The Facility, Eganene
“You three, down that hall,” Malachi shouted. “The rest of you with me.” There were maybe a dozen men left and several were injured. As was he. The cloth on his arm was wet with blood, but he wasn’t ready to turn back. Not yet. He repositioned his grasp on the pommel of his long, curved dagger. The weapon was faster than the short swords the Dogs preferred. Still, he had his good arm.
“We’ve got to be three levels down,” Guyan called, following on his heals.
The Hunter had acquitted himself well today, fighting with skill and following orders. He might not like killing, but he was good at it.
“I think we have one more floor to clear,” Malachi said.
They were checking each level, but besides the underwater passages, there weren’t many places left to hide. As they went, men peeled off to either side, trying doors and kicking them open. Sometimes they found Dogs waiting for them.
“Here!” someone yelled, and others ran to help. The sound of metal clashing resonated in the corridor, shouts echoing from the walls.
Malachi disliked being inside the narrow passageways. It was difficult to swing his long dagger and there were too many places to hide. He kicked open the closest door.
Empty. There was nothing in his room but stained tile and a bucket. The overhead lights were garish and bright, and he wondered how the Family was powering them. There must be something beneath the floors, some way they were generating energy. Giving one last look at the corners, he emerged in time to see two women scramble from their cell.
He didn’t recognized either of them. They were thin and ragged, their greasy hair matted to their heads. One of their rescuers held out a selection of confiscated knives, offering them a way to protect themselves. The women took the weapons eagerly, their eyes shining bright in their faces. If it came to it, they would fight.
“Post a rearguard,” he told his men. He couldn’t spare someone to take the women out, not yet, and it wasn’t safe to leave the building on their own. He couldn’t wait to be free of this place.
On to the next hall. Guyan stepped through the door first, and Malachi followed leading with his uninjured side. It was important they get as many men through as quickly as possible. The Dogs liked to wait just inside, aiming to pick them off one by one as they entered.
“I’ll kill her,” a man screamed.
Malachi’s head jerked up, his dagger pointing at the man dressed in black.
The Family man was halfway down the hall. One arm was wrapped around his captive’s chest. He had a knife at her throat.
“Don’t come any closer. I’ll kill her!” His eyes were wide and panicked, fear making his voice tight.
Malachi put up his hand, stopping his men. They had been through this before. The last time, it had been a group of fighters in the hall. This time, it was only one man. Some of his men would wait for his signal, the rest would double back. If they could, they would flank the hall, find another path, and take the coward from the rear.
Guyan sheathed his sword and took a few steps, his hands in the air, “Let her go.” The woman was shaking, her wide eyes staring out of a bruised face. What was left of her dress was a tattered ruin, the cloth dirty and rotten.
“Careful,” Malachi whispered. “The xia is likely to cut her throat and run.” Surreptitiously, he checked the cells to either side of them. The Dog might be a diversion, a trap to separate them from the rest of their men. He found the doors open, but there was no one inside.
No one living. There were three children in the left room and two women in the right. They lay haphazardly on the floor, their ragged garments stained with blood. His jaw clenched, but he managed to push out the words, “What have you done?”
The coward shuffled back, “It wasn’t me.” He had his hair trimmed short. The work was sloppy, tuffs of brown springing up on either side.
Guyan took another few steps, and Malachi followed.
“Stay back! You come any closer and I’ll kill her!”
“You kill her,” the Hunter growled, “and you don’t have a hostage. What happened to these people?” His voice was strong and sure. To Malachi, he sounded as confident as the Bounty Master. There could be no equivocation with murder like this.
The Dog shook his head, “The order was to kill the prisoners.”
“Where are the rest of them?” Malachi asked.
“On the floor below. Still alive. I don’t think anyone has seen to them yet.”
Malachi sighed, “Let her go. You can run.”
He saw Guyan tense. The Hunter wanted to kill this man. Not because he had to, this time, but because he needed to. Malachi agreed with him, but the only way the girl was going to live was if the coward released her.
The next two doors were open, and there were more bodies. Malachi sheathed his dagger and turned his palms up. “Go on. Let her go.”
The Dog was almost to the far door, but he couldn’t open it without lowering his dagger. Malachi and Guyan closed the distance, one step at a time, the tiles beneath their feet reflecting the strange, electric light that shone from the ceiling.
“You stop right there!” the man screamed, and girl whimpered. His knife had bitten into the flesh of her neck, not enough to be fatal, but enough to make her bleed.
Malachi froze.
“Just let her go,” Guyan urged. “Let us have the girl. You go through the door.”
“You’ll follow me.”
Malachi nodded, “Eventually. We need to check the next hallway. But we aren’t here for you.”
“Why should I believe you?”
Guyan took a step closer, “We came to free these woman and children. Let her go and you can have your life.”
The man wanted to believe them. The Dog took his arm off the woman’s chest and moved his knife to her back, “Back up to the far door and I’ll let her run to you.”
