(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)


RATING NOTE: OK, this is the one I've been worrying about. By comparison to some of the other stories I've read, I think this story may still fit under the general perception of a "T" rating, but at least one scene in this next chapter is disturbing, at least I felt that way writing it. Maybe it won't hit everyone else the same way it hit me, but reality reared its ugly head a while back - in this case one of the many Palestinian attacks on Israel - and being a mother it kind of gut punched me. In my story the incident is no longer the result of a suicide bomber and I don't go into the detail the news article did, but I still found the thought of it disturbing. War is not pretty. The attack on Furya has an agenda that makes it even worse. If anyone thinks the rating of the whole story needs to be altered because of this chapter, send me a message through my profile. This should be the only chapter with a "heads up."


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Chapter 7

Lost & Foundling

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Neither of Hanan's parents would listen. They refused to heed the warning of God in spite of their son's heartfelt pleas.

"When you left Furya to follow this Out-of-Province woman and her nokriy god, I feared I had lost you forever, but tonight, when your God spoke to me, I knew Him," his father told Hanan. "You keep my Aarron safe until he can come back to join the Whole... until he can claim what's his, but me... mine... we fight for what is ours now! Your God knows we will do this, but your home is no longer here. You get your wife... my grandson... you get them out of here to wherever this God of yours said to go. The people of Furya have never been conquered! While even one Furyan remains to fight, it has not been done!"

No amount of pleading would change his parents' minds, nor that of his sister, so in the end it was none but Charis and little Aarron accompanying Hanan through the streets.

Nor were the streets empty. People were stirring, filing into the lanes to stare up into the night sky, but few were heading in the direction of the spaceport or any other direction that might offer safety. Confusion and agitation was a swelling force in the Kol'adam, and even Charis was aware of it... she could read it in the faces and in the number of hands that held weapons though they knew not who they were bearing them against. They had all felt the threat of the dream, but few knew where to direct the fright and fury it stirred. It was also evident to Hanan and Charis that their delay had cost them.

Had they obeyed when first warned, they might have been able to take a vehicle... might have made it into the merchant district before others filtered into the streets, but now they both understood, innately, they were better off afoot. They carried little enough to weigh them down. Charis carried only the child, who seemed to have escaped the terror of the dream and slept quietly in his mother's arms despite the activity. Hanan had Aarron's travel bag across his back and his Kol'dayan - the sword his father had given him when he received his handprint - at his side leaving his hands free.

The Kol'dayan was more often used in ceremonies and carried at formal functions. Each was unique, echoing elements of the Heart & Wrath, serving its bearer as a personal reminder of a Furyan warrior's qualities, and each was keen of edge and forged strong and functional, but Kol'dayans were sacred... sworn to the service of the Alpha and the defense of the Whole, often one in the same. For daily use each Furyan carried a smaller Honor Blade that might be as short as their forearm or as long as a full sword depending on their status and need. But, every Furyan could wield their Kol'dayan with passing skill, and many could wield it with more than that for it was a duty every Furyan was prepared to fulfill.

But Hanan had left Furya... had suffered the disgrace of relinquishing his sacred blade back to his father, for he would be unable to defend the Whole from his new "Province". He had presumed his father had it shattered to mark Hanan's choice to separate from kith, kin and people, but tonight, as Hanan and Charis fled the halls of the House of Arron, son of Javid, son of Methus, son of Javid of Caden Province having failed to convince a single family member to flee with them, the Elder Aarron had met them at the door. He had pressed Hanan's Kol'dayan into his son's hand.

"Get home. Join the fight if you must... but save my line and name," his father pronounced as he clasp Hanan's shoulder. The eyes of the father locked with those of the son, the intimacy and their nearness sharing emotions through the Kol'adam that had no words. Then Aarron sent Hanan away.

For once, Charis was glad she could not share the closeness of the Whole People. She had come to realize they felt their passions strongly, and she could not imagine they would feel their partings any less. She did not know if she could bear the pain her husband was being forced to endure.

Once outside the house they fled, dodging startled street gazers. Above them, high in the atmosphere, the comet was beginning to separate into a dozen individual points of brightness, each trailing ragged veils of white through the night sky. Hanan wanted to scream at them all to run, but he knew with poignant bitterness it would do no good. "Those who will, will. Those who will not, will not." God had warned him. At least he had gotten to say good-bye... but at what cost?

