Westhaven by Rowan Erlking (best sci fi novels of all time TXT) 📕

“Because he says all humans are savages,” the boy said, panting hard. “He’ll only pay the blue-eye captain over this area, and he’ll think all of you are insurgent spies trying to use me to get to him.”

The leader emitted a dry laugh as he turned to the one holding the boy’s legs. “Set him over there. Tie him up if he gets violent.”

“Just let me go,” the general’s boy said with a whimper. “I just came here because I was hungry.”

“And how did you get in?” the leader asked again.

Unable to kick out as they heaved him over to the corner of the room, the general’s boy clenched his teeth tighter. He didn’t want to say how, because he knew they would take the key away from him. But after they set him down and started to tie his legs and wrists, he blurted out, “I have a key.”

The leader lifted his hand to stop the men for the moment. “A key? To this door?”

Cringing, the boy shook his head and closed his eyes with pain. “It is an all-key.”

The man tying him felt over the boy’s pockets. He took out the family seal and the dagger. The boy kicked out again but he could not stop the man from taking his belongings.

“I got these, but no key,” the man said.

“It’s on my neck,” the general’s boy muttered, now accepting his defeat.

The man who took the dagger and family seal set them on the table while the other man finished tying the general’s boy up. Then he reached around the boy’s neck. The hemp necklace broke when the man yanked on it. It welted the boy’s skin with a robe burn. Holding it up, the man nodded. “Look at that.”

“An all-key huh?” the other man said.

“Forget that.” The leader stood up. He lifted up the boy’s dagger and then the seal. “Where did he get these?”

“Those are mine!” The general’s boy shouted.

Slapping a hand over the boy’s mouth, the man who had tied him hissed through his teeth. “Be quiet. If anyone hears us we could all be dead.”

“These can’t be yours,” the leader said. He drew the dagger from its sheath, turning it to look at the craftsmanship. “This is a Lake Bekir dagger. You stole it.”

The general’s boy tried to talk under the man’s hand but all he got out were muffled protests.

“And this is the swordsmith’s seal.” The leader held up the seal to the light. His eyes flickered over the detail work with admiration. “You got these from General Gole, didn’t you?”

Shaking his head, the general’s boy jerked from the man’s hold. “No. Those are mine!”

Crossing the floor in two swift strides, the leader pressed the dagger blade to the boy’s throat. “Do you know what we do to traitor spies for the blue-eyes? We cut out their tongues.”

Panting hard, the general’s boy just stared up at him. Sweat already coated forehead. “I’m not a spy. I’m not lying.”

“Then tell us where you got this dagger and the seal,” the leader ordered.

Swallowing, thinking hard, there was nothing he could say that they would believe. He was dead with the Sky Children, and he was dead among the humans also. Closing his eyes, he just told the truth. “I went back to Summi Village after I ran away from General Winstrong. I pried up the anvil where I hid my dagger. I got the seal from my grandfather. I just took it off of his bones.”

Tears streamed down his face from his eyes as he felt the tip of the blade touch just under his chin.

“Summi Village was burned to the ground.” The man hissed in the boy’s face, spit flying. “The blue-eyes killed all the villagers. We could see the fire for miles.”

The general’s boy sobbed. “Mom…”

“Oh my—”

“Don’t believe it. He’s acting,” the leader said through his teeth.

“No. Look at his chest.”

Their hands parted the front of his shirt. The general’s boy hung back his head in the hopes that this wasn’t the end.

A finger touched the burn mark.

“That’s from an iron.”

“Good lord, that’s his kid.”

Someone set the boy down. Someone else started to untie the ropes around him. The general’s boy opened his eyes as the three men and then some stared at him. One of them stroked his hair, inspecting it more closely.

“I heard a rumor General Gole had picked up his kid,” one of the men murmured. “But others said the demon killed him with his father.”

“No,” the leader of the group countered, pulling out the boy’s hands and stroking them. “Look at this. Burns on his hands. Just like the story. He pulled the iron out of his father’s chest.”

Untied, the general’s boy collapsed to his knees, throwing his hands over his face and sobbing.

Hands patted him. Someone rubbed his head. Then a heavy blanket went over him.

The general’s boy looked up.

A woman appeared, possibly from a near room. She almost immediately pulled him to his feet and led him to a chair. She sat him in it as every eye in the room stared at him.

“He looks starved,” she said.

“That’s right.” The leader turned to the man that had first grabbed him. “He said he came here because he was hungry. Did you find what he was eating?”

“A pickle. I saw him stick his hand into the pickle barrel.”

The woman huffed and walked to the back of the room. The general’s boy sniffled, staring at the men first and then at his dagger.

“A pickle?” she said. “For pity’s sake, he needs something more substantial than a pickle. I’ll get him some food.”

The leader chuckled. Then he peered over at the son of the Bekir smithy. The man set the dagger on the table along with the Smith family seal.

