Rebel Song Page 3

  “Rogan,” she called out. “Rogan!”

  He discreetly scanned the street, then the tent, finally spotting a fair face peering from an opening in the back of the booth tent. Casually and quietly, he lifted a box of empty bottles and made his way toward the garbage bins.

  “El. What are you doing?”

  “Well I didn’t get a chance to speak to you earlier. Ada keeps me on a tight leash in public.”

  “Was that your mom?”

  El laughed.

  “Sants no. That crone? She’s my…” She paused, seeming to catch herself. “She’s my assistant.”

  “Assistant?”

  “Um, like my personal assistant.”

  “So you are a high-born lady then,” Rogan laughed. “No Valley girl I know has a personal assistant.”

  “All right, I’ll admit we have a little money,” she blushed.

  “Seems like she better keep a better watch on you.” There was an awkward pause before Rogan went on.

  “I thought I saw you about a hundred times last week.” Dammit, shut up. The nervous word vomit just kept coming. “I know; it’s so stupid. I don’t even know why I thought you’d be down here again.” He laughed casually, although it felt like angry butterflies were violently beating their wings against his chest. El smiled bashfully, like the demure proper girl she was surely expected to be.

  “You know, I really did think about sneaking down here again. But my ankle is still pretty swollen. I didn’t think I could outrun Ada.” She stuck out her leg so he could see the purple and blue swirl peeking out of her sandal. “See?”

  “How’d you explain that one?”

  El shrugged.

  “Didn’t take much. I just said I tripped on an uneven cobblestone. No one thinks too highly of my coordination skills.” She grinned. “But it was stupid of me to think I could just sneak off and meet some guy on the beach, even if I didn’t have a busted ankle. Ada would lose it if she knew I’d been down there at all. She’s convinced it’s nothing but prostitutes and pirates slumming around.”

  “Well, she’s got a point. Some of those alleys near the docks are pretty seedy.”

  “Wouldn’t want to get kidnapped, would I?” She laughed.

  “So I’m guessing your family is a little overprotective.”

  “Um, you could say that. But I’m glad that I ran in to you today. I did want to see you again—I just didn’t know where I’d ever find you.”

  “I’ve never seen you at the market before.”

  “No, I’ve only been once before. My mother loathes the fact that I want to be around….” The words caught on her tongue.

  “Prostitutes and pirates?”

  She put a hand to her mouth. Rogan laughed.

  “It’s okay. I know how most of the city’s finest think about the poor suckers tilling away on their dirt farms out in the Valley, peddling chickens and snake oil at the market.”

  “Oh, so it’s not like that? Look, I should probably go. Ada thinks I’ve just ducked into the ladies room to wash my hands.”

  “Yeah okay.” Don’t babble on about anything else, he commanded himself.

  “Look, Rogan…Can I maybe see you again?”

  The air kicked at his stomach and he almost stumbled back.

  “See me?” He wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard her correctly. She nodded. “Um… well I’m here most Saturdays,” he looked around at his tent aimlessly, raking his fingers through his hair. Her eyes flicked to the side apprehensively.

  “Um, I meant something a little more private.”

  Rogan swallowed hard and reminded himself to breathe.

  “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.” There was something unnerving about making clandestine plans with some mysterious girl who was rich enough to have an overprotective personal assistant following her around.

  “Don’t you want to?” Her eyes twinkled and her lips fell into a hopelessly irresistible pout.

  “Well, yeah, I would. I just—” Rogan was pretty certain he was gaping like an idiot.

  “I have a thought! I’m supposed to start volunteering on Fridays at the library soon. My mother thinks I need to be more philanthropic,” she added with a hint of sarcasm.

  “Um, okay,” Rogan unconsciously gnawed on his cuticle.

  “What I mean is, that I’ll be in town and maybe I can, you know, sneak away sometime for a fried bread afterward.” She shot him a half-lidded gaze that made Rogan’s heart thump.

  “Oh, um, sure, I might enjoy fried bread.” He tried to sound nonchalant and flirtatious, but came off bumbling and idiotic instead. If she noticed, she pretended not to. “I usually work in the mornings but I can be free in the afternoon.”

  “My first day is in two weeks. The session is over at two. Think you will be around?”

  “Sure, I can be here.”

  “Excellent.” She grinned. “I will think of a way to duck out after for a bit without anyone knowing. Can you meet me by that lion fountain on the square?”

  Rogan gnawed at his fingernail some more. Every instinct told him to decline, but he nodded anyway.

  “I can be there.”

  She grinned, radiating excitement.

  “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you in two weeks.”

  As he watched her scamper away he couldn’t fight down the overwhelming feeling that he was making a huge mistake.

  CHAPTER 4

  The following Tuesday, Rogan found himself toward the back of the low-lit basement of the Brigg Cannery for their monthly Cause meeting. His eyes weeded through the tension to take in the scene. The room was full tonight—he spotted dozens of faces who had worked on his family vineyard over the years—faces of his father’s life. The smell of fish, salt and sweat clung to the rigid air as the room buzzed with hushed, uneasy chatter, blending together into one muffled whisper. The topic of the meeting was Kal Barrymore, a promising young city politician who’d fallen to a city ranger’s gun—under direct orders from the infamous captain of the city guard, Captain Demos—a few days prior at a protest in the square. The plague of frantic violence spread more rapidly through Arelanda City each day. How long before it consumed them all?