They ran trying to make up for lost time as the ground-based military positions opened up sending lances of light into the night sky. They hadn't made it more than a few blocks when Hanan picked up a low roar high overhead. It only pushed him to move them faster, but as the roar grew... as awe and panic began to replace confusion in the collective sense of the Kol'adam Hanan found it impossible not to look.

Lancing through the night sky toward the city was a monstrous object crafted of polished metal. Its shape was almost that of a long mace, its heavy head pushing it down through the darkness, but what would have been the handle - the lower third of its length - narrowed to a vicious conical point that glowed angrily from the friction of cutting through the atmosphere. The lines of the thing were deep and vertical, its design made to pierce the air... and then the ground... but it was not designed solely as a weapon. This thing was art... horrifying, glorious, incredulous art... a tribute to noble death.

Above the conical shaft the thing widened and flattened, taking on a triangular shape. The flattened surfaces appeared to be inset with strips of interlocking shapes reminiscent of chain mail while the deep grooving and ridges that separated the strips and stabilized the thing's descent took on the semblance of robes for each of three massive funeral masks that topped the structure. Each mask looked in a different direction and each wore the likeness of a man's stern dead-eyed visage framed by an open faced helm and long straight locks of hair. The work was so exquisite and detailed that had Hanan known the man facing them he could have put a name to the mask, and the twisted irony of it was stunning... that the first instrument of attack on his people should come in a form so elegant and macabre... and almost familiar. Charis clutched his arm, and he knew she saw it as well... the similarity of the faces that topped the massive plummeting monolith to those worn by the multi-faced demon from the dream were terrifying.

"Han!" Charis cried.

"I know," Hanan answered raggedly, and he searched for shelter they could reach as he plotted the thing's trajectory. Hanan's eyes leapt to the location he anticipated and found his gaze on a familiar forest... screening a familiar plateau... upon which rested familiar moon kissed buildings. "The palace!" Hanan gasped. "It's going to hit the palace!"

And, it did.

They took shelter together in the arched stone alcove of the building beside them and "God, help us!" was the only prayer they could muster as their world shook. In a single moment the palace and the pristine clarity of the night were both lost one into the other. Hanan felt the wrenching anguish of those watching as the distant fear, pain and rage of those in the palace pierced the Kol'adam then abruptly ended. The monolith's impact sent out a roiling wave of destruction that exploded over the edge of the plateau, shattering the trees of the ancient royal forest like they were glass before leaping the river and roaring down onto the city. Gale force winds shattered windows and turned debris picked up in the forest canopy and the streets into deadly projectiles as shock waves through the bedrock shook foundations. Charis wrapped herself around her husband and clung to him, anchoring him through the onslaught the only way she could - through her touch - as the shock, fear, panic and pain she knew were exploding through the Kol'adam hit him like a physical blow. And beyond... in the streets... she could hear screams and shouting.

It was over within moments, and they emerged into a wholly different world. Hanan put his hand to his nose as Charis coughed, and he was glad his gentle wife's senses were not as acute as his own. The sweet night air was now filled with new smells... cracked wood, ripped foliage, old dust, new fear... and blood. The artillery was dark and silent, but the twin moons provided enough light for even Charis to see the change. A pall of dust hung in the air, and everywhere they looked there was damage and people and even bodies... And towering over the city - as a child might tower over a small animal it was preparing to torment - was the tri-faced monolith, coldly indifferent to the harm it had caused. Hanan could feel the numbed shock in the Kol'adam, but underlying that was a collective soul deep rage that was growing with each beat of each remaining Furyan heart.

But Hanan knew this was not the end of the attack. It had only just begun!

He heard it first... a discordant whine from the air above the plateau that grew as the insets began to light up behind the interlocking 'chain mail' shapes. The glow climbed, lighting the layers of links, and suddenly they began separate from one another and from the monolith. The shapes plummeted and then arced up and began to spread into the air over the city... FIGHTERS! It was like stirring a nest of bees. The alien fighters swarmed from the sides of the monolith filling the air with motion... nor were they alone. Other ships, huge and ponderous, were dropping out of the atmosphere and starting to pummel the city with bursts of white energy, but they were not doing so unopposed.

Darting among the alien craft were sleek Furyan fighters. Bright explosions blossomed above the city as the Furyan air defenses struck back and Hanan was jolted from his shock as an alien fighter spiraled from the sky trailing fire and smashed into a building a few blocks away. On its heels a Furyan fighter streaked down the street and shot upwards to engage a new target. Their numbers were fewer, but the rage in the Kol'adam was growing fast.

