Chapter 16 - Assault

Lystra’s army spread out in the fields surrounding the town, holding it in a hateful embrace. When they had encircled it, a single blast of a horn sounded, and they ran through the remnants of the harvest, yelling inchoate screams of rage, stopping just short of arrow range. Spears were held aloft, shields were banged on and obscenities yelled at the ramparts.

There was no answer back. The roar faded. Arms dangled at the sides and shields were put down.

Brewer, along with the other Masters, watched from a nearby hill. The logistics column had stopped a safe distance away and were setting up camp.

A small group approached the front line. The pair of heavy wagons were part of it. Long minutes passed. Brewer could see movement among them, a swirl of motion. A dot broke free and headed toward the hill with the Masters. Brewer watched the figure approach.

An out of breath man huffed in front of them. “Lystra wants the sound equipment. Now.”

A brief consult broke out. The quartermaster led the messenger through the support group. Soon a loaded wagon covered in a tarp came past the assembled Masters. A gang of workers followed. Down the slope, rocking and creaking under its load, went the wagon, retracing steps back to where Lystra waited.

“I think it’s time for tea,” said Father Everett.

* * *

A mound of boxes with cables running to a metal cabinet took shape on the plains facing the walls. By mid-afternoon, Brewer could hear speeches being delivered in strident tones. They played over and over again, telling the people how they were being exploited and enslaved by the evil of the Cloister in the heart of the town.

Brewer watched the walls. There was no sign of any response. A sinking feeling took up residence in the pit of his stomach.

Dinner was prepared for the whole camp. Brewer avoided having Lystra call for a wagon by setting up a tent next to the fielded men. Lines formed at the makeshift bar, and the beer was served by the brewery staff. The other Masters thought he had lost his senses and stayed in the logistics camp.

“I can’t say that I disagree with them.” Father Everett spoke to Brewer from across a table. “This is insane. You know who could just walk up and snag you.” He filled cups from the taps and placed them on the trays lining the table in the back.

“If what Reba said is true, she can’t. This is the safest place to be. Everyone would see what happens. Out there,” Brewer jerked his thumb toward where the other Masters and their crews camped, “anything could happen. Unseen and unreported.”

“Hmm, this still seems dangerous.” He placed a last cup on a tray.

“Oh, it is.”

Brewer picked up the tray and headed toward the front. A sea of outstretched hands across the counter greeted him. “Here you go, soldier.”

Someone took the cup from his hands. Brewer quickly handed out all the cups.

“They seem happy with us. That’s a plus,” Brewer said as he walked back with the empty tray.

“Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Brewer fell silent. The next tray grabbed, he headed forward again. He concentrated on placing cups into open hands for a while.

“Brewer, is that you?” A familiar voice from an outstretched hand in front of him. He lifted his head to see who spoke.

It was Farmer Sam.

“Farmer Sam?”

“Jus Sam now. Ima free man. Figgers you’d end up here, tryn’ ta run things.”

“How, how are you?” Brewer held a cup up for him.

“Better if ah ain’t seen you again.” Sam grabbed the cup out of his hand, sending foam flying. “Traitor.” He stalked off, disappearing into the crowd.

Brewer paused. Empty hands reached across the makeshift counter, seeking beer. Everett came over.

“Why don’t you pour for a bit, and I’ll take care of handing these out?”

Shaking, Brewer went back to the taps to fill. Beer overflowed and spilled, making the ground muddy around the barrels. He knocked over an entire tray. Staff stooped to pick up the mugs. Somehow, he got through the service. Cleaning up at the end, a couple of other workers came over and shooed him off.

Brewer just stood there, chewing on his bottom lip. People moved around him, jostling him in the space between the counter and the barrels.

“I’m going to check on Reba,” he said to no one in particular.

“Good idea, see how she’s doing.” Father Everett placed a hand on his shoulder.

Nodding, Brewer turned and walked back to camp to Reba’s tent.

“Reba?” he called out in front. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, Ahm decent.”

The other occupants were out. Reba sat on her bed. Brewer supposed that she was mostly decent. She had a blanket wrapped around her and nothing else. Underneath were peeks of an intaglio of bruises on her skin.

“Aren’t you cold? How are you feeling?” Brewer sat on the adjacent bed, his knees almost touching hers.

“Been better. Hurts ta pull things on. Swellin’s going down, so’s I can see again.”

Brewer reached out and took her hand. He gave it a little squeeze. “I am really sorry this happened. I had no idea.”

Reba placed her other hand on his. “S’awright. Mebbe when I gets better, we can spend some time together.” She tried a lopsided smile.

A smile back as Brewer gently shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think Sara would like that. What if we had a kid?”

