Catra scraped her claw along the limestone block erupting from the ruined surface of the Old Road. If there was another name for it, little Horde Troopers-to-be were never taught it in Cadet Training. It was simply known by the name it had since time immemorial. 'The Old Road.'
It was a rare landmark in the badlands, one that gave it some definition. A straight line, starting at a broken-off point to the North-East of the Fright Zone walls and ending with the archway at the eaves of the Whispering Woods. The arch was buckling in the middle where a keystone must have once sat. The eastern side displayed a faded image of the Black Garnet. On the opposite side was an oval of cracked stone with carvings of angelic wings spreading behind it.
The road, once upon a time, had ended in Brightmoon. Then the Whispering Woods itself had 'chosen' a side in the war. The forest swallowed the ancient path like an animal, and since then had opened up only twice. Once to admit the Rebel Army's great and mighty Princess Alliance with King Micah at the fore, and then again to shelter their retreating forces, now leaderless and one half its original size. Since then, it was as if the path had never run any farther than the archway.
"Catra!" Scorpia hollered from off the north, waving one pincer high and cupping the other over her mouth. "Hey, boss, you should come see this!" Catra's tail flicked and she toyed with the idea of refusing. Her spot under the arch was shaded and cool. Hidden, too. There were few places to hide in the badlands.
"Ma'am?" She glared up at Chloris, the Satyr girl who'd spoken, and shifted her eyes to the half of her detachment lingering behind her. They were crowded around the silent carabus, waiting expectantly. She stood up, arching slightly to alleviate pain in her back.
"You," she gestured vaguely at one half of her troops, "stay with the carabus. You." She gestured at the other half. "Follow me. Don't get in the way." She passed under the arch, sparing a look down the vanishing length of road, as fifteen soldiers fell into step behind her. Their crisp single-file march highlighting her slow, distracted gait in a way that made her more annoyed.
It was hot. An uncomfortable final day of their 'mission' distracting imaginary spies that may or may not report a Horde force moving near the woods. It was all an act. A show.
"Stupid," she grumbled to herself.
"Huh?" Scorpia, having waited, fell into step with her. "You say something?"
"No." She found the silence she put them into no more relaxing. Scorpia was smiling softly and seemed unencumbered by the hot, dry air. Catra, in a flash of imagination that was her sole companion at times, wondered if the Whispering Woods could be tricked. Scorpia was a 'Princess' after all and maybe the Woods would mistake her for an ally. Then it was a short trip to Brightmoon and Catra could have anything she wanted.
This new scheme, not her best idea by far, upset her especially now. What did it matter? They weren't going to the Whispering Woods. They had been barely close enough to see more than a fuzzy horizon of trees. Tomorrow they'd turn to make a straight line back to the Fright Zone. As ordered.
She had no energy for any more plotting. She was so tired. Since the boy had arrived, she hadn't been sleeping well at all.
They came to a gully, well hidden from the eye by the flatness of the landscape, but betrayed too easily by someone, say someone with a name like Kyle, planting the nose of a skiff into it. The vehicle was off to the side, being assessed by a few of her troopers. Inside the gully, at the center of a small makeshift camp, Rogelio rose from ground, clutching a handful of fabric.
Catra leapt down, ignoring Scorpia's explanation and swiped the cloth from her squadmate. She ignored Rogelio's little growl of annoyance as she sniffed the wad. Sweat. The dry smell of someone's breath. The cloying scent of campfire smoke.
"They were just here," Catra said, surprised at how uninterested she sounded, "maybe an hour ago. Probably saw our dust cloud and bolted."
"Rebels?" Kyle asked, sitting on a wicker mat and nursing a twisted ankle from his crash. "Way out here?" Catra held up the fabric. It was a lovely shade of white and patterned with repeating birds of deep, almost brownish red.
"No," she said, "anybody seen one of these before?" Catra turned, noting how some of her troopers jumped at being addressed. She simmered over having to 'prove herself' a leader. She never asked for this. She never wanted this. She hadn't been trained for it like-
No. She snarled in her mind. Don't think about her today. Don't think about anything. Just don't think, Catra, for once in your life. Don't. Think. Gan had stepped forward, and the over-large human was already mid-sentence when she tuned in.
"Sgt. Fatima," he repeated, "she was one of my squad's teachers at the Academy. Had a head-scarf like that. Got it from Castle Condor. Old stuff. From before the Horde killed Baron Condor and wiped out his army to take Sand Valley." That was it then. Not deserters or rebels.
"Civilians. Runaways," Catra announced, "runaways from Sand Valley. Must've slipped out last week while we were all..." Don't think, Catra. Just don't think. "Occupied with the intruder."
"They're a long way from home," Scorpia whistled, "running away from what?"
"From the Horde, idiot," Catra snapped, "what else?" She followed the smell of water, so pungent in the sandy air, to a cache of urns hidden behind some rocks. One had shattered; otherwise the clay would've blended into the rocks. "Pros. I bet one of them does this all the time. See these? Left over for the journey back. Or maybe the next group."
"But we've been in Sand Valley for like forty years. Who's left who doesn't realize how good the Horde has made it for them?" Scorpia seemed almost offended by the abandoned camp. Rogelio chuffed and jabbed a finger at a bundle of scrub brush tied to a wooden branch. A crude sort of broom left near a scuffle mark in the sand.
