Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) by Milo Fowler (paper ebook reader .TXT) 📕

prime, and while Gaia has not blessed me with the speed of my warriors who’ve already reached Luther’s cave, I have made good time regardless. And Gaia be praised, we have yet to cross paths with a single goblyn roaming the wastelands.

After everything those UW scouts have been through—some of it at my own command—it is a wonder they have not already radioed their ship for evacuation and left this land far behind. Will they continue on to Eden? I hope Luther convinces them to join forces and rescue his unborn children. Gaia-willing, my warriors and I will be with them.

Those infants gestating in Eden represent the UW’s last hope for survival, but their kind is about to become extinct. The survival of the fittest demands it. I am now more determined than ever to see that happen, and I fully intend to have a hand in their demise.

“He hasn’t shown any signs yet, has he?” The warrior at my side is named Asaph. A dark-eyed, raven-haired young man a few years older than Lemuel, he is little more than a sycophant. “One would think Gaia has passed him over!”

I nearly chuckle at that.

“Perhaps when Lemuel becomes a man, his abilities will manifest themselves,” Asaph suggests.

Images flash through my mind of young Lemuel and Victoria together in the bedchamber. That was not their first time; she made that much clear.

“Exile was too good for him.” I clench my jaw.

“Perhaps an accident might befall him during our quest?” Asaph watches me a moment as we run side by side. “Leave the matter in Gaia’s hands, Lord Cain. She will take care of that miserable cur. You showed great restraint by not executing him on the spot.”

How much of the story has already spread throughout the tribes? The Shipyard thrives on gossip, one of our primary entertainment sources. But I hoped my sentries would keep the matter quiet.

“What do you know of his disrespect?”

Asaph frowns pensively. He knows only enough to try and ingratiate himself with his leader. My cursory glance at his heart rate proves such to be the case. His pulse has quickened anxiously.

“Only that he disgraced the tribes by—”

“His disgrace was against me alone.”

“All the more reason to punish him severely, my lord. A disgrace against our chieftain of chieftains is a disgrace against the tribes—against our people as a whole!”

I imagine shoving Asaph forward as he runs and driving his face into the dust. That would shut him up. Of all the warriors able to keep pace with me, it has to be this one?

“Gaia will decide whether the quality of mercy has been strained enough for young Lemuel.”

Asaph nods, satisfied for the moment.

Fifty meters ahead, a large, black vehicle sits alone at the base of a cliff. I signal the group to halt. Without a word, I point to the dust-caked vehicle, the frame pocked with bullets, the windows fractured but holding. I raise three fingers before pointing westward. My warriors nod to show they understand: the three figures hiding behind the vehicle are UW scouts. I point at the top of the cliff where a jagged ridge runs crosswise, providing ample cover, and I hold up all five fingers of my left hand: five sentries at their posts.

I slip the strap of my rifle down from my shoulder; the warriors behind me do the same. Judging from the heartbeats of the three UW personnel behind that vehicle and the five sentries hidden above, our presence has already been noticed. Only a miracle from Gaia could have masked our arrival across the dusty terrain. There was no cover to be found.

So it was her will that we arrive in plain sight.

I stride forward boldly, and my warriors follow.

“Show yourselves.” My booming voice echoes off the cliff side. I hold my weapon at the ready but keep the muzzle aimed at the ground. “You would have fired upon us by now if that was your intent.” I pause. “We see you have one of our own among you. A young pup.” I release a disgusted chuckle. “Feel free to keep him.”

Lemuel’s pulse races as he stands up behind an outcropping of rock high above us, struggling against a figure garbed in sand-colored cloth. They fight for possession of a rifle, its stock glinting under the sun.

Asaph takes aim.

“Hold!” I command. My people will not be the first to fire.

Surprisingly strong for one so lacking in muscle, Lemuel nearly has the rifle free. But then a woman identical in garb to his opponent advances on him from behind, the end of her weapon poised for a head strike. I savor the moment, awaiting the sound of gun metal colliding with bone. But the youth seems to have eyes in the back of his head. With an ungraceful spin kick, he drives the woman back, yanks the rifle free from his opponent, and has the muzzle trained on me before I can fully grasp what just happened.

Asaph fires.

With a burst of crimson across his chest, Lemuel jerks upward, eyes wide with surprise, arms suspended loosely. The stolen rifle falls down the sheer drop, and he follows after.

There is no time to watch the youth’s body break among the rocks below. Later I can pause to regret missing the sight; for now, I must find cover.

The ridge above has come alive with weapons fire, and my warriors scramble for their lives. Moving targets are more difficult to hit, but we will not survive long out in the open. Most of us return fire, running straight for the vehicle while shooting blindly upward. From what I can see, none of my warriors have been wounded. Did Luther order his sentries not to take kill shots? I have given no such command to my men. It is only a matter of time before another death occurs.

I drop into a crouch once I reach the vehicle’s rear tire. I squint up at the scorching sun through my sweat-spattered goggles. It is the hottest hour