Reba scrunched her face. “Who sez anything ‘bout a kid? Lystra don’t allow that.”

Brewer pulled back. “What do you mean?”

Reba flipped her dark, wavy hair with her good hand. “Us gals hafta take a pill every day. You gets pregnant, you get rid of it cuz if her majesty finds out, you’re dead. Course, Masters dinna worry ‘bout that. Part of the package.”

Brewer could feel his cheeks tightening, his mouth drawing into a rictus.

“You alright there?” she said.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Totally fine.”

* * *

The loudspeakers blared overnight making promises of freedom and of being part of the holy mission if the townspeople just came out and turned over the Cloister dwellers.

Brewer woke to soaked sheets. The constant harangue, an angry background, made for an uneasy slumber even back at the camp behind the lines. What he remembered of his dreams involved long chases and hiding with Sara. Sometimes he was with her, sometimes he had to find her.

Morning light relieved him of the night sequences. A dull headache resided behind his eyes. Rising to the ever present droning speeches, he got ready.

From his vantage point, Brewer could see a flurry of activity in the forward base. Soldiers were cutting trees from the forests around the fields, hauling them and fashioning timbers. Several towers grew in the space between the lines of men and the walls. Brewer surveyed the scene nearest him where one of the engines of war grew.

A loud clatter of falling timbers and yells made him jump. He hung his head, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples. His headache worsened behind his brow.

“There you are. By Gaia, you look terrible.” Father Everett had found him.

“Thanks. Didn’t get a lot of sleep. Too many things on my mind.”

Everett looked out over the construction efforts. “Won’t be long now.”

“You’ve seen what happens?”

Lips were pressed into a hard, flat line. Father Everett nodded.

Brewer’s head pounded.

Cohorts of men wheeled the finished towers close to the wall. Their shields were up, overlapping with their neighbors to form a sort of box. Even though he had never seen such, it made sense to Brewer, particularly if there had been someone on the walls defending them.

The half dozen towers made it to the wall. Each had a squad at its base. When the towers kissed the material of the town walls, a signal was given. The men in wait swarmed up the structure and onto the top of the town wall.

A cry of triumph was heard all the way back where Brewer stood. A chill ran through him.

Moments later, the gate opened. A company of men marched through the open doors, spears and shields held at ready. A parade left the army camp. Brewer could see a golden object in the front. No doubt as to who was there. The heavy wagons rumbled to the gatehouse after it and disappeared inside. Brewer turned and walked back to camp.

The rumors he had heard from the other Masters were that they would winter here, in the newly liberated town.

Gathering his people in his tent, he laid out plans for reconstituting the brewery. They were almost out of beer. Inventories were checked, equipment checked and double checked, and instructions were revised as to how to setup.

It was a busy, productive day.

Around dinner time, a messenger arrived in the tent. Brewer knew exactly what it was about. He had the haulfolk loading the wagons before the man even showed.

Everett came into the tent while Brewer was informed of the request. His eyes brimmed and his shoulders drooped.

“Father, I’m hoping that you take over. I wrote down a bunch of recipes. Grain bill, mash steps. Even worked out how much water from each tank. They’re in the brown ledger.”

“You’ll be back. Remember what you promised. Remember Sara.” Everett’s voice almost broke.

“Of course, my friend. Make sure you get the O2 that Masters are supposed to get for yourself.”

Reba came in and stood next to the Father. She was openly weeping. Brewer smiled at her. She covered her face with her good hand. Sobs wracked her.

The messenger waited outside. Brewer climbed into the driver’s seat and started down the hillock with the courier seated next to him. The gatehouse loomed large. Despite the cold, Brewer was sweating.

The sun still stood a couple of handbreaths above the peaks. The messenger directed Brewer to go along the main street to where the golden dome was located. He stayed with Brewer to guide him. Brewer didn’t need him.

The town was set up similar to High Plains and Cotillion. The main avenue went straight to the Cloister, past tenements for living, a commercial section, and an industrial section. The Church of Gaia was in the same place. Brewer would not get lost here. The only difference he could see were trees, naked from the advance of winter, lining the streets. Brewer thought it probably would have looked pretty in the other seasons.

He reached the meadow surrounding the dome. To the left, a large tent was being set up on the lawn.

The beer wagon was directed to a spot near the pavilion, a good jog from a huddle of men. One man was coming out of the tent, adjusting his clothes. He went to the huddle and was placed in the middle. All the participants had their arms outstretched toward the man. A low chanting came from them.

“Tap one of the barrels and wait here.” The messenger got off and went to the cluster.

Brewer climbed down and fetched his mallet and a tap. He stood by the head of the barrel and watched the group.

