujleda’s own skaikru. “Are those skaikru who landed in the territory of Yujleda planning to form a kru of their own, join those in Arkadia or become part of Yujleda?” True to form Sloop doesn’t want to talk of those who ‘fell from the skai’ into Yujleda. Her lips close as her head and shoulders tilt coquettishly to the side, she giggles. Lexa feels mildly nauseated by the spectacle but as at that moment Fenrir kom Trishanakru slides into the space the simpering Sloop has obligingly provided she doesn’t get the chance to push the Yujledan bandrona to answer. Jok (fuck)! 

13^th February 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 12. 2^nd Moon First Quarter. Polis.   

Raven’s one of the busiest and most energetic people Clarke’s ever known. The mechanic is never still, ideas and fabrications spill from her fertile brain and agile hands almost constantly and she loves her work. Eats, sleeps and lives her work. When Raven didn’t return home to the Office for a couple of nights, Clarke wasn’t worried. Staying late to work and spending the night at Anya’s place is Raven’s normal. But it’s been seven days and nights in a row without a sign of her friend. The Office seems much too quiet without those loud conversations with Murphy about the need for chilli as a key ingredient in every dish, including desserts. “The ancient Mayans loved chilli with chocolate you idiot why won’t you try it in apple pie?” The daily threats to make Wells, Finn or even Grace “go boom!” It isn’t natural for things to be so calm and sedate. Seven days …. Should she be worried?

Clarke looks at her watch and dashes down the last notes on her young patients. She thinks the tiny babies, each wearing a different coloured knitted cap, must set some kind of standard for the world’s cutest creatures. She adores every one of them and would love to specialise in their care. She finishes up and goes to look for Abby who has regular meetups with her pod-pals (Raven made that name up), Raven, Grace and Callie.

“Mom, have you seen Raven recently?”

“No honey. We’ve not had a girls night out or needed to ask her to repair any of the equipment for some time now.” Abby crosses her fingers. “It’s all worked fine with Maya and Raven’s grounder apprentice Emori at the controls.”  Abby walks along the ward, smiles at Elba (one of ten sekens working in the hospital), who stokes the big stove. Abby picks up the chart belonging to a large Boudalan miner. “Hei Sandi how are you feeling today? Any phantom pains?” 

Clarke smiles watching the interaction. Sandi is one of Abby’s many admirers. Clarke wouldn’t be surprised to discover that somewhere in Polis there’s a Fisa Abby Fan Club, probably run by the Handmaid Strik Selene (Strik). Regularly gifts of food or clothing are delivered to the Hospital ‘for Fisa Abby’, often anonymously. Abby donates nearly all of it to the hospital, though she did keep a wonderful pair of fur-lined boots Strik gifted her last moon.  

The challenges brought by the greater number and variety of injuries and illness has energised Abby, that and the fact that she has a willing team to help her buoys her spirits. The skilled grounder fisas Nyko and Luna, plus Clarke, the sekens (including Charlotte, Elba and Maya), the top-spec technical equipment salvaged from Mt Weather and Raven to keep everything working. It’s a dream come true – almost, if only Jake was here. Clarke knows Abby misses him, sometimes she catches her mom touching the wedding ring she wears on a chain around her neck, or she stares at Clarke’s watch and occasionally she just looks down and somehow Clarke knows. Will she ever find another man to share her life? The thought of her mom always being alone is a sad one but who would be good enough, kind enough, even tempered enough - to cope with the work obsessed perfectionist, who is her mother?

Thinking about work obsessed perfectionists brings Clarke’s thoughts back to Raven. Time to go to the Tower and look for the mechanic in her ‘den’. She hustles through Polis’ icy streets; the market is open despite the weather. A dozen or so braziers attract loiterers tempted to linger by the warmth and cajoling street food vendors selling roasted chestnuts, skewers of meat, savoury pasties and baked potatoes.  The smell of woodsmoke, crisp fat and toasting bread makes her mouth water. The Tower looms ahead.

“Hei Arte!” Clarke greets the Guard standing by the elevator. “Have you seen Raven today?”

“Sha Clarke, she went out first thing for bacon sandwiches. They smelt so good when she brought them back!” If Raven hasn’t sneaked one of those sandwiches to the long-suffering Guard Clarke would be surprised. If anyone appreciates the bonding ability of food, it’s Raven.

The elevator rises smoothly.  Wells hasn’t got it powered by electricity yet but he’s replaced worn cables, greased all the gears and jury-rigged an emergency braking system. It slides to a stop on the forty-fifth floor. Lexa had asked Raven and Wells whether fifteen floors between them and the throne room was enough to keep her people safe. She’s not entirely sure their vigorous nods amount to a guarantee of her and her bandronas' safety.

Arte opens the elevator door and Clarke steps into a corridor that’s lit with electric tubes of various colours. Her shout of. “Hey Rae!” has a head popping briefly out of a doorway.

“Clarke, give me a minute I’m soldering.” The voice is Raven’s usual raucous holler and the ponytailed brunette darts back into the workshop to complete whatever she’s doing. A few seconds later standing in the doorway Clarke takes in Raven’s workspace. Suspended from the ceiling on colourful cables are electric lights that burn bright and white, illuminating an immense island style workbench, its’ surface of close-grained wood is already marked with burns and pits and at intervals are insets of metal. Pushed to the wall is a seat on wheels, bumping up against a small cot. The cot’s new, if Raven stays late at the Tower she stays in Anya’s rooms.

The mechanic’s hand is steady as a tiny drop of silver liquid falls onto the circuit board; she parks the soldering iron in its’ metal holder and counts to ten; then places the board carefully on her bench and turns to Clarke. “Hey Clarke. Does Abby need the big scanner repaired again?”

“No, no. Emori and Maya have it working like a dream. I’ve not seen you for ages, thought I’d drop by. I hear the bacon sarnies are good.”

They chat, casual stuff about Wells and Monty’s pitiful antics to try and impress grounder girls, Jasper’s successful attempt at making bleach and the new copper core Monty’s made from old water pipes for the Tower’s radio antenna. “You’ve got your own bed here now. Looks like you’re taking this whole work-life imbalance to a new level.”

“Hmm. Yeah. Life is work, work is life or something.” Raven’s eyes snap back to the circuit board. She starts to roll up the coil of solder.

“Anya not putting up a fight? I thought she got moody if you stayed out of her bed.”

“Not her business what I do or where I sleep. I scarcely see her these days.”

Clarke thinks back to the past couple of moons, she’s not really thought about anything other than getting Konopkru recognised and into the Kongeda; that and a couple of tiny newborns, blue babies who struggled to survive despite blood transfusions. Now she feels bad not to have realised Raven and Anya were fighting. Were they fighting? Or just parting? She can’t remember when she last saw Anya, a memory surfaces of Lexa saying that her ‘fos’ is in the south.

“You guys broke up?”

“We never had anything to break.” That, Clarke knows is bullshit. Raven had fallen hard and eventually it seemed Anya had too. But Anya, when had Clarke last seen Anya? The Mid-Winter Festival party nearly two moons ago? Everyone was drunk. Clarke was drunk at the very private ‘after all the public ceremonies are over’ party that Lexa had hosted in the red meeting room. Turns out that Clarke’s a sloppy, wrap yourself around your smiling but sober girlfriend, kind of drunk. Anya had been there, also drunk but somehow majestic and Raven was drunk too. A very loud drunk cajoling the partygoers into silly competitions like; arm-wrestling, firewada pong, limbo dancing (who knew Callie Cartwigg was that flexible?!) and a disastrous game of charades.

 “Where’s Anya now? Lexa said she was in the south a while back.”

“Don’t know, don’t care.”

“Rae?” But for once the mechanic gives nothing away. Clarke can’t get another word out of her about the beautiful wormana (general).  

In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 3^rd Moon New. Spring Equinox. Louwoda Kilron (Shallow Valley). Dawn. 

The wagons are old and heavily laden, each expels creaks and groans as they roll out of the village of Bilt and onto the stone lined track that heads west into Ouskejon (Blue Cliff) and the wagon train’s ultimate destination the village of Knox.

From a vantage point on the hillside nearly a league away Cyrus and his partners watch the covered carts tip precariously as they heave up and onto the road; he snaps out orders and lieutenants scurry to obey. The burly Yujledan bandit looks thoughtful as he scans the slow-moving group. As expected, this train is larger and better protected than those that travelled this road before his campaign started. Success has brought consequences.  He shrugs; Heda Lexa would be foolish not to protect the trade routes into Ouskejon. The credibility of her Kongeda as a safe and peaceful trading bloc is at stake; after all, Ouskejon was one of the krus most resistant to joining. Only Yujleda remained independent of the meddling Heda for longer. He shifts in his saddle and stifles a yawn, his horse Wheatear nickers and stamps, Cyrus stills the beast and raises an eyeglass to further assess his prey. He points out to his companions the valuable oxen, four draw each wagon, the great beasts alone will be worthy prizes, but the whale oil, rope, fuses, nuts and dried jerky are the primary target. Without these supplies the mines of Ouskejon will stop producing the pretty metals; copper, silver, tin and lead, that are valued so highly by the krus of the north. A sharp pull on the reins and Wheatear backs into the woods; a kick to his sides and the stallion trots, then gallops away through the undergrowth. Those with him are less experienced riders and they take a few moments to turn and follow.

Far below Isla kom Louwoda Kilron sits on her wagon’s box guiding the oxen with steady tugs on the reins and the occasional flick of her whip.  This is not a comfortable experience, the wagon jolts and lurches constantly and a sharp wind from the north, whipping across sky the colour of pewter, has her shrugging deeper into the heavy cloak that her nomon (mother) gifted her years ago. It’s a good cloak, rewaxed many times to keep it waterproof and its’ colours, rich blues and browns, remind her of home. Home; visiting Bilt is always a painful pleasure. The joys felt as she; hugs her nomon, exclaims at how tall her elder sis’ goufas (sister’s children) have grown and slapping her bro on the back, are balanced by; her family’s continuing bewilderment that she and Blair remain in Polis, their well-meaning questions about how in Polis will she find a good weaver to bond with and when will her children join theirs in the weaving sheds.  It all feels so one sided, she understands their love for; family, craft and the fabrics for which their kru is famed, but they cannot see the merit in her and Blair gaining honour as gonas. She sighs and folds the lower part of her cloak into a thicker pad that will give her butt some protection from the hard wood.

A few marks later Cyrus watches his gonas swarm over the road and through the scrubby woodland that borders it, searching for enemy gonas. He’s chosen this place carefully. The metal bridge, a survivor of Priamfaya, crosses the ravine in a single curving span that rests on tall piers of stone built into the cliff sides. The original decking, rusted and precarious, was replaced with good Trikru cedar three summers ago, a gift from Heda to Ouskejonkru when they joined the Kongeda. It’s a good bridge but it can only carry one cart at a time. In a few marks the whole wagon train will stop to allow each cart to cross. This was the site of Cyrus’ first successful ambush, but he’s avoided it since; he doesn’t want to be predictable and the road from Bilt to Knox winds through woods, gorges and over streams. With so many opportunities for his gonas to attack Cyrus has been able to keep surprising his victims and each successful ambush has brought him wealth and his Chief’s favour for few losses.

His lieutenant Ashtar rides up, his horse lathered. “Captain one of the wagons broke its’ front axle about five leagues back. The train has stopped, it looks like they will make camp.”

“Jok.”  But Cyrus and his gonas are flexible, able to adapt to changes with swift efficiency. He raps out his new instructions, they’ll take advantage of the wagon train’s misfortune.

Chapter Text

20th March 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 3^rd Moon New. Spring Equinox. Arkadia

Achoo! The damp square of fabric mops his streaming nose as Kane leaves the dormitory section, shivering in a wind that bites through every piece of clothing he’s wearing. He jogs across the muddy square where Guards, their faces chapped and raw, are going through yet more weapons practises and drills. Kane doesn’t doubt they earn their extra rations, with daily exposure to harsh weather and the constant physical training Commander Gru puts them through.

Seeing the Chancellor hurrying by, Gru has the whole unit snap to attention and salute. Kane briefly stills and acknowledges the respect with a nod, before stepping inside the towering metal structure that is Alpha Station come to the ground. He pulls the door closed behind him and for a moment he feels warm, or at least warmer.

Boots ringing against the metal grid of the floor, he squares his shoulders and consciously alters his demeanour to project a confidence that is at its’ heart hollow. In truth like everyone else in Arkadia he’s disheartened and exhausted; the weather, meagre rations and illness are taking their toll. Outside his office is a queue of petitioners, a line of silent reproach.   At the front is Hannah Green, it’s always Hannah Green. “Morning Hannah.” He regrets the greeting the moment it leaves his lips. He should have just walked on, nothing he can say is what she wants to hear.

“Morning Chancellor. Have you time to discuss my application?”

“Hannah, you know that leaving Arkadia is not permitted in Winter. That rule is for people’s safety, your safety. We can get to Ton DC through the Commander’s tunnel but only when the rivers are low. And there’s no guarantee that the road from Ton DC to Polis is passable. Chief Indra warned us about..”

“It’s Spring Chancellor. Today is the first day of Spring. I’m willing to risk the journey, to risk asking one of the Tree People to take me to my son in Polis!”

Kane folds his arms tightly round his body, to stop himself from lashing out. Wanting to see her son is understandable, the boy is the problem, refusing his Chancellor’s invitation to join Arkadia. “Monty chose to stay away Hannah. I know you think he was forced but he said no, loud and clear, when we spoke on the radio.” He takes in her finely drawn face, he’s known her for years, one of his mother’s followers of the Last Tree.    “When I send a delegation to Polis we’ll check up on him. I promise.”  He turns away from her, yet again and opens the door into his assistant’s office.

“Larry are all the Councillors here?”  

“All but Commander Gru and he’s just arrived.” Brrr. A blast of cold air announces Gru’s entry from the square. “I’ll bring hot drinks through for you all in a few minutes.”

“Thank-you.” Together with Gru he enters the Council Chamber. Where the waiting Councillors look up and give their leader a brief head-duck of respect.

The circular metal table stands a little crooked and its’ utilitarian grey surface is disfigured by numerous dents that can topple your drink if you’re not careful.  Kane drops into his chair, blows his nose again on the now sodden handkerchief and taps on the data tablet that’s waiting for him.  Yet more depressing information flashes up. Some of the icons blink red in warning, including the steaming pans that represent their food stocks. He sighs and clicks.

“Victor why are we low on cereals? The Commander gifted us wagon loads of flour, corn, beans, nuts, barley and oats. We did the maths, you and me together. We have enough to see us through to May when we plan to start trading seeds, electricity, knowhow and leasing out heavy machinery.”

Victor Ellis echoes his Chancellor’s sigh. “Mice, Chancellor.”

“Mice! The rodents?”

“Yes, Chancellor.” The normally phlegmatic Head of Supplies grimaces. “A while back a group of youngsters found a nest of mice, out in the meadows. Harvest mice, tiny things, with fawn coloured fur and white bellies. Sweet little ears. The kids thought they were ‘cute’ and worried that something so small would die in the cold. They wanted to bring them inside the Ark as pets. They’d never had a pet. Their parents said ‘No’, but they kept them anyway, hidden in an old storage unit. Built cages, little tunnels, exercise wheels, fed them their own rations. The baby mice were cute and had babies and more babies. The kids started stealing rations. The storage unit was teeming with mice. They let some of them ‘go’. By the time they confessed everything to their parents our stores were overrun with mice.”

Kane wants to put his head in his hands and cry. Instead, he glances around the table. “Ideas? Thoughts? We need more food before…” he scans the figures “mid-April.”

“Cut rations again?” That’s Gru.

Sinclair tsks at that idea. “I think I have a way we can avoid that. Through trade.”

Byron Edwards, Head of Fabrication, snorts. “Trade what? I know you’ve got the hydroelectric turbines working Sinclair but we’ve still got to lay miles of cable before we can give the Trikru their own electricity, never mind sell them some of ours.”

Kane brings a map up on the wall-screen. He studies the terrain surrounding Arkadia. From Mt Weather’s turbine hall (the only part of that complex to survive) a narrow hand-cut tunnel runs to a place the grounders call Osser (on the Ark’s old maps it’s called Rosslyn). He traces the tunnel with his finger. “Osser is a village on the border between us and Trikru and Indra said her people would be moving back there later this year following the defeat of the Mountain Men. That tunnel to Osser is prone to flooding, it’s flooded now. That’s why we need to lay cable above ground to Osser from where we access the old Metro tunnels which don’t flood and already have plenty of usable cable in place, or so Reyes tells us.” Sinclair nods his agreement and clears his throat; Kane lets him speak.

“The weather should start to improve soon and when it does, we can lay that cable quickly with our heavy diggers but I wasn’t talking about trading electricity. I was talking about communications.”

Byron interrupts, he loves the sound of his own voice. “Who owns the stuff in those old Metro tunnels, I’ve heard rumours that they’re full of engines, servers, piping, all sorts of good stuff.”

“Trikru own it Edwards but let Sinclair finish what he was saying about communications. Jacopo continue please.”

“I’m talking about coverage. We know that the Commander uses radio comms. Raven Reyes introduced her to it and now there’s a mast on top of Heda’s Tower in Polis. Her investing in that kit tells me that the Commander sees radio as a useful tool, not just some tek to play with. Raven helped her with her current set up, so did Monty Green and Wells Jaha but coverage is very limited. What we can sell to the Commander is a huge improvement in range and I think that’s something she wants. Her Coalition covers a big chunk of north America. Currently she can radio us, Ton DC and a few other places. Improve the range and she can radio across the Coalition.”

“How can that happen?”

“Satellites. We’ve got the technology, the hardware, and some hydrazine in the drop ships that soft-landed. We’ve also got a big chunk of the Ark still up there. Two small satellites and the Ark and we’ve got continent wide coverage. That must be something she wants. And there’s a plus for us because we’ll be able to contact Sydney and Pike and negotiate with them.”

“I like it. Let’s talk to the Commander.”

20^th March 2150 In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 3^rd Moon New. Spring Equinox. Polis Midday.

The midday bells toll throughout Polis as Clarke shrugs into her cloak and walks out through the Hospital doors, a gust of wind throws cold rain into her face. “Ugh!” The short walk to the Tower is a wet one but she’s in good time. Waiting for her in the Tower’s immense lobby is Octavia, Indra can be seen talking with the elevator Guards. “Hey Clarke, thanks for coming.”

“No problem. Is Indra supportive?”

“More like neutral. But that’s a big improvement, normally if I mention Bell she all but snarls ‘natrona’ (traitor) at me. What do you think his chances are?”

Clarke and Lexa have been careful not to talk about Bellamy. Octavia knows this and understands why but can’t stop herself from asking the question anyway. Her brother, who fought for the Maunon, but who was then drilled for his bone marrow by the very people he was trying to protect, was allowed by the Commander to live. Octavia’s contribution to capturing Tsing, together with Bellamy’s own suffering gave her the leverage to show mercy. Bellamy gave a blood oath to Heda Lexa that he would never bear arms and he has kept that oath, whilst gaining a solid reputation as a teacher of ancient history and gonasleng in one of Polis’ schools. Today he’s asking Heda Lexa to clarify his oath, does never ‘bearing arms’ mean that he is banned from using all kinds of weapons or just those with blades, weighted heads or projectiles.

The lobby door opens and Bellamy walks in, his right leg, encased in a metal brace, is stiff, while his left, a miracle of titanium combined with flesh, bears his weight well and moves smoothly. “Hey Clarke. Thanks for your support. I’ll wear it always!” The three of them grimace at the old joke and the young man embraces his sister and then his wocha (chief). After recovering from his injuries and a long talk (shouting match) with his sister, he realised that Clarke was not just an Alpha Station princess, but someone worth listening to.

“Bellomi kom Konopkru. Heda will see you now.”

Indra leads them into the elevator. In silence the cage glides upwards, electrically powered by an array of solar panels that Wells, Pascal and Raven set up last moon. Even in poor weather there’s sufficient juice to run the elevator during daylight hours.  At night it’s still gona-powered; batteries are in short supply.

At floor thirty they walk out into a long corridor decorated with cloth hangings that depict the sigil of each kru. This now includes Konopkru and their sigil of a green five-pointed star. Two Guards wait at the door to the throne room, long spears crossed to bar them entry. “One moment.” 

They wait. Indra a statue, Octavia imitates her fos (first) and is completely still. Bellamy fidgets, his fingers find the top circle of his brace and rub at the leather padding, Clarke stands still but her eyes scan the hangings, the Guards (two at the throne room door, two at the elevator, two south of the elevator, two north of the elevator) and the door to the throne room itself, which is made of beautifully grained cherrywood. Lexa told her that she’d commissioned this door shortly after her ascension. Finn’s fos Tokai was the crafter who made it.

“Enter.”  

On the eve of Polis and Ton DC’s Winter Festivals, Callie and Clarke ran mandatory workshops for their people called; ‘Grounder Etiquette: how not to die of ignorance.’ This means that Bellamy and Octavia bow to Heda Lexa to exactly the correct depth, with their right hand covering their hearts.  Clarke’s bow, because she is a wocha, is slightly shallower. In Anya’s absence Titus stands at Heda’s right hand and directs the proceedings. What, he intones, does this young hef (man) ask of Heda?

It’s not unusual for a wocha to speak for a member of their kru so it’s Clarke who puts forward Bellamy’s request. She explains what happened to him, his sister and the delinquents who were captured by the Maunon, she doesn’t attempt to conceal his brief involvement in the battle for Mt Weather, she does explain his injuries in some detail and his life in Polis. At the end of her speech, she concludes. “He is not asking Heda Lexa to to alter or weaken the oath he gave. Merely seeks clarification of its’ terms.”

Heda thanks Wocha Clarke for her words. Then she stands, all the bandronas stand with her, and walks down the steps to face Bellamy, for a few moments she studies him. She’s received reports, many reports, about Bellamy. Her experience of him in the OT (Old Times) made her distrustful of him and Eva kom Trikru, her spymaster in Polis, was tasked with keeping a very close eye on the young seda (teacher).  Lexa turns to the bandronas, “Ai bandronas you may retire. This hef’s request is a matter local to Polis.”  With shuffles and bows the bandronas leave, all except Callie, bandrona for Konopkru.

“If you permit it Heda I will stay, Bellamy is of ai kru.”

Lexa nods her agreement and then beckons to all those who remain to follow her as she walks out of the throne room and down the corridor. Mystified they all follow, in order of precedence.  Immediately behind Lexa walks Titus, then Indra, Clarke, Callie, Octavia, Bellamy and two handmaids, Strik and Bigas Selene.  At the end of the corridor Lexa opens an undistinguished looking door and shepherds everyone into a fair-sized room, a huge table dominates the space. This is Lexa’s war room, it’s here that she and her wormanas planned many battles, including those of Cleve, Fallow-Field and the Maunde. Lexa stands at the table’s head, everyone else shuffles around it.

“Bellomi, I have heard from my advisors and some of your students that you teach gonasleng and ancient history through accounts of great battles of the past.”

Bellamy is pushed to the front of the group. “Yes, Commander. Many of my students will become gonas and talking of warfare and battles holds their interest.”

“An excellent strategy Bellomi. But how in your lessons can you favour Alexander the Great over Scipio Africanus? See, set out before you are the forces of Rome and Carthage as they were at Zama. Can you convince me that your Alexander would have fared better in this battle than the great Scipio.”

It starts out very serious. Ruthlessly Lexa tests Bellamy’s knowledge of the history and tactics of warfare but as the afternoon passes, the atmosphere becomes more relaxed and she encourages others to take part in the war games. Indra, who favours Ceasar, argues hard for her hero’s greatness at the battle of Pharsalus and Callie cannot remain silent when they discuss the battle of Muye and her hero King Wu of Zhou. Octavia joins in during the battle of Marathon and Lexa sends out for drinks and snacks during the battle of Alesia. By late afternoon they have all had their say, arguing hotly about tactics, the impact of geography, geology and weather. Even Clarke and Titus join in.

Then the evening bells start to toll, dinner will soon be served. The war room is a mess of empty bowls, glasses and fallen warrior figurines. Inwardly Lexa smiles, she has learnt a great deal about this young hef. His knowledge of ancient battles almost matches her own, he appreciates the strengths and weaknesses of various types of weapons, soldiery and tactics. He is however inexperienced in politics, real time logistics and is more of a follower than a leader. He needs guidance and Lexa will see that he gets it. She takes Bellamy and Clarke to one side. “Bellomi, you asked for clarification of the terms of your oath.  What I am prepared to do is release you from that oath.  But only if you swear a further blood oath; that you will never use a fayogun against my people. That will permit you to become proficient with sword, staff, spear and bow. What say you?”

“Thank-you for your kindness, Commander. I will take such an oath.”

“I am not kind Bellomi. I am strategic, you have potential that I seek to exploit. We will talk of strategy and battle again.”

20^th March 2150 In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 3^rd Moon New. Spring Equinox. Louwoda Kilron (Shallow Valley) Sunset.

The oxen and horses are picketed within the encircled wagons. Fodder and water have been set out and there’s a little buffeting and shoving as the dominant animals make their way to feed first. A couple of the horses kick back when hungry oxen nibble at their tails.

Anya, Blair and Isla will be on watch in about a mark, so they’re taking the opportunity to eat and rest. Their small cook-fire glows reddish-yellow and fat sizzles on the flat metal cooking plate when the meat is turned. Deftly Isla crisps crackling over the naked flame, before flipping the thick slice of pork onto a flatbread that she’s already seasoned and spread with spicy salad leaves and cooked onions. She repeats the process.  “Here.” She folds the two flatbreads and hands them to Anya, who wanders off towards the nearest wagon. Isla repeats the process again, handing two more meals to Blair, who similarly walks away.  She then makes a final two before building up the fire with some solid logs and heading towards her own wagon. Throughout the camp cooking and eating is the main occupation, drivers taking food to their wagons where they sit, eat and watch in the gathering gloom.

Climbing back out of her wagon Anya holds her meal in one hand while sitting on the long wooden pole (the tongue) that her oxen were yoked to. It’s not very comfortable but she’s not making a target of herself by sitting up on the driver’s box. From here she can see the glow of cook-fires dotted across the camp, hear the blacksmith’s hammer as it shapes red-hot iron, smell the animal dung. Keryon (Spirits), she hates travelling with oxen, all that skrish (shit), never ending skrish. She finishes her meal, even with Isla’s abilities as a cook everything still tastes of skrish. Everything feels like skrish, warm skrish. It’s too hot. Anya hates the heat of the south. If this were Trikru she’d be happily shivering as the sun left the sky, it feels unnatural to be in short sleeves and feel hot this early in the year. Jokking (fucking) south. She thinks back to Polis; Raven’s face comes into her mind. Her hodnes (love) is meizen (beautiful) and she misses her so.

What did her nomon (mother) always say? Never part from your hodnes with angry words. Well, she followed that advice but still knows she totally jokked it up. She meant to tell Raven that she was leaving and likely would not return. Anya had a plan; she had words memorised. They were good words, wise and strong. Anya as a wormana and gona is duty-bound to die for her Heda and it is her time to die, it must be. Up to this point in her life she has been lucky, so incredibly lucky not to die. Not yet. She could have died in Azgeda, Podakru, Yujleda, and should have died in the Maunde. Her luck has run out. She’s seen it so many times, gonas going and not coming back and it was only fair to tell Raven that there was little hope. That Raven should find someone else, someone who wasn’t about to die. But she couldn’t say it, couldn’t tell Raven to love another and then suddenly it was time to leave, quietly, secretly and she couldn’t find her meizen mechanic. Jok, Jok, Jok!  Perhaps it’s best that she won’t make it back, better for Raven anyway.

She drags her thoughts back to this scrubby patch of land, where the sun has almost set behind a low ridge of grey rock. If the bandits are going to attack it will be soon and this wagon-train, halted because of a broken axle, should be enough to tempt them. The wagons are heavily laden, the oxen healthy and the gonas who make up the escort look sufficient for such valuables but nothing out of the ordinary.

Not much is known about these bandits save their reputation for quick, deadly, attacks. Not one witness, not one body, has been recovered. Just a few charred sticks that once were wagons and the still warm funeral pyres of the unlucky gonas and merchants who never made it home. Heda Lexa is right to be concerned at the deaths and the interruption to trade with Ouskejonkru and she’s right to send her best to solve this worrying mystery.

Anya finishes her flatbread, maybe she was a little harsh to think it tasted of skrish, the onions and crackling are salty and sweet. She licks her fingers clean of the last specks of pork fat and readies herself for the battle that must surely start soon.

……………………………..

A screech owl whinnies off to her left, that’s Lincoln’s signal for strangers. Inside the wagon a quiet rustling tells Anya that his warning has been heard.  Twish, Twish, Twish, Twish, Twish, Thock, Thock. “Ai, Aargh!”. Arrows, barely visible in the failing light cascade onto the camp. Anya takes cover behind the wagon, her bow is ready, a supercharged, super-fast crossbow (courtesy of a meizen mechanic) but she waits before firing. They must come closer, be visible, even if only as moving shadows, before she springs her trap.

In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 3^rd Moon New. Spring Equinox. Polk  Yujleda  Sunset.

On the Ark people would gossip about Diana Sydney, some said that her posture was perfect, that she held herself ‘like a queen’ and was a natural leader. Not all comments were kind; others spoke of her coldness and the ruthless tactics she used to gain power. This evening, as she sits amidst savage looking strangers, her ability to look dignified and project an aura of strength, is what is keeping her and her followers alive.  Because Albion kom Yujleda, although immensely fat, is no fool and has at his command the tens of thousands, who occupy this large fertile portion of the North American continent. Diana commands less than five hundred but she has managed to persuade Albion that although her people are few, their mastery of technology makes them powerful allies.

Albion had found her boast of power intriguing, but before accepting that the skaikru who fell onto his land were worthy of respect, he wanted to test them and their tek. Diana agreed and horseless carts and powered ploughs were used to turn the rich earth of Yujleda readying it for winter sowing. Albion was impressed; he could see that using this tek will increase his harvest; increase his wealth and power. But Yujleda has always produced the best and most nutritious food, it is the wealthiest kru. What they lack is an army that can defeat the battle-hardened gonas of the northern krus as led by Heda Lexa. Three years ago, the great army that he had raised against Heda was defeated at Fallow-Field. That loss forced him to join her Kongeda (Coalition) and engage in free trade.  He lost the taxes that allowed him to indulge his and his courtiers’ love of all things luxurious.

With this defeat in mind, Albion’s second test was of the skaikru gonas and their fayoguns. Could they do what the Maunon could not and break Heda Lexa’s Kongeda?

20^th March 2150 In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 3^rd Moon New. Spring Equinox. Louwoda Kilron (Shallow Valley) Dusk.

The camp seemingly disintegrates into chaos, frightened animals stamp and rear, tearing up their picket lines and kicking over abandoned cook-fires. The bandits surround them; hundreds of arrows tear into the wagons, defenders and livestock. Still Anya holds back, the attackers must reveal themselves, be committed fully to the attack and have nowhere to go. She waits….

Here they are, on horseback and foot, screaming war cries, blowing horns and banging drums.  The noise stampedes the already terrified oxen and most of the horses, the circle of wagons is torn apart and bandits flow into the encampment, their swords flashing as they surge forwards. Once the attackers are in camp the trap is sprung. First, rapid-fire crossbows launch volley after volley of bolts, the attackers falter under the sheer volume of metal that slams into them.  Then, from within the wagons emerge Trikru Scouts, brutal, effective, killers who take the fight to the bandits and soon what had been a ferocious, crushing attack by over a hundred gonas is reduced to a scramble to stay alive.

Time seems to slow as Anya steps forward, her senses all but overwhelmed by the noise but her sword moves like a bird in flight, perfectly in tune with her body as she carves her way through the enemy. Then, the noise she had dreaded to hear, the loud chatter of fayoguns.  She’s flung backwards, her chest tight and bruised, like when the farm-horse Tapi kicked her in the side when she was a goufa. Breathing is gasps of thickened air and a hot wetness flows down her side. Her sword falls and her side burns with a scorching heat.

Chapter Text

17^th April 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 4^th Moon New.

