3. A Rescue
A Rescue
Darien
T he Intake Yard was a riot of noise. Darien coughed to clear the thick dust settling in his throat as the truck in front of him pulled out of the yard.
“Load up your rations,” the sentry’s voice bellowed in his ear. “Make way for the next truck.”
Darien heaved the last box up into the truck bed with too little effort.
Five boxes wouldn’t be enough for Farmer Aagen and Darien’s fellow field hands, but the Regent of Safír believed that the farmers’ own produce could make up for their lack of basic toiletries and supplies.
Not that farmers could keep much of their own crop anyway.
Even if they could, how could apples substitute for flour or soap?
Messy, black strands stuck up at odd angles as Darien ran his hand through his hair.
His tanned olive-colored arms and neck were sticky, his leather jacket safely stowed in the cab of his truck.
Sentries dressed in black padded armor contrasted sharply against the flannel-clad field hands and farmers that surrounded them.
Darien dismissed the notion of asking for more supplies.
The sentries were not known for their empathy.
Aagen and the others would just have to make do until next Produce Day.
“Hurry up, girl!” Another sentry’s voice cracked across the Intake Yard, silencing every other voice around it.
The farmers quickened their pace, hurrying to unload or load so they could get out of the way. Farmers and laborers alike kept their heads down and eyes on their work, studiously avoiding the brewing confrontation in the unloading bay.
Knowing he shouldn’t, Darien sought out the voice and found a sentry yelling at the light-haired girl in the bed of a rusted blue pickup.
Upon seeing the girl, an odd sense of familiarity washed over Darien, though he was certain he’d never seen her before.
He would have remembered a face like that.
She looked about his age and stood in the midst of pallets and crates, trying to unload her produce. The sentry shouted something Darien couldn’t hear over the increased noise of the crowd. He could see the way the girl’s shoulders tensed up closer to her ears as she turned to grab another crate.
The smart choice was to turn away. Before he could, Darien saw the sentry step toward her, one hand pointing directly at her back and the other resting just above his gun.
His blood crashed in his ears. Smart choices were overrated anyway.
Darien slammed the tailgate, leapt down, and headed for the girl.
“Leave it, boy,” an older farmer near him muttered.
Darien kept walking even as he called himself every kind of name for his own stupidity.
Perhaps it was the gods’ interference or his own imagination, but Darien was drawn to her.
Even knowing that Aagen, Darien’s adoptive father, would scold him later for his recklessness did not alter Darien’s path.
For if Aagen was honest, he would’ve done the same.
Darien had crossed most of the space between them when the sentry spotted his approach. The sentry spun, facing Darien, his fingers curling around the grip of his gun. “Stop right there.”
Darien froze, a lump hardening in his throat.
From his peripheral, he watched the girl in the truck bed pause, half-bent in the process of picking up another box.
Her eyes flashed toward the sentry’s gun hand, and Darien’s eyes returned there as well.
He had not yet done anything to deserve execution, but he knew he was at the mercy of the sentry. They all were.
Darien swallowed, ignoring the tension in his body.
His mind recited the prayers Aagen had taught him.
Freyr, god of Harvest and protector of farmers, would not let him die here.
Such a death would not be heroic enough to be sung alongside the great Volsungs , and Darien had already determined he was destined for greatness.
With meticulous caution, he raised empty hands. “I was just going to offer to help unload the truck.”
“Get back to your place,” the sentry said. When Darien did not obey, the man’s hand tightened on his gun.
“You want this truck unloaded and out of your way. I can help with that.” Darien's voice was low and calm, as though Freyr was filling him with the words to say. “You don’t want the trucks getting backed up, right? I’m just offering to move things along.”
The sentry paused then loosened his grip. “Fine. Hurry it up.”
Darien lowered his hands, proud to find them steady.
He stepped up into the truck bed, nearly colliding with the girl, and found himself staring into the most extraordinarily golden eyes he’d ever seen.
They were like pure honey dripping from the beehive he’d found in one of his apple trees.
However, the bees had been far friendlier than these glaring eyes.
“What are you doing?” the girl hissed.
