Outlaw. Part 33

See it differently, Stephen. See it in each moment, bending to your will. See it stopped in time.

He saw. The spears were already airborne, five paces distant.

As was he, hurtling forward in a low dive, eyes on the spears' long shafts, spinning through slow, wobbly rotations as they flew. Their trajectory was fixed.

His was not.

He tucked himself, rolled once on the soft ground, and came around as one of the spears sped past him.

The one he would take for himself.

Using his momentum he came up, hand reaching for the b.u.t.t of the shaft already. He closed his fingers around the wood, took three bounding strides toward the two empty-handed warriors, planted hard, and spun, swinging the spear in a full circle by the end of its shaft.

The spear was capped with a bone head sharpened to a blade on both sides, slicing through the air eight feet from the end of Stephen's extended arms. The head completed its arc at three times the speed of his rotation and hardly slowed when it cut through the first warrior's neck.

The second warrior had time to pull back, but not far enough to avoid the spear's tip, which tore out his throat.

Four seconds since Stephen had first moved.

Two warriors lifeless.

One spear in hand.

Stephen didn't pause to consider-his mind wasn't thinking so much as reacting. And the ease of his first success only fueled his determination to save his mother. To slaughter the whole compound if required.

The speed and precision of his attack gave the Warik pause. The entire compound came to a standstill, all eyes locked in wonder at the feat they had just witnessed. Even Kirutu, who was clearly not accustomed to being questioned, much less bested, was still.

While his attack still had them set back on their heels, Stephen tore forward. Straight for Kirutu, spear c.o.c.ked already. The man's head was to his mother's right now, a hand's span between them. It would be like striking a coconut on the run.

He'd hit a thousand coconuts on the run. And his arm was already in forward motion when the Warik warriors recovered. Not only a few, but all of them at once, moving as one large body, like a school of fish or a flight of birds.

They roared and launched themselves forward, swarming around Kirutu in one black ma.s.s, cutting Stephen off from their ruler.

His attack had made them stronger, not weaker.

He knocked two spears from the air with a swipe of his arm and was at the throats of the leading men with his own shaft turned wide. The long hardwood shank struck three men broadside and shoved them back into the others, momentarily stalling the surging warriors.

"Stephen!" His mother's voice screamed over the din of crying warriors. "You can't-"

Kirutu had shoved his mother off to four men, who gagged her as they hauled her up the steps. Stephen's path to her was cut off by the encroaching warriors.

He skipped backward on bare feet, twirling his spear in both hands, aware of his control over balance, speed, angles of attack, and escape.

But none of these promised a route to his mother.

His heart pounded, not from exertion, but with emotion. Rage. Fear for his mother. He could feel her years of suffering wash through his body as if it had replaced the blood in his veins.

And that blood was as black as midnight, swelling in him still, blinding him to everything but the desperate need to save her.

The warriors were closing in on him now, twenty of them abreast, forming an arc. He could tear through them, he was certain. Would tear into them. Wanted nothing more now than to rip them apart, a notion that roared through his mind like a rabid beast and left him trembling.

Only then did he see the flood of warriors pouring through the gate. Like dark waters they spilled into the compound and spread wide in both directions along the fence with the intention of sealing him in.

There was only one way to reach his mother. Kirutu had to die. Without a leader the Warik would offer no threat, like a headless snake.

Stephen slowed his retreat. The warriors, emboldened by the flanking maneuver of those streaming through the gate, slowed, clearly sure in their numbers.

The body follows the head, Stephen. Control your mind and you will own your body.

The ruler stood near the foot of the steps, at ease, watching without concern, bearing only the single knife. He lifted one hand to his mouth and issued a shrill whistle. Then threw his head back and laughed, a madman relis.h.i.+ng his power.

Hatred swallowed Stephen whole. It wouldn't suffice to kill this man. Kirutu deserved to be crushed by the same brutality that had fed him for so many years.

Stephen grunted through clenched teeth and sprinted directly at the line of warriors closing in on him. Beyond them: Kirutu. He held the spear loosely in one hand, like a javelin. They'd seen what he was capable of, and they second-guessed themselves as he'd known they would, pulling up sharply.