He’s been counting the days since his capture, twenty-seven. For the first ten or so he had hopes of a rescue or counterattack, but as they slowly trudge north into cooler, rainier lands, that hope fades to nothing. On day twenty the journey is interrupted by the arrival of two motor vehicles, heavy trucks that are powered, he thinks, by a combination of petrol and solar. That’s a surprise! One of the two looks as if it’s kitted out as an ambulance. Two wounded warriors are loaded into it and next morning it takes off at speed. He tried to talk to the ambulance drivers, two young women who look familiar, but some very solid looking warriors keep him away and the women were focused on their patients.

He and the other captives, including a big grounder called Capel, second in command to Cyrus, are loaded into the second truck; he immediately recognises the driver. She’s unlikely to be friendly but he’ll try to play the ‘we’re both from the Ark’ card when an opportunity arises. None does. The truck travels at a good pace on roads that look as if they’ re regularly repaired with stone sets. That’s another thing he hadn’t expected. The Yujleda (Broadleaf) people use heavily rutted dirt tracks to move their crops, seeds and people between villages; or shallow-draft boats where the land is flooded. But this is a well-used and maintained highway. He loses count of the horse and ox carts they overtake.

His captors are well disciplined, silent, warrior types. His hosts in Yujleda had given him vivid descriptions of the scarred and tattooed peoples of the north, who glory only in war and death. So far, they live up to every scary detail. Masks and tattoos disguise their faces; body art of ink, bone and metal are the norm, elaborate braids and beads decorate their hair, leather armour and weapons. They carry many weapons. Swords are clearly a symbol of status; every warrior has at least one; long, short, double or single edged, curved, straight, rigid, flexible and the hilts are works of art. Then there’s a variety of spears, bows, knives and clubs of savage design, that are carried or worn with pride. And there are guns. They didn’t expect the grounders defending the wagons to use guns but a select few are carrying carbines and seem entirely at ease with their use.  

Within five days of climbing aboard the truck they reach their destination, a sprawling city.  At its centre a great tower rises seventy floors to a roof that supports a huge bowl of flame and a radio mast. The city is walled, an angled palisade of sharpened stakes, surrounds an inner wall of stone, that protects the bustling streets and ramshackle looking buildings. The gates are guarded but their party is waved through. When they reach the base of the tower, all the prisoners are marched down into grim, dank dungeons where they are stripped to their underwear before a blacksmith fits them with leg irons and cuffs and they are put into separate cells where they are then chained to the wall and left.

He tests his shackles, a close fit, there’s not a chance of his hands slipping through, not without breaking bones anyway. Escape is not an option. He keeps track of time through watching a sliver of daylight move across the stone floor and his own hunger. Food is brought in by a tall rangy looking Guard, masked and unresponsive when he tries to engage in conversation.  The wooden bowl, beaker and spoon is pushed to just within his reach. The latrine bucket is emptied. Two days pass. No visitor enters his cell but plenty of people look in through the shuttered peephole. All he can see is the observer’s eye and a patch of skin. He hears words but understands little.  ‘Skaikru (sky-people)’ and ‘fayogun’ is the limit of his grounder vocab.

Clarke draws back and lets the metal shutter close over the peep hole. In silence she follows Lexa and Grace up the stairs and into the lobby. Grace peels off the mask she’s worn to pose as a Guard and shakes out her hair, fuck knows how Tellas manages to breathe in that thing never mind fight. Arte is on guard at the elevator and soon they are on the thirtieth floor where Lexa’s arranged to meet her advisors in the red room. Callie and Lincoln are waiting for them by the elevator, as she walks along the corridor Lexa invites them to accompany her and when everyone is inside the meeting room, she makes sure that refreshments are distributed before sitting at the head of the table.

As Anya is still ill, it will be Lincoln who will report on the battle but before he does so Lexa briefs them all on how this problem came to her attention and her response.

“Almost immediately after the fall of the Maunde reports arrived from Louwoda Kilron of bandits attacking wagon-trains in the south. This is not without precedent but these bandits were different. First, they were very successful. Whole wagon-trains were taken instead of a single wagon or the pilfering of some goods. Second, they left no survivors, not even bodies were recovered. This is very unusual for bandits because although in war a victor would respect all the dead by giving their bodies to fire, a bandit would usually leave corpses to be burnt by whoever travelled that road next. These bandits burnt all the dead. We pondered for some time about why they would do that.” Lexa sips her tea before continuing.  “The raids continued as Winter started. That far south the weather is much milder and ‘Winter’ does not disrupt travel as it does here. After the great Winter Festival was over, I sent Anya and Lincoln with a troop of Scouts to Knox.  They were to speak of the problem with Wocha (Chief) Elsa kom Ouskejonkru and ai handmaids Isla and Blair would visit their family in Bilt. Their Uncle Callum is wocha of Louwoda Kilron. It takes nearly a moon to travel to Knox from Polis and even the fastest messenger would take many days. As ai Wormana (my General) and Advisor I gave Anya authority to deal with the bandits as she thought fit. Lincoln, tell us what happened.”

Lincoln stands to give his report, he’s nervous. As an ordinary gona reporting to Heda herself is not something he has done before, but his wocha is by his side and he will do Indra proud. He explains that as they travelled south Anya received reports from Heda’s spies warning her that the small mining kru had recently received threats from their much larger and wealthier neighbour. Albion kom Yujleda’s gonas strayed into Ouskejonkru territory almost daily, bullying the small mining villages into paying taxes that the Kongeda had abolished and one spy reported that Wocha Elsa’s heir, a skat (boy) called Edmond, was a permanent visitor at Albion’s court. “Wormana Anya said that Edmond was likely a hostage Heda, and the reason why Wocha Elsa and her Bandrona (Ambassador) Drew have not complained to you about Albion. After considering these reports Wormana Anya decided not to go to Knox or even contact Wocha Elsa, we all went to Bilt, where we were welcomed by Wocha Callum kom Louwoda Kilron.”

Clarke leans forward in her chair, she knows that ‘peace’ on the ground is a precarious status that Lexa works hard to maintain.  Her lover’s days and nights are frequently interrupted by reports of, raiders from the Unknown Lands or Dead Zone attacking Kongeda villages, or bandits from within the Kongeda stealing or killing. She sighs; the Ark had its’ criminals but everything was on a much smaller scale. Here on the ground, it feels as if the wondrous spaciousness, the vastness, is just another opportunity for unscrupulous people to grab at power, wealth or depravity. It’s depressing.  

While Clarke’s thoughts drifted Lincoln continued with his report. Describing Wormana Anya’s plan to use a wagon-train as bait. A wagon-train that did not carry supplies, instead hidden beneath the tent-like canopies were Scouts.

Lexa briefly intervenes. “We are grateful Clarke to your gonas Callie and Grace for training some of our Scouts in using fayoguns and to you again Clarke for the suggestion that the bandits were burning bodies to conceal the fact that some of the deaths were caused by bullets.”

Clarke gives Lexa a tiny smile. She remembers that conversation. Normally Lexa tries to keep her work apart from the time she spends with Clarke, but bandits leaving no survivors and burning all the bodies had been a distressing conundrum. She couldn’t get it out of her mind, couldn’t sleep and Clarke was Clarke, she wanted to help.

Lincoln continues his report. The bandits fell for the ‘broken axle’ story and started to attack. “At first, they did not use fayoguns. It was only when their onslaught faltered and our gonas started to beat them back that a dozen skaikru gonas joined in the fight. We then used our own fayoguns to defeat them. Many gonas died.”

“How many died?” Indra values her Scouts highly; she fears heavy losses.

“Ninety-three bandits, eight Skaikru, thirty-two Scouts. Wormana Anya and five Scouts were seriously wounded. Three Scouts died as we travelled north. I believe Wormana Anya and Scout Kilroy live.”

“Captives?” This time Gustus queries.

“One Skaikru and eight bandits.”

“Did any escape?”

“About a dozen bandits, and three Skaikru.”

“Are they truly bandits or is this the start of a war? That is what we must consider. Mochof Lincoln, be seated. Indra, you have seen the captives and the possessions that were taken from them.”

The Trikru Chief unrolls a piece of parchment that is covered in outline drawings of human figures. As she speaks her fingers point to marks drawn on the bodies and everyone cranes forward to see what she's pointing at. “Three of them are pierced in the way of Trishanakru gonas who fought at the Maunde. See the patterns on the forehead, chest and groin.”  

“Fuck that must’ve hurt!” Clarke’s eyes water. Pairs of eyes swivel at her outburst.  “The forehead is extremely sensitive to pain.”

“They claim not.” Indra shrugs indifferently.

“They lie.” Is Clarke’s terse response.

“See the tattoos on the shoulders of these two? It is the Ouskejonkru sigil but on one of them the circle is broken by a jagged line. She is a gona that was judged natrona (traitor) by their wocha and exiled to the Unknown Lands.”

Indra re-rolls the parchment. “Two of the pierced gonas carried Trishanakru made daggers and swords of fair quality.  The two bearing the Ouskejonkru marks carried poor quality weapons. The final three have no scars, tattoos or kru patches. Their clothes and weapons are good but unremarkable. I would consider them likely to be assassins or spies.”

They all lean back into their chairs, silently absorbing the information. Lexa’s mind churns with possibilities. Three southern krus may be involved in this. If war is brewing the leader will be Albion kom Yujleda, he would never defer to Fenrir kom Trishanakru who is known to be volatile and not that bright, nor would he follow Elsa kom Ouskejenkru. Leading a rebellion against the Kongeda would be much more Albion’s style. Bullying Elsa and influencing Fenrir, whose resentment of Heda Lexa’s decision not to pursue a war to avenge the death of his father, still rankles. A question from Wind Song interrupts her thoughts.

“Are all the fayoguns of Skaikru origin?”

Callie exchanges a quick look with Clarke and Grace; she will answer the question. “Yes Wocha Wind Song, they were made in China over one hundred years ago and stored in the Armoury on Arrow Station, along with the Ark’s other lethal weapons. They are a small rifle, a semi-automatic. They shoot bullets as fast as you can pull the trigger.”  

Another silence greets this information and Lexa looks at each of the skaikru, the newly made Konopkru. What, if any, loyalty do they feel towards the man in her dungeon?  “What can you tell me of this man Pike? Will he remain loyal to the bandits he fought beside? To the skaikru he came to earth with? To anyone?”

……………………………….

Clarke walks into the Hospital with Lexa, Lincoln and two handmaids. “Hey mom. How’s Anya doing today?”

Abby turns to greet them and seeing the Commander makes a polite bow before speaking. “The fluids from her chest drain are now running clear. I’m happy about that. Her bloods are better, that’s good too. If only she’d wake up, then I’d have some idea about whether the blood loss caused brain damage.”  Her brow furrows when she notices Lincoln’s discomfort. “You did a great job Lincoln. You used the field dressing, kept the wound clean and stopped the bleeding as soon as you could.  In a battlefield situation you couldn’t do any better. Come on, let’s go and see her.”

Swish, swosh, swish, swosh. The mechanical ventilator provides a steady background of noise against which the plinks and beeps of the monitors sound almost frivolous. Sitting at Anya’s bedside is her brother Petrus, the muscular blacksmith leans forward engaged in an earnest, if one sided, conversation with his sis (sister).  “Hei Petrus.” Lexa grasps his arm, as he bows. “Any signs of her waking up?”

“I think her eyes moved not long ago and when I told her the story about Gustus and the snatcha (racoon), her lips twitched. I am sure of it.”

Introductions are made and Petrus, grasps Lincoln and then Clarke’s arms with a clasp that somehow communicates his thanks to the two people who kept his sis alive.  Abby encourages Petrus to take a break, to meet up with Gustus in the Tower, to eat and rest. Clarke and Lincoln offer to sit with Anya for a while and keep up the chat and stimulation. Lexa must return to the Tower and prepare for the interrogation of the prisoners.

When the room empties Clarke slips out to get another chair and when she returns Lincoln has started to talk to Anya. Clarke encourages him to continue while she starts to read through the chart hanging on the end of the bed. Yes, the breathing, the bloods, oxygen levels, everything is improving. Hooking the chart back onto the bed’s foot she lowers herself into her chair and starts to listen to Lincoln. It’s a chance to improve her knowledge of Trigedesleng. For a while he’s easy to follow as he explains the outcome of the battle, telling his wormana of those who; survived, received only minor injuries, or whose fight ended. His description of the prisoners and the long journey home to Polis is detailed and vivid; no wonder he’s a good artist. Then suddenly she’s lost. WTF is he talking about and why is he berating Anya?

“Lincoln, you’ve lost me. Why are you telling her off?”

“She should know better than to listen to the rubbish talked by those who call themselves Shamans. Everyone knows if you want to know what the future holds you go to Delphi.” He makes some complicated gesture with his right hand.

“What was that? That gesture?” He looks puzzled. “The pattern you made with your right hand and why would you go to Delphi?”

A slight tinge of pink touches his cheek. “Oh that. It’s nothing. I ask Keryon (the Spirits) to keep me safe from evil.”

Clarke’s confused. Grounder religion focuses on Lexa and the Flame, doesn’t it? That’s what makes Fleimkepas (Flame Keepers) so important and Keryon is part of a sort of recycling process after death.  True Callie told her some ‘woo woo’ stuff about smoking pipes and Wind Song seeing a person’s real self. But knowing the future and Shamans, she’s never heard anything about that.

Lincoln, wonderful and patient, explains it all.

“Some who ride with the Ingranronakru can, through their pipes and the rites of the sweat lodge, have ‘sight’ of a person’s truth. It is said that Wocha Wind Song can tell if a person is a liar or speaks truth. Not through spotting a lie but she ‘sees’ that a person’s nature is to be truthful or deceitful. Delphikru have always had Seers in their bloodlines. Once, sometimes twice in a generation a goufa is born who can tell a gona if they will survive a war, or a trader if their goods will be lost in a shipwreck, things like that. In the far north of Azgeda there are villages hidden beneath the ice that are protected by gonas who turn into wolves during battle and in Boudalan they throw the bones of their ancestors, like dice, so that learned elders can interpret how they fall and foretell the future. In Yujleda they say that their jumping beans can predict a death and Louwoda Kilron kru believe that a person’s life can be seen in the weft woven by their nomon when she was pregnant.  We of Trikru know that every village has an elder whose life has been lived so close to the trees that they can ‘read’ that village’s sacred grove and advise which trees should be felled and which must be left.”  

Clarke is stunned.  It's overwhelming. It’s folklore? It’s bonkers! “Wow. Okay. So much I didn’t realise. But Anya went to a Shaman to see the future?”

The until now silent patient stirs. “No Branwada. I went to the Winter Festival Market, played the Tile Game and won a ticket to visit the Shaman's tent. I drew one of their Cards of Fortune and it was the Death Card. It is my turn to die. Raven is better off without me; I am a walking corpse.” The deathly pale woman lapses into silence again.

Lincoln grins like a fool, Clarke does too. Wormana Anya is back!  

Chapter Text

21^st April 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 4^th Moon. Waxing Crescent. Heda’s Tower Polis.

The walls of the Red Room have always been hung with maps, hunting trophies and tapestries but now Indra notices two pictures have been added since she was last here. Those oak trees look like the ones that grow on the western side of Ton DC’s market. She briefly appreciates their sturdy trunks, how the mix of black and brown mimics bark’s shadows and crevices and the bright green of the new leaves is just right. Hmm she will ask Heda who created them when this interminable meeting ends. She looks out of the window, it’s close to noon and they started immediately after an early breakfast. Things were going well, Heda knows how to keep a meeting to time and today she sped through at a cracking pace, until it all ground to a halt with the southern wagon-train problem. Then Heda’s energy seemed to fade and now they have stalled completely. Heda’s given them until sanch (lunch) to come up with agreement about what to do next. Silence descended as everyone in the room tries to come up with something to say they haven’t already ‘done to death’………………………………………….

Tap, tap, tap, tap. If anyone else’s knife tapped quite so irritatingly against the edge of the heavy yew table Indra would have snatched it from them and best case, thrown it out of the window or worst case lodged it firmly in the gullet of the guilty tapper.  But it is Heda’s knife so the Trikru wocha (Chief) breathes deeply, pulls her thoughts away from irritating mannerisms and refocuses on the problem at hand.

Tap, tap, tap. “Ahem!” All eyes snap to Leto kom Podakru. “Moba Heda, an irritation in my throat.”  The Podakru wocha apologises, before standing and walking up to the large map of the Kongeda fixed to the wall. With a calloused finger she traces a route from the small flag pinned near the village of Bilt, through Louwoda Kilron, into the south of Trikru, then she tracks it back again to Bilt, south into Yujleda and then west to Trishanakru. Leto’s nail scritches against the hide. Another irritation! Indra knows she is on edge; they are all on edge. Torturing prisoners does that to you, unless you enjoy giving pain to strangers. And what does torture get you? Unreliable information. Unreliable information when what you need is the truth or evidence of where the truth lies.

Tap, tap, tap. This time it’s Titus who interrupts the tapping. Just for sake of saying something again – it seems.  “The Trishanakru gonas I dealt with were trained to resist torture. Their ‘confessions’ of Fenrir’s and Albion’s involvement may be true but when they said it their guts were on the floor and they would have said anything to hasten death. I cannot suggest we go to war based only on such ‘confessions’.”

“The three without kru marks were the same. During questioning they claimed membership of…” Gustus pauses, Eva mouths ‘six’, “six krus, including Trikru. Mochof (thankyou) Eva. Their final babblings, when their minds were lost to pain, did include admitting allegiance to Albion ‘of the great furrow’ and one mumbled about the cunning of Scotia, Albion’s houmon (spouse) but by then, as the Fleimkeper (Flame Keeper) says, their words were worthless.”

Lexa looks at Indra, who had supervised the questioning of the two Ouskejonkru bandits. “You said they co-operated Indra?”

“Sha. From the start they said they were loyal to no-kru as no-kru cared for them but they claimed to respect you Heda as you defeated the Maunon and they had jus (blood) kin who had been turned into Ripas (Reapers).”

“As bandits they know they face death and the plana (woman) Pila expects to die for returning from the Unknown Lands without her wocha’s permission?”  

Indra nods in response to Lexa’s query. They’ve been over this so many times, Lexa assisted by her advisors, needs to decide whether the attacks on the Kongeda’s wagon-trains amount to war. But there isn’t enough credible evidence of Albion and Fenrir’s treachery to justify that, not yet.  Charles Pike of the skaikru is the only prisoner who has not yet been questioned, Lexa is, she says, ‘softening him up’. An important fact is that he will not have been trained to resist torture, they didn’t even have ‘war’ in the skai. Should they torture him? Lexa will, IF it is the best thing to do for her people. Even if her niron (beloved) is staying away from her bed disgusted by the very thought of Lexa resorting to torture, let alone the torture of someone who fell from the skai and even if her memories of Pike from the Old Times (OT), massacring three hundred Trikru peacekeepers, argue strongly that the safest thing to do is immediately tie him to a tree.

“Take us through the Ouskejonkru gonas’ stories again.” Lexa knows that the Trikru wocha is sick of repeating herself but maybe with one more telling, something other than a stalemate can be reached.

“Sha Heda. They are brother and sister. Pila was exiled from Ouskejonkru by Wocha Elsa’s nontu (father) Egbert. She was joined in exile by her brother Silus. Things did not go well for them. The people in the Unknown Lands were hostile, a kru called The Rangers drove them further west and north. They barely survived until they joined a group called Noukru (No Kru) who live by hunting in a scrubby wasteland just outside the western border of Ingranronakru. Wocha Windsong confirms that such a kru does live there, leaderless and weak, and that they do not dare enter the hunting grounds of the Ingranronakru. After some years with Noukru Pila and Silus heard that Egbert had died and Elsa had taken the Crystal Throne. They wanted to go home, perhaps Elsa would pardon Pila? They headed back south and again things did not go well. They were close to destitute when they were recruited by a hef (man) called Capel to join some kruless gonas who he said made a good living raiding wagon-trains. For two moons they were with Capel and raided wagon-trains. They took part in the killing of every trader, gona, muleteer and carter who was with those wagon-trains. Helped burn the bodies to conceal that some were killed by fayogun bullets.”  Indra’s face remains impassive as she recites the bloody story. “Of the skaikru they know little. Those who fell from the skai did not live with the bandits but joined them a few days before a raid was scheduled to take place. A hef called Pike led those who fought with fayoguns. Pila and Silus say that both Pike and Capel were captured with them.  Capel is the stocky blonde hef with a plaited moustache. Capel was not the leader of the bandits, that was a very tall hef called Cyrus. Capel and Cyrus claimed to be outlawed Trikru, but neither Pila nor Silus believed them, as their speech, weapons and fighting styles made them think they were from Yujleda or Louwoda Kilron. That is, they came from people who were farmers or weavers rather than gonas.” Indra taps the tabletop in emphasis. “Pila and Silus told the same story throughout Gunter’s questioning and he did not hold back. I said that in recognition of their cooperation you may Heda allow them a quick death, instead of by one thousand cuts, and have their bodies burnt so they could join Keryon (the Spirits).”

“Mochof Indra. Some of what they say we know to be true. Is that enough for us to challenge Albion kom Yujleda and Fenrir kom Trishanakru or do we need to get what we can out of Pike first?”     

This is where the whole meeting stalls yet again. Luna, Windsong and Ontari are against torturing Pike. Like Clarke, Luna disagrees in principle. Windsong argues that even if he is tortured and does implicate Albion and / or Fenrir, those wochas when accused will say that testimony gained through torture is useless and as a bandit he is without honour and should not be believed. Lexa can imagine the playacting she will have to put up with as Albion performs the role of ‘the shocked host’ to ungrateful visitors from the skai, who have betrayed his trust by engaging in banditry. Windsong’s second argument is that although she agrees that Pike and the skaikru led by Sydney could join with Albion to disrupt the Kongeda she cannot believe that the hef who she heard say (in the mess that was the Ark’s first attempt to negotiate with the grounders).

 “Jaha you’re a disgrace to the Ark, science and democracy. I demand that you stop pandering to some primitive warlord and resign. You should be making demands of these people, not letting them hypnotise you into surrendering our birthright.” 

Would join forces with any grounder. Windsong suspects that the skaikru are using Albion, while the wocha of Yujleda thinks he is using them. Instead of torturing Pike, says Windsong, we should be using him to put pressure on Diana Sydney and her people. Ontari agrees with Windsong that Pike should be used rather than tortured. Though she added that she would willingly “make him feel pain, if Heda wanted him to receive some punishment for the lives he took.”

Titus, Gustus, Indra and Leto think that Pike’s lack of training in resisting torture should be taken advantage of. He is likely to break at an early stage, well before his death through blood loss or shock. Then he could be kept alive to give testimony, although by then he would be missing a few fingers, toes or other organs.

Eva, Lexa’s spymaster within Polis, favours a different approach. Her duties within Polis have her keeping watch on any newcomers to the city, including those of the newly recognised Konopkru who live in ‘the Office’. For example, she knows that Monty and Jasper’s moonshine is strong but not poisonous, that Finn has gadas (girls) in both Ton DC and Polis to warm his bed and that one is claiming that she is carrying his child. That Murphy, seken to Skaikrasha kom Trikru, makes good stews, palatable bread and his spicy sausage (not a euphemism, though he loves to tease the tek seken Emori about it) is excellent. That those who were of the Maunde work harder than anyone else, their guilt still lies heavy. She never mentions Clarke to Heda in her reports. Of these skai youngons and their lives, she knows almost TOO much. But one thing has come to light recently. All of them hate Charles Pike and Diana Sydney! The older planas, Abby, Grace and Callie, as well as the youngons. Once the circumstances of his capture became known, the Konopkru Office buzzed like a nest of angry hornets and already Clarke, Callie and Grace have spoken to Heda about his lack of loyalty, his dishonesty and selfish ambition. Eva’s suggestion is that before any attempt is made to get information out of Pike by force, they should talk to the Konopkru again and this time include questions about Diana Sydney, who is said to be Pike’s commander. Diana Sydney is in Eva’s mind the most dangerous of the skaikru, and someone of whom they know very little.

Lexa’s advisors remain split; four advocating the torture of Pike, four are against, or say not yet. The Past Commanders favour torture and Becca is silent.  Lexa ponders, trying to ignore Clarke’s anger and her need, as she said, “for space away from a torturer”. Her own sadness and loss must not influence her decision as Heda.

The door rattles when struck by Strik Selene’s metal hand. Lexa nods and Isla opens the door a crack. There’s a brief whispered exchange before Isla approaches her Heda.

“Heda, Clarke, Wocha kom Konopkru, brings two of her kru Grace and Murphy, to give you and your advisors new information about Charles Pike.

On the outskirts of Polis

The ruined building once housed horses, Sloop kom Yujleda can smell the beasts even though they are long gone. Her nose is sensitive to unpleasant odours and she waves a shrivelled orange, its’ skin pierced with cloves, under her nose to disguise the stink.  Her servant Mac clicks his fingers, the one they are waiting for is approaching. A few moments later the messenger, filthy and exhausted, is on his knees ready to deliver his master’s words.

“Speak, what news from ai Wocha?” The bandrona’s (ambassador’s) voice is low but imperious.  The skat (boy) recites the exact words of the message, while the portly plana paces. After his message has been delivered Sloop dismisses him with a curt nod. Jok (Fuck), what a mess. Worse than she first thought. Nine prisoners, including some hired swords and a skaikru, are in Heda’s prison. Jok. Jok. Jok! This could ruin everything, just when they nearly have enough krus with them to break the Kongeda.

She returns to her pacing, her body frantic while her mind coolly assesses the situation. They need the three great krus of the south: Yujleda, Trishanakru and Ouskejonkru to fight together. Louwoda Kilron Kru don’t matter. It is food (Yujleda), gonas (Trishanakru) and ores (Ouskejonkru) that count.

Can she and Albion overcome this disaster? They are so close to success. Fenrir has been skilfully stoked to murderous anger over Heda Lexa’s failure to avenge his father and is ready to go to war. Elsa kom Ouskejonkru is afraid for her goufa (child) Edmond and if her Council of Seven had backed her she would already have brought her kru into the fight. But the Council was unconvinced and dislike Albion’s bullying (Sloop had told him to wait until the Kongeda was broken before demanding taxes from his neighbour, but the fool loves to push his considerable weight around), so they had withheld their support. Only if Heda Lexa failed to keep her promises would they go to war. For a while it had looked as if Heda was too busy, with the aftermath of defeating the Maunon and the coming of the skaikru, to tend to the woes of the miners of Ouskejonkru. But Heda had listened and kept her promises, now with the bandits all but exterminated what can Sloop do to save herself and her wocha?

First, kill any of the captured prisoners that still live. She’ll put Mac to work on that immediately. And Heda?  An assassin? She’s tried before but this time she could succeed. Finally, perhaps she needs to work harder on convincing the northern krus that life is better without the Kongeda. Maybe Circe kom Sangedakru, free of Nia kom Azgeda’s influence, is open to an opportunity to gain wealth and power. Yes, an assassin is to be engaged and Circe is to be approached. Then there’s the Boudalan leader Offa? At the battle of Cleve Heda Lexa first proved her ability to win battles, through the slaughter of thousands of Boudalan’s gonas. Sloop’s long robe swishes as she turns to leave. “Mac, bring my horse, I have things to do and people to see.”

Polis Hospital ICU

Anya kom Trikru, Fos (First) kom Heda, Wormana (General) kom Heda, Advisor kom Heda has never shown fear, or admitted defeat. Blades, fayoguns, precipices, paunas, avalanches of rock or snow; all have been faced and survived but this present horror, is unlike anything she has experienced.

Abby explained, Anya had listened and then consented, but she never imagined that it would be so overwhelming, so terrifying.  Bad, she knew it would be bad and yes frightening, but that it would make her weak. Never!

The room is silent, save for the swish, swoosh and beep, of the machines that do the work of living for her. Her mouth catches a droplet of water that falls from the carefully positioned hollow reed and her throat opens to allow it to trickle down her gullet.  She hears Arte, the Guard left by Heda, stiffen then relax. A ‘friend’ or ‘friends’ are approaching her room.

She can’t see the visitor who walks in and exchanges a light “Hei” with Arte.  Her whole body remains still, unmoving; while the bullet that sits deep within her slowly drops away from her spinal cord, assisted only by gravity and the slackness of her paralysed muscles.  Abby gave her choices and she chose this; she must have been mad.

Four days ago, the fisa (healer) had sat by her bed, calm and resolute. Anya found herself admiring the plana, who has a reassuring presence, mature beauty and an aura of quiet focused competence. She realises now why Strik Selene is so smitten with Abby and if Anya was not already ensnared by Raven’s brilliance, she too would have found the fisa’s dark brown eyes entirely engaging.   “Anya you’ve passed all the tests, it’s good to know that the blood loss didn’t cause permanent damage your brain. But we still have a problem and must decide what is to be done about the bullet that is lodged inside you. I’ll lay it out for you as best I can, answer any questions, then we can talk tomorrow about what is to be done. Okay? Great. Here we go.  Option 1. I can operate now and cut it out but there’s a real chance that as I cut or pull at the bullet some damage will be done to your spinal cord and one or both of your legs could be paralysed as a result.” Abby stops to let her words sink in. After a few moments and a nod from Anya she continues. “Option 2.  We wait. To see if the bullet moves away from the spine of its’ own accord. This is unlikely because your body is so toned, your muscles are so strong, that I don’t think they will let that bullet go anywhere. We could wait a moon, with you scarcely moving from this bed, and make no progress.” Another pause. “Then there’s option 3. We use a powerful muscle-relaxant, Nyko calls it Frog – Sweat and it is known to your people as both a poison and a remedy. We use a carefully measured dose to relax your muscles so that they will allow the bullet to move down and away from the spine. The horrible side of this is that for up to five days the Frog-Sweat will paralyse you. Machines will breathe for you, pump your blood, stuff like that. You will be conscious but unable to move. If this works the bullet only needs to move a small distance for it to be safe for me to remove it. The danger of this option is that we must get the dose of Frog-Sweat just right. Enough to relax your muscles but not so much that the relaxation becomes permanent and you die.”

As she lies there, a prisoner of her own inert body, Anya’s mind races, all her attempts to calm herself have failed. Meditation – no. Childhood memories – no. Her favourite trees – no. Raven’s skin under her fingers – no. Training forms for swordplay – no. She’d heard the fisa’s words but not realised what complete paralysis of her body, everything but her eyes, would do to her thoughts. That it would make her weak!   Through the salty water that seems to pour unbidden from her eyes Anya can see the ceiling above her bed. It has cracks in it and after three days of staring she’s an expert at making maps and patterns from the creeping decay.  The great lake of Cleve, oak leaves, the curve of a woman’s breast, the coast just north of Polis.     

“Hei” this time the voice is by her ear. “I know you can’t talk back; the ventilator and hydration tubes must be a bitch. But hei anyway.” It’s Raven, the plana she left behind without saying goodbye, without saying the words she had carefully put together to prepare the one she loved for her not returning from war. Jok! Why is she here? Nothing has passed between them since she left to go to Bilt after the Winter Festival. She wants to turn away, to hide her shame at the tears that fall, to ….. A hand touches hers. Holds hers, a thumb gently rubs against her palm.

“Um. Abby says you can feel but can’t move. Not at all. Must be a bitch if your nose itches. Is your nose itchy?” Raven’s face looms into view.

Yesterday

Raven was tinkering in her workshop when Abby tapped on the door. “Come in. Nothing’s gonna blow.”

Abby wanted to talk; about Anya and Clarke and Lexa and Indra and how somehow on the ground expressing emotion is seen as weakness. Abby’s distressed, at how everyone’s distressed but no-one, not even Clarke, seems capable of giving comfort to people who need it!  “I mean the Commander just stood there Raven, at her close friend’s bedside and all she could do or say was mutter “Ste yuj. (Stay strong)” This, to one of the most important people in her life. I said to her. I said “Commander, you can touch her, gently of course but just touching her won’t cause any harm.” And she looked at me as I’d suggested something obscene. Indra and Gustus were the same when they visited and her brother, who could sit and ‘chat’ with her for hours when she was in a coma, now like the rest of them stands, he just stands there, looking embarrassed. I know he loves her but he can’t, for some reason, bring himself to express it when she’s there and conscious. I asked Clarke if she knew what the problem was but she’s a mess now, she and Lexa have argued about something to do with Charles Pike, that …. piece of work. So, I talked to Strik about it and she said that their distance showed respect for Anya, who would not want to receive expressions of affection or care as that would mean they saw her as weak! But Raven, she needs expressions of affection, she needs to be touched. She just lies there, she can’t do anything else, but her eyes, Raven. The tears just fall.”