"Someone tripped running away," Catra said, "found your long-lost twin, Kyle."
"Hah, very funny," Kyle pouted. Catra followed the tracks and paused when they became a mess of much, much smaller prints. They disappeared a few paces later, scraped away by brushes like the one the clumsy runaway had dropped.
"Kids," Catra breathed, "they had kids with them. A lot of kids."
"So?"
"It's recruitment season in Sand Valley I guess." Catra said. Small footprints. Small boots. A small hand touching her tiger-striped bicep curiously. A small face under blonde hair with big, expressive blue eyes. Don't think. Don't think.
"They're gone," she said, "they're already long gone. Let's get back to the-"
"Force Captain!" A trooper raced to the lip of the gully. "Dust cloud coming up the road! Fast!" Catra's instincts kicked in. She silently praised the distraction. She slipped away from her thoughts and entered a null space of frenetic movement that ended when she stood back under the arch, her soldiers and Scorpia rushing to flank either side of her.
"Chainsaws," someone said, "they're our guys." The idiot sounded almost relieved. Her bad luck held out. The first rider to hop off the cracked road and skid to a halt was decorated with a hazard-yellow Force Captain's symbol. Dragstor's helmet cocked to the side as she regarded them.
"Hey, junior grade," she said, pitching her voice down as twenty of the Fourth's biker-troopers rolled up around her. Their engines chugged and filled the air with the stink of diesel. "Don't tell me you snatched my little rabbits before I did."
"The runaways?" Scorpia asked. Catra glared her into silence.
"Gone. Not that you would've snuck up on 'em." Catra glanced at their bikes. "Those things are loud. Obnoxious, too."
"Like looking in a mirror, huh, junior grade?" Dragstor flipped up her visor. Gray eyes drilled into Catra. "Think I remember saying something about you, and sand-rats, and getting run over." Catra's claws extended.
"Honestly? Please do. I could so use the chance to kill something." Dragstor rose up from her seat then seemed to take stock of her surroundings. Outnumbered. Encircled. Mistakenly hemmed in by the bumpy ruin of the Old Road. She flicked her visor down.
"Afraid we got more important pests to deal with," she snarled, revving her bike, "this time at least… Now clear the road!" Catra stood resolutely in the middle of the archway as her soldiers backed out. Scorpia stepped away, noticed Catra's defiance, gulped audibly, and stood her ground. Dragstor made a V with her arms and flicked them forward. Scorpia squawked as nineteen Chainsaws roared past on either side of them. Catra stood there, numbly aware of how her hair yanked backwards with each gust of wind.
Dragstor rolled forward, turned her front wheel sharply and stopped next to Catra.
"Gotta get 'em quick," Dragstor taunted, "want to get home in time to watch the big fight…bets are already on for how long the kid lasts." Dragstor chuckled. "I got faith in him. He seemed tough. So I give him…thirteen seconds. Want in?" Catra kept her face clear of the turmoil inside her. She yawned.
"Really suck if those runaways slip the net. Then you'd have to tell Lord Hordak you *failed* to catch them. All across the perimeter. They're close now. If they don't stop, maybe they'll make it to the woods before you find 'em."
"They've got a better chance then the kid," Dragstor's parting shot was underscored with the roar of her engine. She raced off towards the horizon and joined the great dust cloud of her soldiers. Catra stood, mind racing, she ran her fingers over the smooth fabric of the scarf in her hand.
"Listen up," she shouted, "all of you head down that gully and trash everything you find. Smash the water pots. Rip the wicker mats apart, tear down their stupid little lean-tos. Then burn it all." A ripple of action moved through her troopers. "Then get that skiff working and let's move out."
There was a mean eagerness to the way she was obeyed. No one brought up discipline, rank, or tactics this time. Nothing Horde kids liked more than an excuse to break something. The troops hurried off, all of them save Scorpia, to either do the honors or at least watch the carnage. Deep down they were all the same little hellions they'd been before they made Trooper, starved for some form of self-expression.
Catra didn't judge them. There was something beautiful in watching things break, hearing stuff shatter into a million pieces. She considered the fabric in her hands and the nice little tearing noise she'd hear if she ripped in two.
Or maybe she could unspool it thread by thread, watch the careful weave reverse itself into string. Maybe she could take it to the big fire her troops would make of the camp and watch it float on the hot air for a moment before it turned black and spiraled into ashes.
…but her heart wasn't in it. The wind kicked up from the west and pulled towards the woods, in the direction of Bright Moon. She uncurled her fist one finger at a time and watched the scarf slip free and sail off down the ruins of the Old Road. Maybe some whirlwind would take it all the way to Bright Moon. She doubted it would make it that far.
"Oh," Scorpia said, "I thought...y'know...that would've made a nice souvenir." Catra shook her head slowly. "For Adam. I bet he'd have liked it."
"We're never gonna see him again," Catra said, voice empty of any strong emotion, "ok? Never again, Scorpia, and that's all there is to it."
"Hey," Scorpia's voice was soft, hopeful, "he's tough. Don't count him out…"
"He's already gone." Scorpia's eyes grew a little shiny.
