A Touch of Death

  THE OUTLANDS PENTALOGY

  A Touch of Death

  Rebecca Crunden

  Copyright ©2017 Rebecca Crunden

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be duplicated in any form without the written permission of the author, except in cases of brief quotations for reviews.

  ISBN-10: 154321021X

  ISBN-13: 978-1543210217

  Edited by Elizabeth Tanner

  Cover Design by Rachel Bowdler

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For my mother, John and Liz.

  The KINGDOM OF CUTTA submits that the outcome of the LAST WAR, otherwise known as the HUMAN-MUTANT WAR or the RECLAMATION OF OUR EARTH, will hold. All ten countries established during the war including CUTTA, REDLAND, THE EASTERN ISLANDS, THE SOUTHERN LANDS, RINLOW, EYRE, CLEARBOW, NITOIB, TALON and MUNTENIA, are presently united, governed and protected underneath the title of KINGDOM OF CUTTA. All countries, joined of their own accord, in part due to the salvation, economic means, protection and might of KING FRANKLIN CROW I, Lord King of Cutta of the House of Auram, First Breath of Our Salvation, do hereby agree to submit, serve, adhere and defer to the might of Crown and Council, hereafter seated in ANAIS, capital city of CUTTA.

  Henceforth there is one religion, one language and one ruler as decided within the PROCLAMATION OF UNITY. The sacrifices for this peace being those which are the most insidious and destructive aspects of human nature: FREEDOM and HISTORY. These known forces of destruction and their encompassing evils are hereafter decreed ILLEGAL and REGRESSIVE. The KINGDOM will be ruled in adherence to these beliefs, and maintains that the most important aspects of society will, from this day forth, be CONFORMITY, CONTROL and CONTINUATION.

  AR124

  INTRODUCTION

  The Captain and the Prisoner

  The sun’s relentless heat had been overwhelming all summer, but it was particularly taxing that morning. Captain Cooper Sikander had been standing in the prison yard for hours watching the inmates do hard labour, their hands bleeding, their backs burnt, their faces grim. He felt infinite pity for the lot of them. He felt infinite pity for himself.

  He was thirsty and his flask was dry; lunch time was not for another hour and although he had to relieve himself, he did not leave his post. For some reason, he couldn’t. He felt almost in competition with himself at times, arguing that if the prisoners could carry on whilst bleeding, starving, limping, crying and oft-times dying, then surely he could wait it out until lunch time. A silly thing to force himself to endure when there was no reason to do so, but Cooper had maintained the same internal philosophies since he had relocated to Anais, and hardly felt inclined to change now.

  He had grown used to it so long ago that now it seemed normal, insignificant and uneventful. The criminals were executed, or if they were rich enough or lucky enough, merely punished and interned for an unknown number of days suiting the Council’s whims before securing their release. As they waited for death, the workforce or an expensive reprieve, they worked, they staggered, they bled. It was routine.

  The most interesting days were the ones with the rabids. When a rabid – those leftover monstrosities from the Devastation – was found within the borders of Cutta, it was tranquilised and brought to Redwater. One of the few places where complete secrecy was guaranteed. Once, three of them had been trying to bring down a rabid that had broken loose in the yard and only Navi’s remarkable aim with a knife had brought it to its knees. The scientists had dissected it in the basement later that evening with glee. Pitiable as much as frightening, at least the rabids were different enough not to give him nightmares the way the treatment of the prisoners often did.

  There was few enough that he had not seen, and not much more which he had not done or assisted in, and Cooper had learned over the years that the best way to remain sane was to keep silent, say nothing, and do as he was told. He was nothing, after all. A piece to be moved about at random. Replacing him would be of no urgency or consequence. He was as expendable as the criminals he moved about from cell to yard to infirmary.

  The smell of sweat and blood was strong in the air, and something else he could never quite determine. It lingered in his nose for hours after he left the prison, and even after he bathed, he could smell it. The smell of futility. It was worse than fear or hatred or sickness. The constant longing for a quick, quiet death seemed to emanate from most of the prisoners inside the walls.