Today

Raven’s got Anya to adopt the ‘one blink = no’ and two blinks = yes’, system. At least she knows that Anya’s nose isn’t itching.

“I’m still fucking mad at you. Just to be clear! But have decided that an apt punishment, while I have you here helpless.” Raven’s eyebrows wriggle like demented caterpillars. “Is to teach you some basic mathematics. Not apparently a big thing on the ground. You ‘all being too busy learning how to swing swords and look gorgeous.”

Raven fiddles a while fixing up a tablet so that Anya can see it. “You see - I got a message from a friend, so I made a few enquiries and it seems that for some strange reason Probability Theory didn’t survive the bombs and that various ‘beliefs’ have taken hold as a result. Not that I’m throwing shade on anyone’s beliefs or whatever, but you need to know that just because you have the skills, luck and tenacity to survive many dangerous situations, death does not become inevitable or depend on the turn of a card! Here we go.”

When Raven’s fiddling finally switches the tablet on, a moving, talking picture of a man explains; with interjections, examples and a few swears from Raven, in excruciating detail the mathematics of Probability. But Anya doesn’t care, doesn’t hear and frankly doesn’t give a jok because throughout Raven holds her hand, dries the tears that fall and on one memorable occasion kisses the knuckles of Anya’s hand.

The lesson ends. Raven looks down at that exquisitely beautiful face, thin, drawn and tearstained but now peaceful in sleep.  

Chapter Text

23^rd April 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 4^th Moon. First Quarter. Arkadia

Kane pushes his spoon through the tasteless mush on his plate. Arkadia’s cooks are still in the learning phase of using ingredients that are not grown in a tank and their understanding of seasoning seems to involve some kind of lottery. Last night his supper of ‘turkey meatballs’, which looked so inviting, was so highly spiced that it was almost inedible and this breakfast of ‘porridge oats’ needs something to give it flavour, he just doesn’t know what.

At least they have food. The Commander is a ‘firm but fair’ negotiator, is how Kane tells it, and the deal they reached, that covers Sinclair’s satellites, Arkadia’s heavy machinery laying cable to Ton DC and their engineers connecting it up via the Metro to Polis, is a big one. Arkadians are in no danger of starving, not this year, not next and the breeding stock is already in the pens or promised to arrive later in the spring. The Commander had dangled discounts and tax breaks if Arkadia joined the Kongeda but neither Kane nor the Council are willing to take that step, not yet.

Kane finishes every drop of his tasteless breakfast (he must set a good example) before walking out of the canteen, across the square and over to Mecha’s corner of the compound. Mechanics and engineers gather around the launch pad, making final adjustments to the rocket that will put the modified SmallSats into orbit. Sinclair beckons Kane into the launch bunker; the Chief Engineer looks tense but manages smiles for both Kane and the young mechanic who’s busy priming the fuel pump.  A thumbs up and the young girl scurries away to safety.

“We’re ready to launch Chancellor. I’ll sound the warning and then you ‘do the honours’, by pushing that big red button! Everyone, clear the area!” Sinclair’s voice booms and a klaxon blares, people run to take cover. On Sinclair’s nod Kane presses the button and the rocket ignites; even through the thick smoked glass window it’s bright and it’s loud. Kane’s glad he warned Indra and the villages close by. For a few seconds the rocket seems to hover, before with a whoosh and roar it hurtles into the sky. There’s a cheer as it sweeps up and away.

“How long to deployment and testing?”

“Deployment in about two hours, testing inhouse two and a half. If that goes well, I have a call scheduled at sixteen hundred hours with Raven in Polis. She’ll give us the details for long range testing. I think the Commander sent out three rovers to test north, west and east. The assumption seems to be that we’ll test the range south by contacting Sydney and her people.”

Kane grimaces. Talking to Diana Sydney or Charles Pike is not something to look forward to.

Polis – The Training Grounds

The training grounds are extra busy this morning. Hundreds of Delphikru gonas are in town for a big joint exercise with Trikru and every ring is busy with demonstrations of new weapons, techniques and manoeuvres.  The largest rings attract crowds of spectators who sit in raked seating, some eating snacks, to get the best view. In the largest ring a testudo (tortoise) forms up, the crowd oohs with excitement as the gonas move, not quite with practised ease, around the ring. Then the gates open to reveal a charging arrowhead of gonas that immediately attack the defensive formation and even though all the weapons are made of wood Lexa can see that the fisas will be busy tonight. Delphikru and Trikru have been allies for many years, but it seems that each kru’s gonas still enjoy beating the jok (fuck) out of each other; some things never change. She wishes Anya was here, her fos always gets the best out of gonas from different krus and while Gustus is good (standing in for the injured wormana) he doesn’t have Anya’s speed at interrupting fights that have just turned nasty. Thinking of Anya distracts her for a moment, she looks up, it’s nearly midday and her fos will still ‘be under the knife’ as Abby, assisted by Clarke, operates to extract the bullet.   Lexa sends up a quick prayer to Keryon (the Spirits) that all is well. She lost Anya in the Old Times (OT) to a Skaikru bullet, that must not happen again. 

“Gustus!” Lexa pushes forward to intervene; part of the testudo has caved in and Gustus is out of sight somewhere on the other side. Some Delphikru gonas spin away from the collapsing formation, Lexa sees the movement but doesn’t note it as dangerous as she bends down to pull a fallen gona out from under large stamping feet. Then she registers the presence of a shiny blade, forbidden in this exercise, and acting on instinct leaps up and back.   There are three of them, each armed with two daggers, her swords are on the bench at the edge of the training ring but without conscious thought her knives slide into her gloved hands: just in time to parry. There’s a shout and a blur of motion that is Bigas Selene taking the legs out from one of the attackers. Lexa is still dodging four blades, gonas from the testudo tumble over each other trying to help when they realise that something is wrong. One flings himself on an attacker, a slash from a stiletto opens his throat. Isla is there; that attacker breaks off to keep her at bay but the third still pursues Lexa. She sees desperation in his eyes when he throws himself forward, his blade held at full stretch, almost onto her dagger, a word flashes into her mind HISON (POISON)! She jumps back, lands on a flailing gona, who’s rolling away from the wrecked testudo, and she tumbles onto her ass. The attacker’s blade sweeps in, Lexa rolls and flips up and back as the gona on the ground grabs at the attacker’s foot, in the messy knife-fight that follows Lexa’s dagger finds its’ mark and she kicks the dying man hard in the chest to get him on the ground. She bellows “HISON!” as the assassin falls and then, blades still drawn and ready, moves away from him as he lies bleeding and twitching on the floor.  Handmaids Blair and Phoebe run up, they were stationed nearer the far end of the training ground, swords drawn they stand between their Heda and danger. Bigas and Isla join them to form a protective box. Gustus arrives, he’s shouting instructions to get fisas for the wounded and that no one is to leave the ring. The Handmaids say nothing, all are focused on the possibility of another assassin or assassins. Slowly, they back away from the three corpses.

Lexa, mindful of her people’s worries halts the Handmaids for a moment. She shouts out to the crowd.  “"Ai kru, ste yuj. Ai kik raun!” (My people, stay strong. I live.) A roar of approval greets her words.

Sitting high in the crowd Sloop bites her lip, a failure. It was a rushed attempt, trying to take advantage of the Delphikru exercises, and its’ main function was to be a distraction; but jok, if it had succeeded their disruption of the Kongeda would be so much easier. The crowd buzzes with a mercurial mix of horror, excitement and joy as it starts to disperse. Moving with them, a part of the throng, Sloop listens and adds to the rampant speculations as to who could be behind this sacrilegious act. “Azgeda”, whispers Sloop to her neighbour and she is not the only one speculating that Trikru’s oldest enemy is risen again.

Polis – Hospital - noon

“She’s come through the operation well but will be out of it for some time Rae and then when she wakes, she’ll be disorientated and wobbly. You go and do your radio testing thing with Sinclair and if you get to talk to Wells give him my love. We’ll send you a message if she wakes early. I promise.” Raven takes a quick look at the sleeping Anya. Yeah, she has things to do and Anya isn’t going anywhere other than dreamland.

Clarke hugs her friend before both girls walk past Arte and out into the main corridor. Raven heads for the exit and a fresh Spring Day, for Clarke it’s the washroom, she needs to clean-up before taking the mother and baby clinic. Grounder soap smells lovely but it’s Jasper’s carbolic that she’s using now, ugh! She takes her time, being thorough in cleaning her hands and catching her breath after the intense concentration of surgery. Even just watching Abby’s technique and doing some of the grunt work (opening and closing) was exhausting. Behind her she hears the tromp of boots and the cry. “We need a fisa, now!”  

 “I’m fine, not even scratched.”  That is Lexa’s voice! Something happens to Clarke’s stomach and a cold, cold hand grabs her chest. Lexa!?

“Heda we must be certain. The daggers were likely laced with hison.”

POISON! Clarke snaps into action, turning away from the washbowl and pushing through the swing door into the corridor. Immediately Isla blocks her way, sword drawn. “Moba fisa! (Sorry healer) but ..”

“Poison! Lexa what happened!”

“I am well Clarke, uninjured. This is just a precaution.”

“Into an examination room now! Maya, go and get Nyko or Luna, let them know it’s a possible poison case.” Clarke is all cool and professional on the outside, inside is turmoil, tears, dread. “What happened. I need every detail. Bigas are you okay with waiting for the Commander outside this room?” Bigas agrees, deploying the Handmaids along the corridor, the original four now joined by Strik Selene, Eris and Jules. 

Jules sniffs at the stiletto Bigas unwraps. “Feisbona (Wolf’s Bane). There is no antidote.”

“Bigas can someone get my mom? We may need to regulate Heda’s heart.”

Inside the examination room Lexa continues to protest that she is fine but Clarke’s having none of it. “Lexa, can you on your life tell me that you not have suffered any kind of injury? Not one cut or graze.”

Lexa wants to say. ‘Of course I can. They didn’t get near me.’ But she can’t. It was a fast and dirty fight with razor sharp stilettos. She may have missed a cut or graze. Faced with Clarke’s anxious gaze she starts to undress. Taking off her gloves, armoured jacket and shirt.   

For once Clarke isn’t admiring her lover’s beautiful body, she’s inspecting it with focused efficiency. Every emotion is held in check as she takes Lexa’s ungloved right hand in her own and starts to scan it for nicks and cuts. The two lovers have only just got over their arguments and anger over ‘torture’ and if she allowed herself any slack Clarke would be in tears, her regrets at the distance she put between them for a few days would torture her! Why would she voluntarily stay away from Lexa for even one day, never mind four, when at any time this could happen? Stupid, stupid, naïve girl! Clarke believed that she came from a place where beating information out of a prisoner was a ‘no-no’, where torture in any form; ‘crossed a line’, was never sanctioned, was not even contemplated. Apparently not, Murphy and an embarrassed Grace Byrne, told her about their experiences of Ark sanctioned violence. After his arrest at an illegal party Murphy was beaten by Councillor Pike who wanted him to confess to hosting the party and name his co-conspirators. The Council and Guard were desperate to shut down PPI (Party Planners Incognito), which was Raven and Murphy’s profitable sideline. Grace then admitted that as a Guard she has used ‘enhanced interrogation techniques’ i.e. torture, when investigating the murder of Oprah Castello (a fellow Guard). The suspect refused to name the person who had ordered the hit, everyone knew it was Nygel but they had no proof and didn’t get any. It was as Lexa said never right but sometimes lives depended on information. Focus, Clarke! Focus on Lexa.   

The thin cut runs down the index finger of Lexa’s left-hand, the leather of her glove sliced through, a single bead of black blood smears the tanned flesh. It’s the only wound she can find and it’s shallow. Clarke washes it out before putting her stethoscope to Lexa’s chest, a fast heartbeat but surviving an assassination attempt will do that to you. Taken at the wrist the Commander’s pulse is fast, again to be expected. Clarke pulls the blood pressure monitor cuff up the long finely muscled arm.  94/55 – that sounds the alarm.  “Okay, he got you and you are hypotensive. But it’s only a shallow cut and you’re as fit as anyone can be, but we need to keep you under close observation. I’ll get my mom, we’ll set up a drip, get some meds into you.”

“Clarke?” Lexa starts to protest that she feels fine, but as she reaches down for her shirt she feels a little dizzy, then she looks up at her beloved and is silenced. Clarke’s blue eyes, wide and slightly moist, show naked fear and yes, there is a slight nick to her hand. This must be taken seriously. “Okay niron (love) but can I talk to Bigas, I worry that others may be in danger?”

Polis Tower early in the afternoon

According to Raven it’s called a ‘camera obscura’ and the mechanic was very excited to discover that Barb and her Polis (originally from Sangedakru) glassblowers have such mastery over the process of creating and grinding lenses.  They may not have the maths to make their creations predictable but they have years, generations even, of experience that has been carefully handed down through the fos / seken system.

It was Clarke’s idea to keep Pike under observation; this was before she and Lexa had that argument about torture. “He’s got an ego the size of a planet and for him solitary’s going to be hard. He’ll want to boast, talk, shout, complain; even if it’s just to himself. It may be worthwhile having someone from Konopkru watching him, then if he says things that only make sense to Arkers we can pick up on it.” Heda had agreed, Pike was put into the special ‘observation’ cell and Grace, Dax, Callie and Wells, before the young engineer left for the coast, took turns watching the projected image (it’s upside down and that is weird) of the former Ark Councillor as he rants, raves and weeps. Sometimes all at once.

Grace is on duty this afternoon, she smiles as Dax creeps out of the darkened observation room more than ready for light, air and lunch. The angry boy, who got into drugs and fights on the Ark, is maturing into a thoughtful young man, focused on improving his skills as a gona, driver and trader. That and finding a girlfriend. The door closes behind him on well-oiled hinges and the tall ex-guard settles down to watch and listen, papers and a pen at the ready. The dungeons are cool, sometimes quiet, occasionally loud with screams or shouting and work to a regular system that distributes food, latrine buckets and furs. Grace can hear and smell that it’s lunch time, she had a flatbread full of roast lamb and early greens on her way to the Tower but the smell of bread still gets her stomach rumbling. The assassination attempt on the Commander has put all of Polis, Grace included, on edge. When she got her snack, the booths selling hot food were more than usually busy and most had groups of people hanging around, keen to talk about the news, while they ate.

“Who could do this? Things have been so good, so peaceful.”

 “Azgeda, it’s always Azgeda?”

“What about Yujleda, there’s trouble down south.”

 “Boudalan will never forgive Heda for Cleve. Never!”

As she waits, patiently watching the imprisoned man as he glares at the ceiling, rattles his chains or scratches himself, it’s too easy to let her thoughts drift to her own life. How the ground is a place of such variety. Light, textures and smells. She’d never thought much about how the air smelled on the Ark and Ark food scarcely smelt of anything. Here everything from the stink of latrines to the heavenly scent of baking bread is an experience. Hmm shitty latrines an experience – she needs to get out more. Dax and his search for a girlfriend or is it just sex he’s after. She’d not say no to sex. Something about the ground’s woken up her libido. She finds that she’s looking at women; fuck, this morning she found herself staring at some stranger’s ass. They were wearing criminally tight leather pants. Fuck she needs to get laid and stop mooning about a beautiful chief with silver hair and the body of a …. Stop thinking about sex! She drags her attention back to the prisoner. He’s not said much, seemingly numbed with boredom today, not even bothering to do the press-ups, stretches and other exercises that usually take up much of his time. He whistles; Grace doesn’t know the tune. “Jaha, you fucker. You never deserved her. Never loved her!” This is the start of one of his standard rants against the dead Chancellor. Grace never realised that the two men had competed for the love of the same woman. She can understand why anyone would fall for Melissa Jaha, she was lovely. Bright, beautiful and kind. Wells is very like her in temperament and it looks as if he has inherited her lovely long bones. It was a tragedy she died so young. Pike rants on, Grace makes a few notes.

As the afternoon passes, the prisoner has a few episodes when he shouts or screams at the walls. His dislike of authority, other than his own, seems comprehensive and repetitive. Jaha was a “corrupt moron’, Kane is an “unimaginative bureaucrat and a loser” and Diana Sydney is “selling them down the river to the ‘fat chief’.” Eva had seemed interested to hear that phrase when she reported it back to the spymaster yesterday. The prisoner slumps into a silent depression. Noises from outside the cell intrude, doors slam, a scream of pain.  

She’s just about got used to watching an upside-down Pike rearrange his undershorts for the umpteenth time when the door to Pike’s cell opens and a Guard walks in. Nothing strange in that, except it isn’t Tellas or someone wearing Tellas’ mask and their sword is drawn. Grace scrambles upright and throws herself out of the observation room. She pelts down the corridor to Pike’s cell, hurls herself through the door and jumps onto the back of the ‘Guard’ who has thrust his blade towards the stunned prisoner.    

Polis Tower 1600 hours

“Okay Sinclair give me the specs and we can start the distance testing. I’ve got Ontari travelling up to Azgeda to visit her father, Lincoln and Octavia are in Ingranronakru and Wells is on the coast.” Raven reads out frequencies and timings, while on the other side of the room Monty speed-types and an ancient looking monitor displays code that scrolls in seemingly endless streams. 

Kane comes on the line, wondering if he can have a word with the Commander. The Commander is not available is the blunt response. The call ends with polite murmurings of farewell and a date to talk again tomorrow afternoon.

Arkadia 1715 hours

The ‘Mecha Den’ has wobbly walls and a slanted roof but it’s water and windproof and has enough workbenches for the engineers and mechanics to work on their projects. Sinclair slumps back into his creaking chair, rubs his cheeks with hands that shake with tiredness and registers that Mila, one of the junior mechanics, is waving at him across the room. That means she’s managed to contact Diana Sydney’s group. Sinclair groans to a stand, sends Mila to fetch Chancellor Kane and listens as Kyle Wick’s familiar voice comes over the air. “Hey, Sinclair. This is sick man. How’d you manage to get such great range?”

Wick seems pleased to chat; food and the lack of any social life, are the important topics for him. How great the meals are on the ground and why didn’t the Ark land further south where the land and weather are good and the locals seem to have come to terms with people falling out of the sky. The two engineers exchange techie type news, suggesting frequencies and times for check-ins.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve sent someone to tell Chancellor Sydney that you’re on the line she’ll be on her way. How’s Raven? Wow, I can’t believe you’ve deployed satellites. That’s.. Oh the Chancellor is here.”      

Polis Harbour - sunset  

They’ve got a chain going to pass their scruffy bags from shoreside and along the gangway; Aden kom Trikru (15) passes to Luce kom Delphikru (14) to Camilla kom Louwoda Kilron (13) and then Tenson kom Podakru (9). Blue-Flower kom Ingranronakru (7) is already aboard helping Luna store their kit. It’s going to be a squeeze and not much help is coming from Luna’s twins, Aria and Tallus (13), who lie on their bunks sulking because they are leaving all their friends in Polis to go ‘to a boring rig in the middle of the jokking (Aria got a slap for that language) sea!’

Donnie casts off as soon as everyone is aboard. There’d been hugs and sniffles at leaving Aden behind but no tears, they are natblidas (black bloods), leaders in waiting and stoic by training if not nature.  Luna chivvies the twins into helping raise the sails and silently the boat with its precious cargo slides out of the harbour, Aden and Skaikrasha sheltering from the rain under the broad eaves of a warehouse watch it skim over the waves until dusk and distance mean they see it no more. Their horses are stabled at a nearby inn and in less than a mark the two of them are on the road out of Polis, their first stop is only a few leagues away at the farm called ‘Strik Fetcha’ (Little Hound).   

Polis – Hospital - midnight

Abby sits slumped at the big front desk, almost too exhausted to move, never mind make her way home.  Guarding the front entrance to the hospital is Jules, Eris stands outside Heda’s room and Strik patrols the big building looking for intruders. Jules lets Dax through, he’s come to collect Abby.

Nyko gives Abby’s arm a gentle push. “Hei Abby, Dax is here. Go with him, you need to rest.” Almost sleepwalking Abby stumbles out after the young man, who picks up her abandoned satchel and taking her arm escorts her out into the chilly night. Nyko watches them go. She is an amazing fisa, her ability to open an injured body and repair it has stunned both him and Luna. His life, his world, is changing with these skaikru. They are so powerful, yet so weak, so clever but also so inexperienced. He shakes his head, glad that he is one of the few who will see the miracles Abby (and Clarke) can perform.

Clarke, Maya and Charlotte are writing up charts at the nurses’ station. Their patients are asleep, the halls are patrolled by Strik, Arte and Penn and the hospital lapses into the quiet of night. Finishing the final note on Charles Pike’s chart frees Clarke to check on Lexa, so after a quick word to her friends she slips out into the corridor and walks to where Eris stands, sword drawn.  Clarke whispers. “Everything quiet?”

The Handmaid ducks her head in agreement and Clarke slips through the unlatched door. The room is dim, lit only by one small LED that glows palely at the foot of the bed and a thick beeswax candle on the night-table. (Absolute darkness is something Lexa abhors; at night there’s always a candle (or six) burning in her room.) Clarke doesn’t look at the chart, she knows it by heart. The sudden drop in the already low blood pressure, Lexa losing consciousness in the middle of her conversation with Bigas, the emergency injection of epinephrine. Lexa’s awakening, more drugs and fluids. Then some hours later her readings stabilised and there’s a healthy need to sleep. Silently Clarke lowers herself onto the wooden chair next to the bed’s head, the candlelight flickers shadows across Lexa’s cheek and for a few seconds Clarke closes her eyes and allows herself just to breathe, just - to be, with Lexa. A little time later Lexa, still dozing, opens one eye to find Clarke asleep slumped over her bed. With a little persuasion the tired medic accepts her invitation and slips under the covers. Her head nestles into Lexa’s shoulder and both women, each comforted by the presence of the other, sleep soundly.

Maya and Charlotte stack their and Clarke’s completed charts. Those dull looking notations record a momentous day. Spinal surgery, Heda surviving an assassination attempt and Charles Pike. Pike was rushed to the hospital and into emergency surgery about one mark after Heda’s arrival. He was carried in on a stretcher, a sword lodged in his groin. Grace Byrne walked alongside the injured man, trying to hold that sword still, as to move it would likely sever a major blood vessel. Clarke, still reeling from Lexa lapsing into unconsciousness, had to leave the Commander in Myles' care so that she could assist Abby in her second complex surgery of the day. The struggle to save an odious man’s life.  

Chapter Text

27th April 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 4^th Moon. Waxing Gibbous.

Polis Hospital

He still can’t get over that he’s in a hospital bed. A proper one; metal framed, with a thick mattress, sheets and pillows.  This whole situation is scarily bizarre. He’s taken captive when attacking a wagon train, then forced to travel by foot, horse and rover, hundreds of miles to a city! A city that still has a skyscraper FFS! He’s put in chains and left to rot in prison. ThenGod knows why, he’s attacked and only survives being stabbed in the gut because Grace Byrne charges into his cell and breaks the neck of the man attacking him. Then she and some other guards carry him, still in chains, to a ‘hospital’. Where he’s operated on by the Ark’s greatest surgeon Abigail Griffin. He’s alive! What’s going to happen next?

Next is a pretty nurse walking into his room, she gives Grace Byrne, whose sitting by the door, a small smile. “Hei Grace. Everything okay?”

“Sure. Mr Pike took a couple of turns around his bed earlier. He’s following doctor’s orders and behaving himself.” The tall ex-guard stands up and rolls her shoulders. Her new job as one of Heda’s Handmaids is a mix of training so hard that her body is wrecked almost daily and guard duty that involves standing or sitting still for hours. She was flattered to be approached by Bigas Selene, the same day Heda and the prisoners were attacked, to become one of the elite guards and elated when she passed the very rigorous physical only two days ago. She’s never going to forget that punishing experience.

First, she ran uphill for two leagues, in under quarter of a mark. Then another three leagues on the flat in under half a mark. That was followed by eight reps each of; pull ups, push ups, and sit ups. She then ran Heda’s obstacle and climbing course and having completed that she was loaded up with full battle kit and told she had to march eight leagues in under a mark. Then she had to swim across Polis Lake. Fortunately, this last element was not timed as, judging by Bigas Selene’s hilarity as she watched her, Grace is laughably bad at swimming.  Jules has offered to teach her to swim faster.

Still suffering some aches and pains from the physical Grace leans back against the door frame and adjusts the machine pistol slung from her shoulder. Under partially lowered eyelids she watches Pike as he watches Maya, then her handling of the gun. Undoubtedly, he recognises it as one originating from the Ark.  A Chinese bull-pup type. Easy to use, accurate and rare to jam.

The nurse, her curly dark hair held back from her face by a headband, places a bowl of clear broth, a wooden spoon and two pills on the bedside table, before leaning forward to rearrange the ‘pillows’ to support him sitting up. She listens to his breathing with a stethoscope, takes his pulse, checks the colostomy bag and asks him about pain levels. He checks out her chest and name badge, he’s not seen her before. The badge says MAYA.

‘Maya’ addresses him like he’s a meeting. Cold and formal. “Mr Pike, Dr Griffin suggests you drink this slowly and if it sits well solid food can be introduced to your diet this evening. Take the pills about halfway through drinking the soup.”

“Look Maya, I need to talk to Abby Griffin about this bag, about recovery, about talking to someone in charge.”

 “Dr Griffin is very busy Mr Pike, as is the Commander.”

“I have important information, about what’s going on in the south. I’m prepared to trade that for something, er mutually beneficial.”

Grace smirks. “You’ve changed your tune. It was all ‘I have a right to be here; we are the elite’ and ‘I’m not pandering to some primitive warlord,’ before. What’s changed your mind?”

“Grim reality, Byrne. Sydney’s not going to get me out of here and maybe she or Albion sent that fucker to kill me. I need to talk to the right people and strike some kind of deal if I’m going to live through this.”

Maya exchanges a look with Grace. She will tell Clarke and Eva that Pike is looking for a deal. 

28th April 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 4^th Moon. Waxing Gibbous.

The Tower – Throne Room

Behind Heda’s throne drapes of gauzy cotton filter the sunlight that manages to penetrate the thick, shockproof windows. Standing behind the throne are two guards and at the door are the Handmaids Isla and Jules: all hold drawn swords.

The great carved wooden door resounds to a thunderous knock; Isla pulls it open to allow Strik Selene to lead in the bandronas (ambassadors). It’s a solemn and silent procession. The seriousness of this meeting, so soon after an attempt on Heda’s life, is not lost on any of them. Frey kom Azgeda is first in. Related through the paternal line to Heda Lexa, this former advisor to Nia kom Azgeda has proved a valuable ally to Haihefa (King) Roan, as his people more fully embrace their role in the Kongeda. Frey is followed by Tobias kom Delphikru, the well-travelled and wealthy trader knows every part of the Kongeda from direct experience. Sloop kom Yujleda holds her head high as she stalks towards her chair, and Preston kom Floukru and Finch kom Louwoda Kilron walk in together, they are friends of many years standing. Drew kom Ouskejonkru seems to be avoiding making eye contact with anyone and Flint kom Boudalan, who fought at the battle of Cleve, is frowning. He's always frowning. Balder kom Trishanakru is unusually subdued, he tends to chatter about whatever horse or football team that has won or lost him money. Today he is silent. Obol kom Sangedakru and Callie kom Konopkru are the last to enter, both look deep in thought. The wochas arrive next; Windsong, Leto and Indra, like the bandronas they stand in-front of their kru’s chair waiting for Heda’s arrival.

 Wormana (General) Anya kom Trikru, walking a little stiffly, arrives next. Stately looking in her long cloak, she stands immediately to the right of Heda’s throne. She intones. “All bow for Heda Lexa kom Jus!”  They all obey as Heda Lexa walks with quiet dignity to her throne and sits. 

“Be seated ai wochas and bandronas. We have much to discuss.”    

Sloop has been preparing for this meeting ever since the skat (boy) brought her news of the defeat of Albion’s pet bandits. Her orders are to sprotest Yujleda’s innocence very loudly, but she’s ready for anything, Mac’s ready, her household, stripped to the minimum and on a war footing, is ready. Yujleda must be in the firing line, especially as one of the captives is identifiable as a skaikru who dwells in her kru’s lands.  Dead (she hopes) or alive, that hef (man) is linked to Yujleda, if only by the location of his metal home. She’s ready, she takes in a deep breath waiting for the accusation – ‘Yujleda, natrona (traitor)’!

It's Anya who opens the meeting and to Sloop’s surprise the first topic for discussion is not the troubles in the south. Instead, it’s the recent assassination attempt on Heda Lexa and the conclave.  “If the cowardly attempt by three assassins to kill Heda Lexa had succeeded, we would be preparing the natblidas who are of age: Ontari kom Azgeda, Aden kom Trikru, Luce kom Delphikru and Camilla kom Louwoda Kilron for a conclave. Heda Lexa survived that assassination attempt but no-one is immortal and her mind has turned to how her successor will be chosen. I will first call on Fleimkepa Titus to relate the history of the conclave in its’ current form and the reasons why such a method has been used.”

Callie sits, on her surprisingly comfortable chair (thank-you Finn and Raven) and listens as Titus walks to the centre of the room and tells his story. It’s a tale that clearly, he knows well, his delivery is well rehearsed, almost smooth and his voice rings with authority and conviction. He sounds convincing. Details of how a conclave was conducted and its’ history is new to Callie because when Luna, at Heda’s request, introduced Callie to the ground, the Kongeda, the krus, the Maunon and the role of Heda, she did not include anything about the conclave other than it was the way that the Fleim chose a new Heda.  It was only yesterday that a pale looking Clarke had explained to the Konopkru bandrona what the conclave was and that Heda Lexa had won hers by killing three young people she had grown up with. The two skaikru had looked at each other in horror. “They made children fight each other to the death?” Callie gasps.

“Yes. Lexa was thirteen when she killed in single combat three boys, she called her bros (brothers). All of them were older, taller and stronger than her. She would have fought Luna too, but Luna ran away after she killed her own brother! Lexa and Luna don’t speak about it; she’s only told me because she wants our help to change things. She did say that on the anniversary of her ascending as Heda there’s a big festival and party in Polis and Lexa sits through it all, you know how she can look – just stoney.  Then when it’s all over she and Luna go to some seedy bar, get drunk and talk about their friends who died. Albi, Sol, Elver, Paris, Mona, Hari and Conan.”

For a few moments Callie sat in silence allowing this gruesome information to sink in. To be real. Something like panic bubbled in her chest. It can’t be true. It is true! “What can we do to help Lexa change things?”

Titus finishes his speech and waits. Anya invites discussion and Indra is the first questioner. If as Titus says the conclave has always been a fight to the death why was her nontu (father), a natblida, living as an adult in Ton DC, bonded to his houmon (spouse) and raising two children. “His death was at the hands of Sheid Heda (Dark Commander), not in the conclave but in battle, when Sheid Heda attacked Ton DC.”

Titus assures Indra that she is mistaken; was she not very young when her nontu’s fight ended? and her nomon (mother) and sis’ (sister’s) fights ended years ago; they cannot give testimony about the colour of Timbal kom Trikru’s jus (blood). Indra’s temper flares, her grip on her chair’s arms is so tight that the wood starts to creak. For years she has argued with this stubborn branwada (fool). “I may have been young but I saw my nontu’s body when we prepared him for his pyre. His jus was nat (black)! I speak true and will challenge anyone who says that I lie!”  A hand, steady and gentle, rests upon the incensed wocha’s arm. Indra’s about to slap it away, when she hears a quiet voice in her ear. “Ai lukot, (my friend) he is a branwada, stuck in a tale of his own invention. But for his story to be discredited it must be heard and for his arguments to be refuted he must be allowed to make them. Trust Heda, she wants to change the conclave and it will be done.” It’s Callie, the two planas (women) have become friends over the past few moons. Indra’s hot temper recedes and the colour returns to Titus’ cheeks. Callie’s right. It will not help Heda’s case if she fights Titus in solo gonplei (single combat). Instead, she nods her thanks to Callie, sits back in her chair and waits for the debate to continue.

Titus continues to defend his version of the conclave as the questions pour in; Windsong, Frey, Preston and Finch focus on the conclave’s waste of life and talent. Surely Becca Pramheda cannot have intended such a terrible loss to be borne by, the krus and families of the natblidas and everyone knows that healthy children are to be valued, as they are each kru’s future? Titus hears them all out then replies. “Wochas and bandronas, you as our leaders and the elite of each kru, must see the importance of Heda ascending and facing no further contest for the Fleim from survivors. If the other natblidas lived after whatever contest was held for the Fleim, what would stop them from raising armies against the new Heda, or assassinating them or claiming that the conclave was won by a cheat and must be fought again? And even if they did not seek the Fleim for themselves, others less scrupulous could use them as figureheads or puppets!”  

