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Chapter 17: The Seedwind
Part 2
Atrocity fled, and behind her the witches paired themselves up and braced, pointing at Frix’s charging kin. A cudgel, thrown with vicious precision, battered the skull of one of the defenders. A collective “Haah!” came forth from the rest, and the berserkers in front all slammed into the ground, as if both feet had caught a nasty root. The rest leapt over them, and the two groups became one mass of violence. Frix saw a gush of flame burst out and a chorus of people howled in agony.
Atrocity was almost halfway to them when the first stone hit her. It came lobbing from the other side of the temple, a very long shot, and clipped her high on the leg. She cried out and stumbled, but kept her footing. Two more rocks cracked into the dirt behind her.
“‘City!” cried Turner.
Frix ran to her, tracing the direction of the shots. He spied ranged units to the south, near another large building, which he somehow knew was called the feasting hall. Their stance looked like they had volleyed again, but the blanketing of mist made the projectiles tough to see.
They missed this time, three shots puffing up dirt clouds in front and behind her.
“Frix!” she said, seeing him.
He was almost to her. The unit fired off another round.
“Right! Your right!” he yelled, remembering her ability to deflect his point blank shot on the bridge.
She dug in, skidding to a halt on one foot and twisted. He saw the stones, a shade more grey than the fog. He swung.
Two paffs! and a resounding clack!—a stone flew off his cudgel.
“Got ‘em,” Atrocity breathed.
“Go, go!” Frix said, pivoting and turning back to the hall. They were moving again before his deflected stone hit the dirt. He looked again, and saw that the next volley had already arrived.
He tried his best to get himself in front of her, when all three shots whizzed overhead. They paff!ed into the ground to the left.
“Float ‘em, don’t deflect ‘em!” Turner yelled, eyes flickering, arms raised. Boyd followed suit.
“Inside!” gasped Atrocity. They reached the hall’s front door, followed quickly by Turner and Boyd. The portly man had barely crossed the threshold when five shots thundered the wall outside.
Turner pushed past Frix and embraced his sister.
“Move, keep moving,” she said after a quick second, breathing hard.
“Where’s Zoey?” Turner said, gripping her by the shoulders.
“I told her, I told her, I—” Atrocity began to cough through her rushed breath.
Boyd shut the door and bolted it, but not before Frix saw the victorious berserkers—several of them pointed at the hall..
Frix said, “Guys, we have to—”
The head of a stumpsplitter erupted from the door, right through the bolting mechanism. Splinters and bits of metal sprayed everywhere. Boyd fell onto his backside, clutching at his face.
Frix helped Turner heave him up, and they made to run. But Boyd pulled on them.
“Boyd!” said Turner.
“I won’t make it.”
“You move your ass, right now!” shouted Turner.
“I’ll hold them,” said Boyd. “Go.”
Frix met Boyd’s eyes for a second, then clapped him on the shoulder. Atrocity, steel in her face, turned and fled to the rear. Turner seemed paralyzed, blinking at Boyd. The portly man let out a reedy sigh and faced the damaged door, arms outstretched.
Someone yanked the weapon free from outside; it left with a screeching rip. Frix and Turner backed up, then ran after Atrocity.
They reached the back exit and bolted straight out, with instruction from Frix to keep coverage to the right in case the ranging units anticipated their move. If there were berserkers outside, then they’d be done for no matter what.
But the units must have had other orders, because there was no assault. There was no one out here to stop them—only the neat northern treeline.
Frix let the siblings take the lead, then turned and ran backwards to assess their situation. The big building blocked most of the view of the town, but the important thing was that no one appeared to be following them. The scent of burning wood lingered, but there didn’t seem to be a lot of smoke coming from the pyre.
They made it to a small house, about halfway to the treeline, and put it between themselves and the community hall, not stopping until they had gotten into the strange, fake forest.
Atrocity and Turner leaned against a trunk, panting. Frix was still tired from his journey, but the food and whatever they had done to him when he was knocked out had given him a lot of pep back. He kept watch as the two caught their breath.
“Loose canopy, no threat from above,” he said. “We’ll want to keep moving on a diagonal through this space though. Limit opportunities for straight shots.”
Atrocity nodded, her eyes flashing so fast they were almost solid. She looked at her brother. “You getting much?”
He shook his head. “Stone feels like it's half a world away.”
“She killed Vik, Turner. And Kelron.”
Turner’s face twitched, failing to contain a mean snarl. He eventually looked up at Frix. “Why? Why huh?”
“I really don't know,” he said. “I tried to… to help.”
“Well fat lot you managed, huh? Great fucking job.” Turner’s voice broke.
Atrocity put a hand on his chest. “Turner. Not now. We need to get to the bay. If Zoey’s anywhere…”
Turner pointed past her at Frix. “If anything’s happened to her, I swear.”
“Let's hurry then,” Frix said. “As soon as the town’s secure they'll sweep this way. Are you two… filled up or…?” He didn't know how to ask them.
“Not nearly as much as I'd like. She must have stopped the fire. But enough. It'll have to do,” said Atrocity.
So they ran again, angling this way and that, never moving parallel to the lines of the tree grid. Frix staggered his pace so he’d sometimes be leading, sometimes be trailing, and tried to keep a lookout in all directions.
There wasn't much cover, and the fog was thin here, so he saw their pursuers well in advance.
“Trouble, trouble,” he called out, and they halted, trying to gather behind one thin trunk. Frix knelt and pointed south, close to the big wide path. “Spread out.”
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