Hanan gripped the hilt of his Kol'dayan, the adrenalin rushing through his veins heightening his perception of the Kol'adam's increasing fury - never before had Hanan felt such a powerful cohesive emotion within the Kol'adam, and in that moment the history he had studied so thoroughly as he trained to become one of the OWMS became real. He wanted to fight. He wanted to kill these invaders! This was why they were called Fury-ans!

He jerked himself away from the scene. No! He did not follow that path any longer... and he had greater responsibilities! He turned to find Charis staring at him, her eyes wide and frightened as she clutched Aarron to her chest. They had to reach the spaceport... and quickly! "Come," he commanded, and they ran.

The wind, the shockwaves, and bombardment by monstrous death hallowed ships left their destructive mark on the city streets. It was no longer a straight shot to the spaceport. The streets were filled with debris, damaged buildings, toppled buildings, bodies and scrambling people. And, it was no longer safe. The alien fighters strafed the streets and while their telltale whine announced them to those that kept their wits and their senses about them, Furya's attackers had employed the next stage of their destructive assault. A new breed of ship cruised over the buildings, their undersides glowing with eerie blue fire, and wherever they paused was suddenly filled with the sound of marching feet. The Kol'dayan and other personal weapons the Furyan's carried now had targets!

Hanan and Charis knew their only hope, the only hope they truly ever had, was to reach the spaceport as quickly as they could... and pray their delay had not cost them everything. They prayed for protection as they went and when a street was blocked, they paused asking the Lord to lead, and then took the direction that felt best praying they had chosen wisely. There was no time for second guessing. Thus, it was they traveled... running when they could, pausing only long enough to choose when they needed to change direction.

Suddenly, as they skirted a partially collapsed building still crackling with flames, they found themselves amidst a battleground... and amongst its victors. There were many bodies strewn helter-skelter among the pieces of debris... Furyans in casual clothes, comet watchers perhaps, armed with Honor Blades that would never again be wielded by Furyan hands, and many bodies in full suits of dark armor that echoed the monolith's deep vertical lines. The invader's weapons were heavy axes more closely resembling ornate long handled picks, but they were deadly nonetheless.

Hand to hand, armor to cloth, Hanan thought briefly. Considering the disadvantage, the Furyans had given a good account of themselves, but three armored figures remained. Hot anger toward these cowardly scum that would first do their killing of civilians from the air and then on the streets with such unfair advantage - both his own and that which raged in the Kol'adam - caused him to hesitate... to rashly consider showing these three harag what the fury of one more Furyan would do, but his love for Charis and Aarron burned hotter.

"You there, stop!" one of them called as Hanan and Charis tried to duck back. They would have run trusting their lack of armor to give them the advantage, but as Hanan turned another sound reached his ears... more feet, marching in unison, the sound undistorted by corners or walls. More troops beyond the pall of dust and smoke!

"More coming this way," he growled in a low voice. "We'll have to run the gauntlet. When I say go, you run! Make for the spaceport. I'll catch up!" If only we had obeyed more quickly, he found himself thinking briefly. Then he grimly drew both his Kol'dayan and Honor Blade.

"But, Han...," Charis protested, but she had no time to finish as her husband turned and stepped up to meet the advancing invaders.

"Why are you doing this?" he shouted. "For what reason does Furya deserve this merciless attack?"

"We need no reason, breeder!" one of the attackers snarled.

"We do as our Lord Marshal commands," another added as he hefted his axe in anticipation.

"Loyalty til Underverse come," the last announced taking his place beside his brothers.

Hanan shifted left, trying to draw them to one side and create an opening for Charis to dash through, and it appeared to work. As they shifted with him, he shouted "GO!" and launched himself into the middle of them hoping to engage them all so his wife and child could slip by unopposed. It had been many years since he seriously engaged an opponent, but he had grown up with blades in his hand and his Kol'dayan was made for him to wield. He knew its weight, its balance, its reach, and it settled in his hand as if it had never been parted from him. The OWMS was not a warrior's occupation, but there was not a single individual on Furya who had not received training as such... it was the means to learning discipline and control, of developing a strong body and a quick mind. Hanan ducked under the first's attack, managed to block the second and flowed into a strike of his own. His Kol'dayan, forged of Furyan stuffs, bit into the alien armor, leaving a deep gouge in the surface. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Charis dart for the opening and moved to force another attack. And, a moment later he heard his wife scream.

