Nuworld: Claiming Tara (2 page)

The flat plains gave way to more jagged hills, and she
knew without a doubt that she was surrounded. She saw
no one, but they were there, keeping their distance. The
Gothman—the
other
warrior
race
on
Nuworld—hid
themselves well. But her skills were better. Much better.

Tara took a deep breath and reflected on the information
she’d recently learned. The plains, known as the Freelands,
lay behind her now. And good riddance
.
Although the land
there thrived and the wildlife plentiful, the people were
boring.

Bred from the feared and respected warrior race known
as the
Runners,
she
struggled
in understanding
the
Freelanders. Tara knew from the stories told by her people
that Freelanders welcomed her people more than other
races. But that didn’t mean she felt comfortable around
them. She had a hard time understanding a race who
worked their land and made no effort to develop a military.
Their weapons were primitive and used mainly to hunt.

“
What are they going to use? A gardening tool to defend
themselves?” she mumbled.
Tara grinned but the smile faded as she assessed her
surroundings. This is what she loved about the
Age of
Searching.
It was the time in her life she would have to
explore different people, learn about them, and learn from
them. The Freelanders were definitely too dull for her
liking.
Since growing out of adolescence and arriving at the
Age
of Searching
, Tara had begun to crave knowledge of the
world, as did all Runners. The stories told by clan elders
around the fires about other races no longer satisfied her;
she needed to see these people and their lands for herself.
Until reaching the
Age Of Searching
, Tara traveled with
her clan, moving according to the seasons, learning the
skills of the warrior, and racing on her motorcycle with
other teenagers. She’d helped to care for the younger
Runners, cooked for Patha, who had raised her since she
was a small child, and cleaned their trailer. Once that life
had been enough, but now it wasn’t.
Of all the stories told around the fires, Patha’s stories of
the
Gothman
intrigued
her
the
most.
Runners and
Gothman had a hatred for each other that transcended the
winters. She had asked why over and over again, but no
answer ever satisfied her. For many winters she’d thought
about the
causes. The only reason she
could see for
Runners and Gothman despising one another was that
each race thought the other inferior.
Tara meant to find out for herself which race was
correct.
After
traveling
this far,
Tara
now
had
the
perfect
opportunity to see what kind of warriors the Gothman
actually were. Of course entering Gothman wasn’t what
most Runners would view as an opportunity.
More like a
suicide journey.
She shivered as adrenaline kicked in. Chills started
down her spine and spread. Hills grew larger around her.
The rugged countryside was a sure indication she had
entered Gothman territory. She ran her fingers over smooth
metal. Her laser rested, secure, on her belt. Tara hoped her
plan would work and not end up instigating her demise.
She navigated her motorcycle around protruding rocks
half-buried in the ground, keeping most of her attention on
the surrounding area. What was up until now a leisurely
jaunt suddenly became much more than a drive through a
new country—it became a strategy course unlike any she’d
driven as a teenager learning to be a warrior.
An explosion vibrated the air. Tara nearly crashed her
motorcycle into a tree.
“Ahhh!” Tara, daughter and heir to the leader of the
Blood
Circle
Clan, didn’t scream because something
exploded!
She’d heard stories about the weapon that exploded
when shot, leaving a foul smell in the air, but she’d always
thought them fictional. But now…now she realized it was
true. It was actually true. Tara’s heart pounded in her
chest. She’d just heard her first bang stick.
“Stay focused, warrior,” she whispered under her breath.
“Don’t get distracted.”
Another shot flew through the air, and a large branch
crashed to the ground.
She screamed again and leaned closer to the body of her
cycle.
Where
were
the
Gothman?
Behind
the
rocks?
Somewhere in the approaching forest? How far could they
shoot?
Primitive or not, these Gothman weapons can do damage.
Tara licked her dry lips. She’d looked forward to meeting
the Gothman, but she hadn’t expected to encounter them
this soon, or under such deadly conditions.
She
drove
into
the
cool,
sweet-smelling forest,
and
stopped her bike once the woods surrounded her. After
hiding her motorcycle between two giant boulders, and
confident it wouldn’t be found, Tara pulled her landlink off
the handlebars and slipped it in her pocket. The Gothman
would find great pride in retrieving a Runner’s bike. No
other race in the world had achieved the level of technology
her machine represented.