“If you kill her, I’ll hunt you down,” the Hunter said. “You understand that don’t you?”
The man nodded, “Go! Back up.”
Malachi and Guyan both did as directed. Thankfully, when they were far enough away, the man pushed the girl towards them, turned and slipped through the door. Guyan ran to her, and she scrambled up weeping into his arms.
The Yillel fighters who had been waiting at the door filled the hallway and began examining the cells. They were hoping for survivors, but they wouldn’t find anyone. “Check the next hall,” he directed. “If you see that xia, kill him. We will stay here.”
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“You’ll keep your word?” Guyan asked, ripping a piece of his shirt to bind the woman’s wound. The girl was filthy, dirt and old blood caking her legs.
Malachi looked away. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean we won’t get him. Our men will find him.”
The Hunter helped the girl to her feet, leading her to the other captives who huddled nearby. “We’ll get you out of here,” he said. “I promise. We just need to wait for the others.”
Returning, he pointed at Malachi’s arm, “How’s your wound?”
“Bleeding. But I’ll live.”
“Let me see.”
Malachi moved his arm closer, feeling the sharp bolt of pain that sliced down to his fingertips.
“You need to have that looked at,” Guyan reported. “It’s dirty. If you don’t clean it, it will fester.” He ripped another section of his shirt and wrapped Malachi’s arm.
Malachi waved him off, “You’re not going to have any clothes left if you keep that up.”
The Hunter narrowed his eyes, “There is shrapnel and dirt. It will become septic.”
“We have more important things to worry about.”
“You need to wash it,” the boy disagreed. “I’ve seen bullet wounds like this. Take the women back. Get cleaned up. It won’t take long.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you are not. Just clean it and come back. Have them bind it so you don’t lose any more blood.”
Reluctantly, Malachi agreed. His plan had been to send Guyan, but the Hunter was right. He should get his wound seen to. Passing out from blood loss would help no one. And this way he could see about Carl.
The last he had seen of his friend, the big man had been dragging someone from the battlefield. After that, he and Guyan had been too busy with the Brother to see much of anything. “You did well out there.”
Guyan knew what he was taking about, “The Brother was good,” the Hunter said, watching the door. “Thank the gods there were two of us.”
“If I had both my arms it would have been easy.”
The Hunter barked a laugh.
Soon, the Yillel returned. They had found three more women, wretched things who looked half-dead. Hopefully, they could run. He wanted to be across the field quickly in case of archers.
“The next floor is directly above the pipes,” one of the men reported. “We saw a few larger drains.”
Malachi touched the white hair at the ends of braids, “The water is poisonous. Warn the others not to touch it.”
“I will.”
“Any sign of the xia?
The fighter shook his head.
“Go on,” Guyan told him. “We’ll finish sweeping this building and meet you outside.” There were four buildings in all. Malachi’s group had taken the western one, and a second group had taken the eastern. They would need to check the other two before they could call their search complete. Carl’s plan was a good one. After clearing everything, they would destroy the place.
“Come, ladies,” he told the women, extending his good arm. “It will be my pleasure to escort you to the woods. If you are Yillel, your relatives are waiting for you. If you are from one of the neighboring towns, we will escort you home.”
None of them said anything, but Malachi could see the relief on their faces. “Be careful,” he told the Hunter. “I’ll need your help when I get back.”
Guyan smiled, “I’ll wait for you outside. Or if you don’t see us, we will be clearing the southern structure.”
Having spent the last few hours clearing the passageways, finding his way out of the building was a simple matter. The women helped one another, supporting the wounded as they climbed the stairs. Malachi kept his dagger out and his eyes open. There was always the chance that they had missed someone, and getting these people to safety was his responsibility.
Thankfully, they emerged into the open air without incident. Malachi shoved the door open and the women covered their eyes with their arms, shrinking back from the light. Red and orange the light glowed, long wisps of clouds obscuring the mountains around the valley. He hadn’t realized it had grown so late.
Purple smoke lay heavy over the field, the thick haze sitting strangely in the breeze. He paused, letting the women adjust and choosing his direction. He knew the Yillel had set up bases along the tree line, he just needed to find one of them. The battle had continued after they entered the gate, and there was no way to predict where everyone had gone.
Bodies lay in the open areas, the crows circling as they waited for their meal. The men from town, those who survived the battle and the Facility, would need to carry back the dead. The Yillel wagons could transport the bodies back to their loved ones. Either that, or they would need to set a pyre.
Malachi shook his head, checking to see if the women were ready to move. Now was not the time to worry about the dead. The living demanded his attention.
“Keep low,” he told his group, pointing across the field to the forest. The shortest route was the best one. “We need to reach the tree line as quickly as possible. I will follow you.”