  “Spy!” A raspy whisper shattered Rogan’s contemplation. He swung around—nearly falling from his seat—and saw Benton grinning beside him. Ben’s sandy hair was overgrown and sticking out in every direction and he had a large grass stain down the front of his white tee shirt. Two of his fingers were bound together in a small splint and his knuckles were newly scabbed with blood.

  “Shhh!” Rogan hissed. “You’re late. The meeting started nearly half hour ago.”

  “Oh relax,” Ben said, taking a seat. “Had to stop by my da’s.”

  Rogan glanced at Ben’s taped fingers.

  “I’m guessing it didn’t go so well?” Rogan asked. Benton smirked.

  “He’d had a few pints before I got there. We may have argued. So what’d I miss?”

  “It’s more of the same. Cable is pretty fired up. Half the room just wants us to lay down in a puddle in King Henri’s path.”

  Ben just grinned. He thought the whole idea of a second rebellion was wildly amusing. The crowed began to grumble again with debate.

  “I see Iris is here,” Ben nodded his head toward the pretty brunette sitting by her father at the front of the room.

  “Yeah, not surprising. She’s always here,” Rogan responded dryly, allowing her only a quick glance.

  “What’s up with you two, anyway?”

  Rogan turned to face Ben.

  “What? Nothing is up. She’s just Iris.”

  “Don’t lie. You’re telling me she’s all over you and you’re not doing anything about it?”

  Rogan turned his focus back to the front of the room and nodded.

  “That’s what I’m saying. C’mon, she’s Donal’s daughter.”

  “So what?”

  “So, I’ve known her my whole life. She’s practically a sister.”

>   “You have got to be kidding,” Ben laughed. “Have you seen her…” he made a lewd cupping gesture over his chest.

  “You’re an idiot. If you think she’s so great, why don’t you go for her?”

  Ben’s full lips spread into a devious grin.

  “If only I could, brother. Sadly, pretty sure she only has eyes for the dark and mysterious Rogan Elwood.”

  “Just shut up. Pay attention.”

  They turned their attention back to the arguments unfolding at the front of the room.

  “Quiet!” Cable Harris hushed the crowd. He stood beside the podium with crossed arms, his shaggy brown hair tied back. He stood stoic and composed, but his face was weighted with sorrow and his eyes hid beneath heavy bags, begging for the respite of sleep.

  The eager buzz quieted to low whispers and finally silence.

  “We have suffered a terrible loss,” Cable went on.

  “Yeah, not just one!” Ben piped in.

  “Ben. How nice of you to join us finally,” Cable said. “True. We have suffered many terrible losses. But this has been perhaps the most grievous. This time the Sants have stolen one of our brightest beacons of hope.”

  “He wasn’t stolen. He was murdered,” Rogan interjected. The crowd echoed in agreement. “Kal was working toward real change and he was struck down unarmed.”

  “Yes,” Cable agreed. “Murder is an apt name for what they did.”

  “What are you going to do about it then?” Benton said.

  “What can we do, Ben?” Rogan said, shaking his head. “Politely ask the King for justice?”

  “Demand justice!” Benton fired back. A few others offered shouts of agreement.

  “That’s not going to accomplish anything but get us all killed,” Rogan said. The crowd again murmured in agreement.

  “People are dying anyway, Rogan,” Ben said through gritted teeth.

  “Yeah, well I’m not that eager to jump in front of a firing squad okay? Murder or not, we can’t just storm the castle.”

  Donal Rawdry stood up then and raised his hands to silence the crowd. He rubbed his graying beard and sighed. A lifelong soldier, Donal had been an integral part of the first rebellion, fighting alongside all of their fathers.

  “Boys, please. Ben, I appreciate your enthusiasm for our cause, but you are young. You don’t truly understand the magnitude of what you’re saying,” Donal said.

  “Is he?” Cable interjected before Ben could argue on his own behalf. “He’s nearly seventeen. If you’ll remember, Donal, I was his age when they shipped me east to fight for our freedom. If he’s old enough to enlist in His Majesty’s service—if he’s old enough to die for us—shouldn’t he have a say in how we go about killing him?”

  The crowd’s murmurs climbed the walls.

  “I would prefer if we didn’t put any more children in the line of fire, Cable. You, of all people, should appreciate that. Wouldn’t you spare them the tragedy of war?” Donal said.

  “Children?” Cable snorted and stepped down from the podium. He walked toward Ben and Rogan. “You need to wake up, Donal. War is here and the children are the ones who are going to fight it. You, Jon Montall, the Elwood brothers—you all fought hard in the first rebellion. But guess what? You lost that war. And now they are truly going to pay unless something changes,” he pointed to Ben, then flicked a sharp finger to Rogan.