As she searched her surroundings, some of the stories of
the Gothman she’d heard around the fires came to mind.
Gothman only taught their men to fight. Gothman women
weren’t educated.
“It’s a waste!” she muttered under her breath. “Imagine!
Half of a race needing protection!” It made no sense.
Runner men and women were taught the same skills.
Gender had nothing to do with what a person might excel
at doing.
More bang sticks created explosions all around her. Tara
broke into a run.
“You men want to play with this woman? Then come get
me!” She moved easily over
rocks and around
trees,
adrenaline flowing from the thrill of being the hunted.
Two Gothman approached on foot, moving stealthily
from protruding
rocks to
a large
tree.
Tara stopped
walking, her breathing loud in her ears. They were a fair
distance away but also stopped walking. She’d been
spotted.
As she squatted, one of the men raised a long brown,
thick stick to his shoulder. It was a slightly darker shade
than the brown leather pants and jackets both men wore.
Even at this distance it was easy to see how large both men
were. They would be formidable opponents in hand to hand
combat, something she hoped not to put to the test.
Slowly, Tara pressed herself against the forest floor.
Stretching
out,
she
gripped
her
laser
and brought
it
forward, taking aim.
This time, when the bang stick exploded, she didn’t
scream. A large branch cracked overhead. She rolled to the
side, banging up another trunk just as the branch fell to
the ground. It made a loud thudding sound and sticky
needles sprayed toward her. If she hadn’t laid down they
would have hit her.
She smelled the explosives and her heart raced as she
watched part of the tree next to her disappear as another
shot fired. Tara aimed her laser and pressed the trigger.
She shot once, twice. Two Gothman fell dead on the forest
ground.
Not waiting for their friends to discover her location,
Tara ran through a cluster of pines as fast as the dense
foliage would allow. She then slid to a stop—and stared
face to face with the largest, and most definitely, ugliest
man she’d ever seen. If it weren’t for the smell of the brown
leather covering most of him, his body odor would have
been unbearable.
“Runner,” the grotesque man grunted. His face was
covered with scars, one of them causing his lip to curl
unnaturally.
“Gothman,” she replied, kept her laser at her side and
fired. Then barely managed to leap to the side to avoid the
giant of a man from tumbling forward on top of her.
Within minutes she’d eliminated three more Gothman.
Patha was right; these people loved to fight but hadn’t
mastered the art of being true warriors. They were loud and
easy to spot. They fired without having true aim and their
weapons’ explosions and putrid odor gave their location
away every time.
She slowed to a trot and listened as the breeze carried
the scent of the pines through the air. Trees stood far
enough apart to allow wide sunbeams to graze the ground.
Grass and patches of moss glowed an emerald green,
offering a bright contrast against the patches of sky. It was
a deep blue, indication that the sun would set soon. With
twilight, the long shadows would make it more difficult to
spot a person hiding, especially one clothed the color of
tree trunks. The stories said Gothman warriors always
wore brown.
Tara studied every bush, tree, and rock. She stopped at
each sound, wondering if more Gothman waited to attack.
The Gothman had successfully controlled these lands for
hundreds of winters. She found it hard to believe there
weren’t more lying in wait for her. Did they think a woman
might do no harm?
She
continued
walking at a
slow pace,
getting
her
bearings by studying the sun shining through the trees.
The
silence
grew eerie
in
its stillness. Tara sensed
something was very wrong.
Her skin prickled. They were watching her. Why didn’t
they try and kill her? Instinct told her to run. Run like hell.
Return to her motorcycle and safety.
But those same
senses also urged her to go on. After all, the Gothman had
seen and fired at her, yet now kept their distance. She’d
even taken out a handful of their men, yet they didn’t
retaliate.
What were they waiting for her to do?
The smell of the pine invaded her senses, telling her she
was now deep
in Gothman territory.
Her
chances of
walking into another ambush were growing higher. The
Gothman people were said to be well protected by rocky
hills and thick pine forests.
Tara used the rocks to her advantage as natural shields
and held her laser as she scanned for life-signs. The
Gothman controlled large amounts of land. They certainly
couldn’t do so if it weren’t well guarded.