"Don't say that," it was more of a plea than an encouragement.
"Oh, just get over it," she hissed sharply, "it's not your fault. It's not mine. It just... is what it is. Nothing we can do about it." Scorpia nodded.
"I'll...go keep an eye on the carabus or something."
"Whatever. I don't care what you do." Scorpia walked away, grinding sand under her boots. She gave Catra a hopeful smile over her shoulder.
"Maybe he'll surprise us," Scorpia said. Catra stared after the scarf she'd released to the wind and waited until she was alone again. When she was sure no one could hear her, she spoke quietly.
"Nah. No reason to bet on him. You gave him a chance, Catra. Best chance he ever had. But he's gone... And life's already back to the usual grind. So... get busy…" she let the emptiness take her heart, breathing out the last of her sorrows. She hated guilt. And regret. She hated them because she was never one to say sorry to anyone, for anything.
Shadow Weaver examined Horde Square subtly as she arrived. A stump of a lamppost wrapped in yellow tape. Swords slashes in the concrete filled with freshly poured cement.
"Ah, this must have been quite some event," she mused to herself, feeling the Dark Dream squirm in the jewel of her mask, "hm? You do not like this place, child? Are you still humiliated by the place of your first failure?" The presence grew cold and small in her mind. "Reflect on that, and keep still. Lord Hordak may deliver into my hands a chance for you to feast and grow strong once more, and for me to learn so very much from this boy. Oh, and of course..." she wiped her jewel slowly, like she meant to pet her creation, "yes, of course. Once I've exhumed from him every secret he hides... you will be free to shatter his mind as revenge."
She ascended the stairs to Hordak's throne room and didn't acknowledge the red-armored Scorpioni warrior standing statue-like to the side. She felt Dark Dream sniffing at strong emotions radiating off the man. Fear, of course, and a deep, searing hatred as Shadow Weaver passed by. Odd. They must have met sometime before.
The throne room doors opened, silent and sleek. They'd been repaired quickly as part of the effort to erase all signs of the boy from the Fright Zone. Inside the hall, the green helix lights glowed with new strength and Hordak was perched on his throne without outward signs of weariness.
"My lord," Shadow Weaver bowed. A woman turned as Shadow Weaver entered. The former Commander, Serket, gave her a stiff salute. Shadow Weaver turned to Hordak. "Would you prefer to see us one at a time?"
"I called you both here at once," Hordak sneered, "I will see you both at once. Commander Serket..." his face twisted with the barest hint of disappointment. "Continue. Tell me what site will best suit my purposes."
"Lord Hordak, there is an arena," Serket said, voice still powerful with her old authority as she reported, "along the southern beach, between the Fright Zone's South-West postern…it's the old western entrance to the Kingdom- to the *Old* Kingdom, excuse me." She cleared her throat enthusiastically. "Yes, my lord, this is an arena within reasonable distance of the prison. But it will not draw a crowd of any idle passersby."
"This is a place from your people's history?" Hordak asked. Shadow Weaver marveled, not for the first time, at how utterly the stranger-lord from beyond their world had subjugated one of the ancient Kingdoms of Etheria. How he commanded this very descendant of the bloodline, who trembled at his voice, to supply him with her heritage as it suited his purposes.
And this Queen Who Never Was, she thought with pride, has a daughter that I can control. Both of them rejecting the runestone once wasted in their hands. The runestone I command. There were days that the mundane power in Hordak's hands seemed almost as breathtaking as any magic she'd performed. Almost.
"The Circle of Honor," Serket nodded, "an ancient place. Where disputes had been settled…"
"It was not dynamited with the rest of the old ruins?" Serket's teeth clenched briefly and she shook her head.
"It was deemed unimportant. It offers no strategic advantage thus was…overlooked." Dark Dream kept itself in check but could not help shivering at the self-loathing and terror that Serket felt in the moment that followed.
"Very well," Hordak nodded, "then it will serve the needs of the Horde. That is all for now. You may return to your…retirement." He all but gagged on the word. "As we agreed on."
"I thank you, sire," Serket bowed hurriedly, "I am yours to command, always…"she froze and when she stood up again Shadow Weaver saw the distant memory of Commander Serket in her eyes, "…Before I take my leave, I wish to ask, my lord, about the child?"
"What?" Hordak growled. Shadow Weaver floated away a few inches, watching eagerly, mind racing around what new intrigue this unknown player might bring to the table.
"There is…" Commander Serket took a breath, "a place, near the arena. A cemetery for combatants who fell in battle. It was custom, long ago, that the victorious party inter their opponents. A symbolic gesture to 'bury' the feud. To end the strife." She looked devastated momentarily. "If the…whomever should fall tomorrow…would it concern you if I chose a place for them in that cemetery? I would use my personal guard for the task, of course-"
"Why," Hordak cut in, "would I care about the prisoner who falls? Do what you please, so long as it does not interfere with our operations." He shook his head, bemused by the exchange. "I will insist you not bother me with any other questions about this."
"Of course, my lord," Serket saluted and made her exit.
"'Customs'," Lord Hordak snorted the words. Shadow Weaver grinned as he continued, "selfish idiocy."