Sloop has her say, Yujleda has never had a natblida survive the conclave, how can it be right and fair for the wealthiest kru never to have produced a Heda? Titus does not even dignify her question with a reply.

Lexa does not participate in the debate; it’s Anya who controls the ebb and flow of argument. Titus remains undaunted, no matter who questions the sense, history or meaning of the conclave. After more than a mark’s heated discussion Anya thanks him for his words. “Fleimkepa, I honour you for standing your ground and arguing your case for the conclave remaining as you, and your mentor Fleimkepa Selwyn kom Boudalan, have conducted it. Selwyn will always be honoured as the hef (man) who ended Sheid Heda’s rule of terror. Heda if I may I will now bring into the discussion our next speakers the Fleimkepas Hwyl kom Louwoda Kilron and Gaia kom Trikru.” Lexa gives her permission with a nod, while Titus expresses outrage that members of the Order of the Fleim have been asked to speak on this issue without first obtaining his consent. Anya feigns surprise at his attitude.  “Would you have the Order of the Fleim ruled by you Titus? It is my understanding that although you direct your bros and sis in everyday matters, on points of scholarship each is independent. It is on a matter of scholarship that we seek your colleagues advice.”

Strik Selene fetches Gaia and Hwyl into the throne room as Titus continues to protest. The two young Fleimkepas wait politely for him to finish but he rants on. Heda intervenes.

“Fleimkepa, I have read the notebook of Becca Pramheda. It was you who gave it to me to study when I was a youngon. I recall that the great Becca states that her Fleimkepa Callie, who was tasked with finding a suitable bearer for the Fleim, must when recruiting her colleagues seek those who demonstrate ‘independence of mind, spirit and scholarship’. That is what she wrote is it not?”

Titus is silenced by his former pupil’s accurate recollection.

Gaia and Hwyl are also confident speakers. They introduce themselves and their work. Three years ago, Heda Lexa asked them to search for books, papers and living memories that recorded what happened in those dark and harsh early years, after Priamfaya had turned the world to radiation-soaked cinders and ash.  Anything they found was, if it was a document copied, or if it was a spoken account written down. Hwyl gestures to a pile of bulky notebooks. “These record everything we discovered Heda, I hope you found them interesting reading.”

Lexa thanks both Fleimkepas. “Mochof both of you. I have read it all and it is well done. But it is not for me to take credit for what you found or to place my own interpretation upon it. Tell all of us gathered here what you have learnt of how in the past a natblida was chosen as the one worthy to ascend.”

Indra has never been so proud of her daughter as she listens to Gaia calmly destroy Titus’ version of events. Each point the young Trikru Fleimkepa makes she backs up with evidence from; Callie Cadogan’s own diaries, (found mouldering in damp chests stored in the Temple of the Fleim), Becca’s first notebook, kept with great care in the Temple and a second notebook which was discovered in the wrecked vaults of the Library of Congress many years ago and handed by its’ finder to the Fleimkepas for safe keeping. She also references the memories of people still living who had been told by their nomon, nontu or komfons (grandparents) what they had experienced in those terrible times.  Her final statement is unambiguous.

“Heda, wochas, bandronas, Fleimkepa Titus, the first Fleimkepa Callie Cadogan devised a ‘competition’ that would test the ‘wisdom, strength and compassion’ of any natblida who applied to be Heda. The competition was conducted by three Fleimkepas who met in secret (in conclave) to devise the three tests. One test was written – that tested a candidate’s wisdom. One test was in combat – to test their strength. The final test – of compassion, was not so much a test as an examination of the natblida’s conduct. Were they a bully, a criminal, honourable, honest, courageous?   The applicant who won this competition ascended as Heda, those who lost returned to their families. The last Heda who ascended through this competition was Kemji kom Trishanakru. Kemji ruled for eight years before being slain in ambush by the natblida Malachi kom Sangedakru, who with the assistance of a corrupt Fleimkepa, known only as Astra, ascended to rule with terror and blood as Sheid Heda.”

Titus, his robes swirling in agitation, interrupts. “Can you not see that if Kemji had slain Malachi in solo gonplei, in a properly conducted conclave, Sheid Heda would never have ascended! The natblidas who do not ascend must die for Heda to be safe to rule.”

Gaia is having none of it. “I have checked the annals Fleimkepa Titus. Malachi did not participate in the competition that selected Kemji because he was too young.”

For a few moments there is silence before Tobias kom Delphikru raises his hand, seeking permission to speak. “Tobias speak. We value your wisdom and experience.”

Callie watches the grey-bearded trader, she thinks he’s the oldest person in the room by some years, as he gathers himself to speak. His heavy dark green tunic is beautifully decorated with embroidered tape and the short fur cloak he wears is so soft that it almost flows over his shoulders. He’s not feeling the chilly draughts that make Callie shiver.  He stands, bows to Heda and glances around at the room. “Ai lukots, we are having this debate today because an attempt was made to kill our Heda. The conclave as conducted by Fleimkepa Titus twelve years ago did not stop those assassins, nor in the past did it stop Nia kom Azgeda. I mean no offence Frey but everyone knows she sent assassin after assassin to kill Heda.”  Frey doesn’t look very happy at the comment but says nothing. “I honour the memory of Fleimkepa Selwyn, who was your mentor Titus, he was brave and in ending the fight of Sheid Heda saved many from that hef’s cruelty and games. But in changing how Heda is chosen, he presumed too much, took upon himself a power and authority that was not his to wield and created a conclave that has our krus hiding their natblida goufas (children) from search. I propose that we place our trust once more in Becca Pramheda and her Fleimkepa Callie.  This to be written into the laws of the Kongeda.”

“Aye!” The affirmation comes first from the wochas, the bandronas then follow suit. The vote is unanimous.

Behind her stoic mask Lexa is jubilant. She’d wanted a little more time to work on Titus but the assassination attempt pushed her to make the change now. As far as the Kongeda is concerned the many years of gentle persuasion and subtle pressure have borne fruit. The waste, the unfairness on relying only on fighting skills, the desperation of parents hiding their children, these points Lexa had dropped into each wocha and each bandrona’s ear, time and time again. As well, every bandrona and wocha knows the current novitiates, has met them on many occasions and not just those of their own kru but all, because Lexa included in the novitiates’ training what she called ‘living lessons’ about each kru. Every kru’s skills, struggles, trade-routes, history and aspirations was to be taught and explored and who better to do that teaching than the wocha, who rules them or the bandronas, who speak for them in Polis. Windsong, Indra, Leto and Luna were always supportive but Fenrir, Albion and Circe needed time and persuasion to change their minds. Roan, Callum kom Louwoda Kilron and Rush kom Delphikru were neutral and initially hostile to any changes were Elsa kom Ouskejonkru and Flint kom Boudalan. But now all are together in wanting to return to the original and true version of the conclave. Her novitiates are safe on the rig and they can stay there for a while to learn how to fish, but then they can come home to Polis.

She stands to bring the debate to a close. “Ai wochas and bandronas, let it be known that when my fight is over the Fleim will pass to a natblida who through the testing described by Gaia best demonstrates Wisdom, Strength and Compassion. This is how Becca Pramheda wanted the Fleim to be passed on and we will honour her wishes once more. Now it is time for a short break, sanch (lunch) is served in the red room. We will return to our discussions in one mark.”

Titus folds his arms, eyes glacial. He has been defeated but Lexa and Anya have been careful not to bring shame upon him. He will be watched carefully, Eva already has that in hand, in case his defeat here turns to bitter betrayal, but he will not be punished or humiliated for following the rules his mentor Selwyn created.

Arkadia - canteen

Kane’s convinced it’s some kind of plot to undermine him. Yet another meal of inedible slop is on his and everybody else’s plate. Wick down south and Monty in Polis can talk about wonderful roasts, tasty bread and delicious pies and all the Arkadia catering team can produce is disgusting ‘shit’ that he wants to throw on the floor and go full 2-year-old tantrum about! Fuck, he’s tired.

He caught sight of Nygel yesterday, the Ark’s most successful criminal and his nemesis, is a ‘kitchen technician’ and if anyone wants Kane’s Chancellorship to fail it’s her. He wastes some time poking into the slop in a vain quest to ascertain what it is. All the time wondering if the Commander could be persuaded to lend him some cooks. He finds himself daydreaming of joining the Coalition in return for a team of wonderful grounder cooks who, jovial and creative, spend their days turning meat, vegetables and fruit into smiles of appreciation on tired Arkadian faces.  

He wants to go to Polis, for the food if nothing else. That thought gives him fresh energy and yes, it’s time to finalise that trip and who is going on it. He abandons his lunch and heads for the Council Chamber, today he’s going to make Hannah Green happy!

The Council is waiting for him. First item on the agenda is Diana Sydney and the Dropship that landed in the south.

Yujleda – Atlan (capitol of Yujleda)

It’s not as if Diana has never met greedy people before. They’re everywhere; plenty of them were in space, greedy for what little there was; of power, possessions, sex and drugs. On the ground there’s so much more to be selfish about. Maybe her imagination was limited by the meagreness of the Ark’s resources and that’s why the scale and rawness of Albion kom Yujleda’s covetousness has surprised her. He has so much already; he never tires of describing and displaying the mounds, chests, bags, sacks, dormitories and stables, full of possessions. Jewellery by the wooden chest full, horses, livestock, serfs and so much food that feasting is an everyday event.  Albion is very tall and immensely fat, every Spring he is weighed and after attending the ‘Weighing Ceremony’ last month she knows why the man never stops eating. The ceremony was a lively affair and in public. She had joined the large crowd gathered around the great weighing scales; Albion stood on one of the metal pans and stone weights were placed on the other. When the pan Albion was standing on left the ground and rose to a height that matched the second pan a great roaring and cheering broke out as Albion had, yet again, put on weight and this year his Tax Collectors would gather yet more from his adoring people, that he would spend on entertainments for the lucky people of Atlan, his many favourites, his loyal courtiers and yet more possessions. And still, he wants more and he thinks that Diana and her skaikru can get it for him.

She’s already proved the usefulness of skaikru tek in ploughing and she supplied fayogun gonas (gunmen) to support his attempt to raise the krus of the south in rebellion against Heda Lexa’s Kongeda. The fayogun gonas were also a great success, until the last raid, when they met organised opposition, crumbled under fire and Charles Pike along with some others was taken prisoner. That could have repercussions.

The final test (or service) that the chief has requested of her, it wasn’t quite a demand because he dressed it up with an offer of some very handsome recompense, in the form of land, stock, food and serfs, (all of which keep Diana’s people content with her version of life on the ground), is different in nature. If he is to persuade one or more of the northern krus to join his rebellion he needs even more wealth than he already has. He needs the unimaginably large amount of treasure that was lost when the city of New Orleans sank beneath the waves. Pirate treasures, gold bullion, the Jewels of the Mardi Gras (legends say that this city was so rich that its inhabitants threw jewels to the crowds that lined the streets during that great festival!) With this treasure Albion will bribe the greedy, corrupt the avaricious and weaken the Kongeda from within. While his and Fenrir kom Trishanakru’s armies, backed by Diana’s fayogun gonas, will avenge their brothers lost at the battle of Fallow Fields and Heda Lexa will fall.   

To ‘dive’ a city and retrieve this huge treasure, even if it is strewn about the streets, is no small task. Diana immediately consulted her small group of technicians Carl Wick, Philip Lanson and Belinda Chi and they left her in no doubt; to have a chance at succeeding they needs the resources, equipment and technicians of the Ark.  

Chapter Text

28th April 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 4^th Moon. Waxing Gibbous. Evening

Lexa paces in-front of her throne, Indra, Gustus and Anya look on knowing that to interrupt Heda when she is so angry is to invite trouble.

Duncan kom Trikru ran the Tower’s prison for five years. During that time  the dungeons have been secure, its’ guards well-trained and kept in line, but something must have changed because now, not only does her prison allow assassins access to important prisoners, the Ouskejon gonas Pila and Silus were slain the same afternoon Pike was attacked, but the guards are so incompetent that another prisoner is able to smuggle in poison and commit suicide!  Bandrona (Ambassador) Sloop’s death at her own hand, all the while protesting Yujleda’s innocence of any link with the skaikru bandit Pike, not only prevented her from being properly questioned but also allows rumours to start that Heda Lexa murdered the inconvenient and known to be annoying Yujledakru diplomat. And Duncan where is he when Heda tries to find out what went wrong?  He’s vanished, leaving behind his houmon (spouse) Annie and five goufas (children).

Despite the deaths of Pila and Silus, who were always going to die and had already told Indra all they knew, things had until Sloop’s death gone to plan. The plan being to divide the two krus that Lexa suspects are plotting to destroy the Kongeda: Yujleda and Trishanakru. Pike had done his part when he gave testimony to the Bandronas (Ambassadors), from his wheelchair, revealing that the bandits led by Cyrus and his deputy Capel had recruited the skaikru fayogun-gonas from within Yujleda and that the initial approach to the skaikru Chancellor Diana Sydney, came through Wocha (Chief) Albion kom Yujleda. Pike had said nothing about Trishanakru’s involvement, mainly because he was unaware of it, he couldn't tell the difference between gonas of the two krus.

Indra and Anya had presented the evidence found at the site of the wagon-train attack and from the eight captured gonas (they left out the Trishanakru piercings). Testimony obtained by torture carries little weight but if you are claiming that the evidence against a kru or its’ wocha is overwhelming it is still useful as part of the ‘pile your evidence high and finish it off with something close to incontrovertible’ tactic. The incontrovertible element being Pike who is so obviously skaikru and is known to be one of Diana Sydney’s group in Yujleda by bandrona Callie kom Konopkru, Handmaid Grace kom Konopkru and Wocha Windsong kom Ingranronakru (who recognised his voice and name from the ill-fated negotiations that ended in Jaha’s death).  

Bandrona Sloop protested loudly that it was all lies, a nefarious plot. Heda, her advisors, the krus of the north; all of them are jealous of the wealth, fertile lands and strong farmers of the southern kru. Heda is the natrona (traitor), not Yujleda!

Throughout the accusations and protestations of innocence Balder kom Trishanakru had stayed in the background. He didn’t defend Sloop, but neither did he condemn her and when Heda Lexa declared Albion kom Yujleda natrona, and the skaikru led by Diana Sydney to be splida (outcast), he pledged Trishanakru’s gonas to the fight along with all the other krus.

Not that Lexa is rushing off to war immediately. She first sends messengers to Yujleda demanding that Albion surrender the bandit Cyrus and his band to justice and that the skaikru in Yujleda be expelled from Kongeda lands.  There is little likelihood he will comply but she needs time to collect information from her spies, gather her forces and travel south.

“Where was Duncan from? Does his houmon know where he went or why? Have the neighbours any information?”

It’s Anya who steps forward. “He is from Polis Heda. Annie says she knows nothing, is distraught to be left alone and with five youngons to feed. The neighbours say that Duncan stayed away from home most nights. He said it was work, they think he had another plana (woman).”

  “What will Annie do?”

“She wants to go home to Virginie, to take the goufas to her parents’ house.”

“Permit it but have our agent in Virginie keep watch on her. Eva can look for Duncan in Polis. If he is here, dead or alive, she will find him. Also alert the road-keepers in case he has left. Who do you suggest should run the dungeons while we search for a faithful replacement for Duncan?”    

“I can do that Heda.”  It’s Gustus who volunteers for the role. “I have Lemur kom Trikru in mind for promotion but before I put him forward for your consideration I want to know more about him.”

“Mochof ai lukot (Thankyou my friend) but take no more than half a moon on that task. I will need you in the south if there is another war.”

30th April 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 4^th Moon. Full. Arkadia

Officer Larry Grayling, Assistant to the Chancellor, sits at his desk checking the percentages on recycling. A red light pings on his tablet, another waste spillage. Fuck. He taps a message to Councillors Kaplan and Sinclair. This is getting ridiculous, they’re not here to pollute the planet. He swipes to the right and is back to recycling and the report he’s compiling for the Chancellor. The door judders open and people wander in. Commander of the Guard Gru in the lead. “Any news from Kane, has he arrived in Polis yet? The Council Chamber’s free, isn’t it?”

Larry looks up. “Yes, and yes. We heard about an hour ago. You need anything set up in there?”

Gru grunts an acknowledgement of the news and shepherds his party into the big room. “Engage the privacy screens Officer Grayling.” The door shuts firmly behind him.

Inside the Council Chamber the group are arranging themselves around the table while Councillor Byron Edwards (Head of Fabrication) leans over the console to switch on the radio. He fiddles with the channels while Councillor Leon Kaplan (Waste and Recycling) and Commander Gru huddle together over a data tablet. Major Leon Tallus pours himself a glass of water from the cooler and hands another glass to Inspector Logan.

“I think we’ve got more than enough support to kick the stupid fucker out. Gross incompetence over the mouse fiasco, treason in putting us in debt to a hostile power and plenty of breaches of the privacy and surveillance rules from when he was Jaha’s bum boy. Not even Sinclair can defend him on that.”  Kaplan scratches at his beard “and whatever we can dream up about the food. I don’t know how Nygel manages to make such shit but she’s spinning it as a supplies problem aggravated by Kane’s dictates.”

Edwards gives a thumbs up as the radio’s crackle clears and the voice of Kyle Wick is heard. “Ark Primary calling. Ark Primary calling. Can you hear me, Arkadia?”

“The fuck name is that?” Gru grumbles

“Snobby shits.” That’s from Tallus, who’s a devoted follower of Sydney but his parents were Farm Station manure shifters, he hates it when his idol reveals her pretentious Alpha Station roots.

They all quieten when Diana Sydney comes on the line demanding to know how they plan to get rid of Kane and control Sinclair. “I don’t care if Kane dies, preferably by accident or at the hands of the grounders but I need Sinclair alive. Could you use his affection for Reyes to make sure he cooperates?”

“Raven’s in Polis, she’s a grounder now.” That’s not what Diana wants to hear.

“Leverage, I need leverage. Is there anyone else we can use to keep him quiet and working?”

The plan comes together slowly. Diana will leave her engineers at Ark Primary where they will start planning their treasure hunt in New Orleans. Meanwhile she and her bodyguards will travel by rover to Arkadia, on their arrival they will find Arkadia leaderless and frightened. Kane should be dead by then and Sinclair has never been interested in politics. Diana will ‘step in’ to lead her people to a life of good food, light work (grounders are more suited to hard labour) and prosperity.

“You need to spread the word about how I……” Diana pauses, searching for the right phrasing. “Made the difficult decision to ‘execute’ Jaha, when he tried to sell our birthright on earth to a hostile warlord called the Heda, but then I had to flee the Ark when Kane and his goons took control. Something like that. It’s plausible and contains some truth. I’ll set out later today and be with you in a few days.”

The radio falls silent. “Okay, accident or grounder attack, how’s Kane going to die?”

1^st May 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 4^th Moon Full. Polis.

Bos Grila (The Big Grill)

Manos’ appendix had burst the first night of the first full moon of the year and Abby’s deft surgery saved the cook’s life. He’s made a full recovery and despite loud complaints that his scar is not very impressive Manos is grateful. His invitation to the fisa (healer) that she should come to his Grila and feast with her friends has been made repeatedly and tonight, on a rare night off, Abby, Callie and Grace are dressed in their best, determined to experience a ‘girls night out’ on the ground.

Manos built his business inside the roofless shell of an old fire station. The exterior walls survive to about head height and over half the space is sheltered by an old sail that his Trikru lukots (friends) fashioned into a sturdy open-sided tent. His three charcoal fuelled grilas sit outside the tent, protected from the weather by corrugated steel sheets, angled so that the smoke rising from the cooking is channelled out into the street. Manos supervises his sekens (seconds / apprentices) as they grill meat and vegetables, or slice thick crusty bread.   

The tables are a mix of styles; outside the shelter of the great awning are logs, massively solid with fragments of bark still clinging to their sides. Go inside and you can find some that are more delicate (if still robust - this is a popular hangout for gonas of all krus), carefully crafted from seasoned wood, with tight joints, smooth surfaces and the shiny patina created by daily application of bees wax. Grace, Callie and Abby are seated at one of the communal tables right at the centre of the huge bar, a comfortable distance from the charcoal fired grills. Close enough for the warmth to drive away the evening’s chill and near enough to allow them to savour the wonderful smells. Manos is very attentive to the three meizen planas (beautiful women); their beakers are kept topped up and he has placed in-front of them a selection of nibbles that are almost a meal in themselves.

 The three women are comfortable (Manos insisted they sit on furs to soften the wooden chairs) and relaxed. The cider is from the south of Trikru, golden, fruity and too easy to drink. Grace crunches on a curl of pork crackling. “This stuff should be illegal. It’s sooo good but I know it’s clogging my arteries as I chew.” She reaches for another piece.

“Your insane training regimen and plenty of fibre should keep you healthy.”  Abby’s not in the mood to criticise dietary choices; not in the mood to think of medicine at all. Knowing that Clarke is well, happy and more than capable of taking charge of the Hospital tonight gives her a good feeling. Not everything is perfect, but life on the ground is beyond anything she ever imagined experiencing. The downside is that she never thought she’d do anything significant in her family life without Jake. He’s supposed to be here; to help her vet the young men and women (including the ruler of the known world) who want to love their child, be there for a grandchild, to see their baby girl grow into the caring leader she’s already becoming. Be proud of her, with her! A couple of moments is all it takes to calculate; one year, ten months and seven days since he was killed. She looks at Grace, who was there when he died. Holding Clarke as the distraught teen saw her dad, tasered by that piece of **** Gru. Thankfully she didn’t see Gru taser Abby as well, sealing Jake’s fate. She can feel the tears welling, fuck this is supposed to be a fun night! She mustn’t ruin it for the others.

Callie leans in and Grace waves the waiter away, giving Abby a bit of time. “Hey Abby. It’s okay. You’re safe, can let stuff go.”

“I’m happy really. I miss Jake, of course I do. But life goes on and so much is good now. Clarke, Charlie, me – so many of us are well and doing great here on the ground, but I’m lonely I guess.”

Manos bustles over to see if they are ready for their steaks, need anything to drink, are okay. He disappears again to get everything ready.

Grace leans back. “Well, if it’s loneliness that’s the problem, you have us for the everyday and Manos and at least a dozen others are willing to share your bed.”

Abby colours up immediately. “Grace! We are in a public bar!”

“Prude!” That’s Grace grinning like a cat. “I don’t mind admitting I’d like some bed action.” She's feeling the cider, but only a little bit.

“Bed action!?” Callie almost sprays them with her mouthful of cider. “The hell Grace. You sound like a horny teen.”

“What’s wrong with that. Maybe inside I am a horny teen.”

“Horny for that beautiful Ingranronakru wocha, huh?” It’s Grace’s turn to blush as Callie nudges her in the ribs, hard.

“No harm in looking.”

“She looks plenty at you Gracie! Tell you something for free, the ground is full of gorgeous women.”

“Gorgeous wochas you mean. I’ve seen you eying a certain Trikru wocha Callie.”

“Maybe I do look, but I’ve no hope. Indra’s not interested in anything other than politics and maybe very sharp knives.”

Abby smiles, her friends’ lively chatter brings her back to the good things on the ground.

“We need to be realistic.” It’s Callie. “Honour our past loves but move on, stay away from the unattainable and start looking for someone sexy who wants us.”

“Yeah.” Abby agreeing surprises both her friends, but they can’t pursue the topic then as huge platters of food arrive and conversation (mainly hums and moans of delight) is all about the food.

 The Following Morning

Seeing her mom with a hangover is not something Clarke ever expected to see. It’s almost fun to be the ‘adult’ in this moment when she completes the shift handover with an Abby whose eyes are scrunched almost shut and who winces at the slightest sound.

“You okay mom? Do I need to give Grace or Callie a telling off?”

The moment passes. Abby will cope with Nyko’s help and Clarke is free to attend the meeting with Finn, Callie and Indra, that’s scheduled to start in a few minutes. Walking out of the hospital into a fresh Spring breeze wakes her up after a night indoors that did include some sleep but also a couple of emergencies, a stabbing and a choking child.

She crosses the square in front of the Tower. Inside she greets Arte, on guard at the main door and sees Finn and Callie waiting for her by the elevator. Finn looks nervous and clearly Callie’s had better mornings, she looks pale and like Abby is avoiding sunlight.

“You ready?” Clarke directs the question to Finn who gives a shaky nod. “Let’s go. We don’t want to keep Indra waiting.”

The elevator sweeps them up quick and silent, thanks to Wells’ work on the system and within a few moments they are standing outside the Trikru suite.   Two enormous guards masked and tattooed Trikru style, bar their way, but a few words prompt one to disappear inside. A second later the door swings open to allow the three Konopkru to walk into a large room where a group of people are waiting. First to take Clarke’s attention is that the three inner walls are decorated, almost to groaning point, with an impressive array of sharp looking weapons. Then she sees the fourth wall and everything else fades into the background. Once it would have been made entirely of glass. An immense window. Today glass still dominates but not in the form of great plate windows. Instead, thousands of coloured shards, slivers and fragments are arranged within a slender wooden framing to make pictures. Beautiful pictures of the woods and forests of Trikru. Greens, browns, blues, yellow; so many colours, it takes Clarke’s breath away and for some moments she is just stunned, speechless and in awe of whoever created this wonderful work.

“Who made this?” Is all she can say. Gone from her mind is the formal greeting of a fellow wocha, her almost fluent Trigedesleng deserts her and she gapes while Callie, retaining her senses, greets the Trikru wocha, and politely begs pardon for the Konopkru wocha who is clearly overcome by the beauty of that window. Clarke returns to herself to find a most unusual sight. Indra is smiling, clearly delighted by the impact of the window.  

“Ai Komfoni (grandmother) was made wocha of Trikru by her nomon (mother), but she left politics and strategy to ai komfona (grandfather) because her great love was glass. She wanted to bring light into our homes, that was her skill and joy. Your appreciation of her work is noted. But we must address why we are here. Your hef (man) Finn has made three Trikru planas with child and all three say that he agreed to support any child that they made.”

Three! Three! Clarke thought this meeting was about one girl that Finn had knocked up, not three!

“Moba (Sorry) Wocha Indra did you say three? I thought it was one girl, Ella?”

“You are right Wocha Clarke. When we set up this meeting we were talking about one plana. Since then, two more have come forward. Do you wish for privacy to talk to your hef?”

Clarke thanks the now frowning wocha. Yes, she would like to talk to Finn in private. Indra shows them to a small anteroom and leaves them alone.

Callie folds her arms and glares at Finn. “How many women have you fucked promising to support any child born!”

“None”, stammers Finn. “I’ve promised nothing.” His confidence starts to return. “Yes, I’ve fucked a lot of girls, it’s fun. But no, I made no promises of marriage or to support a child or anything like that.”

“You did have sex with Ella?” Clarke wants some clarity.

“Yeah, lots of times. She’s a great girl; we have a good time. But no promises, nothing, nope, no way. It’s fun, that’s all.”  Clarke doesn’t understand it. She’s sure Finn is telling the truth. He’s a charmer, likes sex, has sex with any girl he can get into a bed, but he’s not a liar.

“Callie, can you ask Indra who the other two girls are please.” Callie raises an eyebrow questioningly but leaves to fulfil her wotcha’s request. “You could tell me Finn, if you said or did anything that could make a girl think you wanted to have a child with her. I’m not going to just drop you in it.”

“I didn’t Clarke. I promise. It was just fun, no promises.”

They fall silent, waiting for Callie to return with names. It’s a long wait, what the fuck is the bandrona doing?  Clarke’s relieved when eventually Callie opens the door and walks in. She shuts the door behind her. “Sorry I took so long. Vicky and Genever are the other girls. Did you sleep with them Finn?”

Finn looks a little pale when he says. “Yeah, I did. But I never said I would support any child. Honest. Fuck, I don’t earn much; how can I support three kids?” His skin is pale, as if the possible consequence of his casual encounters is now becoming clear to him.  

Callie clears her throat. “Indra let me speak to the girls and their parents. I think I know how the confusion arose.”

Finn runs hands through his untidy hair. “How?”

“You didn’t want to use a condom, did you? The Trikru call them blokas (shields).”

Finn turns deep pink. “Er, no I don’t. We didn’t need them on the Ark, girls had implants and down here they use blokas or drink a ‘tea’ to avoid getting pregnant. I hate the blokas, Dax says they’re made from pig guts or sheep bladders. They’re gross and you don’t feel much when you wear one. Girls can still drink ‘tea’ to avoid getting pregnant.”

Clarke wants to slap the stupid, selfish boy. “What if the tea doesn’t work asshole? Who’s responsible for the child then, whether you promised anything or not!?”

“Er. I didn’t think, don't know.”

Clarke’s mad now. “Do you know how effective the tea is on its’ own? No, of course you don’t, it’s not your problem, is it?  From talking with Nyko and my mom I’d say a girl’s lucky if she gets fifty percent protection from just the tea, using a bloka gives her more, about eighty, maybe even ninety percent. You, are unbelievable.”

“But I never promised to look after any kids, honest I didn’t.” Finn is clearly exasperated by Clarke’s unreasonable attitude.

Callie folds her arms looks the idiot boy straight in the eye and speaks. “Oh, but you did! Choosing not to use a bloka is taken as just such a promise. Everyone knows the tea is unreliable without the bloka, so if a man chooses not to use a bloka he takes responsibility for his own selfishness and any child born. No words need to be spoken on the topic; everyone knows the man will support a child born if he doesn’t use a bloka!”

“Fuck!”

Chapter Text

5^th May 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 4^th Moon Waning Gibbous.

Polis Tower – Great Hall

The Tower’s kitchen is full of wonderful aromas as well as focused purpose, as breakfast is served to hundreds of hungry people, gonas, guests, bandronas (ambassadors), messengers, aides and wochas (chiefs). Sitting with his small party; Hannah Green, David Miller, Nathan Miller and Mila Kovich, Kane sneaks a look through the big serving hatch, watching the well drilled ‘army’ of cooks prepare the most delicious food he has ever tasted. Overseeing the meal is a striking woman, grey-haired and stern featured. She never raises her voice but her minions jump to obey her commands without question.

“How come our catering team doesn’t produce good food? Yesterday Commander Lexa introduced me to that woman there, she’s called Skaikrasha and apart from the bacon every ingredient in this magnificent breakfast is available to us. Skaikrasha made pancakes as I stood there, she showed me how it’s done and even I made some that were delicious, even if they were a weird shape.” Kane shakes his head as he fills his mouth with toasted bread, then chews for a while. “It’s so bad at home that it must be sabotage, Nygel has it in for me.” 

Sgt David Miller’s known Marcus Kane for years, at times he’s cursed him as a rule obsessed asshole, then again, he’s seen Kane’s work ethic, courage and loyalty. This trip has shown another, completely unexpected, side to the man. Tasked as the Chancellor’s bodyguard the Sgt’s stuck close to him throughout the meetings, demonstrations and training that Kane’s attended and it’s been a revelation. Kane is actively looking for new ways of doing things, it’s as if living through a hard winter on the ground has shown him that the old rules don’t work down here and things must change. What worries Sgt Miller is that this new version of Kane has come too late to save his Chancellorship: well, that’s the case, if the rumours circulating through the Guard are anything to go by. There’s talk of the people of Arkadia wanting an election and Kane’s handling of everything is going to be questioned. Those sympathetic to Kane only muster faint praise. ‘He’s done his best in difficult circumstances.’ While the harsher critics speak of him being incompetent, treasonous and venal. That ‘Kane was Jaha’s puppet on the Ark and now he’s come down to the ground he’s grovelling to some warlord in return for a few sacks of grain, that he then allows to be eaten by mice!’  And this weary, hardworking man can’t see that the mood in Arkadia has turned so far against him. Can’t, or maybe even won’t, see that his Commander of the Guard Gru and some of the Councillors are orchestrating a coup. Fortunately for the Sgt, Hannah’s prepared to speak up even if he hesitates.