The smell of wood burning caught her attention.
She started through the pines looking for its source.
A small wooden house with a stone foundation appeared
through the trees.
“I don’t believe it. It really does exist.” Tara stopped and
stared at the house, which was permanently attached to
the ground.
Before her stood the small, wooden house Patha had
described
over
and
over
again when he
talked
about
Gothman. Patha was known for embellishing on many of
his stories. She’d heard them numerous times, and noted
the changes as he shared past adventures with any new
Runner visiting their clan. But he’d always described this
hidden, tidy looking home just as she saw it now.
Tara approached cautiously, making sure to stay hidden
by the trees until she was sure of its occupants. Light
flowery, faded curtains were closed on the inside of glass
windows, preventing Tara from seeing inside. Voices trailed
through the night air, and the front door of the house
opened. She moved nimbly through the natural camouflage
until she was able to see inside the house.
“It will go well for you to notify us immediately if you
notice anyone.” The deep grumbling man’s voice broke
through the still night air.
While the Gothman accent had been mimicked for Tara
before, it still sounded strange hearing it for the first time.
“Of course, I’ll call immediately if
there
be
any
disturbances. I daresay you’re too kind to protect an old
lady.”
Tara watched two large men leave the small home and
move toward motorcycles. A petite woman stepped outside
her door and stood on the open room of the house and
wrapped a knit shawl tightly around her shoulders. The
tilted roof of the open room extended from the secluded
house
and wooden posts supported
it.
A
swing,
wide
enough for two to sit on it, hung on chains from the open
room’s ceiling and to the side of the woman. She didn’t
move toward it but remained planted where she was,
holding her shawl tightly around her as she watched the
men leave.
“Tell his Lord that I’ll be sure to have a warm pie to his
house in time for lunch. I look forward to seeing his mama.
Is she well?” the woman called after the men.
The two men grunted in answer and started they’re
noisy bikes. They took off down a gravel road, raising dust
into the night air.
Tara studied the woman who remained on the open
room watching the Gothman warriors until the sound of
their motorcycles was barely audible. She continued to
stand there, glancing up at the sky, apparently surveying
the first of the stars as twilight faded to darkness.
The woman tightened her grip on her shawl and finally
looked toward the trees where Tara remained hidden. “You
can come out now. I’m a simple woman and I’m no threat
to you. I know about Runners, and you didn’t come to my
house
by accident, so come out and allow me to be
hospitable.”
Tara didn’t move.
Patha had talked about the Gothman woman, Reena,
many times. This lady definitely fit the description. She was
a small woman, petite but in nice proportion. Dark gray
hair was twisted around her head in a wide bun. Her skin
didn’t look wrinkled although laugh lines created creases
by her eyes and mouth. The lone light hanging from the
open room roof accented the rest of the woman’s features
with graceful shadows.
Tara needed to be cautious. She could defend herself if
this woman tried calling the Gothman warriors back, but
there was no way of knowing if there were more in the
house. The Gothman had any number of places to hide
their motorcycles in the surrounding trees.
The old woman must have read her mind. “Now, I know
you’re there, Runner. I can smell your leather. I know
you’re armed, and I daresay I don’t have a gun. I don’t feel
like going back into my house, wondering who is outside
watching me. That much is certain. So, come out now!” she
ended, her voice shrill.
She had thought her Runner attire would aid in hiding
her, but the old lady’s comment made her rethink that
decision. Tara glanced down at her clothing. The thick
leather protected her skin in battle. The black Runner
material, known throughout Nuworld as being virtually
bulletproof, was woven with a thread made from crushed
glass. Her boots laced to her knees and thin black gloves fit
like a second skin, adding to the practicality of clothes
worn
by all Runners. Ridding
herself
of
her
Runner
clothing would be smart. Maybe the old lady would prove
useful.
Tara moved out of the trees and toward the open room.
She didn’t watch the woman, but instead focused beyond
her through the open door, looking for movement. She
needed to make sure she wasn’t walking into a trap.
“Well now, there you are. That black leather hides you
well in the shadows. Come on in. I promise I’m quite alone.
So tell me your stories. How do you know of me?” The old
woman spoke without taking a single breath even as she
turned and walked back in to her home.