His ruse had failed. The third had turned back to meet Charis!

Never before had he felt what raged in the Kol'adam - the vengeful, wild, angry, torrent of violent, uncontrolled fury - but he had been trained since birth to control his emotions in preparation for the day he joined the Whole People... trained so that he would be joined with, not controlled by the intense passions that the Kol'adam could expose him to. The clash of blade on blade, the jolting impact of the deadly blow blocked, the rush of blood and adrenaline that surged through his veins as he entered combat only heightened those furious passions that made his heart pound, but still he clung to control. It was ingrained! Anger unrestrained pushed reason off the mark... but when his wife screamed, the utter panic, the overwhelming terror, the instantaneous need to meet her danger, to protect what he held most dear challenged his control and found it lacking.

Hanan had never before crossed the line into a Rage. Those who did were considered weak minded, and such was the destructive fury of Rages that they were even punishable by death - a judgment often required at the time of apprehension for the safety of all - for Furyan Rages were mindless. Furyan Rages were relentless. Furyan Rages were deadly. But with that scream... in that instant... "Charis!" he roared, and the unrestrained wrath of an entire people under siege pushed him over.

Asked to recall the battle after that, Hanan could not. His memory of it flashed in his mind like brief frozen images caught in a red strobe light. His Kol'dayan embedded in the weaker, more flexible mail in the first attacker's neck... a parry... a dodge... his shorter Honor Blade jutting from the open portion of the second attacker's face plate... the third attacker pursuing Charis, empty armed, over the rubble... the third attacker charging toward him... pinned to the ground with his attacker atop him... his Kol'dayan shattered by the heavy axe, less that a hand's length of blade left on the hilt in his hand... that stub of a blade protruding from his attacker's side...

The last image of the battle to register in Hanan's mind was that of himself pinning his attacker. The man's helm was missing, and his expression was one of fear and shock as Hanan held a shattered mortar stone overhead. Hanan had no memory of repeatedly bringing that mortar stone down on his attacker's face, anymore than he had a memory of any of his attacker's clipping his arm, but the evidence of both were plain in the crimson mess. The blood from his arm ran freely down to mingle with that of the unrecognizable mass of flesh and bone beneath his stone, and Hanan could only stare as his senses returned to him.

"Oh, God, forgive me," he whispered looking at what he had done, and as he raised his shaking bloody hands before him he could only plead again, "Forgive me."

The shock of what he had done impacted him on so many levels... the morals of his race, the doctrines of his faith, the stunning realization of what he had, however briefly, become. He could only stare, but there was another part of him - the instinctive inborn warrior - that remained aware of the greater whole... that was aware of all going on around him... aware of the soft high keening behind him... aware of feet in the distance coming closer... and it brutally forced that awareness on his mind snapping him back to where they were and why.

Hanan's heart wrenched as he franticly searched for his wife and son, the moments before suddenly impacting on him as he saw Charis kneeling in the rubble clutching Aarron to her chest as she rocked forward and back weeping.

"I can't find his head," she wailed as Hanan turned.

He felt sick, violently ill, savaged, abandoned, helpless, and he wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees beside her and join her keening, but the marching footsteps were coming closer. There was no time. Unable to deal with the intensity of the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him, part of his brain shut down leaving the warrior in control... that part that would seek to survive. He would deal with his emotions later... if they escaped.

Grabbing Charis' arm he yanked her to her feet and began hauling her roughly toward a narrow alley.

"We have to get out of here!"

She stumbled and he heard her exclaim as a soft sodden thud hit the pavement, but he didn't stop, not even when his wife suddenly jerked against his arm. A glance back showed him Charis had dropped the baby's body when she stumbled, and only his grip on her arm prevented her from going back to recover it.

"Aarron!" she screamed reaching back as Hanan pulled her further away from their son.

"...Is with God now!" he shouted back at her as he mercilessly continued to drag her away. "As we will be if we stay here!" His heart cried, his emotions threatened to wake, and he turned back to her again. "Charis," he pled. "Please! We have to leave!" She heard his pain as much as his words, and with a final despairing look back at the small, too short form lying in the street, she turned and began to run beside him.

