Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Aelia stood with her knees bent in a gentle crouch, reflexes taught and ready for action.
The celebrations had died, people staring in stunned silence at the figures looming in the darkness, fully encircling the small clearing.
One stood in the middle of the band, sagging strings the only thing connecting the two halves of the broken instrument he held in each hand.
Two appeared from either side of her, mere meters away. The man from the woods pulled her closer, dragging her further into the clearing away, putting himself between her and them. She was too stunned to do anything other than let him, to even notice what he was doing.
Several of the shadows moved forward, heading straight for the tables that held the remnants of the feast and flipping them with a crash that had the crowd flinching back.
“What do you think you’re doing?” A man Aelia knew to be on the council strode towards them, shoulders squared with all the confidence of a man with his whole village at his back.
One of the strangers left the tables they’d been heaping on top of one another, her black uniform indistinguishable from those of her companions.
In a few strides she was on him, striking him down with cold indifference.
He crumpled, his knees barely hitting the floor before she’d drawn her blade, clocking him on the temple with the hilt and stepping tidily aside as he landed face-first on the floor.
Gasps and murmurs sparked through the distressed crowd, everyone shuffling back a few steps to huddle a little further from the unconscious body and the woman who’d put it there.
Only then did she look up, her eyes alight and feral, as if daring anyone else to step forward, as if wishing they would.
When no one did, she smiled, sending a shiver scuttling down Aelia’s spine, before turning her attention once more to the tables, now piled so high that it took four of them to launch the final one to the top of the heap.
Silence still reigned, Aelia as transfixed as everyone else as they set fire to the tables. The dry timber took quickly, the white cloth Aelia had so painstakingly laid out earlier acting like kindling as the flames billowed up into the night sky.
Fire was a nightmare they all shared, and the villagers began muttering, their fear of the strangers becoming overshadowed by their terror of a forest fire. But before they could act, before any momentum was gained, a figure moved out of the darkness and into the glow of the fire.
He walked assuredly, taking his time as he took to his stage, surveying his audience with unhurried hauteur.
He stopped directly in front of the bonfire, his position meaning he was nothing more than a silhouette against the burning orange light.
When he broke the silence, his tone was laced with familiarity, utterly at ease with the eyes of so many strangers on him.
“My dear friends, welcome.” He held up his arms. His voice, a roar itself, carried easily over the blaze. “This is indeed a night of celebration. Not only for the entertainment and the feast, but as a celebration of us and the magic in our blood, of the power we share as our birthright.”
He paced deliberately in front of them, his features still obscured in shadow, but his gait was commanding. The power in his broad, slightly hunched profile was highlighted by the backdrop of flames.
“I am Beserkir, leader of the Astraea, and I stand before you a proud man. I am proud to be with you today. I am proud to be living in Demuto in a time of such potential. I am proud to be able to make these changes with you, my fellow artemians.” He was articulate, his words rolling off his tongue with careful eloquence.
Ice shot through Aelia’s veins. Otis had been right to worry; the Astraea had come to Callodosis.
She dared to look away from the man to scan the crowd.
She spotted Mirra and Fenrir deep in the heart of the clearing, and a surge of fear had her fighting the urge to elbow her way to them, grab Mirra and run into the night.
They wouldn’t make it, she knew they wouldn’t, not with every meter of the clearing guarded by the Astraea.
“You have my deepest gratitude, my dear friends, for allowing me to use this night, this gathering of comrades and like minds, to share with you the good news. Tonight, your celebration is added to as we welcome in a new era, one in which the pride of the artemians, and our country, will be reborn.” He paused, raking his eyes through the crowd.
His demeanour changing until he spat his next words with venom.
“Since our founding ancestors settled in Demuto, the labour of hard-working artemians like you, has been exploited by the human parasites.
Riding on the backs of our efforts, they have succeeded in reaping the benefits of our superiority for generations.
For too long, this has been tolerated. For too long, you have been subjected to this injustice.
