Winter seemed to crawl that year. For some, it was a good thing; for others, it was interminable. Though the people of Pax and the surrounding villages knew they had a schedule, and were on the lookout for the signal from Mahon's spies within the Amazon valley, there was still a sense of reluctance in many of them about taking up arms to fight actual people. The mutants were another matter, but the winter seemed to have hit them just as hard as the humans who gathered together for shelter and warmth against the bitter snows. Every eyes, every ear, almost every thought was turned toward the valley, and the promise of some kind of change to the way of things when spring came again.
That wasn't to say there weren't events to celebrate in the midst of the preparations. Ethan had married Ember finally in a ceremony attended by almost the entire population of Pax; no more men had been stolen from their ranks. Mahon settled in at his family's farm with his sister, his son, and Nemone's father and brother. But there was no mistaking the fact that Mahon, of all of them, was itching for the thaw.
Yet when that thaw came, there was no signal. For weeks after spring began to make itself known, the anticipation mounted, the agitation, the need to know becoming harder to bear. And then, one balmy evening, one of the sentries came howling back through the village. The trees atop the highest peak that surrounded the valley were on fire. That was Nemone's signal for them to get moving.
Within hours, Pax's militia, led by Mahon himself, had left the village to begin the march to the valley. They'd practiced it many times, learned the route through the swamp that the mutants would not approach. They knew they would make the perimeter of the valley's defenses by the early hours of the morning, giving themselves time to snatch a brief rest before they continued on past the guards and into the valley itself. On the other side of the mountains, two other villages responded to the signal as well, marching their own militia through the secondary pass Ember had told them of to take up their own positions.
As dawn rose over the sleeping valley, Marka and her sycophants were unaware of the serpent in their breast. In the barrack rooms, the guards loyal to Gia braced themselves for the fight to come; in the men's quarters, hands gripped sickles, scythes, hammers. They were burning for the fight, but they knew they had to wait for their own signal before they could attack.
Carefully thought out plans went into effect; Mahon and several others from the villages were smuggled into the men's quarters to await the morning call. It was at that gathering that they would strike, certain in the knowledge that Marka herself would be captured long before anyone penetrated the hill.
Mahon has started to worry that word would never come, that something had gone wrong, that something had happened to Nemone. He'd voiced his worries and even gone so far as to volunteer to return to the valley to find out what was going on when the signal finally came. Of all of them, Mahon seemed the most eager for the fight, not because of bloodlust or some inner desire for violence, but because he wanted and needed to see his Nem and make sure she was safe - not to mention freeing the slaves in the valley and removing Marka from power. And so it was that he and a few others hand picked by him found themselves back in the valley, awaiting the morning call with the other men - his men, men who had once chanted his name and declared him their leader.
It felt like an eternity before the call came, the ritual of walking the men out onto the ground before the hill to count heads now so ingrained into many of them, they were already moving before the sound of the horn died away. Sharp eyes spotted the slight differences in their guards; more than half of the women were sporting white flashes wrapped about their arms, the sign that they were friends. Encouragingly, three of those wearing that sign were among the personal guard gathered around Marka as she looked down at the assembling work force, unaware of what was about to happen. And there, in the center of the gathering ground, was the reason the signal had been lit in the first place, an open and outward sign that could not have been mistaken by any member of the quiet rebellion for anything but a call to arms.
A stake had been erected, an upright bar with a crossbar secured to it, and hanging from that crossbar was Nemone, her red hair stained with long-dried blood. She was pale, her body bruised and put on display, stripped down to nothing but her undergarments to suffer the chill spring unprotected. She had been beaten and staked out to die a long, slow death under the eyes of everyone in the valley, Marka's message that not even her own blood were safe from the malice of her cruelty.
Somewhere within the ranks of the men stood one man who had more to lose here than any other. It was Mahon's lifemate who was bound to that stake, and it was taking all his self-control to hold himself back, as well as a few of his own men.
"Don't be stupid, Mahon," Ethan hissed in his ear. "Wait for the signal."
"Hell with the signal," the big man growled back, two of his own men on either side of him ready to hold him back, if he decided to be foolish, though it was unlikely they'd be able to do so. "I'm gonna kill her," he growled under his breath, eying Marka from where he stood amongst the ranks of men, eyes blazing with fury and hatred.
Despite the swelling of the men's ranks, the call seemed to be continuing as it always had for decades, the headcount taken, the duty roster declared for all who were there to hear. Only a few knew the reason for the delay; Gia, hidden among the ranks of the women opposite the men, was waiting anxiously for the news that their reinforcements were in place. She, too, was furious with the treatment of her daughter, despite having known in advance that Nemone had planned to have herself made an example of to incite the rebellion to flame.
As word reached Marka's sister that the militia from Pax, Onso, and Caligar had reached their assigned places, she raised her eyes to the guards surrounding the leader of the valley and nodded, just once. A single shot rang out; the woman declaring the roster for the day fell dead, and all hell broke loose.
Mahon broke loose with an enraged battlecry to lead his men into the fray - the ranks of the men and the women bearing the white armbands fighting together, side by side, for the first time since in anyone's memory, the first time since war had torn their world apart. And what were they fighting for? Liberty, equality, justice, and perhaps just a little vengeance. Weapons clashed, voices shouted as if in unison, and blood flowed. Mahon had vowed that they would not lose - not this time. This time they would be victorious; this time they would have their freedom. Ethan followed right behind, the militia joining ranks with the rebels and slaves and the women who no longer believed in Marka's right to rule.