The sharpness of her voice snapped Darien from his thoughts. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t need your help, and I really don’t need you in my truck.”
Darien’s mouth fell open. He expected quiet gratitude, maybe, or even an uneasy acceptance, but this outright hostility was astonishing. His bravado slipped from his grasp.
“I, um…” Kings and Queens, I’m blowing this. She may be a damsel, but perhaps not quite as in distress as he imagined.
“What are you doing up there?” The sentry snapped his fingers. “Either help or get out.”
Spurred into motion at the sentry’s voice, the girl heaved a box of strawberries into Darien’s arms. Darien passed them along to the unloading laborer who waited at the end of the truck.
As she lifted crate after crate, the girl’s loose shirt pulled against her back and shoulders, revealing the toned muscles of her body.
Clearly she worked as hard on her land as Darien did on his orchard.
As time passed, Darien’s appreciation of her strength blurred into confusion over her movements. Every time he reached for a crate, she was there. Her hands beat him to the next, and then the next, only allowing him to handle the boxes she picked up herself.
She’s intentionally getting in the way , he thought.
The idea that she was obstructing his advance as they went further back into the truck bed only piqued Darien’s interest. Every block, every hedge was intentional.
For whatever reason, she did not want him in her truck.
Even more curious, she continued stacking the pallets only on one side, even as the pile grew dangerously tall.
Had this girl ever run a delivery before?
“My name is Darien, by the way,” he said, hoping to thaw her hostility.
Her gaze flashed to meet his, and he was struck by the light splattering of freckles across her nose. He smiled, but her only response was to reach for the next box. Darien let the smile fall from his face, transferring that box to the laborer who went to stack it with the rest.
So much for coming to the rescue .
With the unloading process moving smoothly, the sentry moved on to harass another field hand further down the line.
Seeing that they were nearly finished, Darien figured if his devilish charms weren’t working, he might as well try for some honesty.
“Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped. You looked like you needed some help. ”
She said nothing, her hands occupied with the last box wedged behind the towering stack of pallets.
If she’d distributed the pallets more evenly, she wouldn’t have been in this predicament.
Darien’s frustration grew. If she would just let him help, they would be done by now, and he could get out of the hot sun.
Besides, if they didn’t get these trucks moving soon, the sentry was bound to return in an even worse mood than before.
Before she could scold him again with those startling eyes, Darien snuck past her guard and yanked out the remaining crate. He froze at the sight of the child before him.
Curled up in the corner of the truck, hiding behind the last of the boxes, the small girl stared at him in horror. Her eyes fled to the girl standing behind Darien, who was wearing the same fearful expression.
The towering pallets, the intentional blocking, the girl’s cautious movements, even her frustration at Darien’s help—it all made sense. There was only one reason to hide a child like this.
She was an unregistered second-born.
The white-haired girl slipped past Darien, wedging herself in front of the child.
Darien couldn’t help but notice the way her body moved with flexible grace.
He sucked in a slow breath, then glanced toward the back of the truck.
The unloading laborer would be back at any minute, and the sentries were never far away.
Legally, Darien was duty-bound to reveal the girl, to turn her over to the sentries. That was the logical choice. But the fear on the child’s face was enough to prompt Darien to do something illogical .
He did not speak—he couldn’t trust himself to. Instead, he handed the girl the crate, then swiftly moved the pallets to create towers of equal height that blocked the back of the truck.
“Lay down,” he whispered.
The child stretched herself out in the crevice between the truck and the pallets.
Darien grabbed another pallet and lay it on top of the others, pushing it up against the truck cab covering the pale-faced child.
Just as the pallet slid into place, the laborer returned with ill-concealed impatience, motioning for the girl to pass over the remaining boxes.
She paused, then hefted them to the back of the truck where the laborer waited.
Darien continued his stacking. Hopefully, he would appear to be evening out the weight, making sure the pallets wouldn’t break during the drive home.
As long as the child kept low, she would be hidden, if she could handle the claustrophobic space and the pressure of the wood all around her.