"An arena," Shadow Weaver said, turning to her lord and approaching the base of his throne, "steeped in history, framed by the open sea. Two doom-driven opponents. Shall we have the duel at moonset, sire? That is traditionally how stories like this go."
"Do not make jokes," Hordak sighed, rubbing his chin, "it will be at moonrise. As the work day begins. I will not have the soldiers milling about to gawk at whatever happens." He leaned forward. "As for you, Shadow Weaver…"
She hid her apprehension with practiced care.
"…I am pleased to see you have obeyed my instructions. With correction, of course."
She further hid her satisfaction with a careful nod.
"You were right to do so, sire," Shadow Weaver offered, "I was blinded by the potential of the child and did not temper my words at his trial. I ask you to forgive any impertinence on my part."
"Catra has also shown great respect for my wishes." She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded again.
"She has the benefit of being on a mission, my lord," Shadow Weaver kept her voice even, "but…she did assign a capable subordinate to care for the child. They are training again today."
"I fail to see how that will help him," Hordak scowled, "I should have banished him…ended this foolish charade nine days ago."
"My opinion of your choice has only improved, Lord Hordak, the boy might be of use to us, or he may not. Your trial will give us a clear answer. I have no reservations about it."
"None?" He baited her.
"Ah," Shadow Weaver shrugged, "I have learned to be content with what I have, sire. I am not the first scholar to lose out on an opportunity of discovery. But as you've said, I am unlike them in that I have a higher calling to answer."
"Warden Kronis has selected an opponent. We have a location." His face became a tad less drawn, more stern. Shadow Weaver had learned to read his emotions. He enjoyed the moment before a solution was enacted even if he did not admit it openly.
If she could coax him into her way of thinking, skirting alongside that security, she could have what she wanted. This was a chink in the armor of the great lord, one that a whisper could slip through with ease. She had to come to the point carefully, like a bobcat stalking a wolf, to find the perfect moment to strike.
"Is his opponent trustworthy?" Shadow Weaver asked innocently. "Will they fight with a child?"
"I cannot believe anyone in our prisons would be foolish enough not to," Hordak said, "and if the child is anywhere as dangerous as Force Captain Catra would have me believe, it is in their best interest to defend themselves." Hordak smirked. "Our ways should have tempered all softness from any Etherian."
"Sire…" do you not know who the boy will fight? No. Too obvious. Something else. Something subtler. Did you pick…no, I was there when he ordered Kronis to choose…"what shall we do with the boy's opponent when the battle ends?"
"As I had commanded, we will send them on their way," he muttered, "there no more need to discuss this."
You don't know. Her mind raced with the possibility. She had been there when the Karikoni was dragged to Lord Hordak. She had heard the graveness of his voice as he sentenced him to a lifetime of imprisonment in the darkness. Lord Hordak did not make idle threats, or commute life sentences on a whim. Now…to get to the arena with his consent.
"My lord," Shadow Weaver paced herself, "please forgive me if I may have steered us away from the topic. You summoned me, I am certain, for more than a *much appreciated* recognition of my obedience?"
"Be mindful of your own levity, Shadow Weaver," Hordak said in a low rumble, "I wish to discuss protocol for tomorrow. Commander Serket will oversee the security of the match. A small number of her personal guards should be enough. Warden Kronis will attend, of course, as shall the Trooper Force Captain Catra made responsible for the child."
"Of course, my lord," Shadow Weaver saw her chance and took it, "if I may offer a suggestion?" Red eyes narrowed suspiciously at her and Shadow Weaver put concern into her voice. "Our former Commander is…not a particularly reserved woman when it comes to her emotions. She has been retired for quite some time and it is her reputation that I consider. She was a fine warrior in her day but she has suffered much."
"You believe she would interfere?" Hordak asked, the idea taking root in his mind. "She has never disobeyed me before."
"Her traumas have made her weary, sire, and the boy has many enemies by this point. We both can see that. I worry this 'retirement' has stolen all the gumption in her. She may not be able to ensure no foul play happens. But perhaps I worry for nothing-"
"No, if you are so sure she is incapable, a replacement must be found," Hordak fumed, "and you doubtlessly have a suggestion for this, also?"
"I fear that very few will inspire fear and order as well as you, my lord."
"A ridiculous suggestion. I would never allow any to see me so unoccupied. The Fright Zone has thousands of greater concerns than this boy. My presence would contradict this..." Hordak suddenly growled, and winced as though a mousetrap had just snapped on his fingers. He seemed to already know what Shadow Weaver would say next. She leaped for the kill.
"Why, of course, your lord! You should not demean yourself. If I had to suggest anything, I'd say that the Horde always recognizes power. And mine," she offered her hand and allowed a small vortex of dark to play between her fingers, "could be of service here. If you'd honor me with your trust," Shadow Weaver said, all humility as she bowed low, "I would take away this menial burden for you. I swear to you, none are so unwise to defy your will in my presence." There was a pause before Hordak spoke up, his tone suddenly different.
"Oh, but you," Hordak said pleasantly, "will have the honor of assisting me in my laboratory, Shadow Weaver. After all, you have done so well keeping yourself on the correct path." Hordak smiled and Shadow Weaver bit back a growl of frustration. The wolf had turned on the bobcat.