“I, and my fellow Astraea who know this truth, have come here today to light a flame to rid you of the oppression of these injustices, to burn the infestation from your streets, to start a fire that their pestilence cannot extinguish.
“In so doing, we make a promise. We will cleanse the streets of all Demuto in the same way we’ll purify Callodosis tonight.
There will be casualties, artemians so infected by their contact with the human plague that they too must be eradicated.
But I promise you once more, anyone who stands in our way will be purged without mercy and we will, we will,” he shouted, “be victorious”.
The threat hung in the air, mixing with the smoke in a swirling smog of toxicity.
“Who amongst you has the courage to act on what you know to be right, to stand up for your right to a country you can be proud of? Who will join us this night in our quest to erase humankind from Demuto?”
No one moved.
Beserkir ducked his head low, his gaze swinging slowly over the crowd, looking up at them from beneath his brows.
“Are there none here who recognise the truth in our message, who will stand up for what they know to be right? How many of you have resented the humans, longing for a chance to be rid of them?” Beserkir slammed his fist into his palm. “Now is your chance.” He held his arms out wide. “Take it.”
The crowd listened without making a sound, the mass of people standing eerily quiet, their expressions hard and guarded. Whether this stemmed from shock or outrage, she couldn’t be sure, but the only response he received was deathly quiet.
Until a man edged his way out of the crowd.
Aelia’s scowl deepened, her fear transforming to rage as she recognised the white-blonde hair of Shiva striding towards the leader of the Astraea. He triggered a tide of movement, emboldening others to come forward until more than a dozen people, her people, stood before Beserkir.
How could they, how dare they volunteer to join him, to join a movement that so unabashedly strove for the genocide of an entire race?
It made her blood boil. She would not, could not, sit back and watch this. She took a step forward, preparing to fight her way to Mirra and kick the living shit out of anyone who tried to touch her, when a hand snatched around her arm and dragged her back.
Aelia’s eyes jumped from the hand around her arm, to the hulking lump of muscle it belonged to.
His expression was rigid, unreadable, and fixed on her with an intensity that made her blink.
It took her a second to recover her thoughts, her mouth opening to tell him what she’d do to his hand if he didn’t take it off her right that very second, when a voice broke the silence and her heart spluttered in her chest.
“Please don’t mistake the stupidity of the few for the acceptance of the rest,” Otis said, the villagers turning to face where he stood at the edge of the clearing.
A space opened around him as he walked towards Beserkir, the crowd parting around him like a blade cutting through flesh.
“You and your kind are not welcome here. Humans have been a part of our community for too long for us to allow you to spill your poison on the soil we toil over. Leave now and avoid violence that will end in bloodshed on both sides.”
Aelia pulled against the hand that still held her, trying to yank herself free, but his grip held firm.
Shocked, she tried harder, using all her strength, but it was like it was nothing to him.
Never before had anyone been able to overpower her, to make her feel weak, but this man restrained her without breaking a sweat.
“Let me go,” she hissed, still trying to wrestle her arm free.
“You saw what they did to that man,” he said. “They could kill you.”
Who the fuck did he think he was? She was missing what Beserkir was saying to Otis, their voices lost in the scuffle as she tried to break away, so she twisted towards them. Peering over the crowd, she saw a couple of the black uniformed thugs approaching Otis from behind.
“I understand. You may not think I do, but I do.” Beserkir’s voice carried over the clearing as he sauntered closer to Otis.
“I have known many who have been taken in by their pitiful plight, but just because they are weaker than us, does not automatically mean we must protect them, pander to them. They take up jobs that could be better fulfilled by artemians, they eat food that would otherwise sustain those who give back to the community rather than drain it.”
Otis stood tall in front of the man, head held high as he stopped in front of him.
“This is wrong.” Otis shook his head and waved his good arm at the sea of faces behind him. “And we won’t let you hurt anyone else here, human or otherwise.”
Aelia chose that moment to spin and knee the towering stack of brawn still holding her right in the fruits. Hard.