Mahon and Nemone had spent five years working toward this moment; five painstaking years of moving at a snail's pace, of gaging the loyalty of the other women in the valley, of walking the fine line between open rebellion and healthy objections. The resentment among the men had reached fever pitch each time they were told to stand down - this time, there would be no standing down. As the men poured over the ground toward the women who opposed them, their allies among those ranks turned on their sisters, mothers, friends. They did not want a massacre, but they could not afford to allow even one sycophant to live.
That wasn't to say there weren't events to celebrate in the midst of the preparations. Ethan had married Ember finally in a ceremony attended by almost the entire population of Pax; no more men had been stolen from their ranks. Mahon settled in at his family's farm with his sister, his son, and Nemone's father and brother. But there was no mistaking the fact that Mahon, of all of them, was itching for the thaw.
Yet when that thaw came, there was no signal. For weeks after spring began to make itself known, the anticipation mounted, the agitation, the need to know becoming harder to bear. And then, one balmy evening, one of the sentries came howling back through the village. The trees atop the highest peak that surrounded the valley were on fire. That was Nemone's signal for them to get moving.
Within hours, Pax's militia, led by Mahon himself, had left the village to begin the march to the valley. They'd practiced it many times, learned the route through the swamp that the mutants would not approach. They knew they would make the perimeter of the valley's defenses by the early hours of the morning, giving themselves time to snatch a brief rest before they continued on past the guards and into the valley itself. On the other side of the mountains, two other villages responded to the signal as well, marching their own militia through the secondary pass Ember had told them of to take up their own positions.
As dawn rose over the sleeping valley, Marka and her sycophants were unaware of the serpent in their breast. In the barrack rooms, the guards loyal to Gia braced themselves for the fight to come; in the men's quarters, hands gripped sickles, scythes, hammers. They were burning for the fight, but they knew they had to wait for their own signal before they could attack.
Carefully thought out plans went into effect; Mahon and several others from the villages were smuggled into the men's quarters to await the morning call. It was at that gathering that they would strike, certain in the knowledge that Marka herself would be captured long before anyone penetrated the hill.
Mahon has started to worry that word would never come, that something had gone wrong, that something had happened to Nemone. He'd voiced his worries and even gone so far as to volunteer to return to the valley to find out what was going on when the signal finally came. Of all of them, Mahon seemed the most eager for the fight, not because of bloodlust or some inner desire for violence, but because he wanted and needed to see his Nem and make sure she was safe - not to mention freeing the slaves in the valley and removing Marka from power. And so it was that he and a few others hand picked by him found themselves back in the valley, awaiting the morning call with the other men - his men, men who had once chanted his name and declared him their leader.
It felt like an eternity before the call came, the ritual of walking the men out onto the ground before the hill to count heads now so ingrained into many of them, they were already moving before the sound of the horn died away. Sharp eyes spotted the slight differences in their guards; more than half of the women were sporting white flashes wrapped about their arms, the sign that they were friends. Encouragingly, three of those wearing that sign were among the personal guard gathered around Marka as she looked down at the assembling work force, unaware of what was about to happen. And there, in the center of the gathering ground, was the reason the signal had been lit in the first place, an open and outward sign that could not have been mistaken by any member of the quiet rebellion for anything but a call to arms.
A stake had been erected, an upright bar with a crossbar secured to it, and hanging from that crossbar was Nemone, her red hair stained with long-dried blood. She was pale, her body bruised and put on display, stripped down to nothing but her undergarments to suffer the chill spring unprotected. She had been beaten and staked out to die a long, slow death under the eyes of everyone in the valley, Marka's message that not even her own blood were safe from the malice of her cruelty.
Somewhere within the ranks of the men stood one man who had more to lose here than any other. It was Mahon's lifemate who was bound to that stake, and it was taking all his self-control to hold himself back, as well as a few of his own men.
"Don't be stupid, Mahon," Ethan hissed in his ear. "Wait for the signal."
"Hell with the signal," the big man growled back, two of his own men on either side of him ready to hold him back, if he decided to be foolish, though it was unlikely they'd be able to do so. "I'm gonna kill her," he growled under his breath, eying Marka from where he stood amongst the ranks of men, eyes blazing with fury and hatred.
Despite the swelling of the men's ranks, the call seemed to be continuing as it always had for decades, the headcount taken, the duty roster declared for all who were there to hear. Only a few knew the reason for the delay; Gia, hidden among the ranks of the women opposite the men, was waiting anxiously for the news that their reinforcements were in place. She, too, was furious with the treatment of her daughter, despite having known in advance that Nemone had planned to have herself made an example of to incite the rebellion to flame.
As word reached Marka's sister that the militia from Pax, Onso, and Caligar had reached their assigned places, she raised her eyes to the guards surrounding the leader of the valley and nodded, just once. A single shot rang out; the woman declaring the roster for the day fell dead, and all hell broke loose.
Mahon broke loose with an enraged battlecry to lead his men into the fray - the ranks of the men and the women bearing the white armbands fighting together, side by side, for the first time since in anyone's memory, the first time since war had torn their world apart. And what were they fighting for? Liberty, equality, justice, and perhaps just a little vengeance. Weapons clashed, voices shouted as if in unison, and blood flowed. Mahon had vowed that they would not lose - not this time. This time they would be victorious; this time they would have their freedom. Ethan followed right behind, the militia joining ranks with the rebels and slaves and the women who no longer believed in Marka's right to rule.
Mahon and Nemone had spent five years working toward this moment; five painstaking years of moving at a snail's pace, of gaging the loyalty of the other women in the valley, of walking the fine line between open rebellion and healthy objections. The resentment among the men had reached fever pitch each time they were told to stand down - this time, there would be no standing down. As the men poured over the ground toward the women who opposed them, their allies among those ranks turned on their sisters, mothers, friends. They did not want a massacre, but they could not afford to allow even one sycophant to live.