“Chancellor, I’ve no axe to grind with you now that I’ve found Monty well and happy here in Polis. In the past we’ve had our differences and I think some of the things you’ve done since we came to the ground are wrong and have driven people, like my Monty, away from Arkadia. But.” The Farm Station supervisor draws in a deep breath. “It’s not just Nygel and a few criminals that are your problem. Not all of Diana Sydney’s followers were on her dropship, they wasn’t enough room to take them all! She’s been gathering supporters for years on the Ark and had a real chance of toppling Jaha. She was that close,” Hannah’s fingers pinch together, “to calling for an election she knew she would win. Then the oxygen crisis and contacting the grounders must’ve changed her plans. She could see that Jaha was going to be the one leading our people back ‘home’, so she ‘executed’ him, telling her followers that not only was he abusing his power on the Ark but he was already ‘selling our birthright’ to some savage.”

Kane nods his head in tired acceptance; he did know that Sydney was closing in on Jaha. Jaha was paranoid but Sydney was ‘out to get him’. Hannah continues.  “In Arkadia there are hundreds loyal to her and they are poisoning the whole place against you. Sydney is hundreds of miles away but many of her people are well placed in Arkadia. How can you not see that Gru, Tallus, Kaplan and others are briefing against you all the time? And if you’re relying on that fool Larry Grayling to keep you informed, forget it, he’s kept out of the loop because he’s known to be loyal to you.”

Kane’s shoulders droop in resignation. His people are unhappy. He, sort of, knows that. He’s in charge and the buck stops with him for everything; a lack of preparedness for a very cold winter, cute little mice, terrible food, seasonal illnesses that Jackson can only treat with advice (stay hydrated, warm and rested), stock stampeding when some kids held a loud party and valuable Ark citizens refusing to become part of Arkadia; people like Abby Griffin, Raven Reyes and Monty Green. He’s made mistakes but he’s achieved things too. The treaty with Commander Lexa has brought them a place to call their own, supplies for the winter, breeding stock, a deal over electricity and peace! “What can Sydney offer that I can’t? She’s a murderer, a thief and from what Charles Pike said yesterday, if you believe him, is helping some grounders start a war. She’d take us into a war against the Coalition and I don’t think Commander Lexa loses wars.”  He knows he sounds desperate; he is desperate. Sydney, like Charles Pike, thinks she has the right to rule the world, like she thought she should rule the Ark. Kane is very aware that to get herself into a position of power she’d sacrifice anything or anyone. He needs help to keep his people safe from her machinations. He’s got a meeting with Clarke this morning and another meeting with the Commander this afternoon, he can only hope that he can take back to Arkadia enough positives, including a good cook, to win him more time to show his people that a peaceful life on the ground is possible and desirable.

 One Mark later. Polis Tower. The Red Room

“Duncan is dead?”

“Very.” Her wormana’s superfluous and deadpan response reminds Lexa of Raven’s sass; is her former fos back under the skai plana’s influence?  She hopes so, when involved with Raven Anya seems to regain some of the humour and fire that had been dimmed through the years of conflict and losses against the Maunon. Hmm back to Duncan….

“Where and how?”

It’s Eva who responds this time. “On the Great Road south, about a day’s ride from Polis, Heda. An arrow to the back, its’ fletching anonymous but the construction is southern style.  His pockets had been emptied but the nuggets of gold sewn into the seams of his coat, a garment of good quality that most bandits would take, were untouched. His horse was taken or lost.”

Windsong, standing by the samovar, pours a beaker of tea for herself and gestures to the others. She pours two more, one for Gustus, the second for Callie. As she walks back to the table she muses.  “Sloop was prepared for the arrest. The poison she used to kill herself was well hidden; her quarters were stripped of anything valuable or informative and her closest aide Mac has vanished. They were likely prepared to get rid of Duncan too.”

“They have taken the initiative from the start. Attacking the wagon-trains, using the fayogun gonas from the skai; even when things started to go wrong, they moved fast.” Lexa stands and starts to pace, hands clasped behind her back. “We must take back control.  The messengers I sent days ago, before we knew his army was on the move, will likely be killed. Their sacrifice must not be in vain. Callie, I hear that Raven has been able to listen to Sydney talking on the radio. Has this given us useful information?”

Callie replies in fluent but accented Trigedesleng. “Sha (Yes) Heda. Diana Sydney is using her people and their tek to gain power for herself and her ally Albion kom Yujleda. First, she spoke of her fayogun gonas; she has loaned thirty to Albion. They march with his wormana Kestor as part of the Yujleda army that comes north. Then her tek kru are going to the south coast to look under the sea for the city of New Orleans, they will search for a legendary treasure that they hope will fill Albion kom Yujleda’s war chest. Meanwhile Sydney is travelling to Arkadia. She has some powerful supporters there who are arranging for Chancellor Kane to be killed on his way home from Polis.  Their ambush will be disguised as an attack by local gonas. You will be blamed Heda or perhaps Wocha Indra. Her plan is to arrive at Arkadia after Kane’s death, when the people will be frightened; ripe for her to talk her way into being seen as their ‘saviour’ and a ‘strong leader’ who can protect them. If her plan succeeds, she will have nearly all from the Ark under her command.” She sighs heavily and sips her tea.  “That Albion kom Yujleda wants to destroy the Kongeda helps her cause, as without your leadership Heda it will be easier for her to use tek and fayoguns to secure land and power.” 

Callie pauses. For hours yesterday she, Clarke, Raven and Grace had played and replayed Raven’s recordings of the transmissions between Sydney’s dropship (Ark Primary) and Arkadia. Much was innocuous talk between family members, divided by politics and/or miles, but then Sydney or Shumway would come on to talk with Gru, Kaplan or Edwards and what they said was dynamite.

They’d debated who should be told what, about this eavesdropping.  What is best for Konopkru? And what about those living in Arkadia? Friends as well as enemies are there, the Millers, Fox, Atom, Monty’s mum (if she goes back); nearly two thousand Arkers, many of them good people just trying to live. How will Commander Lexa respond to Diana Sydney, ally of Albion kom Yujleda, taking over in Arkadia? Will Heda Lexa turn against all who are from the sky?

Callie’s spent months learning about the Coalition and its’ short history. She knows the Articles of its Constitution by heart, including the possibility of Heda being deposed and killed if all krus vote against her in a vote of ‘no confidence’ and while Callie knows the Coalition, Clarke has come to know Lexa. All four of them talk it through, at length, and eventually they agree on two things: “1. Konopkru are Heda’s people, she cannot and will not treat us as enemies unless we betray the Coalition and 2. Diana Sydney must not be allowed to take over the Chancellorship of Arkadia.”

“If we don’t tell Heda everything about these transmissions, are we betraying the Coalition?” It’s Raven who asks the awkward question. “Or must we go for full disclosure?”

In the Red Room Callie takes a sip of water. “It gets worse Heda. Diana Sydney has at her side the escaped Maunon, Emerson.” Full disclosure.

In silence the leaders of the ground listen to these grim words. Some of it they already knew. Albion’s army, including fayogun gonas, entered Louwoda Kilron four days ago and Wocha Callum kom Louwoda Kilron sent word to Polis immediately by pigeon. His peace loving people will not be able to expel Yujleda from their land, they are weavers more than gonas, but they will hold out behind the great stone walls of their capital Bilt for as long as possible. Lexa had immediately sent Indra south with Tristan’s Rangers and the Delphikru gonas who were still training in Polis. Contacted by radio, Lincoln and Octavia were diverted south from their visit to Ingranronakru and they will take with them five hundred of Windsong’s gonas, led by her most senior wormana Dark-Reed. The Ingranronakru Buffalo Council will muster from the plains a second gonakru that will camp on the southern border they share with Trishanakru. Ostensibly this force is ‘reserves’ for any battle with Yujleda, but it is also a message to Fenrir kom Trishanakru that Heda is watching him.  

While Callie is in the Red Room with Lexa and her closest advisors; Clarke, Dax and Raven meet with Kane and the Millers in one of the first floor rooms of Konopkru’s home, the ‘Office.’ The furniture in this meeting room was made by Finn, whose skills have greatly improved over the last couple of months and none of the tables and chairs are wobbly rejects, though furs are needed to make them comfortable for longer meetings.

How to warn Kane about Diana’s plots, including the one against him, without revealing that Raven has been eavesdropping on what Sinclair and his technicians believe are encrypted channels is the tricky bit. Clarke spoke with Lexa about the whole thing last night and the Commander agreed that she can use her ‘scouts / spies’ as cover for Clarke’s knowledge of Sydney’s plans.   

Unfortunately, the meeting doesn’t start well; Clarke is tense, the last time she saw Marcus Kane in the flesh was when he, Grace and Gru came to arrest her dad. And although Clarke passed out before her dad died from Gru’s tasering of Jake and then Abby (as she tried to help Jake when he started to fit), seeing the Ark’s former Head of Security brings it all back. Clarke greets Kane stiffly, doesn’t return his smile and turns away, gesturing for him to sit, at the very moment he extends his hand to shake.

She sits at the head of the small dining table and looks at him coolly. “Chancellor Kane how can Konopkru, the smallest kru in the Coalition, help Arkadia?”

He knows why the air is glacial, Clarke Griffin doesn’t owe him shit and thinks he killed her dad, or best case scenario that he was just Jaha’s minion, the one who was arresting her father when he died. More surprising to him is why she and not one of the older women, leads this ‘kru’, but he’s just got to roll with it.

“Clarke thank-you for agreeing to this meeting.” He sits and shuffles on his chair. “I hope you can see past our own difficult history and if not, that you still have sympathy for the people of the Ark, a people you used to be a part of. I know I’ve made mistakes. Maybe I’m not the best Chancellor but everything I’ve ever done has been to help the Ark and now Arkadia.” He glares at Raven, who’s scoff is audible.

This is a little how Clarke imagines an ‘out of the body’ experience feels like. She hears his words; inside her head she’s screaming ‘Bastard, you unfeeling bastard!”, while her face remains expressionless and she says nothing. Lexa’s taught Clarke, through example and explanation, many things about being a leader including: - how to look aloof, unconcerned and strong, while internally combusting; the power of silence, so effective at getting someone to speak and another thing - the most useful thing to do in a meeting is listen.  She’s doing all this while Kane keeps talking, firstly apologising for her father’s death (no excuses just an apology for a death that should not have happened) and then admitting that on coming to the ground he held on too long to the ‘old’ ways of the Ark. “I should have just welcomed you all back to Arkadia, not tried to pick out a few outstanding individuals. Is there any chance of some or all of you coming back ‘home’?”

Kane’s attitude is almost humble; she’s not taken in by that, but neither will she let her personal animosity (still alive and burning bright) against the man prejudice her people. “I will ask. I won’t force anyone to stay as part of Konopkru, but don’t hold your breath Kane, we are doing well here and putting down roots. But let’s talk of Arkadia and how you are faring on the ground. Konopkru is a valued part of Heda Lexa’s Coalition, we supply her tek services. Yesterday Callie and I were made aware that the Commander’s scouts have picked up disturbing intelligence about what is happening in Arkadia.”

She tries to pass it off, maybe she gets away with it maybe not, as Indra and Heda’s scouts keeping a careful eye on the people who fell from the sky onto Trikru land yet refuse to join the Kongeda. The hunters and Guards of Arkadia are talkers, she says, who naively imagine they are alone when in the forest and they speak, very loudly, about everything including plans and imminent arrivals. By the time she has spun her story of Diana Sydney and her plots Kane is visibly sweating. He turns to Sgt Miller. “This is worse than I thought. Sydney as Chancellor would be a disaster for Arkadia, for everyone if she pushes for war. What can we do?”

“We can speak of this with the Commander when you meet with her in private this afternoon. I will come with you; the people of Arkadia do not deserve Diana Sydney as Chancellor.”

Raven manages not to scoff this time. Clarke has Kane exactly where she wants him.

Guest Quarters – Polis Tower

Kane thought that as the Ark fell to earth, he had felt the greatest fear he would ever experience in his life. Fear of the cold floating death that would follow rupture of the metal structure that surrounded him, fear of a burning death as they travelled through the earth’s atmosphere, fear of being splattered on the hard surface that is the earth if the thrusters or parachutes failed. That three and a half hours of gut clenching fear now feels like nothing; nothing, compared to the medley of unpleasant sensations he is undergoing and will continue to suffer for the two, nearly three, days it will take for him to return to Arkadia because somebody; probably a Guard or Guards, will wait in ambush, their sole purpose, his death. He puts his head in his hands; he’d held it together in-front of the Commander, her advisors and Clarke, but now his composure is in tatters. Tears leak from his eyes; will he survive and what about his mother, if he dies will they kill her? Even if he does live, could he end up an invalid like Charles Pike, who’s only capable of walking a few yards, has a diet that consists entirely of soup or mush and will shit into a bag for the rest of his days.

He leaves for Arkadia tomorrow, the Commander has said she will do her best to keep him alive and, in a few days, she will send Skaikrasha to Arkadia to run his kitchens.  If he does survive, at least he’ll have something decent to eat.

Handmaids’ Quarters – Polis Tower  

Grace wakes too easily, she’s on night shift this rotation and sleeping in the daytime is a *****. Her mentor Strik Selene needs only to tap her foot and she’s wide awake. “Riding practice today, Grace.”

“Fuck, my ass has only just recovered from the last lesson.” But she’s up, washed and dressed, with a pasty in her belly within a few minutes. “This one of Bella’s?”   Grace practices her Trigedesleng.  Strik nods. Bella’s pasties are the best and Grace is about to have a hard afternoon of training followed by guard duty late that night, so the handmaid feels merciful.

On the Ark Grace didn’t need to look up to anyone. Not a person and certainly not an animal, that they had no animals in space helped, but whenever she goes to the stables, she feels small. Nearly all the horses are enormously tall, whether they are heavily muscled war-horses or more gracile, built for speed and distance. They look down their long noses at the nervous skaiplana (sky woman) and show her their fearsomely large, yellowing teeth. Then there’s Strik, who’s only slightly taller than Grace but somehow it feels like she towers over the ex-Guard. The dark skinned handmaid reminds Grace of Melissa Jaha who was as almost as tall as Grace, long limbed and graceful. Melissa had always said it was her Dinka roots. Maybe Strik has similar heritage and she wears her hair like Melissa, cut very short into a curly cap, but unlike Melissa Strik is a trained gona and even after she lost her left hand to a ripa (reaper) kept her place as one of Heda’s Handmaids, she is a very dangerous woman. As Grace’s mentor she’s a mix of the merciless trainer; wanting ten more push-ups, for Grace to run, climb, jump - faster / higher, or master this new weapon and this one and here’s another; and good friend. The two have found common ground in being single, Strik’s houmon died of the Winter Cough three years ago and enjoying football. As handmaids they don’t have time to play the game, instead they support the local team, the Polis Bleironas (Swords). Who if you listen to the two of them dissecting the Bleironas’ most recent performance, are a group of talentless wasters who don’t know how to kick a ball.  

They saddle two heavy horses and walk them out into the streets, where the great beasts majestically ignore the noise and hurly burly of the city. Once through the gates they mount up and ride steadily west. Trying her hardest not to gawp at the constant changes to Polis and the countryside around it brought about by Spring, Grace scans the mix of woodland and grazing they pass through. “Not too harsh on the reins, swing them gently don’t tug. You’re doing well. Oh, look who’s ahead. Hei Windsong!”

Grace swallows a grin as Windsong, mounted on Bezer (Favourite), trots towards them, then turns to walk her horse besides Grace and her borrowed horse Spona (Worker).  They talk as they ride, Strik contributing now and then, but soon she quietly guides her horse further away, to give the two a chance to speak more privately. Strik’s no third wheel, she knows Grace admires the wocha kom Ingranronakru as Grace knows Strik has feelings for Abby Griffin.

As they ride and talk Windsong makes her decision, Grace kom skai (Grace of the sky) would be an interesting lover and maybe more and with war coming, the Handmaid will leave with Heda when she goes south, there is no sense in wating.  She has thought about the tall skai-gona for some months, seen her adjust physically and mentally to life on the ground. Watched as with her kru she fought the Maunon, both to protect her own and to stop a wrong to others. Remembers that as they smoked the pipes and started the negotiations with Jaha, before the skai leader was killed, Windsong had briefly touched the souls of the three planas who were smoking with her. Abby, grieving so deeply the love she had lost and fearful for her goufa (child); Callie openminded, brilliant and adventurous and Grace a gona at heart, searching for a leader worth following and lonely, so very lonely. The wocha observes that Strik has moved away and makes her play, turning the conversation to her own ends.

 “You are meizen (beautiful) when you smile Grace! I want to kiss you but now is not the time. Shall we meet later?”  

Grace almost falls over her horse’s head when the shock of Windsong’s words has her simultaneously clenching her legs and pulling back on the reins. Spona, receiving mixed messages from his rider, decides to stop abruptly and Grace lurches forward. Windsong grabs the flustered plana’s jacket and hauls her back into the saddle.

Strik a few feet away smirks at her lukot’s (friend’s) idiocy and decides that Windsong’s boldness is admirable, perhaps it is time for her to be brave and ask the meizen fisa (healer) out for a meal or an entertainment. Sha (Yes), Eva is to play her harp at Freda’s Bar tomorrow, she will ask Abby to come with her. Should she be as bold as Windsong and say she wants to kiss Abby?   

Meanwhile Grace recovers the ability to speak. “Chof (Thanks) Windsong and sha, I would like to meet later but I am on guard duty from midnight.”

“We could share an evening meal at Bos Grila before then. See you there at eight bells?”

Grace couldn’t hide her grin if she tried and Windsong gets to see those fabulous dimples.

The Tek Floor – Polis Tower – early evening

Clarke and Lexa step out of the elevator on the 45^th floor, handmaids Eris and Bigas are waiting for them, along with Clarke’s bodyguard Ryder. After she recovered from the assassination attempt Lexa turned her mind to her own and Clarke’s security. For some moons Bigas had been asking Lexa for permission to recruit replacements for handmaids lost to death (Hellen) and other duties (Eva and Barb) and for all the handmaids to be trained to use fayoguns. The assassination attempt gave weight to that request and new recruits Grace and Kik, the latter a former scout already trained by Grace to use fayoguns, are settling in well. Lexa also managed to persuade Clarke that, as a wocha and as Heda’s niron (they have had the ‘girlfriend’ conversation) she needs her own bodyguards. Grace is a handmaid and Clarke will not compromise Lexa’s security to enhance her own but that leaves the problem that no-one else in Konopkru, has any experience of being a Guard or bodyguard (Bellamy doesn’t count as his injured leg hinders his ability to run and ride) and a wocha should be protected by her own kru, shouldn’t she? Up step Octavia, Dax and Mbege. Octavia is out west with Lincoln and as Indra’s seken has a home base in Ton DC. The two boys enjoy their jobs as drivers but really want to be gonas. They need supervision and training and Lexa picks one of her best Ryder kom Trikru as their fos. Dax and Mbege agreed and are being trained like they’ve never dreamed (or had nightmares) of, but they’ve stuck it for nearly two weeks now, taking everything that the stone hard Trikru gona has put them through. Both boys sleep like the dead and walk like old men, but as Ryder grudgingly accepts, they are improving. Indra has agreed to Octavia being available as back up if needed.

The corridor curves to the right and Lexa leans slightly into her niron, this earns her a grin and a brushing of hands. They come to the entrance to Raven’s workshop. “Okay, don’t say hello to your genius friend! Just ignore me.”

“Hei Raven!”  The Commander pulls Clarke into the roomy space and closes the door, while their guards post outside. In the privacy of the workshop, there’s only Monty and Raven, Lexa leans more into Clarke and steals a kiss.

“Enough of the PDA. Monty’s still a virgin and sensitive!” The boy blushes and starts to splutter.

“Knock it off Rae, you’re embarrassing him. Any news on Sydney?” Clarke comes to sit on one of the high stools and Lexa stands behind her, chin on her niron’s shoulder and an arm around her waist.

“La Sydney is in a baad, bad mood. Her rover broke down last night and as all her engineers and mechanics are looking for treasure under the sea somewhere down south, it took a full day for her to get moving again. Eventually Byron Edwards, Head of Fabrication in Arkadia talked Shumway through repairs, it took a while, Shumway’s a bit of a klutz.”

“Sinclair didn’t help?”

“No, he didn’t.” Raven grins. “I know he’s a good guy but it’s reassuring that he’s not in on Sydney’s dirty little plans.”

“Do we know where she is, how soon she’ll get to Arkadia?”

“Not exactly no, our telemetry’s a bit off. Using dead reckoning and guessing that she’s travelling roughly a hundred miles a day, because even the best road is slow going, I’d say she’s still in Louwoda Kilron.  Looking at your maps Heda she’s somewhere near the village of Dub. It will take her about three, maybe four days to get to Arkadia. That’s if they don’t break down again.”

Wells walks in from the next room, he stumbles slightly. “Are you still seasick Wells?”

“No, but I’m being a bit slow getting used to walking on a surface that’s not moving.”

Lexa’s delighted to get news from Wells about Luna and the younger natblidas. “You can speak to them on the radio if you want Heda, we’ve got a good signal out to the rig now, but I warn you that two of them will talk of nothing but fish. Luce and Tenson are obsessed with fishing and boats and Camilla will just ask when she can come home, like me she gets seasick.”

Lexa nods, she’s pleased that the younger natblidas are experiencing life outside Polis, but she wants them to stay on the rig a little longer. Eva’s reports on Titus have been mixed. The defeated Fleimkepa (Flame keeper) has not approached any bandronas or wochas to press his arguments about the conclave, but he is spending much of his time in the library, the spies say he is looking for something.

 “Are you well enough to travel Wells?” The young man nods. “Good I want to surprise Albion kom Yujleda.”

Chapter Text

7^th May 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 4^th Moon Last Quarter. The ‘Office’

Breakfast can be a bit hit and miss for Konopkru in Polis. If Murphy’s not on duty in the Tower he’ll be in the kitchen, skillet in hand frying, bacon, eggs, black pudding and mushrooms, while next to him a pot of porridge burps gently. He has Charlotte and Myles overseeing the drinks, teas, weak ale or juices and Callie cutting bread. But if the apprentice chef is not around the likeliest outcome is some form of cremation. To save her life Abby can’t cook over an open fire or on a range, she looks away for one moment, or has second thoughts about a diagnosis, only to discover the bacon’s in flames and the eggs are burnt black. Clarke’s as bad, it’s a genetic glitch she says and Raven and Bellamy have burnt the porridge so often they aren’t allowed to try again. Dax and Mbege are talented eaters but cooking is not in their skill set. Grace can cook but spends most of her days at the Tower, now that she is quartered with the other Handmaids.

This morning all Callie (really it was Wells) has managed to do is cook up a huge mound of scrambled eggs, Charlotte’s helping, slicing and toasting three loaves of bread and setting the table with pots of jam and honey, a salt cellar, ground pepper, a brick of butter and a jug of milk; Myles is pouring tea. Abby wanders in, Callie notices that her friend is humming; The Wild Rover, switching to Scarborough Fair, then something she doesn’t recognise.

“Good night last night, listening to the harper?”

“Hmm, yes. She was very good. I was amazed at how many songs I knew. We all sang along.” Abby sits and starts to spread butter on toast, then piles on scrambled eggs.

Wells sits by her. “How did we live without salt and pepper?” He liberally peppers his eggs.

Callie goes to the door and shouts “Breakfast!”  

“Short answer is that we didn’t. We merely survived. Scrambled eggs on hot buttered toast. That’s living!” Abby and Wells exchange eggy grins.

Callie helps herself to food just as the door opens and kids swarm in.

Abby looks up. “And the locusts came, grasshoppers without number; they ate up every green thing in their land, ate up the produce of their soil.”

“What’s got you quoting scripture, Abby?” Well’s question is a gentle tease.

Callie’s is more pointed. “Yes Abby, you’re not usually one for poetry or quotations. What’s got you so chipper this morning?” And she accompanies the question with a raised eyebrow.

Abby looks up from cutting her toast for only a second, cheeks reddening. “Nothing.”  Then she’s straight back to chewing and doesn’t say another word.

 Polis Hospital

“Luna should be here in a couple of days and Pike’s due to go back to the prison this afternoon, that’s one less for you to think about.”

Clarke’s handover of notes and patients is thorough. Maya and Abby ask a couple of questions to clarify and then Maya heads off to the general ward, she’ll be very glad to be rid of Pike, he gives her the creeps.

“Does it have to be you going to Arkadia honey? Couldn’t Callie or Wells handle it? They have political savvy too.”

“I’m not putting them in danger mom. Kane may be okay with them now but his grip on Arkadia is weak. If Gru, Kaplan, or worst case scenario Diana Sydney, take control they’re as good as dead. But I’m just your daughter as far as they’re concerned.” Abby nods, she’s scared for Clarke, but Arkadia has many hard-working, good people who deserve some kind of future on the ground and if anyone can keep Diana Sydney at bay, it's Clarke; she can give them that future. “I’ll be travelling as part of a big group, more than enough to discourage any attempt on Kane’s life and to protect me. Then when we get there, I can start to spread the news of our experience of peace and the Coalition. Then Skaikrasha will arrive and make them happy with her wonderful food.”

Abby’s not fully convinced but she must let Clarke go. What she can’t do is stop herself from ruffling Clarke’s hair, her daughter squirms at the attention. “Off you go then, Raven’s promised to keep me up to date and I think she’s sewn something into Anya’s coat so she can keep tabs on her.” Abby doesn’t say that she begged Raven to put something like that ‘tracker’ on Clarke, but Raven wouldn’t do it without Clarke’s consent.

With a tense smile and a quick kiss to her mother’s cheek Clarke’s gone, closely followed by Dax and Mbege. Abby’s left alone on the front desk, fingers idly flicking through a set of notes she’s not reading. She stills for some minutes, lost in thought. Then the front door opens again, it’s Strik, like Clarke she’s ready to travel, a saddlebag over her shoulder and a bedroll under her arm.

“Hei (Hi)”

“Hei to you too. You look ready to get on the road. I have the wound packs here ready for Jules and Grace.” Abby puts a couple of khaki kitbags onto the desk and Strik pushes them into her saddlebag. “How long will it take to get to Bilt?” Abby abandons the notes entirely and walks round the desk.

Shrugging her ignorance of the speed of tek vehicles, the tall handmaid puts her kit on the floor.  What she wants to do is lean down and steal a kiss from those meizen (beautiful) lips but she hesitates in case her wish is too presumptuous. They did kiss last night when Strik walked Abby back to the Office after their ‘date’, but will the meizen fisa (healer) feel the same today? ……..  Abby’s hands reach up and pull them closer. “Hei, meizen.”  Hearing Abby speak Trigedesleng is so fanass (sexy)! Strik can’t hide her grin or hold back on that kiss.

The kiss starts soft, then deepens, a gentle exploration that turns into hungry tasting. They break for air and Abby takes a deep breath, leaning into the stiff leather of Strik’s armoured coat. “Wow.” She’d forgotten how overwhelming it felt to be kissed with real passion.

“I do not want you to forget me while I am away.”

“There’s no chance of that. I’ve just found you; we’ve not even arranged a second date.” Abby’s smile looks forced, her grip on Strik’s coat tightens.

“The first night I am back, we will have that ‘second date.’” Dark eyes search Abby’s features, the pad of Strik’s thumb reverently traces the fine bones of Abby’s cheek, her arched brow, the angle of her jaw. “How could I not return when I know you are here.”    

Approaching footsteps force the two apart, both self-conscious and Abby a little flustered - she is supposed to be professional at work, not kissing a beautiful warrior. Maya walks up to the desk.

“Strik, hi. Are you here to collect Pike?”

“No. Gustus will come at midday to take him to the cells. I am just picking up the fisa packs for Jules and Grace.” She turns to pick up her saddlebag and bedroll but Abby is there and they’re kissing again, hard.

“You’d better come back, no excuses!”

The kiss ends, Strik lets Abby step back and then the gona’s through the door and away. Abby turns to the startled nurse. “You didn’t see that, Maya.”

“See what?”  Maya grabs some notes, any notes and hurries off down the corridor leaving Abby to go back to her seat behind the front desk and stare moodily at the door.

10^th May 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 4^th Moon Last Quarter. Louwoda Kilron

Midday

At last Lexa can abandon that vile machine and mount a horse. Even a borrowed horse is better than being cooped up in a rocking, screaming, metal box for days without end. She knows that sitting upfront with the driver she had it better than some. Motion sickness had Bigas projectile vomiting a few marks into the journey. Jules and Isla couldn’t move out of the way of the disgusting fluid, because Handmaids and Scouts were jammed into the back of the troop carriers like sardines; and there was no time to stop so they could clean themselves. They endured the stickiness and stench until a scheduled stop at a river crossing allowed them to bathe, wash down the seats and for Bigas and a few others drink Jules’ ginger tea.  After that Bigas moved to sit at the very back with Phoebe, both were made horribly ill by the journey. But these horseless carts, driven by Grace, Wells and the two ‘Learners’, Kik and Strik, have stamina and speed that no horse can match. At the border with Louwoda Kilron they find Indra’s camp. The Trikru wocha (chief) marched her Rangers and the Delphikru gonas south at such a pace that they are almost at a standstill. On arrival Lexa orders a full day of rest. There’s no point in them arriving at Bilt too tired to fight. Bigas, Phoebe and two of the Scouts are taken to the fisa’s tent.

Later that afternoon, Lexa’s standing in Indra’s war tent, looking closely at the maps laid out on the table. Her wormanas (generals), Indra, Tristan and Solo kom Delphikru, cluster around her, she then invites her Handmaids Isla and Blair to join them. As close relatives of the Louwoda Kilron wocha, the two Handmaids have knowledge of him, his tactics and their home. Lexa invites Indra to speak first and as expected her report is detailed; the Yujleda army camped outside the walls of Bilt is five thousand strong. Wocha Albion is not with them, in his stead is Wormana Kestor. Lexa remembers Kestor from the battle of Fallow-Field nearly three years ago. He is Albion’s sister’s son, a favourite at the Wocha’s court and with Yujleda’s gonas. His popularity arose because he allowed his gonas to take unlimited booty and he was always at the heart of the fighting; he is an able swordsman. But that strength, being at the heart of the fighting, is also a weakness, because once he became embroiled in fighting for his life, he lost what was essential for a wormana, an overview of the whole battle. Also telling in the battle he lost at Fallow-Field was his inexperience in commanding large numbers of gonas. Lexa could imagine him being effective against raiders or bandits but the planning and strategy needed to control thousands over a whole landscape was beyond him.  He may have learnt much from his losses at Fallow-Field or still be an ignorant show-off, she will find out at some point.  She listens carefully to Indra and Solo’s description of where Kestor has placed his forces and how he is supplying them with food and equipment, including siege engines and battering rams.

The experienced Trikru wocha concludes. “It looks Heda, as if he brought inadequate supplies with him. Either he expected little resistance and thought he could use Bilt’s resources as his own or that Louwoda Kilron’s villagers would abandon their crops and beasts when they fled to their walled towns and so plenty would be available to feed his army. His gonas are having to go far afield to find food, though the woodlands around Bilt are providing them with a little game and the materials for his siege machines.”  

Lexa can see that Isla and Blair wish to speak and she beckons them forward. “Isla, Blair you have information you wish to share.”

“Sha Heda. Ai kru is known for weaving skills, not for the number and strength of ai gonas, but we have known many wars and survived. The Kongeda (Coalition) and peace is new, but war is ingrained into how we live. We have been invaded many times by krus such as Ouskejon, Azgeda and Trishanakru. We survived each incursion because we have always cultivated strong allies such as Trikru and Delphikru and all of us are ready to retreat inside one of our two great walled villages when the warning horn sounds. When we withdraw behind our walls, we take our beasts and stores with us. What we cannot take we destroy; nothing is left behind to feed the invaders.”

“Mochof for that valuable information. Indra, Solo, does this match your scouts’ observations?”

The Delphikru wormana’s answer is to the point. “Sha Heda. The invaders have been able to make siege engines of some ingenuity but their gonas are hungry.”

Later that afternoon Lexa and Indra take a walk through the camp. Many gonas they can greet by name, veterans from battles such as Cleve and Fallow-Field. There is a familiarity in this preparing for war, a familiarity that Lexa once hoped she was done with; but it seems that war or at least some form of fighting is never far away. It is her fate to fight for peace. What worries these two very experienced gonas is that in this conflict there is something, or more accurately someone, new. Neither Indra nor Lexa have fought skaigonas with their fayoguns and tek. They have learnt much from Grace, Callie and Raven but need to know more about how dangerous these skaigonas are and how Kestor plans to use them to capture Bilt.