All hesitated but two, who increased their pace. Both were armed with axes, no match for the spear in Stephen's hand. Did they still not know his reach? No, how could animals such as these learn so quickly? So then, these two would be the first to pay for their ignorance.

Three spears angled for him, thrown from the line to his right. He sidestepped two of them easily, s.n.a.t.c.hed the third from the air with his left hand, took a stutter-step, and sent it forward, screaming full-throated.

The spear struck one of the axmen as he turned to evade, and plunged deep into the man's bowels.

The other came on without missing a step. The man's audacity darkened Stephen's vision, focused his rage. The world was slow before him-he could feel each footfall like hammers on the earth; hear each pump of blood as it rushed through his brain; see the man's bared teeth and defiant eyes. This single warrior embodied the evil that had tortured his mother.

The valley was shrieking, roaring, rus.h.i.+ng with a wind that swept black streaks of vapor overhead-this he saw and heard only as a distant distraction. This and the thunder of the warriors' feet as they flooded the compound with shrill cries.

His own scream joined theirs as he came under the man's swinging ax like a battering ram, headfirst.

The impact of his skull against the warrior's chin offered up a loud, crus.h.i.+ng crack that sent a jolt of pain down Stephen's spine. He didn't so much collide with the man's head as hammer through it, leaving the warrior's skull shattered and his body lifeless before it hit the ground.

Stephen was much heavier and stronger than the warrior, and his momentum carried him through without breaking his stride.

Kirutu would die. If so required, Stephen would tear the house apart board by board to reach his mother. Nothing else mattered now.

But when he lifted his head, he saw that the balance of power had changed. No fewer than fifty of the warriors who'd poured through the gate were closing in on Kirutu's position directly ahead, forming a circle around him.

The ruler of this realm stood with arms still spread wide, relis.h.i.+ng his power, untouched by fear.

Stephen took two more long strides before a single thought penetrated his darkened mind. Kirutu knew that every warrior in his command would die to save him. They feared him more than they feared Stephen.

On the heels of this realization, the fear that wouldn't find a home in Kirutu's mind found one in Stephen's.

They were too many. He was throwing himself into certain death. If he died now his mother would have no savior.

An arrow sped past his head and he narrowly avoided a second by pulling up sharply. It had been shot from the left, where the compound had been empty.

With a single scan of the field, Stephen saw what he hadn't seen before. The warriors were still entering through the first gate, streaming along the fence to form a perimeter and cut him off. But many more were now entering through a second gate at the opposite end. Hundreds.

A thousand, like bats flowing into a ma.s.sive cave, cutting him off from any hope of escape, even if he did reach his mother.

Panic set into Stephen's mind. And with it a terrible desperation he'd rarely felt. The need to breathe, to fight, to destroy, to save, to protect his life because he couldn't die now. Not while his mother was enslaved by a ruler who fed on the fear of others and crushed any who challenged him.

The warriors were holding back now, focused entirely on surrounding the compound and sealing him in. Kirutu grinned wickedly, surrounded by his men who bobbed up and down, taunting, slightly crouched and ready.

If he'd had a bow...but he didn't.

He took three long steps forward, drew the spear he still held in his right hand back, and put his full weight into his throw, directing it at the body of a warrior who stood in front of Kirutu, protecting him.

The spear flew as though on his breath, straight and true, streaking with a speed that denied the wind whipping past its shank. The sharp head struck the warrior protecting Kirutu, broke through his lungs, and reached the ruler before losing its momentum.

Movement in the compound stalled save for the rus.h.i.+ng of warriors along the fence. Kirutu stepped back, touched his ribs, and slowly lifted a b.l.o.o.d.y hand.

His eyes lifted to meet Stephen's, and he stepped forward to show his body. Pierced and bleeding, but the wound was only superficial.

"For this you will burn alive with your mother!" Kirutu's vitriolic voice carried over the warriors' cries.

He extended his bloodied hand toward Stephen, fingers spread wide and trembling.