"Ah. Yes, I...am honored, Lord Hordak."
"You will thank me for this someday, Shadow Weaver, I truly believe that."
"I am, and always shall be, eternally grateful for your wisdom."
"Force Captain Octavia has been a model soldier during this time," Hordak said. Inside her sleeves, Shadow Weaver's fingernails nearly drew blood as they dug into her linked hands. "She has earned herself a chance to oversee this. Security will be her responsibility. Serket will be there to represent me in absentia. Thus clearing any gossip about her efficacy." Hordak smiled. "A fine solution to all my problems."
"A wise decision indeed, my lord," Shadow Weaver nodded, mind racing at once to find a new solution.
"No," Hordak gestured to her, "the credit is yours, Shadow Weaver. You suggested this. Well done." With another gesture she was dismissed and as the doors behind her she faced the world like a picture of serenity.
Inside, she raged.
She would not be at the arena. Her plan would not work if she wasn't there. That was it then. The boy was lost, and this chance to get Adora back would die with him. Any sliver of hope that she would understand the power, the strange fascinating power, that coursed through him and through Adora, was gone.
Dark Dream squirmed at her discomfort and she almost scolded it. But she paused. She would not be at the arena… but at moonrise, shadows would be everywhere. Too many for just one to be noticed.
"Listen to me carefully, child," she hissed, "for your future depends on it."
"Boss?" Lonnie blinked and looked around with prickling, exhausted eyes. She looked blankly at the clock of the little training room and lurched forward at the read-out. 1500 Hours. She'd sat down for a 'minute' almost an hour ago.
Adam was sitting in front of her fiddling with the hilt of his practice sword.
"Huh?" She asked intelligently.
"Train?" Adam asked, nodding at the sword resting against her shoulder.
"What's the point?" she said to herself. She hadn't been this tired since she got assigned triple patrol for failing in the Senior Cadet Quarterly Review last winter. She growled at the memories of that Review. Of Shadow Weaver, who'd haunted the viewing platform as soon as their squad, Adora's squad, had started their maneuvers.
"Do you think you're good enough to be in a Force Captain's regiment?" Those awful, loaded questions she'd hissed at Lonnie when she'd washed out. "Maybe you need to see what life awaits you here, as any other grunt in our army."
It wasn't fair. She looked at the boy in front of her and her mind filled the small room behind her with the image of a giant, clawed monster.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't worth the pain anymore.
"No," she said.
"No?"
"Just buzz off," she growled, "leave me alone. I'm tired."
"Um?" She scowled at him expecting him to shrink back as he always did when anyone got angry. It wasn't his fault, he was some little kid with no idea how things worked. When people looked mad he backed off. When people looked happy he felt safe. He was an easy person to be around, in spite of it all, because he didn't stow away his feelings, or pretend, or do anything a Horde Trooper did.
"Go. Away." She shook her head. "Not in the mood." She leaned back and closed her eyes, ready to wile away the last day before the match in a fog of sleep. At least when she was sleeping her mind would shut off for a few minutes. A plastic weight dropped onto her lap. "Hey!"
Adam's blue eyes were hard and commanding when she looked at him. He tried to look stern, screwing up his mouth in a little upside-down 'u' shape as he pointed an imperious finger at the sword in her lap.
"Train!"
"I said I'm not in the mood!" Lonnie snapped. Adam shook his head and pointed again.
"Train!"
"Why should I?"
"Train! Boss! Adam!" He pointed at her and then himself. Then pitching his voice low, lower than she thought necessary, as he growled an imitation of Lonnie's voice. "Adam, train!"
Feel sad? Train. Feel happy? Train. Train and train and train…
"Ugh," she sighed, "Kid, you learn way too fast," She rose, rolling her shoulders and couldn't help smiling ferociously at the victorious look on Adam's face. "Here I come, little man. Remember you asked for it." She lifted her sword and took a stance. Then rolled her eyes as Adam bowed to her. "Stop that, weirdo, and let's see you get your guard up!"
The hours passed faster than she was used to, the click-clack of their training weapons quieting her racing mind. She tried to remember the boy in front of her as he was then. Little face twisted in concentration, tongue poking out as he focused. Taking big gulps of air and water when they stopped for breaks. The way he laughed at a victory, pouted a defeat, and puffed himself up when he insisted they start all over.
Lonnie had never thought of herself as much more than a soldier but the boy had made her wonder if she could've been...or could be still...a half-way decent Sergeant. That wouldn't be so bad. If her kids were lively and full of character as Adam, she might even grow to like it.
Her kids. That was going pretty far for someone who was barely training a scrawny little ten-year-old. Her distraction cost her and with a heavy thwack the blunt edge of the practice sword found her left ankle. She hopped on one foot.
"Yow! Ok," Lonnie laughed, waving at hand at Adam as he advanced, "I give up! I give up!" She rubbed at her right ankle. "Yikes, kid, you got me good that time." She offered him a tired thumbs-up. "You win. Go, Adam."
"Ha!" Adam bounced on the balls of his feet. "Train?" She glanced at the clock once more. 1900 hours. Getting on to evening. Dinner soon. And after that sleep. And after that...she didn't want to think about it.