The young Heda wants to directly observe and assess this new danger but Indra disagrees; that she says is the job of the Scouts, Heda should not put herself at risk. But Lexa will have none of it, this is something she needs to see for herself before she finalises her plans. Indra grumbles but complies, putting together a small gonakru consisting of herself and three Rangers, Quint, Tetrus and Spek who have already scouted the Yujleda army. Lexa adds six of her Handmaids; Grace, Kik, Isla, Blair, Strik and Eris and as night falls the small party rides out of camp heading towards Bilt.

When they start out the moon is riding low in the east, half of its’ face bright enough to illuminate the gentle hills of Louwoda Kilron. It is, Lexa thinks, a place made for peace. The land fertile and the water clean; admittedly the woods are scrappy compared to the magnificence of Trikru but they are sufficient for firewood and building cosy homes. As they ride almost silently, hooves and harnesses muffled, clouds drift in and thicken, the land becomes lost in shadowy darkness. With a quiet word Isla and Blair take the lead, guiding their Heda through territory they have known all their lives.

The first village is dark and empty. No livestock, grain or hay is in the barns and the small houses, their doors unlocked, may contain furniture and great weaving looms but they lack the small trinkets and decorations that make them homes.  In the village’s centre a blackened pile gives truth to Isla’s assertion that what food the villagers could not take with them was destroyed.  They ride on to a second village, similarly deserted and empty of foodstuffs and livestock. After a quiet conversation it is decided that they will leave their horses here, hidden in the barn and proceed on foot. There is says Blair only one more village, Strik Klinrona (Little River), before they reach the outskirts of the enemy’s camp. They all take the opportunity to prepare for the final approach; snacking on jerky, drinking from waterskins, taking a piss, adjusting weapons and clothing, switching off the radio; from now on all must be silent.

For another mark they follow the two Handmaids, walking half crouched alongside thorny hedgerows. With an annoying demonstration of bad timing the moon returns to full brightness as the clouds move away to the west. In the distance a scattering of red spots maps out the besiegers’ camp and closer there’s another much larger glow, the village of Strik Klinrona is alight.

When they arrive at the edge of the village, they stay low, keeping out of the light cast by leaping flames that are consuming a lofty barn; some of the houses are also alight, reduced almost to embers. Others stand dark and lifeless. Despite the presence of the fires, the village seems empty of people. No-one is watching the destruction wrought, fleeing the flames or trying to rescue (or loot) possessions.

Lexa signals for her group to withdraw, they will go around the village and avoid the dangers it may hold. Then she hears it, a hiccupping moan of distress. She raises her hand to signal ‘halt’ and looks back at her group. They’ve heard it too. Something must be done; a potential enemy cannot be left alive at their back. Complex hand signals send Grace, Strik, Quint and Spek to investigate, the others watch from the shadows.

When the barn’s roof falls inwards it’s with a loud crack, a whoosh of escaping air (that smells acrid and sweet) and an explosion of yellow sparks that arch into the night, their bright trails illuminate a tall figure running towards the watchers. It’s Strik. “Heda there is one survivor. A badly wounded Skaikru. Grace knows the skat (boy) and he is talking to her of his people and why he was left here to die. There is no-one else alive in the village.”

They follow Strik to what was once the well-tended garden of one of the burnt out houses, there they find the Skaikru gona, a pale young hef (man) lying in a pool of his own blood. Quint holds a large wound dressing to the young hef’s belly, he’s just a skat really, while Grace leans over listening to his whispered last words. “Tell Nate I’m sorry, so sorry. I fucked up when I went with Pike. Sorry, so sorry.” Gouts of dark red blood spurt from his lips as his chest heaves, desperate to take in a breath, to speak. But his fight ends and he falls limply back. Grace closes his frightened eyes as she murmurs the Traveller’s Blessing.  There are a few moments of silence; Quint stands up, wiping his bloodied hands on the dead skat’s trousers.

Grace looks up “Heda, this boy was a cadet in Diana Sydney’s Guard. His mentor was a man called Lucas Harris.” Seeing incomprehension in some of the faces that surround her she explains further. “For Skaikru (Sky People) a cadet is like a seken. His fos was Lucas Harris. What he told me before he died may help us.”

They take cover inside a house that’s untouched by fire, closing the door and shutters before lighting a small lamp. Isla, Quint and Strik stand guard outside, the others huddle around the table to listen to Grace. “Heda the boy was called Bryan, he followed Charles Pike when Pike and Sydney stole a dropship and left the Ark. He was from Farm Station, that means he planted and tended our crops when we were in the sky. He was not a gona but Albion kom Yujleda wanted Skaikru with fayoguns as part of his army and so Sydney took Bryan off farming duties and made him seken to an experienced Guard called Harris. Up to then he had no training as a Guard and knew nothing about fayoguns. He told me that twelve of the thirty Guards Diana gave to Albion were sekens like him, youngsters who have no experience of fighting.  They marched north with the Yujleda army but the leagues of walking tired them and their feet bled because their boots were thin and didn’t fit well. Many times, the army had to wait for them to catch up. The Yujleda gonas laughed at them and called them weak.” There’s a harsh intake of breath around the table at that insult. Grace knows that no self-respecting grounder gona would allow themselves to be called ‘weak’.  “There were arguments, scuffles and bad feelings. It came to a head here in Strik Klinrona. Harris and Bryan were part of a gonakru, captained by a gona called Malco, sent to search the village and hunt the woods nearby. Harris argued with Malco, angry words were exchanged and Malco challenged Harris to solo gonplei (single combat). Neither man could be dissuaded from the challenge. They faced each other ready to fight, Malco drew his sword and Harris pulled a pistol, a small fayogun Heda, out of his pocket and shot him dead.” Another sharp intake of breath; at the lack of honour in using a fayogun in solo gonplei. “The others in the gonakru were incensed by Harris and turned on both Skaikru. Harris was killed quickly and his body was thrown with Malco’s into the barn, which was then set alight along with much of the village. Bryan tried to flee but he was caught and Malco’s second in command a gona called Rylan, slashed Bryan’s belly open and cut the tendons of his ankles, leaving him helpless and dying.”

A groan of disapproval passes around the table, dishonour upon dishonour. Lexa ponders what this means for Kestor using the Skaikru in the siege. “Grace how will the other Skaikru react to losing two of their kind? Likely some story will be concocted about hostiles attacking their gonakru.”

Grace isn’t sure but as she speaks her thoughts she feels their truth. “Harris was a Guard for many years. He is known, not popular but respected. They will want to know what happened and if I was his superior officer I would come here to find out the truth.”

Lexa nods in agreement, Indra too. “Would they talk with us if we offered parley?”

“I don’t know who their officer is. If it’s Gomez or someone I know well, they may talk to me.”

“We will wait until the dawn to see if the Skaikru come. If they do, we will be ready. Grace, radio our camp to tell them we will be away longer than we planned.”

“Sha, Heda.”

 10^th May 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 4^th Moon Waning Crescent. Maunde (Mt Weather)

He leads them in, the way he left, through the broken door on Level 8. Inside is silence and a pitch-black thickness that the sky people’s powerful torches slice through like it’s something solid.  The whispered “Fuck me” is from Shumway as he steps past the first row of dark blocks. He turns and knocks against thick plastic; it rings back, hollow.  Carl Emerson walks on, ten Guards, Commander Shumway and Chancellor Sydney follow him up two rubble cluttered flights of stairs, into a room that once held power and dignity. Now it’s empty of everything but dust. Leaving the former Oval Office behind them they continue to climb through emptiness. Elevators are no more than plunging black shafts, stripped of their cages, running gear and power. To reach their goal they trudge up flight after flight of stairs, taking many breaks for breath, water and tired legs. Then when they’ve climbed above Level 1 and stumbled along a short tunnel, they arrive at a huge space where shafts of green tinted sunlight reveal the twisted wreckage of what was once a set of massive hydraulic rams, now leaning precariously across a gaping hole in the mountain’s side. They clamber through and out into the open, where beneath them, lying in what is now a peaceful valley, is the grounded Ark.

The great blast door has gone, but above where once it sealed a people away from the world, the legend remains: ‘MOUNT WEATHER COMPLEX’. Sydney stands at Emerson’s side, her breath is laboured, politics not physical fitness is her thing. She asks him. “What was this place?”

“It was my home, a storehouse for the world’s greatest art, a civilisation that had to hide away from toxic radiation and the savages who roamed the earth after the bombs fell. Or at least that was what it was, until the savage Commander and Clarke Griffin destroyed it and killed everyone but me.”

10^th May 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 4^th Moon Waning Crescent. Arkadia

Noon

Clarke can’t wait for Skaikrasha to arrive. First the food will improve exponentially from the tasteless slop and wildly over spiced stews that are the current fare dished up in the canteen and secondly, she will be someone Clarke can talk to about Lexa. No-one else has the knowledge or confidence to gossip about the Commander and Clarke not only misses her girlfriend but misses talking about her. She hasn’t even got anyone to talk to about missing her! Anya is hiding in the woods outside Arkadia, waiting for Diana Sydney’s arrival and monitoring Arkadia’s hunters and chatting over the radio with Raven or Monty just isn’t cutting it.

Clarke squares her shoulders and walks out into the main ‘square’, Gru is there with the Guard running more ‘dry fire’ exercises to prepare them, he tells everyone whether they ask him or not, for the moment the grounders “turn on us.” Clarke tries not to glare at her father’s murderer, instead distracting herself by hailing Jackson, her mom’s former apprentice. Smiling he walks over to chat and invites her to come and help him in medical. As soon as the powered door swishes open the familiar smells of antiseptic and harsh cleaning agents bring a wry smile to her lips. Almost automatically she looks for a set of notes to pick up. They slip into Jackson’s office.

That Arkadia is a powder keg ready to blow, the newly qualified doctor can agree. People are stressed, hungry and miserable and have lost confidence in both their Chancellor and the Council. As he lowers himself into what used to be Abby’s chair Jackson sighs. “The better weather is about the only thing keeping some folks out of the psych ward, or from needing to see a therapist. They can’t see an end to the misery, a light at the end of the tunnel and they don’t believe Kane when he says that the light is there, almost within their grasp.”

“Where are all the negativity and naysayings coming from? It can’t just be Gru, Kaplan and Edwards.”

“Some of the senior Guards are close to Gru and follow his lead. Tallus and Logan are in his pocket.”

“But what about the ordinary people? Other than Hannah, who I know was a pain in Kane’s ass about getting to see Monty, is there a groundswell of people who are against him as Chancellor?”

“There’s not a vocal group, or a mass of discontents with specific woes. It’s more like a few loud voices, in key positions. Like the Councillors and Commander of the Guard Gru, people who are looked to for leadership. Then amongst the workers there’s Nygel, she may be just a kitchen tech but as the leader of a criminal network, she’s powerful and the youngsters look to Lucy, Byron Edward’s daughter. She’s getting the apprentices and older schoolkids fired up. Do you know her Clarke? She’s a couple of years older than you, works as a chemical engineer.”

Clarke doesn’t speak for a few seconds, processing the fact that her ex-girlfriend has qualified and has, or maybe not, moved on from pushing recreational drugs. It’s hard for her to see past the fact that Lucy drugged and then dumped Clarke when the younger girl became an inconvenience. She’s used to thinking of Lucy as ‘that bitch’, or the ‘fucker’ Raven suspects sold out PPI (Party Planners Incognito) to the Guard. Murphy, Jasper and Monty ended up in the Skybox after that final raid. “Clarke? Are you okay?” It’s Jackson wondering where her attention’s wandered to.

“Yeah, sorry. I do know Lucy. Maybe I should go chat with her.”

They talk a little more about politics before Jackson invites her to come with him, on rounds. Clarke agrees, she suspects that her mom’s protegee wants her to see how well he is handling Medical and report that back to Abby.  The two of them spend a couple of hours walking through the wards, checking on patients and chatting to staff. Clarke takes the opportunity to speak highly of the facilities in Polis and how grounder medicine has brought new perspectives and remedies into play. Of course, she fields many questions about her mom and why she isn’t in Arkadia and Clarke’s honest in her replies.  

After rounds Jackson has a minor surgery to perform and Clarke wanders off towards the canteen to get a drink of tea. Nathan Miller and a couple of Guards are queuing at the hot water station. “Hey Clarke, you can back me up. The cook who’s coming from Polis makes wonderful food; tell Sam and Jodie about her they need cheering up.”

Clarke doesn’t need to exaggerate Skaikrasha’s talents and soon the young Guards’ mood has lightened and Clarke is free to approach Lucy Edwards who’s leaning against one of the steel girders that hold up the canopy.  “Hey Lucy, it’s been a long time.”

“Well hello Clarke, you filled out nicely.”

Fuck did she ever think Lucy was attractive? In a worldly bad-girl kind of way maybe? Icky, just icky.

“Nice of you to notice, but my eyes are up here. You free to chat? I hear you qualified in Chemical Engineering it must be an exciting time for you; on the ground there’s so much more by way of raw materials available.” Lucy does look up, clearly surprised that Clarke knows she’s qualified or that Clarke has any idea what her job entails.    

“If we ever get the chance to secure raw materials it will be exciting but with the grounders blocking our access, claiming everything is theirs, we’re fucked. We need to take control of our own fate, this is our world Clarke. We need to take charge.”

Suddenly there’s shoving and raised voices behind her, Lucy’s eyes slide past Clarke, recognition flickers in her eyes.

“Clarke Griffin you’re under arrest you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

Chapter Text

11^th May 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 4^th Moon Waning Crescent. Strik Klinrona, Louwoda Kilron.

A gentle shake to the shoulder means it’s time to go on watch. Indra and her team bed down in the deserted house as Grace, Strik, Lexa, Isla and Quint gather their weapons and move quietly outside heading for the centre of the village. There they find that the collapsed remains of the burnt barn are still smouldering, with dully glowing pockets of heat that emit creaks, groans and occasionally showers of sparks. Thankfully the smell of burnt flesh is fading. Quint stands guard over their sleeping friends while the others split into pairs, Lexa and Grace walking south, Strik and Isla to the north.

Grace follows Lexa as the Commander, silent as a shadow, moves into the remains of what must once have been a substantial grove of trees. There’s evidence of recent felling, probably by the Yujleda army looking for fuel and materials to construct their siege engines. Still, there’s plenty of cover left that will hide the two women while they watch the track that leads south towards Bilt. They wait in silence, eyes raking the land between Strik Klinrona and the red dots that mark the besiegers’ camp.

The night becomes chillier as time passes and Grace can feel her limbs stiffening. She stretches and looks up at the stars, the moon set a while back and the sky is briefly cloudless. The Milky Way, stretching across the darkness of space, gives the landscape a pale wash of watery light. Finding the Big Dipper is easy and, in her head, she draws a line from the two stars at its’ base (Merak and Dubhe) to Polaris (the North Star). That line is her hour hand as she then imagines that Polaris is at the centre of a reversed 24 hour clock face.  That gives her a time of 5, she then deducts twice the number of months / moons that have passed since March (the 3^rd Moon). As it is now the 4^th moon, she deducts 2 from 5 to give 3. It is roughly 3 o’clock in the morning. Another three hours to go to sunrise. She never thought that Astronomy lessons on the Ark would come in useful, least of all on the ground. She huffs quietly, if she was being completely honest Raven had to remind her of this formula in one of her sessions for the Konopkru kids. In her lecture/demo on timekeeping the mechanic had explained how to make and use a sundial and then there was this little trick to using the stars at night.  

Clarke regularly runs ‘educational workshops’ for any of Konopkru who want to turn up, though Abby’s lecture on safer sex was compulsory for everyone, an attempt to avoid another Finn catastrophe. The classes are a sort of ‘earth skills’ for people who are living on the ground. Clarke ran a class on map-reading, Lincoln and Octavia did a joint session on tracking, Murphy on skinning animals, Callie on the Kongeda and Trikru law and although Bellamy’s on medieval battle strategies didn’t really fit the brief of ‘something to help our people survive on the ground’; it was very popular when rumours started to circulate that Heda Lexa and Womana Anya would attend to contribute their experience of commanding in battle.

A sharp elbow to her ribs has Grace wondering what she’s missed. Lexa whispers: “someone is coming, look at the campfires.”  

The Commander then whistles a signal; Quint will waken everyone and they’ll spread themselves around the village as planned. Grace meanwhile stares at the distant spots of red; it takes her a while to get it. Some of the spots are blinking. She whispers, “someone is moving between us and the fires, making them blink?”

“Sha. Come we need to be closer.”

They make their way to the edge of the grove and crouch behind a scrubby patch of beech and walnut saplings. It feels like they wait forever, but the stars say it is less than an hour, before they hear marching. Only Skaikru would make that much noise, heavy footsteps, voices, metallic rattles and at one point someone curses loudly and flicks on a torch. “Douse that light!” The beam dies.

From those three words Grace recognises the voice. Lieutenant Arti Gomez.  Lexa whispers, “there are more than twenty of them.”

When the group of Guards, Grace counts twenty four, get to within twenty yards, Lexa taps Grace on the shoulder. Grace hands her carbine to the Commander before standing up and walking out onto the path, hands high above her head, shouting. “Gomez! It’s Grace Byrne. I’m unarmed and want to talk!”

There’re sounds of; guns being raised, safeties clicked off, quickened breaths, a couple of coughs, even a stifled squeak. A bright torch beam stabs into her eyes. “Grace? What are you doing here? Did you kill Lucas and Bryan?”

“Get that torch out of my eyes Gomez! No, I didn’t kill Lucas or Bryan. Lucas was already dead and Bryan was dying when I got here. They were killed by the Yujleda warriors they were supposed to be working with.” 

There’s consternation amongst the Guards, two march forward guns pointing at Grace. “You’d say just that, if you’d killed them.”

“If I had killed them, I’d be long gone. Not waiting here to talk to you. Why are you here anyway?”

The two closest to her glare, one chews his lip, the other looks back at Gomez waiting for the order to shoot.

“Rylan’s story didn’t ring true. Okay, one of his warriors died and an important one at that, but two of ours were killed and none of those who rode with Rylan looked as if they’d been in a fight to the death. They didn’t even look dirty or tired.”

Grace sighs. “Before he died Bryan told me what happened. I’ll tell you what he told me and you can decide if what I say is more credible than whatever story Rylan cooked up.”

Gomez agrees and Grace repeats Bryan’s story. The two Guards keep their rifles pointed at her throughout, while Gomez paces. When she finishes Gomez turns to his companions, there’s a flurry of talk, their voices; passionate, frightened, wary, tumble over each other. Some kind of agreement is eventually reached.

“What do you want to talk about Grace and who’s with you? You’re not wandering around the countryside on your own.”

“I’m with Commander Lexa, she leads a Coalition of peaceful peoples, that Albion kom Yujleda, with Diana Sydney’s help, is trying to destroy. She’s here to end the siege of Bilt.”

Gomez clearly recognises the name of the Commander and he stiffens. “Where are the bodies of Lucas and Bryan?”

“We think Lucas’ body was burnt in that barn.” Grace waves at the still smouldering building. “I can take you to Bryan’s.”

“Keep your hands high Grace, you’re not off the hook for their deaths.”

As Grace turns to lead the Guards to Bryan’s body, her back itches with the knowledge that many rifles in jittery hands are pointed at her. As she starts to walk towards the garden where Bryan’s body lies, she hears a series of bird calls and whistles.  A few moments later Lexa calls out. “Gomez one hundred warriors are following you; did you tell your friends to come along or are these enemies on their way to kill you?”

There’s a babble of voices. “Shit!” “What the fuck.” “What warriors?” “It’s a bluff.”

Gomez restores order. “Silence! We sneaked out of camp, because we didn’t believe Rylan. These warriors will not be friends of ours. I’ve lost five Guards, seven if Lucas and Bryan are included, to those we are supposed to be helping. Hunting accidents, knife fights, falls and infections. My plan was to find out what happened here and then go north to find Arkadia and Chancellor Sydney.”

Lexa doesn’t believe they ‘sneaked out’ for a moment. These branwadas (fools) are incapable of stealth. She steps out of the woods and hands Grace her carbine. “Your pursuers know that you are here, they do not know about us. Who will you fight?”

Silence, the Guards look to their Lieutenant. “How far away are the southerners ma’am?” Grace notes Gomez’ respectful address towards the Commander.

“Half a mark, you would say half an hour, Lieutenant.”

“Ma’am they are not our friends. We just want to leave, go north and join our Chancellor.”

Grace scoffs. “You want to join up with Sydney? She’s not anyone’s Chancellor. She murdered Jaha in cold blood. I was on the radio with Jaha when it happened. Jaha was a dick but shooting a Chancellor dead is not how a new Chancellor is chosen.”

“She had to do it. Jaha was selling us out to …. The grounders. We’d have nothing without Sydney.”

It’s Lexa’s turn to scoff. “It was not Sydney who negotiated peace between the Coalition and Arkadia, who convinced my people that you should be given a place to build your homes, enough land for your crops, water and grazing for the animals we traded.  That was started by Jaha and completed by Kane. Your Sydney helped Albion kom Yujleda kill and steal and now she gives you and your guns to his general Kestor, as he invades this valley.” Lexa’s giving Kane and Jaha too much credit, but this is politics, it was Clarke, Callie and Wells who advocated so effectively for the Skaikru.

 A voice from the back. “Ma’am we don’t want to invade anywhere; we just want a home for our families and to be allowed to live in peace.”

They agree a temporary alliance. Gomez knows he does not have the skills to win this fight and so he places his Guards under Grace’s command and she, with Lexa and Indra’s input, makes a plan that combines lethal crossfire from the Guards fayoguns, with Lexa’s gonas protecting the ignorant Skaikru from the inevitable attempts to outflank them.

Just before dawn Rylan leads his gonas out of the misty countryside and into the village, they carry heavy wooden shields that provide some protection from the bullets that would otherwise make the southern border of the village a killing zone. Lexa has split her small group into two. Indra takes her Scouts and the Handmaid Eris to cover the western edge of the village, where with arrows, axes and swords they meet the overconfident gonas who think they will be able to take the branwadas from the skai by surprise. Lexa and her remaining Handmaids protect the eastern flank.

All was going to plan until the Guards started to run low on bullets, Gomez had warned them to be careful because they hadn’t been able to bring much spare ammunition with them.  But even with their rifles set to single shot and Grace saying only shoot when it will count, each Guard was getting through their six, thirty shot, spare magazines too quickly.  When all it takes is a trigger pull and warriors with bulky shields are charging at you, 210 bullets can be fired in minutes. Grace staggers the reloading of the magazines but that weakens the rate of fire and some warriors get through and the close fighting is brutal.

The older Guards are practised in using their big combat knives and their shock batons but against swords and axes they have no experience and the cadets are helpless. Lexa, Strik and Isla move in to help, when the eastern flanking action weakens.  Later, Guard Cadet Elias Chung, who was lying on the ground with a broken leg and a knife lodged in his side, told his friends that he thought he saw angels. “Because they flew man, they flew like silent deadly birds with long claws of steel that ripped through the enemy like they were made of paper. Paper that turned red. It was sick man, so sick.”

11^th May 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 4^th Moon Waning Crescent.

Arkadia

It may not be the skybox but Arkadia has put together a working prison block. Cells made of metal pods, each with a cot that folds out of the wall and a sanitary unit that doesn’t work. Instead, a metal bucket sits in one corner and a plastic bowl in another. Looking at the coloured lines on the walls and floor Clarke guesses it used to be part of Orchid Station. Her cell is the first in the block and through the slightly wonky window in its’ door she can see that Kane is in the cell opposite hers. He made a lot of noise when he was first brought in but is quiet now.

With a rattle of bolts and locks two Guards enter, each carrying trays of what passes for food in Arkadia. Five trays mean five prisoners. A third Guard locks the outer door and stands, shock baton ready, as one by one the cell doors are unlocked and a tray is pushed in. Clarke is first. The door opens just enough, the tray slides in, the door shuts and a key is turned. She almost throws herself against the window trying to see if she can spy anyone other than Kane in the cells – sure enough Mbege is kicking up a fuss two doors down but that’s all she can make out.  The fourth and fifth prisoners are a mystery.

Her attorney, an Ark Officer called Josef Castillo, visits her after her almost untouched food is removed. His advice is to plead guilty to all charges and rely on Chancellor pro tempore Sydney’s mercy. “She’s just arrived to take up office and so some pardons or an act of mercy might be a good start to her term.”

“You’ve not even told me the charges or discussed evidence with me yet.”

Castillo flicks the screen of his tablet. “I’m afraid the evidence of your treason and other offences is overwhelming Clarke. You have; collaborated with hostiles in destroying the US Government’s Mount Weather Complex, including the death of all but one of its’ citizens.  You then aided and abetted in the theft of all functioning technology from within Mount Weather, together with thousands of priceless works of art. You have kidnapped Arkadians, forcing them to renounce their citizenship of Arkadia to join your own ‘tribe’ and your false allegations about Commander of the Guard Gru were heard by over a dozen. Under the Exodus Treaty to undermine a serving officer of the Guard or a member of the Council is treason. The penalty for treason is death by hanging. Chancellor Sydney has indicated, entirely informally of course, that she is prepared to commute that to the kinder lethal injection if you plead guilty and a pardon is possible if you plead guilty immediately and your mother returns to her post as Chief Medical Officer.”

Every drop of blood in Clarke’s body drains to her feet, but somehow, she remains standing; breathe Clarke, breathe.  It takes her a moment but when she speaks her voice sounds clear and confident.  “I am guilty of no crime. What happened to the people of Mount Weather was horrible, but it was a war; fought because the Maunon, sorry the Mountain people, preyed like vampires upon the blood of those who survived the bombs and then stole the bone marrow of Ark children, they killed Trina, Simon and Ian. The Mountain people were the aggressors, the wrongdoers. The grounders and the100 acted in defence of their people. The contents of the Mountain were taken as spoils of war by the victors and now benefit many krus. My people chose to join my kru and then elected me as their leader in a secret ballot. And what I said about Gru is the truth. He killed my father. I plead not guilty to all charges and you Mr Castillo can take a hike. You’re not acting as my attorney. Get out.”

The smartly dressed man smirks, before banging on the cell door. It opens suspiciously quickly and Callisto leaves.  

What can she do? Clarke paces, assessing the allies she has within Arkadia, those who are not already imprisoned like Kane and Mbege. She starts a list; Dax, Atom, Fox, the Millers, Sinclair…. A sudden ruckus outside her cell draws her to the door, she peers out.

“As a member of the Council I demand to see Mila and to be informed why she has been arrested.” The voice is raised, angry, but also tinged with fear and uncertainty. Jacopo Sinclair pushes through the outer door and into the block. A Guard follows him, weakly protesting that he must speak with the Chancellor first.

“Mila!” The Chief Engineer almost jogs down the corridor, looking into the cells as he passes. When he reaches the final door, he peers through the window. “Guard I need to speak with her. Open the door.” The Guard shakes his head, hand on his baton. The outer door opens, Diana Sydney and Commander of the Guard Gru walk in. Gru dismisses the waiting Guard and Sydney approaches Sinclair, her demeanour confident, almost predatory.

“Sinclair, we need to talk. As you refused my polite invitation to meet and discuss the situation in Arkadia, I had to take steps to get your attention. Commander you can release apprentice Kovich.”   Gru pushes past Sinclair and unlocks the cell door, a young woman, Clarke assumes is Mila Kovich, steps out warily.

“It’s okay Mila, you get back to work. I’ll sort this out.” Sinclair encourages her to go and after a few quiet words with her boss, she leaves; glaring daggers at Gru and Sydney all the while.

Sydney leans casually back against the door of Clarke’s cell. “Councillor Sinclair you are a respected and influential member of the Council and a valued technician. Your co-operation is required to ensure that under my Chancellorship Arkadia is recognised by everyone on the ground to be a place of power and respected as such.”

Clarke can almost see the steam coming out of Sinclair’s ears. “You are not my Chancellor. You are a murderer and a thief.” He almost splutters. “You should be in one of these cells, not my apprentice.”

Sydney’s stance straightens. “I put your apprentice into that cell and I can put her back there. Whenever I order it, she will be locked in here, joining the others on death row. It’s your decision Sinclair; does she live and work with you or come back here to wait for death?”

Sinclair goes pale; with anger, fear or both, Clarke can’t tell, but as he brushes past Sydney, he looks sideways into her cell and stumbles. With windmilling arms and legs, he almost saves himself from falling. He lands with a crunch but is soon on his feet again. Then he’s gone, just Sydney and Gru remain in the corridor. “Will he toe the line?” Gru queries.

“He’d better. There’s no way he wants me to arrest that girl again. But keep a close eye on him. Let’s go and mingle, I want this election in the bag asap, then we can get rid of these losers.” Her arm gesture takes in all the cells. Oozing confidence, the purported Chancellor pro tempore walks out into the sunshine to greet her people.

Clarke looks down at the floor of her cell. Lying just inside the door is a shiny newly cut key.  

Coastal Waters off Polis Bay.

Ontari stands at the rail dressed in loose canvas pants and a tank top. The salty spray would ruin her leathers so she’s dressed down, it’s so worth it to feel warm sun on her skin. Most of the gonas with her, under Wormana Echo’s command, are from the far north and like Ontari are relishing the warm weather and gentle breezes. Swimming lessons, from small boats towed behind the great schooner, are a popular pastime, as is line fishing for tuna. Training, sparring, gambling, the usual activities of gonas with down time, are organised throughout the ship.

A sailor approaches the natblida. “Captain Ontari, Worman Echo has asked for you. There is a message.”

12^th May 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 4^th Moon Waning Crescent. Arkadia

Mid-morning

“We are expected. Chancellor Kane requested a cook capable of feeding large numbers. I am the best and this is my assistant. We have brought our own supplies, a gift from the Commander.”

The Guard at the gate is young and inexperienced. “Ma’am I’ll go check, we weren’t told to expect anyone.” He disappears inside the metal gate, leaving the two women, their carts and drivers to wait outside. Time passes, Skaikrasha puts nosebags on the mules and putters around the two carts, talking quietly to the drivers, pulling at ropes, tightening some, loosening others. Eventually the gate creaks open and a man of medium height, his white hair receding, emerges. A fayogun is slung over his shoulder.

“Look here, er Cook. We have no need of you or your Commander’s supplies. Just go back from where you came from. No harm, no foul.”

Some of his words make no sense but Skaikrasha recognises lies when she hears them. “Chancellor Kane himself invited me, I am Skaikrasha of the Tower. And if the Chancellor wishes to withdraw his invitation, he can tell me himself. I am not spoiling good food for no reason.” The doughty woman folds her arms and glares at him.

“Look ma’am, I mean no offence but you are not wanted here.”

“Then your Chancellor can tell me so.”

“The Chancellor is indisposed.”

“Indisposed – what is indisposed? I am willing to attend on him if he is unwell. Though last I saw he was hale and hearty, enjoying my pancakes and wanted me to cook for his people, so they can enjoy good food. He tells me the cooking here is terrible.”

From behind the gate the audible comment is. “Too right. It’s fucking awful.”

Gru turns back towards the gate. “Shut up you stupid fucker! You’re on report Davis!”

“Sorry Sir.”

“It seems I am needed.”

“You are not coming inside these gates.” With that Gru turns on his heel and stomps back inside, heavy bars drop into place locking the gate. The two women, their drivers and their supplies are left outside. Skaikrasha confers with her colleagues before turning the carts around and walking the mules back down the road for about three hundred cubits. She looks around, the road of packed dirt and rough cobbles widens at this point and a small copse of trees straggles alongside it for another hundred cubits, this will do. She stops, releases the mules to graze and they start to unpack.

Within a mark she has her cooking fires at the ideal temperature, a second batch of loaves is baking in the big iron oven and her assistant is turning two spits, each roasting a whole hog. On the hearth some of last season’s apples are cooking down to a sweet sauce and three large pots of water are warming.  Skaikrasha’s assistant is relieved from her duty at the spits by one of the drivers, a teenage boy, tow-headed and dressed in t-shirt and jeans; he sports a broad smile and surprising strength as he effortlessly turns the spits.   

Midday

The assistant is back turning the spits, while the two drivers cut bread into thick slices.

A party of Arkadia’s hunters walk out of the woods; they look tired, dirty and defeated. One of them carries a small sack that’s half-full of something that is bleeding. Soon they are gathered around one of the carts offering to trade their catch, six rabbits and four squirrels, for the wonderful smelling food.