The main roads, though more likely to be navigable, had proven themselves more dangerous, so Hanan and Charis began seeking alleys when they could. When the impossibility of passage forced them onto a main road again, they would choose cautiously, actively seeking to dodge troops. Sometimes it was the sound of marching feet that warned them off a street; other times it was screams and fighting or weapons' fire. They were seeing more bodies, and more often than not they were Furyan. Furya was making the invaders pay for their audacity, but Furya was losing just as God had predicted. Charis was trying very hard not to see the bodies. There were too many, and too many who died far too young. Her own loss was too near the surface. It didn't matter that these weren't her people for Christ saw no distinction... not between male or female, not between free or slaved, not between Jew, Greek or Furyan(1). He loved all of His creation, and she knew He was trying to save as many as he could... as many as would listen, but people always had the ability to choose.

She tried so hard not to look at the bodies. These were the kind of horrors that could scar a mind for life, and she prayed... prayed fervently... that Jesus would see them through. The warrior in Hanan wanted to seek out the fighting, but his Kol'dayan was shattered, his Honor Blade was little more than a long dagger, and the thought of leading Charis into such danger and similarly leaving her lying in the street was sufficient to keep his feet aimed for the spaceport.

Their process seemed haphazard but they made steady progress until they found themselves forced onto a main street again and here it seemed their way was blocked on all sides. The street ahead was the victim of bombardment, the buildings collapsed across the road, and as they reached the side streets in-between they found rubble in either direction. "We'll have to backtrack... find another way," Charis despaired.

Hanan started to lead them back the way they'd come, and then he stopped and turned. Without a word he brushed past her to face the rubble filled side street.

"Han, it's blocked," Charis protested.

"No, it's not," he returned firmly intent on his path, and as he said it Charis knew with sudden surety that he was right.

They entered the side street cautiously and worked their way down. The path was difficult, but not impossible, and it was not blocked. No view, even one aerial would have revealed it. The multi storied buildings on either side had been struck from above causing their ends to collapse and fill the narrow street, but in doing so debris had funneled as it fell. Girders had crossed as walls folded. Hanan and Charis worked their way down and around where it appeared to dead end, but to the side - created by a massive beam along with several other shattered structures holding tons of debris aloft - was a tunnel into the interior of the building. The walls groaned like an animal in pain, and the "entrance" led into utter darkness, but when Hanan reached back to take Charis's hand she caught the eerie silver glimmer that she had never quite gotten used to that told her he had dropped his lenses. She took his hand and let him lead her into the darkness trusting he would guide her safely just as she trusted her God to keep the building intact while they were in there.

They picked their way cautiously, hearing the great weight straining above them, and Hanan informed her it was a bedroom as he led her toward a thin pale light a short distance away. The light came from another crumbled section of wall leading into the narrow moonlit alley. Of the two perpendicular walls, only the corner remained and it was the sole structure bearing the load of what remained of the floors above them... if anything of them remained at all. The alleyway was blocked on either side, but another crumbled wall gave them access to the adjacent building. They paused hearing a single volley of weapon's fire and a animalistic scream cut short, but the closeness of the buildings only served to distort the direction and distance. It was near enough, however, for them to know they needed to be on their guard.

By the faint light filtering in through the gaping wall, Charis could make out the distinctive shapes of children's toys, but her vision quickly failed as Hanan led her further... and Hanan did not tell her what he saw in the darkness her 'out of Province" eyes could not penetrate. It shook him... threatened to tear loose his control - no more Aarron, son of Javid, son of Methus, son of Javid of Caden Province, no more Aarron, son of Hanan, son of Aarron, son of Javid of Caden Province. He had failed to protect his father's name, his father's line... Hanan took hold of his thoughts and refused to let them go further. He forced his mind to verses buried in his heart and prayed hard as he pushed on.

Hanan led Charis out the doorway of the child's bedroom and found the street-facing wall of the hall demolished. Moonlight again filtered down in the distance, and he led his wife toward it. He did not bother to consider the odds of the damaged structure forming another tunnel, of their finding a way through the wreckage of four buildings, let alone one that would not once require them to stoop or crawl - his God was beyond odds. A section of the roof had fallen intact aslant over the rubble that preceded it, sheltering the valley between two piles and creating a protected "path". Hanan and Charis made their way through it with continued caution ever aware of the jagged danger of shattered wood, broken glass and other hazards buried in the wreckage. They had suffered, but not so much as others had... as those who failed to heed God's warning at all would. Hanan and Charis could only credit God with their continued passage thus far, and it gave them hope that they were not too late.