  One of the most boring parts of the job was the waiting. He deliberated on whether working as a guard wasn’t a sort of prison in and of itself. He was sworn to service for life and could never work as anything else. His children would be wealthier than he had ever been, and allowed into the best schools because he served the King with his life. Nevertheless, it wasn’t a position he greatly enjoyed even if he did see the importance of it. He wouldn’t argue with the executions of dissenters or murderers, but the lifelong imprisonment and enslavement of those who stole to feed their families, or accidentally crashed their hovers, or took an extra job on the side to make ends meet, seemed a bit unnecessary to him.

  ‘The new prisoner’s arriving soon,’ said an amused voice behind him, tearing him from his unspeakable musings.

  Blake Navi, one of his fellow guards, sidled up to him, hands behind his back, face expectant. He always seemed close to panting over the arrival of fresh prisoners. A young man who took far too much joy in watching the prisoners toil away, Navi seemed ideally suited for prison work, and Cooper harboured a suspicion that he was not entirely normal.

  Cooper nodded perfunctorily and turned back to watch the inmates.

  ‘Aren’t you curious who it is?’

  He shrugged. ‘Does it matter? They’re nobody once they’re in here.’

  ‘This one was headed for execution,’ said Navi. ‘Came right close to it as well. I hear he was headed to the gallows when they called him back. Last minute favours. The only reason he isn’t dead now is because his family has ties.’

  ‘That’s hardly news. Most rich criminals are on bought-off sentences.’

  It was too early and too hot to deal with Navi. Sometimes Navi enjoyed his job too much and it bothered Cooper. He wasn’t sure why, because so many of the others also liked punishing the inmates – those stupid fools who knowingly committed crimes which would ruin their lives – but Navi bothered him on a level that was almost bone-deep. When they were alone together, he always felt an itch below the surface of his skin to be as far away as possible from the other man.

  To Cooper it was a dull job that he spent the day doing so that he could provide for his family; to Navi it seemed to be a calling. Cooper could still remember the morning he’d stepped into the courtyard and found Navi running his fingers over the bleeding wounds of a prisoner’s back. He shuddered at the memory.

  ‘Ah, Sikander, you’re no fun,’ said Navi, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

  Not bothering to reply to him, Cooper began to walk around the edge of the fence. The fence was tall – so tall that Cooper could barely see the tips of the guns of the patrolling guards above – and so thick that sound on the other side was almost entirely blocked out. Being inside the prison was like being sent back in time several decades, and each time he stepped outside to head for home, Cooper had to reassure himself that he was still firmly in the present.

  Nothing inside the prison had been changed since it was first built, and the building reeked of decay and mould and damp. The Hangman said it was to instil fear and maintain order. To that end, it was certainly effective.

 
It was nearly four in the afternoon when the doors opened and the prisoner was hauled inside. He had a bag over his head and his feet dragged on the ground behind him. He looked unconscious, or at the very least beaten to the point of submission. His clothes had been ripped from him and the bruises on his body were purple, green, yellow and black, displaying the extent and length of his torture. It was clear that whomever he was, the new inmate was not a friend of the Crown whatever his connections may be.

  Jack Irving and Marlo Lucius, two of Cooper’s fellow guards, hauled the convict across the courtyard and tied his arms above his head to one of the large posts which were erected around the perimeter. The inmates looked up, curious, and Cooper didn’t bother to yell at them. He, too, wanted to see who this new criminal was. If he was a son of high society, Cooper would most likely recognise him.

  The son of a farmhand, Cooper’s parents had risen in society by having twelve children. The grants they received for each child had given them enough money to move out of the Southern Lands and into Clearbow, where his father had opened a shop and had finally been able to put his feet up at night. Cooper had taken the position in the Kingdom’s guards to ensure his children rose even higher. And since his binding to Clara, they had had three children and moved to the capital city of the Kingdom, Anais.