The chanting grew louder. The soldiers were standing still, looking at the Cloister. Pennants hung limply in the cold. An expectant stillness draped across the land. The sun sank toward the mountains.

Here and there, the words of the chant being repeated became recognizable. “Go,” “Don’t stop,” and “You are chosen” were prominent.

The personnel started to move around, attending to tasks started. Twilight descended from the mountains. A name, Ralph, was added to the chant. Brewer wondered what was going on.

The chanting reached a crescendo. It was loud and fast and just consisted of “Ralph, Ralph, Ralph” now.

In the fading light, a procession exited the large tent and walked toward the group of men. Lystra, in golden finery and headdress, was in front. She was resplendent in the dusk. Her outstretched arms held an object draped in a silvery cloth. It looked thick and round and about half her height.

“Tap the beer!” Captain Merrill startled him. The proceedings had mesmerized Brewer and left him unaware of the Captain’s approach. Now, the man was breathing down his neck.

With a single blow, Brewer drove the tap in. Beer gushed. He quickly closed it.

The crowd around the man parted for Lystra. She came right up to Ralph. She held out the cloth-covered article like an offering.

In a single motion, Ralph uncovered a drab green tube, almost as thick as person’s torso. There was some lettering on it that Brewer couldn’t read and a bright yellow arrow pointing to one end.

Ralph cradled it to his chest.

Lystra stepped up to Ralph, put her hands on the sides of his head, leaned in, and kissed him on the lips.

It was a generous kiss, not hurried.

She withdrew and gave a single nod. Ralph nodded back. Ralph turned to face the beer wagon and marched toward it.

“Open the fucking tap!” Helpful words from the Captain.

Brewer did as he was told. The beer splashed on the ground in a rush. Under it, the ground grew muddy.

Ralph reached them and stood the tube on end. He bent down to drink straight from the flowing tap. He drank long from the stream before dunking his head under it.

Standing straight, he shook his head, sending droplets flying. Some landed on Brewer. Ralph picked up the tube, turned and started toward the Cloister. People were moving away.

Brewer stared until he remembered the splashing beer. He quickly shut the spigot off and watched the chosen man.

Ralph now jogged to the wall. The flags fluttered on their poles. Their rustling was the only thing disturbing the awful quiet.

After he reached the wall, Ralph turned and bowed to the army that was some distance away.

Brewer’s stomach twisted. His mouth hung open.

Ralph faced the wall and lifted the tube to his shoulder. He pressed the end marked by the arrow against the wall.

The seconds passed.

“Dear Gaia.”

Ralph did something to the implement.

Something bright blossomed where Ralph stood. A bright jet of violet and white shot away from the wall. A circle incandesced against where the tube had been pressed. Brewer threw his arm across his eyes. Heat, even where he stood, chased away all trace of winter. It warmed his exposed skin. In a instant, it was gone.

Brewer lowered his arm. A shudder overcame him. Blinking rapidly, he cleared away the spots of purple swimming in his sight. He fell to his hands and knees and tried to breathe. Small, rapid inhalations were all he could manage as his heart raced.

The wall had a gaping hole. Ruddy light from inside cast long shadows in the deepening dark.

He swiveled his head around and looked up. The visage of the Captain filled his sight. The man had a smile on his face. He looked right at Brewer.

“Seize him”

* * *

Two haulfolk dragged Brewer to his feet, one on either side of him. Their fingers gripped his arms, hurting him, grinding his muscles against the bone. Legend said that a lugger had once ripped a man’s arm off. Brewer didn’t want to explore that legend.

Brewer grimaced in pain. His toes hardly touched the ground as they marched him to Lystra’s pavilion in the dark. The Captain’s footsteps sounded from behind.

The flap was lifted. Golden light streamed, making Brewer blink. He was hauled in.

There was a curtain across the back, dividing off the first third of the tent. It was stitched together from many different panels, giving it a garish, mismatched look. A puffy, scarlet crushed velvet divan was in the center. There were tables pushed to the sides laden with papers and unrecognizable objects. Lamps throughout the room chased all shadows away. Bronze and silver surfaces shone in the lights casting reflections on the rich tapestries lining the walls. The space felt very warm.

There was a collection of shirts hanging from the ceiling adding to the decadent air of the place. They were worn and threadbare with rents like tattered flags. All had dark stains around the neck. There was a familiar iridescent one in one corner.

The two escorts forced Brewer into a chair in front of the couch. The Captain chained Brewer’s arms to the back of the chair. Brewer’s arms hurt under the savage, relentless pull. Tall trestles, shoulder height to the sitting Brewer, were brought forward and placed on either side of him.