"Break time," Lonnie made the T gesture, "time-out." Adam bounced in place, proud and eager. He was starting to get good at this. The Other One didn't even need to help him that time. He paused. The Other One hadn't said much of anything the last few days. Adam hoped he wasn't gone completely.
Resting…
"Ah!"
"You ok, little man?"
Resting… We fight tomorrow…I must rest... You are so…far…from the sword…
His sword. He hadn't even thought about his sword since he'd had that dream with a nice blonde-haired warrior. Something about her words, though he hadn't understood them, had communicated a feeling of confidence that made him want to try harder. To be better.
Not. A. Monster. He thought to himself.
"Boss," he said to Lonnie, "train?" Lonnie was watching him with that sad look on her face all over again. He wished he could make her happy.
"There's something I want you to see, Adam," she said, looking very serious all the sudden, "something…something I think you're gonna like." She put her sword away and gestured for him to the do the same. Adam followed, then stopped short at a pensive look from her. She gestured to his tunic and then at one of the wooden pegs in the wall.
"Mmmmm," Adam said. He didn't want to give up his tunic again. What if he didn't get it back?
"Trust me, Adam," Lonnie said, then she made a little cross of her heart, "cross my heart. No-one will take it. Trust me."
"Chrr-uh-ssss," Adam made the cross of his heart…the Other One had a cross shape over his heart. Is that what she meant? Was…was she going to give his sword back?
"T-t-t," Lonnie said, "'trust'."
"Trrr-ust." Adam said. He liked this word. It was short and easier to learn than most of the words Lonnie used. "O-k….boss." He shucked his tunic and hung it up. He turned rapidly as hands touched his hair. Lonnie took a step back.
"Sorry," she said, "shoulda asked first. Can I touch your hair?" She touched her braids. "I won't yank it or anything. Ok?"
Adam made the trust sign, the Other One's sign, on his heart, then nodded.
"Ok," she knelt, gathering his hair in her hands and fixing it into a long, loose ponytail, "and here, you can hold this as collateral for your tunic." She slipped a plastic ring around his hair that held it together. Adam frowned a little, remembering that the lady of shadows had put his hair like this, but Lonnie was Lonnie. She was the 'boss'. He could…
"Oh," Adam said to himself in understanding. 'Trust'. That made sense now. He let himself relax.
"There," Lonnie said smugly, "that's pretty good." She turned him around and waved him outside. The daylight bounced off the nearby puddles. The rainstorms had finally moved on. "Come on, kid, got some walking to do."
Adam followed, hunching a little self-consciously against the strange new world around him. The patches of sky he could see were a comforting blue and the hallways they chose seemed mostly empty. When a person did pass them by, a figure in black armor with a hidden face, they barely glanced at him. Another one went by without a word. A third. Adam uncurled.
This…wasn't so bad. No one was glaring at him. Or running from him. He hadn't heard the word 'monster'. What had changed? Did they all like him now?
Beware…
"You're pretty quiet, Adam," Lonnie said, "how you doing?"
"Um?" Lonnie shook her head but she smiled. She held out a hand to stop him and looked around a large metal corner. Her face tightened.
"Dang it," she hissed to herself, "I figured there'd be no patrols here right now…we gotta…" she turned a looked at him, "…you know what? We'll never have another chance, will we? Come on." She winked. "No guts, no glory." She strode out, back straight, powerful arms swinging. Adam tried to mimic her, wanting to be as imposing and strong.
They stepped into tall corridor that ran on in a curve towards either end. At a large, sealed door with some numbers spray-painted on it, a person sat-up from where they were lounging.
"Uh," said the black-armored figure, "hi?"
"Hi." Adam chirped.
"Sup?" Lonnie said. "You just start your shift?"
"Me?" The figure's voice was staticy. "No I…hang on. I hate talking through these things." Blue-hair shook free and violet eyes blinked at the change in lightning. The woman sniffed. "Woo. They've been promising me a bigger helmet for a year."
"You try cracking the visor on a concrete step?" Lonnie asked conversationally. "That's how we got new equipment the other year." The other woman shrugged.
"Nah, our quartermaster on the North Wing has an eye for that kind of stuff," she grinned wryly, "the jerk, he probably did it himself when he was a grunt. So…there something you need?"
"Listen," Lonnie stepped forward, "this kid…I'm lookin' out for him right now, and I was hoping to show him-" the woman laughed. A hoarse sound that still managed to make Adam smile.
"I got ya," she winked, she looked at Adam, "hey, kiddo, you're pretty lucky, aren't you? Gotta big sister like this keeping an eye on you." Adam grinned in response to her voice. "Goodness look at that smile. And that hair! Your den-sergeant misplaced the scissors?"
"Um," Adam shrugged.
"Yeah," the woman laughed, "isn't that all the Cadets say? Never been outside before, Adam?" Lonnie shook her head and Adam followed her lead. The woman's eyes softened and made Adam feel safe. "Well…enjoy it, kiddo. It's never as cool after the first time." She nodded at Lonnie. "Door's not sealed. No patrols for like twenty minutes."