Under the light of the twin moons overhead, Hanan was able to raise his lenses once again, and they warily picked their way around yet another pile of debris to find themselves on the other side of the block. Hanan looked back the way they'd come. Despite its size, here was little sign of the tunnel from this angle either and certainly no hint that there was safe passage through the rubble filled street beneath the crumbled buildings themselves. He thanked God, and they pushed on, albeit cautiously. They had been hoping for an alley passage, but it was another main street they traveled.

They were, perhaps, halfway when Hanan suddenly stopped dead causing Charis to bump into him. She started scanning franticly for hiding places even as she whispered, "What is it?"

"A prequine!" her husband answered harshly. "And a battle mount by the build of it, but what is it doing down here on the edge of the merchant district..."

There was no question the animal before them was no threat. Its great body was still, it's head canted back behind it at an unnatural angle that wouldn't let it lie flat, but neither was it a position live muscle would permit.

"...Unless an attack hit a stable in the upper district. Dear Lord, if there's a pack of them running loose in a mad panic..." Suddenly, he was also scanning... praying for a way of escape, but there were few places a man could go that a prequine could not follow, especially trained battle mounts.

Charis had seen prequines at a distance in reinforced paddocks and once all dressed in finery in a parade. That was enough to send chills down her back at the thought of a pack of them running loose. They were rarely kept by any but the nobility - none else could afford them - but there was something about the prone beast her husband had pointed out ahead that caught her attention. She stared trying to see through the dust and smoke that hung in the air, through the veil of mane hanging over the unnaturally canted head, and suddenly she realized what had caught her eye...

"No, Han, its wearing tack. It was ridden here!"

"So where's the rider?" Hanan asked as he reevaluated the scene before him. From where they stood the side street ahead of them looked clear... that might mean an accessible alleyway. The street behind the prequine was filled with a partially collapsed building, but what was its rider doing here? Had the rider heeded the dream and been trying to reach the spaceport? Had the rider survived the fall? He looked the way the animal's head was facing when it died... as if it were trying to look back... "Come on," he commanded, and Charis didn't question him.

They moved with the utmost care, not knowing what to expect or what had brought the animal down, and when they reached it Hanan paused briefly. The creature's chest and shoulder had been decimated by an energy weapon, but as he hesitantly lay his hand on its brindle neck to peer over its back Hanan noted it was clearly a noble's mount, but the rider had not been pinned by its fall. He also noted something else. "It's still warm as life. This happened very recently," Hanan said urgently as he scanned the wreckage, and recalling the weapon's fire and scream they had heard in the alley he was certain he knew exactly when. Where was the rider? Where were those that shot the prequine?

Shortly after they entered the break in the rubble Hanan paused and picked up a belt. The thing was ripped and useless, as was the pouch attached to it. A several pieces of bright metal fell from the torn leather and glinted in the gloom. Charis reached down for the coins. It was hard to see their color, but their shapes marked them - gold coins and platinum trade bars.

Hanan nodded. "Keep them."

Charis stuffed them in her pocket, and then both stiffened as a strangled scream pierced the air. Screams were not new in this hell they found themselves traversing, but this one was somewhere near... somewhere ahead. They glanced at each other, knowing their choices were narrowly defined. The rubble didn't make the alley ahead promising. The one opposite the prequine appeared, outwardly, to be clear. If they did not make it to a clear alleyway it meant main avenues until they could find another narrow way, but the nearness of the scream meant a living soul close by, and Hanan and Charis could not leave without knowing if they could be helped. No word passed between them, but as Hanan continued to lead the way through the rubble, they were in complete agreement.

As they drew closer, they suddenly became aware of voices. Had the scream drawn other assistance... or was it due to the ministrations of the enemy? The ruins of the building were more a hindrance than any help. They scattered the sound, so Hanan couldn't identify specifically where the voices originated while providing a score of opportunities for them to make noise of their own Forewarned, they made their way through the wreckage with extreme caution. Climbing carefully up a low mound of rubble, Charis suddenly saw Hanan sink back down with a frantic wave of his hand. Charis stopped and then cautiously eased herself up beside her husband.

From there, between the twin moons and the fires still burning in the rubble, she could see nearly as well as her husband. The first thing she noted was they had finally reached the merchant district! On the other side of the mound was a store whose ornate borders of fruit and vines in the outward décor marked it as a ceremonial wine store.

