Excerpt: Blood of this Earth

Like a retreating ocean wave, the Last Company scrambled over the rubble of the wall. The two wounded soldiers were hoisted onto the backs of others and carefully walked over the broken stone. Company Leaders hoisted their arms high and created a passage with themselves, guiding their troops in the right direction.
“Come on, fellows!” Enjolras shouted, “Hurry! Hurry! We must catch up to the Ethereal!”
Eugene helped Caratacus over the last of the rubble and as soon as their feet touched the grassy earth, the medium wrenched himself free of Eugene and started loping into the woods as fast as his frail body allowed.
“Caratacus!” Eugene gasped, “What are you doing?!”
But the medium gave no reply, he was coving his mouth and running faster, disappearing into the trees. Eugene had never seen him run that fast before, a saunter, a quick walk, and perhaps a short dash, but never a sprint.
Eugene didn’t know what to do. He looked back at the Company as they spilled over the edge of the wall, Enjolras at their head. The short-haired man galloped up to him and raised a brow in question, “The medium?” he asked.
Eugene pointed into the woods where Caratacus’ form could be seen disappearing around the bend of a tree. “He’s up there, he just bolted off! He doesn’t even know where he’s going!”
“Come, Eugene, you must learn, I promise you this much, the knowledge of an expert tracker, that the Ethereal is one of the easiest things on this side of the earth to track when he’s angry!”
Eugene furrowed his brows at Enjolras as the other pulled at his arm and dragged him into a run into the forest. He glanced behind him where the quickest of the troops, disregarding their Company formation followed behind with worried faces and mouths set in firm frowns. Gabranth was still atop the rubble, waving them onward as he took up the slack of their train.
He turned his attention to his front, watching the ground as it sped underneath his feet. Eugene made sure to vault over roots and dodge rocky outcroppings that might’ve twisted his ankle had he not seen them. He gave glances as they were running to Enjolras, whose eyes were wide as he navigated the forest, picking out signs invisible to everyone else that kept him on the track of the medium and of Ayuhan. His face was stern and the small wrinkles in a face that smiled too much were creased.
Eugene turned his face forward to the trees that whipped by, squinting his eyes to pry apart the forms of the forest. Just ahead of them was Caratacus, whose fast pace had slowed down into a forced jog. He heard Enjolras sigh beside him and as they caught up to the medium, he slapped the medium’s back and halted before him, gesturing for Caratacus to hop onto his back.
He obliged, wheezing, and with a violent cough, lamented, “Oh, if I had ever known that these infirmities would slow me down now, I would’ve never taken the pains of others! I can’t catch up to him!”
Enjolras jostled Caratacus higher onto his back with a jump and locked his arms underneath his knees. “Of course, you can’t catch up to him, Caratacus, he’s the Ethereal! He can run to the edge of the forest in the blink of an eye if he wanted to! He’s angry enough!”
“He’s not angry,” Caratacus corrected with a huff. Eugene saw that his cheeks were pink with effort and the corners of his eyes were hot with moisture. He sniffed, “He’s devastated, Enjolras.”
Eugene gulped, a useless effort since his saliva was so sticky and dry as to not offer any relief to his parched throat. The late day air was cold in his lungs and he glanced before them as Enjolras started to bolt again. With the shake of his head, as he was momentarily lost in the sea of the Last Company, Eugene convinced his body to run and he was off.
He shouted at Enjolras as soon as he caught up, “Hey! How do you know where Ayuhan’s been?”
“Easy!” Enjolras replied. On his back, Caratacus was gesturing and pointing to the trees and the ground before them. Eugene followed his fingers and looked at the surrounding oaks and sparse grass and then he realized what it was that was tipping them off to Ayuhan’s passage. The oaks were sporting gnarled wounds, splinters of wood that spoke of a thrown arm or a reckless punch, and the ground beneath them that was so carefully watched by the trespassers was cracked and buckled from angry footsteps. Eugene’s eyes widened. There was no way that the earthly scars were consequence of Ayuhan’s anger, there was just no way that the lad harbored such power, but there it was: proof of his strength. After all, he had seen the way the wood splintered at the debate underneath the clench of his fingers and the force that sent the mallet through the wood of the Debate’s table. This was the strength made into folklore by the people of Preezin.
“Amazing,” Eugene breathed. He kept up the pace alongside Enjolras, glancing every so often to Caratacus who had his cheek tucked to his chest and resting upon the other’s back. And then behind him, to where the troops of the Last Company jogged behind, holding their many bags to their bodies and keeping their hands on the sheaths of their weapons. Their eyes were alert as they ran, keeping their gazes trained between the front and the sides of their passage. They may have been in pursuit, but that didn’t excuse them from watching their flanks for the sake of the group’s protection.
And, far behind them, the battered walls of Alaheh were soon swallowed by the forest.