Brewer yanked on the restraints.

“Ha, it can hold a lugger. What makes you think you have a chance?” The Captain spoke from behind him. “Lystra, I brought him. He’s in the chair!” the Captain shouted.

“Good. Put it on him.”

The haulfolk carried the octagonal table top toward him. Brewer struggled.

“Woah, slow down boy. You’re going to hurt yourself.” The Captain stood in front of him with a smirk on his lips.

“Go fuck yourself.”

The Captain grinned and cold-cocked him. Brewer saw stars. His head lolled. Everything faded to gray. Only the Captain could be seen in the center of his vision. Something hard and unforgiving scraped his head and blotted out everything. Brewer shook his head. Sight returned, suddenly and in sharp focus. A flat expanse of smooth wood blocked everything below his neck. Panic set in. Brewer looked about the room wildly.

The Captain was the only inhabitant of the front room now. He leaned in and whispered, “I wish I could be around to see what happens to you next. Your shirt will be hanging up there in a bit.” He pointed toward the other shirts.

He straightened. “Lystra, he’s ready.”

“Thank you. You may leave.”

The Captain turned to the curtain, bowed and went out of sight behind Brewer.

Brewer’s pulse pounded in his ears. He strained to hear what was going on around him above the rushing blood. He took a deep breath and willed his heart to slow. Hearing gradually returned. The faintest of sounds came from behind the curtain, high pitched voices. He couldn’t make out what was being said. His tongue explored the damage to his mouth. A tooth felt loose, and he tasted blood. In his heavy winter clothes, he started to sweat. A strange calmness came over him. His promise to Father Everett, Sara, came to his mind.

The curtains in front of him rustled. He focused his attention on it. A woman’s face peeked out between the panels. A hand was raised to cover her mouth and she disappeared. Hushed conversations followed.

A minute passed. Another.

Two pairs of hands appeared on the edges of two adjacent panels, to the right of the couch. The panels slowly parted. Two women, barefoot and dressed in billowy translucent shirts and pants held the curtains open. Somehow, their clothes made it worse than being naked. Brewer breathed through his nose and squinted at the pair.

Lystra stepped through. She wore only jewelry, a golden choker around her neck and chains with ornaments that hung between her breasts. Little bells around her ankles jingled with every step along with bangles on her wrists. Her smooth, pale skin glistened with oil.

Brewer thought it best if he focused on her face. She had short, black hair, like a brush, which surprised him. Her lips were painted bright red and her eyes were outlined in black that came to a point on the outside corners. She slinked over to the table. Brilliant green eyes inspected him from across the slab around his neck.

“What am I going to do with you?” She was smiling.

Brewer didn’t really think she was asking him a question. He pressed his lips tightly together and tried to ignore the nakedness. He tried to think about Sara.

She lean over the table, her breasts hanging down. The heady smell of perfume filled his nostrils.

“I’ve had my eye on you since you were on stage with that pig of a brewmaster. Been wanting you to deliver. And you wouldn’t.” Lystra pouted.

Instantly, she stood straight, arms crossed under her breasts. Her expression changed. Her eyes narrowed, and the smile vanished. “Instead, you almost caused a revolt. You upended the order I established, changed the role of the women in the camp, and started taking care of the families. You don’t even use the oxygen that I provide.”

She paused. Her eyes bored holes in him. “And now I find out that you had my prize, the thing I’ve been searching for, and you kept it from me with your little stunt back at the road.”

Her hand grabbed an amulet on a chain. Brewer recognized from the staged execution. She rubbed it. “I should just execute you on the spot.”

The sound of metal sliding on metal froze Brewer. His heart pounded so hard in his chest it hurt. He tried to swallow, tried to think of what to do. All that came to him was the sight of Sara’s smile.

Lystra put her hands on the table, leaned over it. Her lower half hidden, he could see her nipples were hard. “You are such a liar. Simple, CO2-addled peasant. Huh.”

More metal on metal sounds. A cold line was on Brewer’s neck. He didn’t dare say a word.

“I have an idea.” A smile returned to Lystra’s face. Ice encased Brewer’s heart.

Lystra climbed onto the table. Kneeling, she slid herself forward until her thighs were on either side of his head. Lifting herself, she inched forward until the bridge of his nose parted her.

The sound of his blood coursing through his ears drowned out all other noises. Her scent overwhelmed him. He looked up, past the expanse of shaved, gleaming skin, past the bottom of her breasts, the gold chains, to see Lystra’s face, a grin plastered on. It was not a friendly grin.

Her tongue licked her lips. Her eyes shone.

“Lick me. Lick me like your life depends on it.”