Darien had heard of stowaways trying to slip out of the city. Was this girl a courier? No, she’d clearly never done this before. Were the girls sisters? There was a story here, and he was determined to learn it if only to confirm the child’s safety.
With the last of the crates cleared out and the pallets secured, Darien and the girl hopped down into the dirt. The girl closed the back of the truck so hard that the wood wobbled. Her hands shook as she clasped the lock.
“Thank you,” she murmured, not meeting Darien’s eyes. The sound of her voice played an odd harmony in his mind.
“Alright, move it!”
The sentry was back. Pointing at Darien, he said, “You, your truck is already loaded with rations. Get it out of the way. And you”—he pointed to the girl—“hurry up and load. You’ve wasted enough of our time today.”
The two farm hands shared a stolen glance. The girl’s eyes lost their aggression, growing in curiosity. Then, with one glance at the sentry and another toward the truck bed, she opened the cab door and hopped in, pulling the truck forward to the next station.
The sentry shoved Darien hard in the back, knocking him forward into the dirt. “Did you not hear me, slápr ? I said move it!”
Darien ground his teeth; only a sentry would use such an insult. “Alright, I’m going.”
The sentry’s rough hand yanked him up by the collar. “What did you say, slápr? ”
Darien bit his tongue. Aagen was always reminding him to watch his mouth. “Nothing.”
The sentry released him, dropping him to the ground once again. “It is only by the Empress’ generosity that you are allowed to serve outside the Wall. Don’t test me.”
Darien did not look back when he picked himself off the ground, brushing the dirt from his hands.
He walked obediently toward his truck, knowing that the sentry was watching, waiting for a reason to heap on more abuse.
These sentries were all the same, looking to earn glory before the gods in a war that had ended with the Empress’ victory years ago.
Nearby, the girl had parked her truck and was in the middle of quickly loading up her rations. The concern in her eyes made it clear she had seen the sentry’s abuse.
Darien’s face flamed. So much for the heroic rescue .
He kept his head down until he was back in the driver seat. Turning the key, Darien navigated his truck toward the outer gate. In his rear view mirror, he could see the girl swing shut her tailgate.
No one had noticed the child during the loading; the pallets were doing their job. As long as the child remained quiet and still, they might actually make it out of there. Darien resisted the wild urge to laugh. The sentries didn't have the slightest idea.
At the gate, a sentry searched Darien’s truck for runaways while another demanded his identification papers.
Darien knew the words on the paper, labeling him Darien Aagenson.
He also knew that the words were a lie. He forced his hands to tap slowly against the steering wheel as he waited for his papers.
The sentries didn’t need to know that Darien was Aagen’s son only by name and not by blood.
His leg bounced with tension at the sight of the rusted blue truck pulling in two trucks behind him. Darien’s prayers echoed in his mind, asking that the girl and the child would make it through the gate.
“You may leave,” the sentry barked. “The Empress thanks you for your service.”
Darien accepted the papers offered by the sentry and pulled forward before he could tell the sentry where the Empress could stick her appreciation.
Just outside the gate, the carved icon of Njorer, Safír’s patron god of the sea, watched Darien as he drove away.
It was said that Njorer had died in the great battle of Ragnarok , but that his soul still watched over those of Safirian blood, imbuing the royal bloodline with his own powers.
Of course, the Empress had killed the entire royal line decades ago, leaving none of Njorer’s line to remain.
Darien tore his eyes from the icon. A fluttering of black wings drew his attention to where a raven soared overhead, dipping into the Intake Yard.
In his rearview, the rusted blue truck approached the sentry’s checkpoint, growing smaller until Darien could no longer see it at all.
There was only one road that led from the city toward the farms and fields of the Safír land.
All other roads had either been reclaimed by nature or destroyed during the Empress’ upheaval and subsequent reign.
If the girl made it past the sentries, she would have to follow the same road.
Reaching the tree cover, Darien drove a bit further before peeling off onto a stretch of dirt that ran parallel to the deteriorating asphalt.
He parked in such a manner as to block enough of the road.
Any oncoming traffic would be forced to either stop or swerve.
He would wait to see if they made it out.
One way or another, Darien would get his answers.