“I guess these really are yours.” He shoved them across the table at the general’s boy. He then set down the key. “But this, how did you get a hold of this?”

Lifting his head, sure now that they were not going to kill him, the Smith’s son reached out for it. “In Kalsworth. The smithy dropped it right before they got me new leg irons.”

All the men ducked to look under the table at the boy’s ankles. The irons hung heavily under his rolled pant cuffs.

Rising up again, the leader set the key on the table then shoved it to the boy. “Not much use for those irons, though.”

Taking the key first, the general’s boy tried to tie it around his neck again. Just as before, the string was too short for him to put it on properly. Sighing, he stuffed it into his pocket instead. He also shoved in the dagger and his family seal.

“So, young Smith, what do intend to do now? You know, they’ve got posters of your face all over the Herra Hills,” the leader said.

They waited on the boy’s answer.

Lowering his head with all the weight he felt, the general’s escaped slave thought hard. Eventually he lifted his eyes to inspect the leader’s face. The man looked smart in a defiant way that the Sky Children frequently read as insolent. The question was: could he trust him? He decided to dare it.

“I am looking for the raiders that used to trade with my father. I want to join them.”

The men in the room burst into laughter.

The boy’s face grew hot. He averted his eyes to the tabletop.

However the laughter hushed soon after from the looks of the woman who had returned with some bread and a sizable piece of meat and steaming vegetables in sauce. She set the dish in front of the general’s boy. He lifted his gaze into a goggle-eyed stare at the portions. Handing him eating sticks and spoon, she whispered in his ear to eat slowly.

“You’re looking for the raiders that used to trade with your father, huh?” the leader repeated as if to make sure he had heard the boy right. “You don’t mean the raiders that General Gole nearly drove to extinction?”

Lowering his head, the boy weakly nodded. He then looked up to his food, taking hold of the eating sticks and putting the spoon down.

“The raiders are old history. Disbanded,” the leader said with a shake of his head. “We’re the closest you are going to get to them. Though, I am sorry to say we haven’t been able to plan a decent offensive against those demons in a long time. They target the magicians, and they just shoot anything that walks these days.”

It sounded like General Winstrong’s tactics. The general’s boy nodded as he started to eat.

“I think you would be better off finding some quiet village and hiding out until General Gole dies,” the leader said. He patted the boy’s hand. “I know of a good place in the mountains we can take you to.”

Chewing a meat chunk, thinking as he did, the general’s boy slowly shook his head. When he swallowed, he looked up. “No. I want to help. I have to.”

“You want to get him back for what he did to your father?” the leader asked. A smirk cracked across his face.

The boy nodded and took another bite of meat. The sauce smeared down his chin in his eagerness.

The woman chuckled then went in search for a napkin.

Sticking out his hand, the leader said, “Welcome to our tiny band. My name is Kleston.”

The boy dropped his eating sticks on the plate and gripped the man’s hand, still chewing in silence.

The silence was longer than those around him found comfortable.

“And your name, young Smith?”

Nodding, the general’s boy swallowed. “Kam…Kim…no…. I can’t remember it right now.”

Blinking once, the leader, Kleston tilted his head and said, “Ok. But it isn’t right to just call you Smith all the time. Doesn’t bode well to expose your occupation—or intended occupation—when we’re working out there. They can trace a person down with that.”

“How about Key?” the man who had caught the general’s boy at the doorway suggested.

The general’s boy looked up.

“Yeah,” the Kleston nodded at that. “Key. It’s perfect.”

He patted Key on his head as the boy continued to eat. Everyone around him smiled, giving their newcomer a pat also.

“Alright then, Key. Finish up supper, and I’ll show you where you can sleep,” the woman said.

“And we’ll figure out something we can do about that hair of yours,” Kleston added. He reached out to the man who had picked up the boy’s hat. “In the mean time, keep wearing that.”

Nodding, the boy continued to devour his meal. They set the hat back on his head.  For the first time in a very long time, the boy—Key—felt safe.

*

“It looks good on you,” Gailert said, rubbing along his woman’s shoulder blades as she adjusted the top of her gown for the festivities. “You will stun the crowd.”

Grinning slyly, the woman batted her long lashes and silently touched up the rest of her dress so that it draped perfectly. She then turned to him and nodded. “Is our ride ready?”

He smiled at her. There was something strangely satisfying about having a woman who wanted to linger on his arm even if it was only for the money.

His boy hopped to the door the moment he saw them coming down the stairs. And as the porter opened the door and the boy dashed out to get the stepstool for the general and his woman, they strolled out with dignity for all to see. There was no way this celebration would be used to mock him without turning wrong against those that dare offend.

From the moment they climbed into the automobile and started into the street towards the city center it felt like a parade. The common folk watched him go by as they celebrated their emergence into to mainland, the beginning of Westhaven. The nobles and merchants joined the procession in their vehicles and on foot, bowing and nodding as they