The woman grasped a black lever and pulled the door open, wind rushed in at once.
"Got a good breeze coming from the east," she said, "should be real nice out there."
"Adam," Lonnie said, "come on. Hustle up."
Adam stepped through the oval aperture and his gasp was lost in the next gust of wind. He and Lonnie stepped out onto an observation balcony, a pill-box shaped construction with a grated floor that let him some very far away ground.
He was high up. Towering overhead were several hundred feet of steel. Below them, a plateau of reddish stone stretched out cut down the middle by a black line of paved road in a man-made canyon.
Beyond that was the whole world.
A half-dozen moons hung low, glowing red and making the surrounding sky blush with crimson. Little islands of rock hovered here and there, casting shadows twice as big on the badlands beyond the canyon structure. He gripped the edge of the railing and stood on his tip-toes. Strong hands grabbed his sides and lifted him. He yelped in surprise and then shrieked with laughter as Lonnie set him on the edge, arms around his stomach like iron.
He squinted into the low light of the evening, eyes trying to adjust to their first view of the new world.
"Pretty awesome, right?" she said. Her voice was above him. He looked back, her loose braids trailed like a mane in the wind, her eyes fixed on the horizon. "Yeah, it's something else."
"Wow," Adam whispered.
"See that out there?" She pointed at the canyon and when Adam looked he saw an immense gate of gray metal, with a prominent red symbol painted on it. "That spot is special, Adam, beyond that gate on that big, flat piece of land. The biggest battle in the whole world happened there." She wrapped her arms tighter around him. "Fifteen years ago. I was like three." She rested her chin on the top of his head. "You? You weren't even born yet, little man."
Adam was the happiest he'd been since Catra had vanished. He leaned back against Lonnie and tried to take in everything in front of him. The badlands went on forever but they looked nothing like his home. Like the gray castle…where was he? How far had he come?
"King Micah," Lonnie went on, "brought one-hundred-thousand Rebels with him from Brightmoon. And marched on that gate." She pointed again. "That man you 'met' the other day? Sgt. Blue-Crest. He was up here, in this box, on the fifth day of the battle." She paused briefly, looking the boy over. "Ten days. Heh. How 'bout that? Ten days. That's how long that battle took. There must've been so many people."
"Wow," Adam had caught sight of the distant hook of the ocean, peeking around the land far to the east. So much water. He'd never thought there was that much water in the world!
"Sarge said he was up here when King Micah tried to knock down that big old gate," she pointed again, "told me once he remembers this big white arrow of people, Brightmoon soldiers, pushing right up against it. Then there was a bunch of light and then…" Adam gasped as Lonnie stomped three times. "Boom! Boom! Boom!" The metal twang of her boots meeting the grate filled his mind. "Boom! Like a giant foot was kicking the whole Fright Zone."
"Sarge said if he'd actually done it... knocked that gate down…that woulda been it for us. Wouldn't have mattered if we won. If word got out you could bust open our gates with magic…the whole world would come rushing through it eventually. Look up there. See that long line?" Adam followed her and nodded absently. "That's the old road. Leads straight to Bright Moon. That's where they came into the badlands from, the whole army just marched straight for us."
"The fight only went our way cuz a regiment of our guys from Sand Valley came charging in around the North Wing," Lonnie pictured it, the giant dust-cloud of eight-hundred Sand Valley Shock-Troopers in full armor, taking the Rebel flank, "there were too few of 'em, less than one-thousand soldiers…none of 'em left by the time the battle ended. But when they showed up? The Rebels turned away from our gates and everyone in the Fright Zone came pouring out to hit 'em from two sides at once. Sarge said it shouldn't have been enough. But it was. That one little distraction, that one trick, it let us win an impossible battle. Those guys who snuck up on the rebels… they're the reason we're still here."
"Ah?" Adam wasn't listening anymore, too entranced by the twilight line of night approaching from the north, where the biggest moon was slowly beginning its descent over the horizon.
"First time I ever came out here…I thought he made it all up. This was like twelve years later but I thought…I dunno. I thought there'd be something, right? Big trenches or craters. Scars in the land, or whatever. Something." She pointed back at the flatlands in front of the gate. "But look. Nothing. Not a single thing. The biggest battle in history happened right over there, and there's nothing to prove it. Not for the Rebels. Or the Horde. Or those eight hundred soldiers who saved the day…nothing." Her arms tightened around Adam's middle. "I told Sarge that and he kinda smiled and said 'See? I knew you'd say that, Lonnie, that's what everyone who wasn't there says. Cuz they can't believe it.'"
"Ooooh," Adam was ooing at the changing colors of the badlands, tan becoming blood-red, then becoming black as night fell in the distance. A drop of water landed on his shoulder. He turned in Lonnie's arms. "Lonnie!" he cried out. There were tears on her face, her eyes never wavering from the horizon.
"Tomorrow," she said, her voice firm, untouched by sadness, "I don't know what'll happen to you, Adam…I like you, little man, and I can't believe that." She smirked at him. "You don't listen to me when you should…but you try. And you try real hard, your hardest. And it's not fair what they're making you do because…because you *could* win a fair fight." Her face became taut with indignation. "And some stupid people are scared of you. Of how bad you'll make them look if you win a fair fight… or maybe they're just angry and they wanna take it out on somebody else…I don't know. I know it's not right. But I can't stop it. I've got orders."