"Take him!"

A thousand warriors had entered Kirutu's sanctum and formed a broad ring around the entire field. With a roar that overpowered the shrieking sky, they surged forward, closing in on Stephen like a ma.s.sive constricting snake.

He did not calculate. He did not think. He did not embrace his survival instinct as much as become it. His mind collapsed in on itself and he found ident.i.ty only in survival.

To this end, speed and momentum would be his only advantage. If he could not escape the compound, both he and his mother would be burned.

They would expect him to run. He stood still.

They would expect him to rush them as he had before. He took a knee. And he waited.

His body was trembling, he could feel it in his fingers as he planted one palm on the earth, readying himself. Fear crashed through his mind like a thundering boar. He couldn't escape it.

So he used it, tensed and coiled.

You will burn alive, Kirutu had said. If not for that cry, they might have sent a thousand arrows into his body.

The warriors on the leading edge were covered in sweat that beaded on their oiled bodies. Stephen fixed his gaze beyond them on those who trailed, ten deep.

He didn't think of them as armed men, but as a thick veil of evil that he had to escape if he was to save his mother.

Twenty paces, and still he didn't move.

Fifteen, and he dug his fingers into the earth and s.h.i.+fted his weight to give himself maximum leverage.

Ten, and they began to pull up, their prey at their feet, captivity now a.s.sured.

Five, and Stephen launched himself.

His movement was again so sudden that he'd taken three full strides and was already in a full sprint before any could react.

An ax was arcing toward him when he reached the line, but he managed to slow its drive with his right forearm. The ax head glanced off his shoulder, leaving a b.l.o.o.d.y gash.

Then he was past the warrior and cras.h.i.+ng through a gauntlet of bunched, sweating bodies. Their spears were useless in such tight formation. Some swung their axes, but there was too much flesh in close quarters for any weapon to effectively find his body.

Fifteen battering strides and Stephen slammed past the last of them, sending a smaller man flying onto his back. Blood flowed from his shoulder, but his body was fueled with enough adrenaline to suppress any pain.

He sprinted across the open field, knowing that spears and arrows could still reach him. He veered to his left, away from the back gate, which still accepted a steady stream of warriors. He struck for a vacant section along the wooden fence, fifty paces distant.

All that mattered now was reaching that barrier.

He shut down his hearing and paid no mind to the pursuit.

They were coming after him, a herd terrified of failure. He could feel the ground shaking under him. Arrows sailed past; a spear clipped his right elbow.

None of this mattered. Only the fence.

Twenty meters.

He adjusted his approach and angled for a sapling that grew along the enclosure.

Ten meters.

Stephen left the ground at five paces, planted one foot on the tree's supple trunk five feet above the ground, and used the sapling's recoil to spring him higher. His progress catapulted him to the fence's crossbeam-barely.

He crashed into it, threw his body into a forward roll, and toppled over the fence.

Stephen landed on his feet in a crouch, facing a single terrified warrior next to a hut. He wasn't sure where his next impulse came from, and he felt no need to temper it.

He closed the distance to the warrior in two even strides and shoved his palm up into the man's jaw with enough force to shatter his teeth and crack his skull.

And then he was running through the village for the jungle.

Chapter Twenty-nine.

THE WARIK'S pursuit pushed Stephen deep into the jungle. They posed no real threat to him once he cleared the village. No one could hope to catch him in the trees.

They posed no threat, but their madness had overwhelmed him. He knew this, but he seemed powerless to change it. The peace he'd guarded so closely as he'd entered their village had fled. He was now host to a barrage of emotions no longer abiding in the peace of his Father. Chief among them: a terrible fear that he'd condemned his mother to a funeral pyre.

With that fear came a sickening sense of loss and abandonment. The only person in the world who was flesh of his flesh-the mother who'd brought him to life and sacrificed peace for his sake-suffered in the heart of the Warik village without hope.

Nothing mattered now more than rescuing her. If required he would kill a thousand Warik to save her. The impulse pounded through his skull. She was hopelessly lost without him. He owed her his life.