There is no need to trade, the cook tells them. Chancellor Kane was gifted this food and Skaikrasha’s skills by the Commander. Both Kane and the Commander want the people of Arkadia to eat good food.

The hunters eat a hearty lunch of roast pork, apple sauce and bread, before wandering down the road to Arkadia, bellies full, smiles on their faces and backpacks stuffed with bread and roast pork.  The gate opens to let them in.

Less than half a mark later a group of ten youngsters are let out, they carry tek and fuss around the fence for a while, tapping things and shouting to each other and the Guards. Their task is soon complete and they wander over to the carts. They’ve heard that there is free food and that it tastes delicious. Skaikrasha and her assistant serve them pork, apple sauce and bread. The young mechanics mill about and yes; second helpings are allowed. There’s a little horseplay, minor bumps and scuffles as the hungry youngsters line up for more food. Eventually they wander back to the gate, carrying their tek and bundles of pork wrapped in slices of bread. Some are still eating, their faces hidden behind doorstep sandwiches, cheeks bulging with thick cuts of pork. One carries a whole joint, he’d begged it for his friends inside and the generous cook had said ‘of course, take it youngon. Enjoy'. Eleven of them make their way back through the gates.

Chapter Text

13^th May 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 5^th Moon. New. Arkadia

 Morning

Clarke looks at her dad’s watch, it’s 10 am, what passes for breakfast has just been removed from her cell and as the outer door closes behind the two Guards carrying away four almost untouched trays, she hears voices: strident, shouting, almost roaring! Then a loud crack, like metal buckling under pressure, a woman screaming, some boos and hisses. Banging like a drum, thumps. Amplified words that are muffled and distorted. “Baack ….. quart... Staay…….. Disperrr… Mooove Baaack.”

Outside her cell the remaining Guard leans closer to the outside door, listening intently, he’s tense, shock baton in hand, ready for whatever is happening outside to come inside. A banging on the door has him stepping back readying his weapon, but it’s only another Guard who beckons him outside. “Everyone’s needed in the wall. Leave these fuckers be.”   

As soon as the door closes Clarke fits the key Sinclair slipped under her door into the lock, it turns with a grating squeak and she’s into the corridor. First, she releases Mbege, he’s already armed himself with a staff that she recognises is made from the side of his cot, then Kane and finally the mystery prisoner who is Kane’s assistant Larry Grayling. Grayling looks a mess and his mumbling attempts at speech reveal broken teeth and likely a broken jaw. With difficulty she makes out the words. “Gru doesn’t like me.”  The four of them follow Clarke to the outer door, her key doesn’t fit that lock. Fuck!

“We must wait for a Guard to come back, then we jump them. We need to make more weapons.” That’s Mbege, already pulling at Kane’s cot.

“Yes, but we need a plan too. Do we hide back in our cells until only one Guard is on duty, or wait by the outside door to grab anyone who comes on their way in, make a distraction or what? Plan first, then more weapons. Larry, I think you need to sit.” Clarke’s worried, the assistant’s skin is pale, his gaze unfocused and he’s sweating, he likely has internal injuries.

Outside the placards bob and swing as the rioters swarm into the central square. A thin line of Guards, armed with plastic shields, shock batons and truncheons, is keeping them away from the main doors into Alpha Station. There’s no sign of the Chancellor or any of the Councillors.

WE WANT GOOD FOOD – WHEN DO WE WANT IT?  NOW!

WHERE’S OUR CHANCELLOR?

WHERE’S MARCUS KANE?

WE DESERVE THE TRUTH.

DEMOCRACY! ACCOUNTABILITY!

OPEN THE GATES TO FREEDOM; TO GOOD FOOD!

There’s even a group of Ark Officers shouting. “The rule of law must prevail!”  Their placards read ‘LAW NOT FORCE!’ and ‘EQUALITY BEFORE THE LAW.’ As slogans go, they’re tame but the feelings behind them are very real, anger, despair, hopelessness, fear.

Gru marches behind the line of Guards, a megaphone to his lips. Ordering the people of Arkadia to return to their quarters, to cease and desist from civil disorder, to ‘Move Back.’ His words have little effect.

Indra’s Camp: The Border between Trikru and Louwoda Kilron.

Mid-morning

Gonas on watch send word that Heda and Wocha Indra have returned and soon help is on hand for the wounded. The surviving Ark Guards are escorted to a small compound, where they are fed and can take shelter from the pounding rain. Ten survived the battle. Those that died were given to cleansing fire and Keryon (the Spirits) along with Handmaids Eris and Kik and Scouts Spek and Tetrus. Of the survivors four Guards are wounded, cadet Elias Chung most grievously. Indra, Quint and Strik received minor wounds, a slashed arm, broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder.

Octavia, Lincoln and five hundred gonas arrived from Ingranronakru early that morning and the seken is soon at her fos’ side to; help Indra out of her armour, fetch hot water, clean dressings and a quick meal. The slash to Indra’s arm is stitched by Lincoln. Bigas and Phoebe, recovered from their travel sickness, take up their duties immediately. This allows Strik to go to the fisa’s tent where Jules manipulates her shoulder back into place and supports her left arm with a sling. Grace goes to check on the Guards, she wants to make sure that their highest ranking survivor Sergeant Skolimowski, knows what is expected of him and his Guards whilst they are in camp. They have agreed to disarm and go to Polis (Wells will drive them under escort) where they will remain until the status of Arkadia is settled.   It is, the Sergeant agrees, a very fair deal from the Commander.

Lexa is now in her own war tent, gazing at a detailed map of the area. Standing at her side is the handmaid Isla who traces the route her sis Blair will take to enter the besieged village.  First, she points at a craggy area marked to the north. “Ai sis (my sister) will stay hidden until tonight, then she will walk to this bluff, where the falling klinrona (stream) dives into what we call the Underworld; a great muddle of narrow caves that water has carved through the rock.  We were born in Bilt and played in these tunnels as goufas (children); we know our way through them well. One of our favourite games was to find our way to Bilt through these caves blindfolded Heda. When you know how it is easy.” The handmaid looks up to see if Heda wants her to explain. Lexa nods. “At the beginning place your hand against the left wall and follow it into the darkness. When the passage forks you go left for two turns. Then you switch to touch the right wall and for the next three forks you go to the right. At the crossroads you go straight ahead and finally left again. Underfoot is safe until just after the crossroads when there is a pit you avoid by walking on the left. That will get you to the gate. It will be guarded but Blair will get an audience with our ani (uncle), give him the radio and he will be able to speak with you Heda.” Lexa thanks the Handmaid and releases her from duty to get some sleep.

They are all tired, the fight at Strik Klinrona was hard and the loss of two handmaids, Eris who served her for many years and Kik who she was just getting to know, is a blow to her and her Handmaids’ spirits. Rylan and the few Yujleda gonas that survived retreated pell-mell, but the victors had no time to rest or mourn their losses. Wormana Kestor would likely send another, larger, gonakru to seek vengeance. So, Lexa used the still smouldering barn, replenished with dry wood, as a pyre for their dead and left while it was still burning. As they travelled back to Indra’s camp the clouds rolled in from the east and it started to rain.

This, her smallest, war tent is sparsely furnished, with a single war chest, her throne, the map table and a small cot. She sits on the war chest and scans the map. Even though Blair knows her way through the caves the Handmaid is risking her life to get a radio into Bilt. Radios, something unheard of until the Skaikru arrived. She rubs at her tired eyes, the Skaikru are changing her world; they are even changing war.

Bigas calls into the tent. “Heda, Wells kom Konopkru has news from Arkadia.”

Wells’ news is alarming. Clarke and Kane have been arrested by Sydney, who is calling herself Chancellor pro tempore. Jok, the one thing Clarke feared was Sydney in control. Lexa’s heart pounds, she feels cold, then hot, then cold again. Her hands are clammy. Wells’ agitation is almost infectious; he wants to go back north immediately to rescue his friend and what is the Commander going to do about it? Lexa, outwardly calm, demands more information. Raven is his source. Get Raven on the radio now!

Raven is beyond agitated; the radio almost explodes with her rage and expletives. Lexa listens and sifts out what she needs. Clarke and Kane were arrested two days ago, Skaikrasha arrived at Arkadia yesterday and is camped outside the gates with Anya as her ‘assistant’ and Penn as a driver. Aden is inside Arkadia and has met Sinclair, Dax and the Millers. Mbege is imprisoned with Clarke and Kane. Their lives are in danger; Sydney is threatening to execute them. The Maunon Emerson has been seen at the Maunde (Mt Weather).

This morning Arkadians rioted demanding Kane’s release, Skaikrasha’s food and the ‘rule of law’.  They completely wrecked the canteen and kitchens and did serious damage to the gates and fence. To pacify them Sydney promised public trials and elections within seven days. Meantime Arkadians have free access to the mobile kitchen Skaikrasha has set up on the road outside the gates.

Konopkru are within the Kongeda and Lexa is obliged, as well as willing, to come to the assistance of Wocha Clarke kom Konopkru and her imprisoned bodyguard. And while Lexa may be hundreds of leagues away from Arkadia, she has resources that she can use.  She spends the next mark talking on the radio, before wearily making her way back to her tent, she must discuss with Windsong, Indra and Solo the deployment of their gonas. It is time for Kestor kom Yujleda to feel Heda’s wrath.

Polis 

Mid-day 

For all that she has enjoyed the sea Ontari is glad to be back on land, wearing her usual clothes and catching up with her friends.  Echo and her gonas camp at the edge of the city, collecting supplies and making ready to march the next day.

Originally, they were bound for the southern coast of Yujleda where Heda Lexa intended to use them to interfere with Albion kom Yujleda’s efforts to locate treasure in the submerged city of New Orleans. But yesterday Raven’s radio message led to them anchoring in Polis Bay, waiting to see if their orders were to change. The orders were changed; the four hundred Azgedans, known as the Pakstoka (Wolf) regiment because of the rumours, that these gonas are only too happy to spread, that they can change into ravening wolves, are now bound for Arkadia. The rumours about them are just rumours, but behind the overblown stories is a grain of truth, as some of these gonas have ‘gona’ wolves that fight alongside their trainers. Ontari was given a newly weaned cub by Roan’s advisor Frey and spent most of the voyage from Asgard, the northernmost port in Azgeda, to Polis cleaning up after the pup, feeding it on regurgitated meat and establishing a bond with it. Now after two moons the cub, that Ontari named Asgard after the port, is an adorable ball of fluff with legs that lengthen daily and who is also a playfighting menace with razor sharp teeth and a healthy appetite.  Everyone adores him.

Arkadia

Late Afternoon

Dax, hoodie shrouding his face, slouches against the launch-bunker’s concrete wall, looking along the fence line at a dozen metal containers that squat massively on raised concrete blocks.  Storage of foodstuffs must be the purpose of the three that have refrigeration units attached to their roofs, two more have open doors that show them to be full of gardening and farming tools and another three are painted with hazmat signs signifying corrosive liquids or explosive gases. Nathan Miller has spent time guarding Arkadia’s resources; he knows these containers and their contents.  

“The third along, with red and white stripes painted on the side, that’s the cells. Is that where Sinclair said he saw Clarke and left a key?”

Dax nods. “We scope it out now. Then come back after dark.”

The two men, match pace with the citizens around them, stride purposefully as if heading to the square to join with others patiently waiting for food from Skaikrasha’s kitchen. They only peel off at the last minute to slip behind the containers.

Indra’s Camp: The Border between Trikru and Louwoda Kilron.

Late afternoon    

Lexa’s sleep, imposed on her by Indra who insisted that all who took part in the fighting at Strik Klinrona needed some rest before planning a war, is disturbed by thoughts of her niron (loved one) imprisoned in Arkadia. Like Wells she wants to travel back north immediately and amongst other actions that she can vividly imagine, tear out Diana Sydney’s throat! But she must stay here to command her outnumbered army and relieve Bilt.

But Clarke will be freed somehow. Anya, Skaikrasha, Aden, Penn and Ontari will do whatever is needed to get Clarke, Mbege and Dax safely out of the metal monstrosity that is Arkadia and then they’ll find Emerson. Anya is more than capable; Lexa must be patient.

A mark later, standing around the map table, her womanas and wochas with her, Lexa sets out her plan to relieve the siege of Bilt.   

“We are one thousand against five thousand, a face to face fight is not impossible to win but I deem the cost to my gonas too high. This is how I plan to take the battle to Kestor kom Yujleda.” There are nods of agreement around the table, no-one want to waste gonas.  “Tomorrow  I will speak with Wocha Callum on the radio, using that tek we will be able to time his forays from the besieged village to coincide with our raids on the main Yujleda camp. Our raids on their western flank are under your command Solo kom Delphikru. Your gonas are to keep the Yujledan army nervous, sleepless and uncertain of when you will strike next.” Lexa starts to pace, her anger at this invasion translating into kinetic energy.  “But I want much more than this, I want Kestor kom Yujleda to start to feel besieged, to feel helpless.” Her hand hovers over the map, gesturing at the disputed territory. “The lands here are mainly pasture, scrub and farmed fields; Tristan your Rangers can use the scrub and hedges as cover for attacks on their foraging parties, his gonas are going to be hungry, very hungry” Tristan ducks his head acknowledging the order, pleased that Heda is using his Rangers well. Lexa continues. “Wocha Windsong, Wormana Dark-Reed, the gonas of Ingranronakru played an important part in the battle of Fallow Field. Any of Kestor’s gonas who fought there should remember your horse gonas sweeping across their lines, dealing out death and slaughter. Perhaps your gonas would enjoy reminding those of Yujleda of your prowess. Within their sight and hearing, dance your War Dances, your Horse Dances, beat your drums and sing your songs of glory. Let them know fear and start to dread what is to come.” The smile of agreement from Windsong is almost feral, the peace loving wocha, like Heda Lexa, fights for peace with great skill and a ferocity that matches the great cats that roam the Plains. “Then, like Solo your gonas are to raid the camp, but from the east. Indra, the Trikru Scouts are our hidden eyes and our reserves, but on occasion the Yujleda gonas must know that they are stalked, that they are our prey.  Seemingly random killings, with the dead left on display, will remind them that the enemy is ruthless and that death can strike anywhere, anytime.” Lexa pauses, lets her plans sink in. “Does anyone have questions?”

Arkadia

Night

Floodlights turn Arkadia’s night to a blinding day. Bright, white light washes out the colour from leaves and grass, turns metals into mirrors and fuels an increasing demand for sunglasses. Within and for a few yards outside the fence, it’s like a pre-bombs sports arena, every person, machine and building is either highlighted by the massive arrays of LEDs or thrown into black shadow.  

Nate’s wearing his uniform now. He, Dax and Aden are back at the launch-bunker, crouching in its’ shadow, waiting for two Guards to leave the ‘prison’ carrying the prisoners’ food trays. Once the two carrying the trays leave the area, Nate will use the key Sinclair gave them to get inside. Nate’s uniform should give them a chance to take the remaining Guard by surprise and at least Clarke can help take the Guard down, as she has a key too.  

But there’s no sign of the Guards leaving, they’re late. The three boys wait. Nate fidgets with his belt, then straightens his cap. What the fuck is happening?

Finally, the door opens and two Guards step out into the dazzling light, they’re laughing at something one of them said. The door shuts behind them and they walk towards what’s left of the kitchens.

The rescuers wait, counting to one hundred before they start to move. Suddenly there’s a ruckus from the ‘prison’. A Guard stumbles through the open door and shouts, almost screams, “Help! Escapers!” as he falls down the shallow steps, kicking at the door as he tumbles backwards. The two who just left, reappear in the distance, speaking into a radio as they run towards the prison, weapons drawn. A spotlight swings to add even more light to the area, the prison door is punched open, people tumble out. One takes a swing with a weapon at the first Guard, another sprints away towards the fence, he's pursued by one of the running Guards still talking into his radio.

Dax shoves Aden back into the shadow. “Get back to Mecha. Sinclair or Mila will hide you. Nate you join the other Guards running to the scene, if you can help our people. I’ll see if I can get near the fence to help whoever went that way. Go!” The three run off in different directions. Nate towards the prison, Aden and Dax away. The whole area is starting to be flooded with Guards. Two prisoners are wrestled down, Gru appears, he kicks a downed prisoner. When Nate gets there, Guards are pulling Clarke away from Gru’s boot before snapping cuffs on her and Mbege. Larry Grayling lies on the ground, Gru moves to kick him.

Through bloodied teeth Clarke splutters. “Don’t hit him, he’s already hurt!”

***********************

The boot connects hard with the prone man’s side, the assistant doesn’t even try to avoid the blow, there’s a crunch, the sound of air leaving lungs in a mournful sigh. Gru kicks him again, there’s no response, it’s like kicking a sack. For some reason that makes Gru angry, the fucker’s not even acknowledging his boot. Again and again, he kicks, the girl’s screaming at him. He stops when Shumway grabs him; the former Commander of the Guard pulling back the current incumbent.  Gru mutters, “fucker, bloody fucker, Kane’s fucking bum-boy. Not worth putting the fucker on trial.”

*************************

Nate has made his way to stand near Clarke. Holding her back is Sgt Lewis, who when he sees Nate pushes his prisoner, not unkindly, towards him. “Hold on to her cadet or Gru will have her.” Clarke’s breathing hard, blood flows from her nose and mouth and her left cheek is swollen. With her hands cuffed behind her she can’t wipe away the blood that steadily drips onto her shirt.

Nate whispers “Clarke stay still, there’s nothing you can do.”

“Take the key.” Warmed metal slips into his hand.

Diana Sydney pushes to the front of the crowd of Guards and nightshift workers who now surround them. The mood is getting ugly and Gru’s clearly out of control. She looks at him in disgust, then at the still form of Grayling.

“You’ve overstepped Commander Gru and are temporarily relieved from duty; Terence Shumway, resume your office of Commander of the Guard.”  Her predatory gaze then falls upon Clarke and Mbege. “Innocent people do not try to escape lawful arrest. Your trials will take place within 48 hours and Arkadia will see justice. Commander Shumway, I want the missing prisoner found, the prison and prisoners searched and a report on my desk explaining what happened by 0900.” She looks down at Grayling. “Is he dead?”

Sgt Mitch Lewis kneels by Grayling and searches for a pulse. There may be a slight flutter or is it just wishful thinking that his old friend still lives. “I think he’s alive Ma’am.”  

“Get him to the Medical Centre.”  

14^th May 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 5^th Moon. New. Louwoda Kilron.

The Low Plain south of Bilt.

The morning is cool, a weak sun can’t quite defeat the chilly breeze that ruffles hair, feathers and decorations. The morning dew has vanished, leaving the ground refreshed but firm underfoot. Grace is off duty but she, Octavia and Indra, along with many others who are not that moment involved in preparing for battle, follow Heda Lexa and Windsong, the Handmaids on duty and a group of Scouts, to where five hundred Ingranronakru gonas and one thousand horses await inspection by their Heda and Wocha (Chief).

In the near distance, just out of bowshot, the Yujleda encampment can be seen, in front of it are their gonas, ready to repulse the anticipated attack. An attack that is not planned for today. Today is for display and warfare of the mind.

As the group led by Heda Lexa approaches the lines of gonas and horses Grace can see that each horse is painted and decorated and that the gonas wear feathers, quills and complicated beading in their hair and on their clothes. She knows that the paint is used to display some of the history, strengths and intent of both rider and horse. Plus, Windsong told her last night, beneath the furs, the meaning of some of the patterns. Red hands, means a rider who seeks vengeance. Yellow arrows are for victory. Strength is denoted by white circles and the zigzags of thunder bolts. Dots of red or white promise rain or hail falling upon the enemy.  White stripes on a horse’s chest and nose are again about strength and crosses of blue or red mean surviving ambushes and victorious raids. As Lexa rides through the lines, she speaks with gonas who proudly explain that they seek vengeance for the death of a bro, nomon or sis who fell at Fallow Field or that this feather was awarded, by Wocha Windsong, Sweet Grass or Dark Reed, for bravery at the battle of; Five Ways, Deep Lake or Red Bluff. The inspection ends, both Lexa and Windsong make short speeches that raise loud cheers from gonas eager to display their prowess. The dances are about to begin.

Every Ingranronakru gona has two horses, in part because that allows their army to move faster than any other. When travelling a distance, they switch between the two, riding and resting the horses alternately. It has been known for an Ingranronakru war band to ride through the night and to cover over one hundred leagues in a day. A spare horse is also valuable to replace one that is wounded or killed in battle, as Ingranronakru prefer to fight from horseback. The first display is not really a dance, more a demonstration of co-ordination and skill and it is led by Wocha Windsong herself on her two warhorses Faya (Fire) and Woda (Water).

As she watches the Ingranronakru prepare to start the display Grace admits to herself that she is besotted with this beautiful woman, who has donned a magnificent war bonnet of eagle feathers, ermine skins, felt and beads and wears the stunning ceremonially decorated dress of her kru, an open deerskin shirt, deerskin breeches and moccasins.   Windsong rides at the head of three lines of one hundred gonas, perfectly balanced and at ease, one foot on the broad back of each of her horses. Her gonas ride likewise. Fast, nimble, graceful, the gonas follow their wocha as she guides her horses at breakneck speed across the grassland in a great circle. They then split off into three different directions, south, east and west, while Windsong rides north bisecting the circle. She halts, her horses spin beneath her feet (how she keeps her balance Grace has no idea) and shouts an order. Then three lines of gonas and Windsong all ride at full gallop towards the centre of the circle and somehow, they don’t collide in a mess of blood, hair and bone. Instead, the lines pass through each other and the horses and riders re-form the circle they have just ridden across. Windsong, still standing on Faya and Woda, trots to its centre. There, as she draws her tomahawks, Faya and Woda rear up, all the gonas shout an acclamation, all their horses rear in unison and Windsong urges her steeds forward, again at full gallop. The circle opens to allow her through and for a few moments she is speeding north towards the enemy, tomahawks in hand. Her gonas, re-form into three lines and gallop behind her and towards the enemy and three sturdy targets (poles that have been painted red).  First Windsong and then her gonas throw their tomahawks into the poles, reducing them almost to kindling in a matter of moments.  The noise of the horses hooves, the holla’s and roars from the gonas as they race past the poles throwing their axes, is almost deafening.

At Windsong’s command the galloping horses turn. Grace remembers an old saying. ‘Turn on a dime”, well that’s what six hundred and two horses do, before racing off back to their lines. The field empties, to silence. The breeze is felt again and a lone tree shakes its’ leaves in a sly whisper.

From the south comes the sound of drums, at first a steady heavy beat that matches the pace of the dancers as they enter the field. Two hundred dancers, each brandishes a weapon, or weapons, a tomahawk or a spear; a bow or a club of stone or wood, many have knives of gleaming steel. Some carry fayoguns. Human voices join in, following the beat with wordless ululations. The drumbeat responds by quickening, its’ rhythm changeable and the dancers begin a complex interweaving that forms a great circle. Within that circle they dance stamping, twisting and gyrating in a graceful harmony that is echoed, almost amplified when the sensuous notes of the flute float over the field. All is sound, rhythm and movement. Until one gona races to the centre of the circle shaking a great bone rattle. Immediately all the dancers still, drums, singing and flutes are silenced. The gona, Wormana Dark-Reed, shakes his rattle at the dancers, seemingly berating them! He then points at the enemy, still drawn up in lines across the Plain and all the dancers turn to face them. Then the war dance really starts.

The noise of two hundred dancing and three hundred mounted (on one horse each this time) gonas is phenomenal. Howls, barks, yells, shouts, bellows and growls roll across the grassland as Ingranronakru dance for war. The athleticism is stunning, muscular leaps, bounds and strikes are highlighted against the grim rocklike stamping, all in perfect synchrony.  The awe and fear generated by these supreme warriors is almost overwhelming, Grace must force herself to be still, to overcome her instinctual wish to run. It’s terrifying. She looks around, is she the only one feeling this way? Octavia holds onto the pommel of her sword like her life depended on it, Indra’s jaw is rigid, Bigas is as always scanning the surrounding are for threats, but the experienced Handmaid holds herself stiffly. Only Heda Lexa looks relaxed, but as Grace has sworn never to play poker against the extremely controlled Commander, she doesn’t feel too bad that her own jaw and buttocks are clenched. She can’t imagine what the gonas of Yujleda are feeling, all this raw power, anger and aggression is directed at them.

Chapter Text

16^th May 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 5^th Moon. Waxing Crescent. Louwoda Kilron

Dawn

There’s a constant trickle of reports. Scouts hand in carefully drawn maps and sketches, together with verbal descriptions of the Yujledan gonas’ siege engines, defensive traps, earthworks and trenches. Young sekens tell her how her gonas have fared in their raids and forays. Lexa keeps a careful record of all actions, reactions and numbers; war is a game where numbers are important. Numbers in columns: -

Yujleda Dead (estimated) 200. 

Yujleda Serious Wounds (estimated) 110.

Kongeda Dead 25.

Kongeda Serious Wounds 20.

Phoebe announces. “Heda, Octavia kom Konopkru from Wocha (Chief) Indra.”

The seken is admitted, she is breathless, flushed, bursting with news. Inwardly Lexa smiles, the skai people find it so difficult to conceal their emotions but under Indra’s tutelage Octavia will learn. “Octavia, what news from Wocha Indra?”

“Good news Heda.  Yesterday evening Trikru Scouts patrolling to the south found a Yujleda convoy travelling along the Great North Road. Ai fos knew that Tristan and his Rangers were not far away and she sent, Bris kom Trikru, to find them. Together Rangers and Scouts ambushed the convoy and were victorious.” As she finishes her message, the youngon pales slightly, likely it was a bloody affair.  

“How many died Octavia?”

“Four hundred Yujleda dead, thirty Trikru. No significant wounds. Two Yujleda gonas were allowed to live and are being taken to the Yujleda camp so that Wormana (General) Kestor knows that his reinforcements and supplies were taken.”

“What supplies were captured Octavia?”

“Twelve wagons, containing cereals, pulses, salted meats and ammunition for guns. There were also livestock, chickens and cattle. Heda.”

Lexa watches Octavia carefully. She looks a little ‘battle shattered’, this is usually a transient condition that can affect sekens new to battle, and Octavia’s left arm is bloody. “Did you sustain a wound Octavia?”

“It’s nothing Heda, just a scratch.”

“Scratch or not when you leave this tent you will go to the fisas. That is an order. Mochof (thank-you) Octavia you can go now.”

The young gona bows respectfully and leaves. Lexa adds the numbers to her columns.

Yujleda Dead (estimated) 600. 

Yujleda Serious Wounds (estimated) 110.

Kongeda Dead 55.

Kongeda Serious Wounds 20.

She looks at the figures. What will make Kestor kom Yujleda swallow his pride and retreat? The loss of reinforcements and supplies must be a blow to him and his hungry gonas. Perhaps now is the time to strike hard, it could bring results.

“Phoebe get me a horse saddled and tell Grace I want to use the radio.”

Lexa switches the radio on; she knows how to use it but Grace is more adept with tek and Lexa likes to pace when she is thinking strategy.

16^th May 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 5^th Moon. Waxing Crescent.

The woods near Arkadia

Dawn

Inside a bunker, the one that was used by herself, Clarke, Raven and others to escape the Maunde and their acid fog last summer, Anya is finalising her preferred plan, her backup plan and the backup for her backup plan, with Skaikrasha, Penn, Dax, Kane, Ryder, Ontari and Echo.

Ryder has just returned from his latest scouting mission. Since arriving two days ago, he left Polis on learning that his two young sekens were in danger, he has spent nearly all his time at or near Arkadia. The woods outside, their streams, bunkers and trees are mapped in his head and when Aden escapes the Arkadia Guards’ notice the young natblida gives him plans and descriptions of what is behind the metal village’s fence. It was Ryder who retrieved Kane and Dax the day after they escaped and brought them safely to this bunker. His report is of interest. “Wormana the Maunon (Mountain Man) Emerson has not left Arkadia for two days. He sleeps in their metal boxes and in the day, he is in the courtroom watching Clarke’s trial, even if that trial hasn’t progressed very far yet. Aden tells me that he speaks confidently of Clarke receiving a death sentence.”

That the trial is progressing so slowly is due to Callie. The former Ark Officer insisted on returning to Arkadia to act as Clarke’s attorney and is using her extensive knowledge of the Ark’s legal system and the Exodus Charter to good effect. For over a day she’s delayed the start of Clarke and Mbege’s trial with legal arguments and jury selection. That extra day gave Echo, Ontari and the Pakstoka (Wolf) Regiment time to reach Arkadia. Now with Emerson in Arkadia one of Anya’s many problems, hiding five hundred Azgedans and their pakstokas until they are needed, has just been solved.    

 “With Emerson in Arkadia the Maunde (Mt Weather) is empty. There the Pakstokas can be close but out of sight. That is where you will wait Wormana Echo. When I signal, it should take no longer than half a mark for you to get to Arkadia. Do you want to take the shields with you or leave them hidden?”

They talk through timings and strategies, but plans can only cover some of the myriad possibilities and outcomes, nothing is ever certain in war, not even the fate of Heda’s niron (beloved). Eventually Anya brings the meeting to an end; everyone knows the part that they must play.

Skaikrasha and Penn move noiselessly through the woods, arriving back at the two carts and reviving their cooking fires without Arkadia’s Guards, high up in their towers, even noticing that they ever left. 

Arkadia

Mid-Morning

The big monitor on her desk gives Diana Sydney an excellent view of the courtroom. Looking solemn; are three judges, handpicked by the Chancellor herself, and the two prisoners, who sit handcuffed in the secure dock (a large cage containing two chairs). The trial is being broadcast all over Arkadia. Everyone can see what is going on if they bother to tune in to Channel 1. Most, Shumway tells her, are watching; from the workers repairing the damaged kitchens, to the mechanics in Sinclair’s lab and the rec room is packed. Even the legal niceties of jury selection they find gripping.  Diana supposes that compared to the summary trials on the Ark, when juries were so rare as to be unheard of, there is an element of novelty here. As she leans back into her comfortable chair she sips at a cup of tea, it’s quite palatable if you put enough honey in it. Honey, in Diana’s view, is the best thing about life on the ground.

Jury selection is nearly over; the Defence and Prosecution have only one peremptory challenge each remaining. Callie Cartwigg confers briefly with her clients before sitting down. She has no objection to the last juror and the process ends. Diana yawns, the whole thing is one great pantomime. The Prosecution objecting to any juror under the age of twenty-five, the Defence objecting to any Guards or retired Guards, the Prosecution challenging whether anyone who has been treated by Dr Abby Griffin can be unbiased in judging the medic’s daughter. All of it a charade, the verdict will be guilty and the death penalty will follow. It’s a done deal and Cartwigg’s posturing is not going to change that.

The Prosecution’s opening speech is mercifully short, if overdramatic. The horrible deaths of the hundreds within Mt Weather is recounted with overblown rhetoric and far too much handwaving and acting out, in Diana’s view anyway. Reading out the charges of stealing many magnificent art works, includes several vivid descriptions of well-known masterpieces and much posturing about how in the hands of savage grounders these invaluable, precious, priceless etc gems is as good as lost. Probably used as firewood! The slander of the then Commander of the Guard Edward Gru by the arrogant Ms Griffin is fortunately presented in a lower key. It is mostly a case of ‘and then the Defendant Griffin said XXXXX and then she said YYYYY etc’. Much reported speech plus reference to Gru as ‘a senior officer of Arkadia who was, at the time of the slanders, instrumental in securing our safety on the ground’ and a ‘man who at that time was considered of exemplary character.’  The fact he has fucked up big-time since is ignored.

The Defence, to Diana’s surprise, opts to reserve their opening speech for after the Prosecution has presented their evidence. Keeping their powder dry, maybe?  Hmmm. A knock at her door has Diana reluctantly pulling her eyes away from the screen. “Enter!”

It’s Shumway. “Er Chancellor, there’s a delegation of grounders at the gates. They say they are from the Commander but refuse to state their business to anyone other than you.”

“Tell them to get lost. I’m not interested in their savage Commander. We are an independent nation.”

“I did ask them to leave. They refused.”

“Don’t ask them to leave, tell them! And if they don’t obey it’s a volley of warning shots over their heads. See if that works and …. hmmm. Keep a private line open between you and me and we’ll progress it further if it doesn’t.” Shumway vanishes and reluctantly Diana switches from the trial to the cameras covering the gates, she opens a direct line to Shumway.  He acknowledges her with a brisk “I hear you, Chancellor.”