When no one moved, he herded them forward, “Come on. Your families are waiting.” He didn’t see which of them moved first, but suddenly they were all holding hands, jerkily running across the muddy ground. They were weak and wounded, and he feared they would fall. Malachi wasn’t sure he would be able to pick them, not with just one arm.
He had begun feeling light-headed as well. Guyan had been right. He had lost a lot of blood over the past few hours. “Go, go,” he called to the women.
Without looking back, they plunged into the purple smoke, their chain of hands holding them all together in a long line. Malachi followed the last one, the girl with blood on her legs. She ran with her eyes closed, blindly trailing the others.
A minute, two at the most, they were alone in the smoke. It was quiet in the field now, the fighting was inside the buildings. Bursting out of the haze, he saw the forest, and the people hidden inside it saw them. Before he could call for help, they were running out, their cries and screams filling the air.
Quickly, the Yillel covered the captives in blankets, escorting them to safety. Others came for him, bombarding him with questions he couldn’t answer. Instead, he showed them his arm, asking for help.
Hidden beneath the pines, he sat down, letting them care for him. They worked silently, cutting away his shirt and dowsing the hole in his arm with thick, clear liquid. Malachi recognized it as a liquor made from tiny, winter berries. His blood ran, staining his chest, and his shirt grew wet and sticky.
“We need to clean the wound,” one of the women told him. “There is dirt inside.”
“Go ahead.”
They put a blanket down in the mud, and had him lay upon it. Another woman lit a small fire and set a stone pot to boil. The smoke was filled with spices and she waved it at him.
“Breathe this in,” she said. It was beside his face, so he didn’t really have a choice.
He watched them boil some metal instruments in the water, and felt himself relax. Malachi had never seen anything like it before. They washed coin-sized medallions in the water and placed them on metal trays above the flames.
“This will hurt,” the healer told him.
He had expected as much, “Do what you must. I need to be back inside that building as soon as possible.”
“After the wound is cleaned and we stop the bleeding.”
Malachi could hear soft singing, the sound far away, but growing in cadence and strength. He wondered why the women were singing. This song was different than the one he’d heard in battle. Instead of the rise and fall of dreamlike melody, this one was almost like a chant.
The pain was bad, much worse than he had anticipated. They used rounded, metal rods to open up the hole in his arm, pouring more alcohol into flush the dirt. It felt like fire, and soon the ground beneath him soaked with blood and spirits.
Next, they used tongs to remove the medallions from the plate above the fire. The coins glowed the same dark red as the sunset. Several women knelt beside him, taking his wounded arm in their hands.
“Bite this,” a younger woman said, handing him a clean branch. He put it between his teeth. “Try not to move,” she whispered.
He shook his head, strangely calm.
Without hesitating, the woman with the tongs pressed the metal medallion into the hole in his flesh.
Malachi screamed, trying not to thrash. He knew what they were doing to him was good. It would seal his wound and prevent infection, but the pain was unimaginable.
“One more,” the woman whispered, putting the bit bar back into his mouth. “Turn onto your side.”
He complied, rolling over so that the back of his arm was visible. The smoke from the pot smelled of stronger, the scent thick in his nose.
She put the coin on his arm and he jerked away, striking one of the women in the side.
“I’m sorry!” he apologized, the fractured stick falling from his mouth. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She grimaced, touching her side, “It is nothing. You did well.”
Malachi looked down, seeing the burned flesh that now covered the bullet wound. “You have my thanks.”
“And you mine,” she replied, sitting beside him. “You brought back our sisters.”
“There are more. I need to go back. Water and a shirt. Then, I need to go.”
He tried to get up, but the woman put her hand on his wound. Frozen, he asked, “What’re you doing?”
“If you try to go now, you will be slow and sloppy. Wait a few minutes. You need water and food.”
Malachi knew she was right. The woman was hardly applying pressure, but the world was swimming in front of him, the trees pitching sickeningly to the side.
“You lost a lot of blood. Here,” she said, handing him a cup of water, “this will help.”
Accepting the water, he took a long sip, finishing the cup in one go. “Have you seen Carl?” he asked. “Big man with a blond beard. Had a little girl with him.”
The woman’s face grew serious. “A friend of yours, then?” she asked.
When he nodded, she continued. “He was injured. Along with the boy. The witch was working on them when I last saw them.”
Malachi’s stomach dropped and he struggled to his feet, the world sliding to the side as he clung to the tree to keep himself upright. Not only was Carl his friend, but this whole plan relied on him and Veri.
“Where?” he managed.
The woman pointed and Malachi could see a group of people huddled at the forest’s edge about a hundred paces away. A golden glow surrounded them as if they’d lit a thousand candles. With a start, Malachi realized that the chant he’d been hearing had been coming from that direction.
“What are they doing?” he demanded, squinting his eyes to see better. If only he could make out who was in the center. It looked like two people. One possibly Carl’s size.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman whispered. “I don’t know if he’ll live.”