The Forsaken

numbnuts!” Gadya yells out.
    Veidman motions angrily for her to be silent. “Let me speak for the group.”
    “Then make them understand,” she snaps back.
    The voice speaks again. “It doesn’t matter if I believe you or not. Don’t you know who I am?”
    Veidman signals to some of the hunters to fan out. “Tell me.”
    “I’m a chief watcher for the Monk. I make sure that no heathens pass through this corner of the orange sector without permission.”
    “Then give us permission,” Veidman says. He’s trying to reason with this drone, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea. It’s clear the watcher doesn’t trust us, and he definitely doesn’t like us.
    “No chance,” the voice continues. It seems to be everywhere. All around us, coming from the trees. The hunters spin and turn, still trying to track its source. “The Monk depends on me to do my job. He is my lord and master.”
    Gadya curses under her breath. “Let’s fill this brainwashed loser full of arrows.”
    “I have an army of more than one hundred soldiers,” the watcher continues. “And right now we’ve got you completely surrounded.”
    “You’re bluffing.”
    “Am I?”
    Lights immediately start flashing and twinkling in the trees around us. I realize they’re coming from the drones. They’re giving away their positions, but they’re also revealing that they decisively outnumber us, at least five to one. The watcher is telling the truth.
    “All of my soldiers are armed,” he says. “All of them will fight to the death if I give the signal. They loathe heathens like you.”
    “Then don’t give them the signal! Let us go in peace.”
    “Tell me, Matthieu Veidman—and yes, I know your name, so don’t look so surprised—what would you do? If twenty of our soldiers turned up at your village with bows and arrows?”
    “I’d talk to you. There’s enough death on the wheel. This place breeds it. We should stop killing one another and start working together.”
    “Your people and mine have been at war for as long as anyone can remember.”
    “That’s exactly why we should stop!” Veidman yells in frustration. “We’re at war because there’s nothing else to do on the wheel. Because the UNA, or whoever runs this place, wants us to be at war! Don’t you get it?”
    The voice is silent for a moment. Finally it speaks. “Surrender, then. Put down your weapons and packs. Let my people take you to our beloved Monk. We can trust him to work out our differences.”
    “Your Monk is insane,” Gadya snarls.
    “Enough, Gadya!” Veidman barks.
    But this time, the hunters agree with her. “We’ll never surrender!” one yells into the trees.
    “Never!” Sinxen seconds.
    “Not to scum like you!” Markus cries out angrily.
    Jeers and catcalls come back at us from the trees, like deranged echoes. These drones sound ready to fight. Our hunters start screaming insults right back at them.
    Only Liam remains quiet, moving his bow back and forth. I can tell that he’s locked on to the sound of the watcher’s voice now.
    “You have no faith,” the voice lectures us over the escalating noise. “No belief. The Monk offers the one true path. Soon this entire island will be his.”
    “I’ve heard that one before,” Gadya says through gritted teeth. “Your monk is a big fraud.”
    The watcher isn’t listening. “If you refuse to surrender, then you’ll pay with your lives.”
    “Don’t do this.” Veidman’s voice is hard now. “I’m begging you.” But he’s not begging at all. He has just finally realized that the time for diplomacy is over. I see him making covert hand signals at the hunters. Bows and spears get raised again, and I follow the lead of my companions.
    “You shouldn’t have come here unless you expected to find trouble,” the watcher calls out, his voice rising into a hysterical whine. “You’re all simple heathens! Sent to kill us and hurt our Monk!”
    Veidman shuts his eyes, his face twisted up. I know what’s coming next, and so does he. We all do. “Please—”
    “Warriors, tear down these infidels!” the watcher suddenly screams at full volume.
    There’s a split second of silence. Then comes the roar of the watcher’s men. It sounds more like a thousand drones than a hundred. They spill forward with their torches. Arrows fly at us in undulating waves. I dodge one, slip, and tumble onto the ground.
    “I’m hit!” Rika screams as she collapses, pots and tins tumbling out of