Her screen now shows the gate area, where a line of about twenty Arkadians patiently queue for their breakfast at the grounder kitchen. Efficient though the skilled grounder cook is, it still takes a while to feed over fifteen hundred people. Diana barks down the mic to Shumway. “Get our people away from there, I don’t want casualties from friendly fire!”

“Yes, Chancellor.”

Diana watches as four Guards move forward to shepherd the queuers back through the gates. There’s a bit of a schnozzle as hungry people grab for food, before they are moved off. Diana sees the cook passing to those queuing nearest to her, a bag of bread, a lidded pot of what is probably porridge and trays of crispy bacon and pancakes. When the grateful breakfasters have been herded away, the cook starts to clear up and Diana’s attention shifts to the three riders who wait patiently outside the gates. Shumway eventually appears on screen. Diana can hear the dialogue through his microphone; she enlarges the image focusing on the grounders’ reactions to his words.

“Er, General Anya. You have no business here. You must leave.”

The leading grounder’s face looks familiar but the dark paint around her eyes draws the eyes so strongly that Diana is unsure. That face is beautiful but gives nothing away. If anything, she looks bored. “Your Chancellor declares war on the Coalition of Thirteen Clans?”

“Um no. No-one said anything about war.”

Diana’s voice comes through his earpiece. “Shut up Shumway.” He does. Diana watches as his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, hard. When Anya speaks again her attention switches to the imposing grounder.

“All clans within the Coalition stand together; to attack one is to attack us all. You hold Chief Clarke kom Konopkru and her bodyguard prisoner.  Konopkru are a clan of the Coalition, you have attacked all of us. It is war.”

Anya looks behind her to the two riders who are her escort. Ontari and Ryder sit stock still on motionless horses, their faces expressionless but their eyes scan for threats.

“Get back inside Shumway. Now.” The Commander of the Guard turns on his heel and retreats through the gate. Diana notices movement behind the grounder delegation. The mobile kitchen is departing, its’ fires doused, cauldrons, spits and griddles packed up. The driver leads the horses, or are they mules, as they pull the two carts away down the road. That will be a problem, Arkadia’s kitchens have not been completely rebuilt and only two kitchen technicians have shown any interest in developing their skills in cooking grounder style. Fuck!

Diana switches her attention back to the grounder called Anya who raises her hand. Her two associates ride forward to her side, their warpaint, one in white the other black, is suddenly very noticeable, as is their armour and weapons; the woman wears two swords crossed across her back, the man wears a broadsword and carries a lance. Anya’s face remains impassive as she speaks, but she projects her voice so that all the Arkadians who are still standing around just inside the gates can hear her. They had been sharing out the food and chatting but silence descended as soon as the grounder mentioned war.  “People of Arkadia, the Commander and her Coalition gifted you land, livestock, food and the services of the best cook in Polis. We have traded fairly for your skills and knowledge of tek. In response you have stolen our people. I will return this time tomorrow to collect Chief Clarke, Ambassador Callie and Bodyguard John Mbege.” She looks down at Shumway who is hovering just inside the gate. “Ask your friend Emerson what we do to those who steal our people.”

With a quick kick to her horse’s sides, she and her escort ride away. Shumway wipes his forehead, he feels lucky to be alive.

Louwoda Kilron

Midday

The healer did a good job, the stitches in her arm are neat and don’t spoil the line of her new tattoo. The tattoo she’s not shown Bell yet, mainly because the two of them aren’t on speaking terms. Being seken to a great gona, a wocha no less, cuts no ice with her brother. All he sees is his little sister in danger and somehow, it’s all Indra’s fault or Lincoln’s or Clarke’s, or all three of them. Bellamy’s even talked to Heda about how to break the bond between fos and seken, but Heda said Octavia had made her decision and that must be respected. Bell was not pleased.

She walks out of the fisa’s tent into a camp that’s humming with excitement, the returning Rangers and Scouts are spreading news of their successful ambush and Heda, mounted on a black stallion has visited both the Delphikru and Ingranronakru lines. Something is brewing, Octavia jogs through the crowd to Indra’s tent. Her fos beckons her in. “We will see more action seken, prepare yourself. Lincoln is with the Scouts; you are with me as messenger.” Damn, she’d hoped to be posted near Lincoln but what the hell, it’s time to sharpen her sword. She may earn more kill marks to add to the four she gained last night. She pauses, for a moment nausea threatens as again she sees torn flesh, spilt entrails, the white of broken bones and red, red blood. A gona, she is a gona and injuries and death are part of this life, part of staying alive.

Arkadia

Court has adjourned for lunch. Clarke and Mbege, surrounded by an escort of four Guards, go back to their cells, the jurors are herded into a side room and Callie wanders outside, following the court officials and Prosecution into the village’s central square; a place that is chaotic and buzzing with a vibe that is part bad temper, part fear. People huddle in grumpy groups their voices lowering whenever a Guard passes by. Noticeable is the closed gate and Skaikrasha’s absence, no-one will be getting their tasty lunchtime soup from the mobile kitchen. Pre-warned Callie reaches into her pack and retrieves a bacon sandwich; even cold it will taste far better than anything the kitchen technicians can muster. She scans the crowd, Aden is with some young mechanics clustered around Sinclair, a group of irate factory hands harangue Councillors Kaplan and Edwards about the lack of hot food for lunch. When Kaplan sends a glare her way she moves on, eavesdropping on conversations as she passes.   

“The grounder said that we are at war with the Coalition of Thirteen Clans because Clarke and her bodyguard are in prison. How big are these clans, should we be afraid?” The speaker is an anxious looking woman, who semi whispers to her friend as if afraid that what she says will land her in trouble. 

Her friend, a short balding man, stocky with muscle, is probably from Farm Station. “The cook said they vary. From tiny, like Clarke’s own clan, to tens of thousands for the Tree, Lake and Ice peoples. The cook said never mess with the Ice Nation.”

As she passes through, around and across the square Callie picks up repeatedly on; ‘the cook said.’ ‘That Tree People can move through the forest without making a sound.’ ‘That Ice Nation warriors live with wolves.’ ‘That the Commander is sworn to protect all her people.’ ‘That it was Kane who asked the Commander for help with training our kitchen techs.’  ‘That the Ice Nation wears white warpaint like that woman at the gate, the one with two swords.’  Skaikrasha, muses Callie, is a one woman propaganda and information machine. The people of Arkadia, some of whom have asked Callie about what life outside Arkadia is like, have learnt more from the cook about the Coalition, the Commander and the clans, than the current Chancellor and Councillors know in total. 

A bell rings. Time to get back inside and continue with Clarke and Mbege’s defence to these ridiculous, trumped up, charges. She turns back towards the entrance to Alpha Station only to find her way barred by Carl Emerson. The Mountain Man stands in her path, his right hand pushes at her shoulder. His voice is loud. “Hey! Ms Defence Counsel, I don’t recall you from Mt Weather. Are your hands clean of blood, or are you like Clarke Griffin an accomplice in the massacre of my people?”

Callie steps back, folding her arms. She visually checks who is nearby, glad to see Sinclair making his way over, with Aden and a couple of young mechanics. Others nearby notice the aggressive tone of voice and turn to listen.

What does Emerson want?  For Callie to speak publicly about her involvement in Mt Weather? or is he after details of the defence case or the witnesses she intends to call? Maybe he’s just pushing her into a fight so Sydney can arrest her for violent disorder or some other spurious charge?  Whatever it is he wants, she’s not giving it to him.

“Emerson, here you are walking freely above ground, breathing radiation tainted air and eating radiation contaminated food. Which Ark child died to give you that freedom? Was it Trina Lawrence, Simon Black or Ian Spinoza? Or was it the bone-marrow taken without consent or anaesthesia from Raven Rayes or Luc Simmons that allows you to live outside Mt Weather?”

Emerson is leaping forward, hands grabbing for her throat, when his forward motion abruptly halts. “Aargh. Ugh!” A neat foot, encased in a handstitched boot, has slammed into his crotch. Emerson’s still falling, hands clutching at his groin, when Aden makes himself scarce, quietly slipping through the crowd and away. Callie steps over the prone man, walking calmly into Alpha Station and back to the trial.

Louwoda Kilron

Dusk

A borrowed horse, even if well trained, is not what you want to ride in battle. Malpas is a magnificent stallion, trained as a warhorse Trikru style by Laslo, who is a capable horse trainer. But Malpas isn’t Snacha (Racoon) and doesn’t respond as smoothly to Lexa’s commands, and her Handmaids, except for Grace who has only ever ridden on a borrowed horse, are similarly disadvantaged and slightly discomfited. They are however making do and when Lexa visits the camps of Wocha Windsong and then Wormana Solo kom Delphikru the Handmaids protect her, riding in their usual formation. Grace and Bigas at the front, Jules and Isla either side of Heda Lexa, Phoebe and Strik at the rear. Blair is still in Bilt, helping her ani (uncle) master using the radio and defend their capitol.  

Today Lexa’s spent many marks on horseback, examining the battlefield from all angles, comparing in her head every report she’s received with what she can see on the ground. Indra, Windsong, Solo, Callum and Dark-Reed, have spent time with her, in person or over the radio, discussing risks, likelihoods, terrain, tactics, timings and location. All agree that now, after such a successful ambush, is the time for a hard strike but is this still a war of attrition? Originally Lexa had envisaged her forces wearing down the Yujledans with raids and hunger, but could this strike be so successful that it becomes viable to risk an all-out battle?  

Within his great tent Kestor kom Yujleda takes the time to speak forcefully with his captains about the low spirits of their gonas. News of the lost reinforcements and supplies spread like wildfire and there’s no point in denying it. The sentries had led the two survivors straight to him and anyone could see that they were weapon-less, dirty and bruised. The camp’s morale dropped like a stone falling into the deepest well; the lack of progress in taking Bilt and the recent raids on their camp adding to the gloom. In the last few days, they’ve had to contend with troops of mounted Ingranronakru sweeping in the from the east, just as the sun rose and in the hours of darkness, the gonas of Delphikru crept beyond their lines, killing gonas as they slept or struggled awake.

The arrival of Kongeda (Coalition) forces so soon after he started to lay siege to Bilt was the first of many unpleasant surprises. Then Heda Lexa arrived to take command and Trishanakru, supposedly allies in Albion kom Yujleda’s quest to form an independent south, have been prominent only by failing to arrive to support him. Kestor, who had been focused on isolating Bilt, building his siege engines and foraging for supplies, was forced to defend his sprawling camp, contend with losing (the admittedly weak and almost useless) skai gonas and then the defenders of Bilt have in the last few days fought back with new tactics. Huge cauldrons pour shit and piss down onto his gonas as they attack the village’s gates. (The number of his gonas complaining of sickness and diarrhoea is now in the hundreds.) Then there have been nighttime forays by invisible enemies, who infiltrate his camp to kill his gonas and sabotage his siege engines and towers. Granted Bilt’s great stone walls are starting to look battered but elsewhere he has had to divert resources away from the attack. His most senior captain is Scotii, they fought together at Fallow Field.  Scotti and his gonakru, defend the eastern edge of the camp and have repulsed several costly raids by Ingranronakru. At Scotti’s request Kestor repurposed the wood salvaged from two fallen siege towers into the construction of spiked panels that can be levered up into the path of charging horses. Kestor has also put gonas to work constructing trenches and embankments on the western edge of his camp, anticipating that the Delphikru gonas will at some point attack openly.

Kestor ends the meeting with a rousing speech, exhorting his subordinates to remind their gonas of; their superior numbers, that soon they will be the masters of all southern lands and that their glorious ruler Albion will use the treasure of the lost city of New Orleans, a city so huge and so rich that they could throw jewels at each other in the streets!, to buy allies, weapons and ultimately will mean they will be freed from the Kongeda and its’ taxes!

Lexa and her Handmaids ride slowly along a narrow track that runs behind the Trikru encampment (a well laid out mosaic of tents, fires and carts) towards a barely visible sunset. As so often the night has brought clouds and rain that falls in a steady drizzle onto the already softening ground.  It’s like journeying through a cloud that’s come to earth, everything is muted, grey and wet. Behind them ride hundreds of Ingranronakru, passing through the sodden air in a silent line. There’s no singing, stomping or dancing. Tonight, the gonas of the plains are voiceless ghosts passing through the battlefield like airy spectres.

Solo and his Delphikru gonas crept east earlier that afternoon. Now all will be reversed. In the early morning light Delphikru will attack from the east, Ingranronakru from the west, from the south Trikru Rangers and from Bilt itself every gona Callum kom Louwoda Kilron can muster will burst from their gates and take the fight to the enemy.

Chapter Text

17^th May 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 5^th Moon. Waxing Crescent. Louwoda Kilron

Early Morning

This morning Scottii kom Yujleda feels ready. Yesterday and the day before he woke to misty sunlight and the sounds of fighting. For out of that milky shimmering dawn had ridden lightning fast gonas on impossibly nimble horses, shooting arrows, hurling axes and spears, cracking skulls with clubs of stone. Wave after wave, slamming into his men whose shields buckled under the pressing weight of horseflesh and chests collapsed when punched by hooves shod with steel. Then as fast as they arrived, the horse-gonas were gone, racing back into the rising sun. But today not only is he awake, but his gonas are primed for battle with spiked pallets ready to be levered up into the path of those charging horses. His only regret is that he doesn’t have any pike-gonas, though he can see several of his kru slamming the butt-ends of their spears firmly into the ground.

………………………..

The pastures south of Bilt slope gently upwards from west to east and south to north. Having found a good vantage spot Lexa brings Malpas to a halt and unpacks the magnifying glasses, a wonderful invention of the old world that Raven has revived and improved. Malpas is a big horse, standing four cubits at the shoulder. Patient and solid he waits as she hops upright and stands on his saddle to get a better view. The mist makes everything blurry but it will soon burn off under a warming sun. Time passes as she focuses all her senses on the battle, for a while she hears more of what is happening that she can see, but as the sun rises and the wind pulls the grey fabric of the fog apart, she can survey the whole. To the east a Delphikru, testudo (tortoise) overruns a group of Yujleda spearmen, the Trikru Scouts rain arrows on an advancing cohort of Yujleda foot. From Bilt a wave of gonas some mounted, most on foot, are tearing down the slope towards the besiegers’ camp and from the west comes the rhythmic ba-dum of horses’ hooves.  Lexa’s heart is racing, she itches to be in the fight, to do something that matters like slicing her way to Kestor kom Yujleda, gutting the natrona (he swore fealty to her after Fallow Field and she let him live – that’s not going to happen again.) But her role at this moment is to stand back and take in the whole picture. Who needs extra support from the reserves, who shoule to be warned of a building Yujleda counterattack and will this raid become a full on battle? She must wait, observe, calculate, assess and make decisions. She must get it right!

17^th May 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 5^th Moon. Waxing Crescent. Arkadia

Mid-Morning        

Many in Arkadia did not sleep well. Anxiety about their future, about a declaration of war no-one realised had been made, about an enemy experienced in war as they are not, who wears war paint and carries fearsome looking weapons. Then there were wolves, where before there had been none seen or heard. Now wolves howled through the night and didn’t they hunt people, didn’t the Ice Nation, who you must never cross, use them as weapons of war?

Diana Sydney had heard the howling, as had Sgt David Miller who had also seen shadows of lithe predators prowling outside Arkadia’s fence. Terence Shumway spent the night turning restlessly in his bed, the howling beasts and memories of the beautiful general who spoke of war as if it were a commonplace, made sleep impossible.

Sleep deprived and hungry, as breakfast was just a slice of yesterday’s bread toasted, the people of Arkadia are frightened and desperate to know what yesterday’s confrontation means for them. Earlier that morning their Chancellor pro tempore made a short broadcast, assuring them that no declaration of war had been made and that if Arkadia was attacked by soldiers whose primary weapons were swords the Guard would make short work of them. Sounding strong and confident she told her people that neither she nor the Council would be intimidated by grounders who lived as if this was the Middle Ages. The trial of Clarke Griffin and John Mbege would continue.

But today nobody is tuning in to Channel 1 to watch that trial. The citizens of Arkadia are finding any excuse to be outside, in the warming sunshine and discover what General Anya will say and do, when she returns.

“She’s coming!” Is whispered by a hundred voices. “This time she’s alone.” “I wonder where the other two are.” “I don’t want to be at war.” “Who cares what Clarke Griffin did? Or what she said.” “Gru’s always been a nasty piece of work.”

Anya’s horse Salome is a handsome grey of medium height, not as heavy as some warhorses but nimble and quick and trained to voice as well as the reins. To avoid alarming the people of Arkadia she holds Salome to a steady walk as she approaches the gates, riding relaxed in the saddle, moving gracefully in tune with her mount’s powerful muscles.

Unsurprisingly the gate is closed to her and no-one in authority has the courtesy to come forward and greet her. Salome stops a dozen cubits from the gates. “I am General Anya of the Tree People, I am here to collect Chief Clarke, Ambassador Callie and Bodyguard John Mbege.”

The Guard in charge at the gate is Inspector Ivan Logan, he’s been briefed and given a short script to read.  “General Anya, Arkadia, formerly known as the Ark, is an independent nation. It is not a member of the Commander’s Coalition and does not recognise Coalition law or the Commander’s governance. Clarke Griffin and John Mbege were citizens of the Ark when it is alleged that they committed serious crimes. They will be tried under our laws and if found guilty, will be sentenced and that sentence will be carried out. Callie Cartwigg has refused to leave her two clients during their trial.”

Anya’s face remains expressionless as she listens to Logan. At the end of his speech, she removes from her pocket a square of red material and a small dagger. With a movement so fast that no-one sees it, until the action was slowed down on the video replay, that dagger, piercing the square of material, is thrown into one of the great tree trunks used as gate posts. There it lodges, a small vibrant piece of colour contrasting sharply with the brown trunk and grey metal gate.

  “You choose war.” Every eye is on the stoic warrior, who with deliberate calm turns Salome away from Arkadia, raises her right arm above her head and shouts. “Kom war!” Before she gallops off down the track. For a moment Arkadia is silent, a feeling of relief ripples through the waiting crowd, along with some murmurs of satisfaction… “It was all just talk!”

Then, that shout, “Kom war” is taken up by hundreds of voices, thundering, raucous and proud. The forests surrounding Arkadia reverberate with the war cry, the howling of wolves and the loud rhythmic clanking of swords striking shields.

Behind their fence the people of Arkadia tremble. Like startled rabbits the crowd freezes, all eyes fixed on the woods. Who is out there? Are they about to attack? A voice crackles over the loudspeaker system, on repeat. “All citizens report to your stations immediately. All citizens report to your stations. Now!”

In the middle of the now milling crowd a child cries out when his mother grabs his arm so tight it hurts. “Ow! Mom!”

Then someone shouts. “Who’s that at the north gate?”  and the swell of movement becomes a stampede of terrified people, desperate to get out of the open air they so recently enjoyed.  

17^th May 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 5^th Moon. Waxing Crescent. Yujleda

South of Hatti

Midday

Kyle Wick yawns as he scrolls through the hundreds of files he’s downloaded onto his tablet. Gigs worth of maps, books, articles, data sets, videos and photographs, all about the city of New Orleans. At last Sydney’s managed to get Sinclair, or one of his minions, to send him some real information. Something he can get his teeth into, instead of the overblown myths that their escort of Yujleda warriors constantly relate with greedy glee about the rich city that sank beneath the waves as the bombs fell.

Looking south it’s almost impossible to even imagine that cities (there were many not just New Orleans) once sprawled over the extensive coastal plain and perched on the numerous islands and archipelagos of the southern United States. Now everything south of what used to be Hattiesburg has gone and all he can see as he scrunches his eyes against the bright sunshine is water. Admittedly some of it’s pretty shallow but water is the dominant element and Kyle is enjoying that element or would be if he wasn’t facing what must be an impossible task. Diana Sydney had said “Wick, find me something to give the Chief. It was an important city once; in the days before the bombs there were banks and safe deposit boxes; some of them must have been filled with jewellery, gold, things like that; find them. Just make Chief Albion happy and I’ll be happy.”

With a steady swooshing the makeshift hovercraft continues to move over the surface in a steady grid pattern. He switches to the program that is slowly building a sonar based map of the lumps and bumps on the ocean floor. If he can just find recognisable remnants of a few big buildings, he can dive the area and maybe get his bearings. He tags a promising lump and prays that in the next day or so he and Belinda will be diving a bank!

17^th May In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 5^th Moon. Waxing Crescent. Louwoda Kilron

Mid-Morning

For four marks battle has raged. It is a battle now, not a fleeting raid but a clash that will decide not only the fate of Bilt, but Albion’s bid to rule the south could end here.  In the bright light Lexa, still standing on Malpas’ back, can see that the conflict is finely balanced. With Lexa’s more experienced and tactically effective forces hammering the more numerous Yujledans but there are so many of them and they are desperate to live.

Lexa’s already had to make changes to her original plan of battle. One hundred Ingranronakru reserves are galloping to help Delphikru’s struggling gonas on the eastern front. She curses herself for not anticipating the problem earlier. Relying on Kestor to defend his camp based on what happened in earlier raids meant that switching Delphikru and Ingranronakru had worked, but what she hadn’t anticipated was that Kestor would move so many more gonas east to counter what he perceived as the greater threat from Windsong and her kru. That left the two hundred Delphikru facing over a thousand Yujledans commanded by a competent captain. The Trikru Rangers will help, Octavia was sent to Tristan to muster that aid, but it will take them time to get there. Dark-Reed can cover the ground in a few minutes and Lexa prays to Keryon that they and the Delphikru can hold out until Tristan gets there.

She continues to scan the field of battle. There is Indra, taking direct charge of the Rangers while Tristan is away. The Trikru wocha (chief) is leading a sortie, hacking her way through a group of heavily armoured Yujledan foot gonas, her seken at her side. The two fight well together, and the Scouts have moved to cover for the Rangers who have moved east. Good. Lexa looks east, she can’t see wormana Dark-Reed but riders are charging into the fray, deflecting the Yujledan forces from depleted Delphikru squads, who need time to regroup. She can see that Tristan and the Rangers will be there soon. She looks to the north where the forces of Bilt have made good progress, the besiegers retreating to behind a series of trenches. To the west is a sea of charging and circling horses. She scans the field again, where is he? Where is Kestor kom Yujleda?   Ah, he is in the east, leading a counterattack against the newly arrived Ingranronakru. Jok, he’s good with a sword and so are his bodyguards, they are carving up all in their path. Lexa drops down into Malpas’ saddle, sends sekens with messages to Windsong and Indra before mustering her Handmaids and the Scouts she has in reserve. “We go to the east, to aid our gonas and end Kestor kom Yujleda. Kom War!”  

17^th May 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 5^th Moon. Waxing Crescent. Arkadia

Mid-Morning       

Today the courtroom isn’t crowded. The public benches, that for the last two days were filled with eager spectators, now host only a couple of adults and a few kids. Those who are there seem rapt, giving full attention to Carl Emerson and his evidence about the ‘massacre’ at Mt Weather. Emerson paints a vivid picture of his people as a vibrant, loving community, who survived the bombs so they could preserve the culture and heritage of the pre-apocalyptic world. Clarke, Raven, Grace, Monty and Wells’ involvement in assisting the Commander and her savages is distorted to appear motivated by greed and there’s no mention of Mt Weather kidnapping (and killing) grounders to harvest their blood or drugging them to addiction and madness. As he comes to the end of his story the Prosecutor shows to the jurors pictures of Emerson’s wife Riley and their two sons Weiwei and Richter. Emerson is weeping.

Pictures in hand the Prosecutor Lisa Johnson concludes. “These young children and their mother died of cyanide poisoning, taking their own lives rather than suffer the agonies of death by radiation.” She pauses, hands the weeping Emerson a handkerchief and then glares at Clarke and Mbege. Both accused are already looking pale as they remember the tomb that was Mt Weather. Hundreds of dead women and children in the dining room; corridors, elevators and rooms littered with bodies. Death came in so many ways, exposure to radiation, bullets, sharp blades or the fearsome explosive power of grenades and bombs.  

Callie can see many of the jurors are close to tears. Who wouldn’t be, looking at dead children. She stands ready to start her cross examination.  

“All citizens report to your stations immediately. All citizens report to your stations. Now!”

The speakers repeat the message and for a few seconds no-one does anything. Callie closes her mouth; Emerson looks around the room puzzled. The two Guards standing at the back ready their rifles and look to the judges for orders. The three judges look startled and confer briefly, before beckoning the Guards forward.

One judge announces. “This court is adjourned until further notice.” All three then stand and after a short exchange with the Guards, almost run out of the room. The spectators and court staff stand up; there’s a bit of milling about as they pick up their stuff. Emerson joins them as they hurry out of the room, almost tripping over each other in the rush to get out. In seconds the room is virtually empty. The Guards walk up to the secure dock; one unlocks it as the other turns to survey the room. Aden and Callie are there. Aden with a sharp strike to the first Guard’s throat and Callie blood chokes the second. Both Guards slump into unconsciousness. Callie picks up a fallen rifle ready to subdue any resistance. There is none, just an empty room.

“Quick, get into their uniforms! You need to get out of here before anyone thinks of checking the video feed.” Callie really hopes that anyone who is anyone is looking somewhere else, like the front gates, the woods, or their family. Oh, thank Keryon (the Spirits), Diana Sydney’s face appears on all the monitors.  “People of Arkadia this is your……” Thank God for Sydney’s God complex, demanding everyone’s attention. Callie ignores Sydney, she has more important things to attend to.   

The unconscious Guards are bundled out of their armoured vests and shirts (thankfully everyone is wearing dark pants) and hauled into the secure dock. Her handcuffs unlocked, Clarke picks up one of the fallen uniform caps, pulls her hair into a ponytail and under the cap. Callie hands her a rifle, Mbege picks up the second. 

“Follow Aden.” She can’t say where to in case someone has decided to check on the court feed. “I’ll meet you there.” Clarke briefly hugs Callie before both she and Mbege leave, following the slight figure of the natblida out into the open. Callie follows them outside but turns off to the left immediately.

The Kevlar vest crushes her tits; the cap is greasy with someone else’s sweat but Clarke tries her best to look comfortable and walk confidently in the stolen clothes. Ahead of them they can see that Aden is matching his gait and attitude to that of the frightened people of Arkadia. Clarke and Mbege do their best to look like Guards hurrying to their posts, while making sure that they do not cross paths with other Guards or any Councillors. At one point they swing a left; to avoid meeting Shumway and have to double back, Aden is waiting for them at the door of the canteen. They walk through the partially wrecked kitchens, a series of empty offices and classrooms before emerging at the northern edge of the central square. Aden stops to check they are still behind him before jinking a right into a covered passage that runs alongside Mecha.

“Hey you! Boy! You should be reporting to your station.” It’s a lanky Guard; he catches hold of Aden’s collar. “What is your station?”   

Clarke and Mbege walk past, eyes forward, steps firm. A few yards on they turn right and run down a parallel passageway. Callie’s at the end, waiting for them. “Aden?”

 “Back there. A Guard stopped him.”

A few words and they head back. Aden’s still in the Guard’s grasp, though Clarke can see the youngster’s hand is hovering near to where he likely has a hidden knife. “Aden, where have you been?” Callie sounds exasperated. “Sinclair’s been looking for you. Thank-you Officer. Come on we need to…” She gives the natblida a shake. “He’s been at the trial, wants to become a lawyer instead of a mechanic. Silly boy!” The Guard allows her to lead him away.

“Ma’am. Keep him under control. Orders are to challenge anyone out of station.”

17^th May In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 5^th Moon. Waxing Crescent. Louwoda Kilron

Lexa, her Handmaids and twenty Scouts gallop north-east. They pass behind the Trikru, who have fought their way almost to the Yujleda camp’s kitchens, and enter the battle over the broken bodies of slain gonas. There’s no time to avoid crushing the vanquished, though Lexa spares a moment to ask Keryon for mercy and a good life for those of her gonas who are to be reborn after today. Then she’s fighting and there’s no time for anything other than survival. Her two swords move in efficient sweeps. Without conscious thought she attacks the joints in armour, any exposed flesh, the careless manoeuvre, the slow reaction. Each weakness is ruthlessly exploited as she cuts her way towards Kestor kom Yujleda.

Grace manages to keep up with the Commander and the Handmaids until her horse is struck by an axe and goes down. She rolls off and onto her feet, drawing her two .45 pistols. She shoots the woman who axed her horse in the face and doesn’t feel sick when the back of her victim’s head disintegrates. She quickly takes stock, shooting the dead woman’s companion in the chest. She has 36 rounds before needing to reload. She must use them wisely as her skills with the sword strapped to her side are merely competent. She can see the Commander about twenty yards ahead of her, Strik is by her side, still mounted and using her metal prosthesis as a form of mace, smashing her way through enemy skulls. Grace shoots two more gonas before shouldering her way past some kind of wooden fence, what the fuck is a fence doing in a battle?  

Close combat in battle, in Lexa’s experience, is usually about weapons more than people. It’s the swords, axes and spears, that cut, stab or pierce you. The intent is uniform, your death. The individual behind the weapon you connect with briefly, if at all. Ideally you meet the weapon, deflect it, move past it, strike the bearer a mortal blow and move on. Prolonged fighting with an individual opponent is rare, whereas in solo gonplei (single combat) the skill is in watching your opponent to anticipate their strikes. In the melee of battle, it is much more about moving forward with your comrades, surviving everything that tries to kill you while overwhelming all opposition. And that is what she and her Handmaids are doing. Moving inexorably forward, covering each other, as they take the pressure off the exhausted Delphikru gonas and pursue Kestor kom Yujleda.

17^th May 2150. In the Rule of Heda Lexa Yr 11. 5^th Moon. Waxing Crescent. Arkadia

“Ma’am. Keep him under control. Orders are to challenge anyone out of station.”

“Sure thing, Officer.”

They turn and the door to Mecha swings open before them, smooth and silent. Trust the mechanics to get their kit working properly when every other door in Arkadia, jams or judders on opening. Inside they wait for the Guard to leave, he doesn’t. Instead, he places himself outside the door, rifle at low ready; clearly watching for trouble. “We can go through the station, meet them at the back and take them to the bunker from there.”  They set off along a corridor that lights up as they walk down it. Aden’s used to the lights now, but the first time Mila had brought him inside this big metal jigsaw the flameless lights switching on and off was one of the strangest things he had ever seen. Even though he’d heard about the magic of tek, experiencing it was different. Out of sight of the door they up the pace, Clarke and Mbege’s escape will be discovered soon.

Through doors that swoosh, workshops that even when empty hum with some sort of mechanical life and along corridors possessed of myriad branches and turns, they speed walk through the labyrinthine structure that is Mecha. A few minutes in they hear running feet, shouted instructions and the metallic clicking of weapons readied. They start to run, turn a corner, open a door and suddenly a body is in the way! Callie thumps into him, the collision becomes a throw and she’s bouncing on the floor, slamming into a chair that falls on top of her. Blearily she sees Carl Emerson standing over Aden who he’s just punched so hard, that the boy’s knocked out. Emerson spins to face Callie who’s on her feet, braced to fight. He takes a step back, assessing the slight woman in-front of him. She doesn’t look scared, that’s unnerving. She should be he’s a soldier, taller, heavier and trained to fight. She’s some lawyer type from space, maybe done some gym time up there but no experience of fighting. Ouch! An open handed blow to his face breaks his nose and riles him up, he launches himself forward fists first but she spins away and a hard elbow connects with his cheek, he’s pushed forward, falling over that bloody chair. A hard kick to his kidneys has him rearing up in pain to meet a strike to his throat, breathing is difficult. Knees and feet are punching into his ribs and when two hands slam upwards into his jaw, lifting him off his feet, the lights go out.

Callie’s hand hurts, she might have broken a finger on his face, that was fucking careless! Aden’s coming round and she helps him to his feet, he wobbles for just a second before saying one word “Maunon” and slicing his knife across Emerson’s throat. Blood sprays.  

Outside Clarke and Mbege are waiting, they don’t question the blood or Callie’s injured hand. In silence they pad between buildings until Aden opens a battered looking door and they step into a gloomy room full of broken furniture and cracked monitors, everything seems to have been thrown in pell-mell. One wall consists of packed earth; the floor is crooked, many of the metal plates are buckled and the ceiling bows under some sort of pressure. Aden shoves a weary looking filing cabinet to one side and pulls up a floor plate revealing a step ladder down into the darkness.