It was rare that Furyan's imbibed in anything that might weaken their mental discipline or make them subject to the Kol'adam. When they did, it was well within toleration or, in the case of medicines, subject to careful supervision and control. Overindulgence simply wasn't allowed and was subject to extreme, sometimes even fatal, penalties. It wasn't just intolerance; it was necessity, for a Furyan not in control of themselves could be dangerous to all and to voluntarily put one self in such a state was inexcusable. It was only on special occasions and in rituals of import that special vintages of wine would be shared ceremonially in small quantities as a sign of honesty, alliance, treaty, or bonding depending on the reason for the gathering. Aarron's Quatinell Ceremony was one such occasion, and they had all shared in a dark wine made from a sweet clustering tree fruit. In moderation alcohol enhanced the emotional connection Furyan's felt with one another. In the case of Quantinell, it served to celebrate and strengthen family ties.

Ties Hanan would no longer have... Charis tried to push that thought away only to have it buried in an avalanche of other thoughts as her elevation revealed more of the sight before them. The rubble thinned leaving the entrance to the alleyway clear, but directly in front stood a group of men in armor. Charis needed no warning. The armor was of the same vein as the three who had attacked them earlier. Charis reached out and caught Hanan's arm tightly at once frightened, and comforting. None of the soldiers looked in their direction but seemed focused on a ceremony or some such that must have just occurred as one soldier knelt before another, but almost immediately the man stood. The man he knelt before wore an ornate helmet with eerie faces looking in three ways besides his own and Charis's grip became painfully tight as she recognized them. These were the faces from the dream! The man in the mask glanced at the rubble causing Hanan and Charis to duck back down. They heard his voice, cultured and pleased, as he expressed his satisfaction and commanded that a unit be called in to go through the wreckage, and then the whole troop moved off.

They watch them go around the corner back into the residential district, then Hanan clambered over the mound.

"They're gone, but who knows how long it will be before the troop he called for gets here," Hanan murmured. "Come on."

They ran for the alley and as they neared the sound of marching feet was heard again in the distance. The dark slash of the alley was forboding enough, but as they approached, Charis felt sense of dread. Something lay along their path just inside the alley... something partly obscured by an out of place trashcan... something that she knew she didn't want to see, but she had no choice. They had to go straight past it to enter the narrow passage. She tried to avert her eyes as she approached but in doing so tripped and found her gaze squarely where she wished it not to be.

A young woman lay crumpled upon a bench as if drunk or asleep, except that she was neither. Though Charis knew nothing of Furyan fashion,the woman's rich night clothes and expensive barbed riding boots marked her as being wealthy, very possibly nobility... and quite likely the rider of the fallen battle mount. Charis had to wonder how the woman found herself in the merchant district, particularly this end of it. Had she been heeding the dream? But God had indicated that those who obeyed He would save. It was their own failure to obey immediately had cost them... Charis refused to acknowledge what it cost them... this was not the place or time. Had this woman likewise failed to obey?

Charis could never know, but it was obvious the woman's coins would help her no longer. Her rich garments were split down the front and the pale skin beneath had been ripped asunder spilling bright blood everywhere. From this bloody cavity a thick gleaming cord draped up and over the edge of the trash can. Charis found her feet stopping against her will. She screamed to herself to keep running, to put the gruesome scene behind her, but some morbid compulsion drew her. Hanan called to her from in the shadows, his eyes reflecting silver in the pale light, confused by her delay, but it was as if his voice were a distant dream. Only the contents of the trashcan mattered. She HAD to see what had been done to child ripped from this woman's womb.

As Charis peered over the edge she saw him, fully formed but deathly still, a shadow within the shadow, made so by the blue of his still wetly gleaming skin. The umbilical cut a darker shadow beneath his chin as it encircled his tiny neck, and Charis choked back a sob at the cruelty of the act, for she knew the cord had been wrapped there intentionally.

Why, her heart cried to the heavens, why are they killing the babies? But any answer she might have received was lost as her gaze was drawn to the cord as it hung over the edge of the can, the cord that moved ever so faintly... the cord was still pulsing! Maybe...

"Hanan," she shrieked, "help me!" and before he could even move she had thrust her hands into the trash can to lift the limp blue body from the refuse.

When he saw what she had retrieved, her husband offered his broad hands to support the fragile burden as she unwound the cord from the infant's neck. Almost as soon as the pressure was released, the baby gave a faint gasp and then a wheezing breath. Within moments the blue began to pale.