  His mother had cried with joy, for her own parents had been servants to a lord in Redland and she had never dreamed that her grandchildren might one day dine with the rich. Clara, ever prudent, had made certain that they knew everyone there was to know, and they made as many friends as possible. As a result, they had become regulars at several estate dinners and had even attended a birthday celebration where the King himself was in attendance.

  It was expensive and strange living in such a city, but Clara was delighted, and so he said nothing. Clara, to her credit, worked two different jobs to help pay for the taxes and rent, and never complained about his lack of interest in parties and society. It was all for their children.

  As he watched, the prisoner was unmasked, his hair dark with sweat and matted with blood. He could not have been much more than twenty, and his soft, un-calloused hands betrayed his wealth and position. No wealthy man had ever worked the fields or dirtied their hands. Cooper frowned as the prisoner leaned against the pole for support, his body shaking. He hadn’t turned around, so it was impossible to properly identify him.

  ‘He gave us more than a little trouble on the way in,’ said Lucius. ‘Spent the weekend in Bernstein for protesting.’

  Cooper walked over to them. ‘Protesting what? The tax increase?’

  ‘The Crown.’

  Cooper’s jaw dropped. Now he understood. There had been a small but growing number of dissenters in the cities of late, frustrated by the increasing hunger and the wealth gap. All were shot on sight. Twenty bodies hung from the posts in the city square to remind the citizens of their duty. To even question King Markas’ authority was a death sentence.

  ‘Who are his parents?’ he asked.

  ‘Friends of the King,’ said Irving. ‘I think they sold their souls to keep his neck attached to his body. Bastard was headed for the gallows when we were told to stop and turn around. The others that were with him are all dead.’

  ‘You’re despicable,’ the prisoner croaked, opening a bloodshot eye to glare at them. His lips were swollen, his voice ruined, his eyes caked with dried and crusted blood. ‘The Abyss is too good for you.’

  Irving punched him hard in the gut and the prisoner slumped against the pole. Irving had been a guard for far longer than Cooper, and seemed to hate the job twice as much. Whilst Cooper wanted only to go home and wrap his arms around his woman and forget the awful grimness of their duties, Irving took out all of his anger and fury on the prisoners themselves. He had no remorse and seemingly negative amounts of patience.

  Whether incredibly stupid or incredibly brave, the prisoner rolled a swollen eye in Irving’s direction and spat out a wallop of blood. ‘Eat me,’ he grunted. ‘You fucking rat.’

  It was perhaps the worst thing the prisoner could have said, and he was rewarded with a series of punches, each one threatening to rid him of all his teeth. He did not cry. He did not beg. Stupid he may have been, Cooper was impressed all the same.

  When he was finished, chest heaving, Irving stepped back, shaking his hand to help return sensation. ‘Navi, fetch me the lash,’ he ordered. ‘I want to show the prisoner exactly what happens to malcontents inside these walls.’

  Cooper’s lip curled. ‘Is that necessary?’

  ‘Get back to your patrol, Sikander. You’re not needed here.’

  With a last look at the prisoner, Cooper walked back to his post and examined the work that the inmates were doing. It was the most pointless task, moving great stones from one side of the courtyard to the other until they fainted with exhaustion. Cooper wondered what was worse, the lash or the stones. Quite frankly, he would have taken death over either.

  Too curious about the prisoner to pay attention to the back and forth, back and forth of the stonework, Cooper found his gaze drifting to where the other guards stood gathered around the prisoner. He looked so crippled and defenceless on the ground. A strange feeling of compassion welled inside him. He didn’t know what to make of it. He just knew he didn’t want the dissenter whipped. He could not have said why.

  Navi reappeared a moment later with the large whip in his fist, expression gleeful. He handed it to Irving and stepped aside, hands behind his back as he waited with bloodthirsty anticipation for the prisoner to be beaten. His eyes raked over the man’s body in a way that made Cooper frown, stomach twisting with disquiet.