"Boss?" Adam didn't complain as he was lifted from the railing and set on the grate flooring. Lonnie kneeled down to look at him, holding his shoulders in her hands. She blinked away her tears.
"So listen up, Adam, cuz your boss is talking right now," she cleared her throat roughly, "tomorrow? You fight! You fight with everything you got. You don't run away. You don't get scared and curl up. Kick 'em, and bite 'em, and give them everything!" Her face trembled with emotion but she remained stoic. "Cuz someday? I want somebody to come up to me and say 'hey, you were there right? When Adam fought? What was it like?'" Her hands cupped his face.
"I wanna tell 'em…I wanna tell 'em they won't believe what I saw. They had to be there to understand." Adam reached out and touched her cheek. She tried to growl and laugh and hiccup at once. "Adam, stop worrying about everybody else. It's just…it's just the light up here. That's all. The moonlight is in my eyes.
Adam frowned up at her, trying to understand. She leaned on the railing, watching the world beyond them both in silence. The moons descended with imperceptible slowness. The biggest one went last, like a soft sun setting. Lonnie handed him some gray food in the meanwhile and Adam ate in silence.
Lonnie growled suddenly and sighed. Her tears were gone and her face returned to its resting annoyance. She glanced at Adam.
"Alright, Adam," she said, sounding exhausted, "I guess that's all we can do at this point. Let's get some rest." She took his hand and led him back inside. The soldier at the door waved at him as they passed and Adam returned it with great enthusiasm. Lonnie was still strangely silent and Adam tried not to let it make him nervous. After they retrieved his tunic and cleaned up the training room, Lonnie began leading him to another new place.
It was an odd, long room filled with shelves...no, beds! He goggled at them. There were so many. He'd never shared a room with anyone but Catra. How many people shared this one? The idea was oddly appealing to him. He bet it was nice to be around so many people at once, when you slept. You'd always feel safe.
He wilted a little. He really missed Catra.
"I'd let you stay here, kid," Lonnie sighed as she rolled up a quilt around a pillow, "but they want you back in that cell." She reclaimed her hair-tie and they returned to the halls. This time, no-one waved at him or passed by without staring.
Monster. Adam thought bitterly. They were back in the dark place with the tiny cells and one of the soldiers said something to Lonnie then laughed in that mean, not-so-funny way that the horned-girl had laughed at Teela the other day. He felt the bitter loneliness in his heart again. Teela.
They had only met for a moment -and she'd spent most of it yelling orders at him- but he missed her a little. She'd said sorry to him, and protected him from that horned girl, which made her a lot like Catra and Scorpia. She was one of the nice people in this place. Whenever they met someone, it was still so hard for Adam to tell from afar who would be nice.
They were on the flying barge for a few moments and then they were back in the cell. Grim. Cold. Lonely. Adam perked up as Lonnie unrolled a quilt on the floor.
"Ah?"
"I gotta get up early anyway," she shrugged. "If they don't like it, they can come take me out." She glared up at the place they'd sailed down from. She pointed at herself then into the cell. Adam peered around her looking for whoever she was gesturing too. No one. How strange.
"Cameras all over the place, had to see it." Lonnie stepped back into the cell, waiting. The green wall of light reappeared and she smirked. "Yeah. Figured." She laid onto the quilt she'd spread out and frowned. "Y'know… I think this floor is actually softer than my bed is. No life like the Horde life."
"Ah?"
"Nothing," she mimed resting on a pillow, "get some sleep, little man, you'll need it. Tomorrow is a big day." The lights turned out and Lonnie tensed momentarily then relaxed. "Sleeping in an empty barracks is so overrated."
Tomorrow is a new day. Adam smiled at Lonnie, feeling a little guilty. Here he was missing Catra and Teela when Lonnie had been so nice to him. Even if he was a little monster before. How could he...wait, didn't she teach him a word for this?
"Boss."
"What?"
"Th-tha...thank you." In the dark of the cell Adam couldn't see anything. But he heard Lonnie clear her throat and spit.
"Yeah," she must've been exhausted, her throat was so hoarse, "no problem, Adam. Come on. Lights out. Get some sleep." It was easier that night with someone else nearby. With the sound of someone else's breathing. He couldn't wait til tomorrow. He'd train even harder. Maybe he'd get to go to the balcony again, before his 'fight.'
Tomorrow would be important. He had a good feeling about it.
Editor Note: Hi yall. Thanks so much for reading, as usual. This is just a friendly reminder that we have a temporary hiatus approaching. Next chapter is very likely to be the last before we take our break, and although nothing is official, I'm pretty confident in saying its also likely to be a pretty long chapter. Like, long by our standards. This is only a guess based on how much we plan to cover, and if it does go long that's *only* because of how much is happening, not because of rambly writing. So, if anything, we'll give you all plenty to chew on while we're gone, which would be cool! Either way, releasing another chapter before the hiatus starts would probably feel weird considering the note we plan to end on, so I think a long and eventful chapter is the better option.
Very excited to drop it soon, we'll see you all at the arena! ;)