"Oh, praise the Lord," Charis whispered, and they marveled together how every shallow little breath that whistled through the infant's tortured throat brought new color to his skin.

"Does... he... live?" It was the frailest of voices, barely above that of leaves blown along pavement, but Hanan heard it. Shifting his eyes from the pinking infant Hanan looked over and met the eyes of the woman on the bench. They were glazed and wracked with pain, but they were aware and alive... barely.

"Yes, Lady," Hanan reassured her quickly. "He lives," and immediately moved to kneel beside the bench, tenderly offering the child. Charis followed.

"My little... warrior," the woman whispered, her hand struggling across the distance to lay upon the tiny chest. "You... are strong. Be called... Bedan," she christened him, then her hand fell, her strength gone, leaving the print of it upon him in blood. "Take him," she commanded in the faintest of voices.

"What can we do for you?" Charis agonized for the woman, but any hope she had that they could offer aid was stripped away as marching feet grew closer.

"Just save... my son," the woman answered, and Hanan was already acting.

Passing the child to Charis, he tied off the cord with a strip ripped from the mother's gown then cut the cord with his Honor Blade. The woman watched his work, as aware as they of the feet approaching, and no sooner was the cord tied and cut then she was ordering them, "Go... now... run... " and they obeyed, disappearing into the alley.

The woman listened to the couple carry her son into the darkness. She felt her life ebbing, but she had been given hope. Perhaps one son of Furya would survive. "Be safe,... my... warrior," she murmured as their footsteps faded into the distance. "...Avenge us,... my... brave one," and then the woman spoke no more.


-oOo-


WRITER'S THANKS, NOTES & NEWS:

THANKS:

FreeSpiritSeeker - Welcome to Saved By Grace :oD and thank you so much and thanks for the review. I hope you like this one as well :o).

ElvishKiwis Venerated Ancestor (AKA Lady Eva :o) - Welcome! It was so nice meeting you in the Assembly of Christian Writers forum. Thank you SO much for visiting me here! And thank you, thank you for the wonderful reviews and the compliments. I hope the info I sent you by PM after your first review filled you in a little bit. I have to say sometimes I'm surprised I've been drawn into the Riddick fandom because it is so dark and Riddick himself is such a dark character, but there are glimmers of light... The Riddick fandom is complicated for having had just 2.5 movies (there was an animated DVD-only movie in-between), but then what fandom isn't? If I didn't answer all your questions, do feel free to let me know (and there is a place on the web called FamilyMovieBuff that is liquidating its edited [language/ questionable material removed] movies for the next day or two if your interested - they might have the two theatrical movies there). As far as the story related ones, your musings were correct in regard to Zynda. Danger avoidance was his goal, but he was going on more than instinct. I think the rest are addressed in this last chapter. Well, I have to say I got this update up in (for me) record time :o). Can't promise that in the future, but I couldn't leave you hanging too much... you might be real busy soon :o).

NOTES:

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MY CONTINUING PROMISE:
As much as I hate it when other writers get 'distracted' by other stories and don't update the one I'm reading as fast as I'd enjoy, I have discovered that there are times other stories insist on being written. The result? I have four stories currently 'in progress' for your perusal – as they are all of a 'back story' nature in Riddick's timeline they would occur thusly: Saved by Grace, Be Still: Chances, Turn About and Nigh Unto Christmas.
The good news is that each story has been generally plotted and outlined, and only ("only" LOL) needs to be fleshed out. The bad? That takes time, especially when divided between 4 stories, 3 kids, (2 six and under), 1 husband and the life that contains them all and more, so writing time comes at a premium. What it means for my readers is that updates to this story may be intermittent. I do, however, promise it won't be abandoned barring death or other equally drastic life change. Updates will come, please be patient, (and, of course, be aware that feedback is an incredibly powerful motivator ;o) but until then, may God bless you all the time in-between.


CARE TO LOOK THEM UP? Here's the Bible references used in this chapter:

1 Galatians 3:28 and Colossians 3:11 - Okay, the verses don't include Furyans ;o), but read them. They clearly indicate that God doesn't see race or status... He only sees people and when you read John 3:16, there are no racial provisionals to being saved... whosoever (that's ANYbody!) believes in Him... (Him is Jesus). Christ came to offer salvation to the world. It's our choice what we do with Him.