  The first crack of the lash sent a shiver down his spine. The inmates cringed and two of them stopped short. Cooper glanced at them. Forcing them to watch such horrors seemed cruel and unnecessary, and he was not in a vindictive mood.

  ‘Inside,’ he barked at them.

  He led the five inmates back to their cells; none of them looked at him or tried to talk to him the way they sometimes did. All too terrified by the events going on outside. Even so far from the courtyard he could still hear the horrible sound of the lash on the prisoner’s skin.

  It was another several minutes before the whipping desisted with horrible abruptness. Cooper hoped the prisoner had passed out. It was the only way to endure such pain. He hesitated, knowing he would be expected outside to report to Lucius, but he had no desire to see the man’s flayed back. Taking his connecter out of his pocket, he entered Clara’s registration and leaned against the wall. She answered a moment later.

  ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to see how you and the children were getting on.’

  Clara laughed. ‘Libba’s fussing and won’t eat. Kieron’s asleep. I’m just waiting for Riley to come home at this point so I can start dinner.’

  ‘Good,’ he said distractedly. ‘What are you making?’

  ‘Not sure yet,’ she said. ‘Any preferences?’

  Cooper frowned to himself. ‘Nothing with meat.’

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Enjoy the rest of your day.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Somehow that seemed unlikely. Cooper slipped the conn back into his pocket, steeling himself for what he was going to see, and walked back out to the courtyard. Even after seeing it so many times, it was still hard to be greeted with the sight of so much blood running down a man’s back, pieces of skin jutting out unnaturally. His stomach threatened to rebel and he tried to remind himself that the man had known the consequences of his actions. He must have known he would be facing death. This was a blessing compared to what could have been done to him.

  ‘Ah, Sikander, good,’ said Irving. ‘My arm’s getting tired.’

  ‘Captain?’

  ‘Finish him,’ he said, handing Cooper the bloodied lash. ‘Another twenty strokes should do.’

  Cooper took the lash but did not raise it. ‘Captain, he’s not even conscious.’

  ‘
Navi’s gone to get something to wake him up.’

  ‘If he’s hit any harder, his skin will come off,’ said Cooper, raising the lash slowly even as he said it. He did not want Irving to think he was questioning his orders. Nothing was more foolish than that. ‘Would you not want to leave it until tomorrow when he’ll actually be able to feel it properly?’

  Irving wiped perspiration from his forehead. ‘I don’t think he’ll be able to move tomorrow. Finish him now.’

  Just as he said this, Navi returned carrying a shot of something with blue liquid. He jammed it into the prisoner’s arm and a second later the man awoke. He let out a sob of pain as he moved and the blood on his back flowed with renewed vigour.

  Irving said, ‘Now, Sikander.’

  Cooper clenched his jaw and brought the lash down hard on the man’s back. Blood sprayed up, coating his face and getting into his mouth. He spat out in disgust and wiped his face before whipping the prisoner again.

  He finished it quickly, not wanting to prolong the show any more than he had to, and dropped the lash on the ground the moment he was done. Flesh hung off the man’s back, his whole body was soaked in sweat, and the whimpers escaping his mouth should have brought the cruellest of men to their knees. The guards surveyed him with nothing but loathing and turned away, leaving him to bleed against the pole.

  Cooper looked to Lucius. ‘Should I bring him to the infirmary?’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Lucius. ‘We can’t have him dying on us if the King has gone to so much trouble to keep him alive.’

  Relieved, Cooper unbound the man and caught him before he could hit the ground.

  The prisoner tried to push him away. ‘Go fuck—’

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ said Cooper, a note of warning in his voice. He lifted the young man easily into his arms, trying not to touch his back. It made for awkward carrying and after five paces he slung him over his back entirely, and walked in carrying the prisoner the way hunters carry their prey.