  Rogan’s skin smoldered at Cable’s words. He thought about all the losses they’d already suffered—his da, his Uncle Colt. It was sickening to think that it wasn’t enough.

  “We’re not children,” Ben seethed.

  “No, my friend, you are not,” Cable smiled and nodded at him.

  “To you he isn’t,” Donal went on. “You’re hardly out of diapers yourself, Cable.”

  At that, Cable’s calm demeanor cracked and his mouth curled into a snarl.

  “Is that right?” Cable asked. “While half the people in this city were getting fat and drunk and drooling over dreams of war, I was living it on the plains of Hell. In my opinion, I’ve already lived ten lifetimes.”

  The room fell into uneasy silence.

  “As always, Cable, you make the bleeding heart’s point,” Donal said. “But we can’t win a war with sentiment.”

  “We can’t win this war laying down in the road either,” Cable retorted. A wave of agreement crashed through the room.

  “It seems you would all take on all of Europe in your bloodlust,” Donal sighed and shook his head.

  Rogan glanced at Benton. The wheels turned behind his smoldering eyes as he chewed on the arguments, fingering the short throwing knife slung through his belt. He was fairly certain Ben came out of the womb a rebel.

  “Cable’s right,” Benton shouted. “We can’t just let the King wipe his boots on our backs.”

  “I don’t see what a band of farmers and fishermen is going to do about it,” Rogan sighed to no one in particular, looking out at the crowd of despairing, frightened faces. Did they really think some motley militia from the wrong side town could really change anything?

  “What your da did and what they all did before us. Fight,” Ben insisted.

  “Yeah, look where it got them!” Rogan snapped, flashes of blood and screams haunting his mind.

  “And are you going to let your da’s death be for nothing?”

  Rogan’s retort caught in his throat. No, he would never let it be in vain. He would not forget his father’s sacrifice.

  “Can’t imagine the King is very intimidated by pruning shears,” Rogan said.

  “No, he won’t be. But that’s what I’m counting on,” Ben bared a toothy grin.

  “Ben, I’m not suggesting we just start a war,” Cable added.

  “Then what are you suggesting?” Rogan asked—begged—desperately hoping someone had an answer that didn’t involve any more bloody streets and haunted widows.

  “Although he grossly underestimates us, Donal has a point. Our next steps must be thought out and calculated,” Cable said.

  Ben let out an audible grunt.

  “Whatever. I’ve heard enough tonight. Enjoy your tea party, ladies,” Ben threw up his hands. He pushed himself up from the table and turned.

  “Ben! You can’t just walk away when I don’t agree with you,” Cable said. “Ben, I’m talking to you. Stop!”

  Ben turned back to face Cable, his smoky eyes narrowed into slits.

  “Why? This is a waste of time. All you ever do is talk. When do we actually do something?”

  “I am doing something. I’m planning, leading.”

  “Why don’t you just kiss Henri’s ass and call it a day, Cable? Seems that’s all you want to do anyway.”

  “Benton Hollister, you impetuous little shit,” Cable growled. “Just like your drunk of an old man, aren’t you?”

  Before Rogan knew what was happening, Ben’s fist was kissing Cable’s jaw. Cable tumbled back and Ben swung violently, as Donal and Rogan both grabbed Ben from behind and struggled to hold him back.

  “You two-faced son-of-a-bitch!” Ben’s face was a twisted mask of rage.

  “Ben, calm down,” Rogan tried to pacify him. “It’s not worth the bruises.” Rogan glared at Cable, whose muddled expression reflected he knew he’d crossed the line.

  “Ben, I’m sorry. That was a low blow and uncalled for,” Cable said, rubbing his jaw. Ben struggled against his bonds and glared.

  “Is this who you want running our cause?” Ben sneered to the crowd. “Someone who’s afraid of blood on his hands?”

  “There is a big difference in unwillingness to what’s needed and being some irrational, blood- thirsty kid,” Cable said.

  Ben spat a scarlet wad on the floor next to Cable’s boots.

  “Last I checked, a taste of blood never hurt anyone.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Rogan sat on a bench by the lion fountain in Plaza Hiro, trying not to stare at the patch of stone where Elwood blood had once run. He nervously picked at his fingernai
ls and whipped his head up every time he heard a female voice. The clamor of the plaza was a blur of merchant shouts, idle chatter and the busy traffic of work trucks and motorbikes zipping through the narrow cobblestone streets. He wasn’t quite sure what he was even doing there. So he had met some mysterious girl who was trying out her hand at rebellion for the first time. So what? There were plenty of girls in the Valley he could chase if he cared to. Hell, Iris would barely leave him alone. But something about all of them seemed too commonplace, too much a part of his everyday lackluster life—too attainable. He was lost in his thoughts when he heard his name in the echo of a soft voice.

  “Rogan.”

  He jerked his head up, coming face-to-face with sharp green eyes and flushed cheeks peeking out from under a knit hat. She wore skinny black jeans over flimsy flat shoes and a thick black sweater, looking like she was trying to pull off an undercover spy disguise.

  “El,” he nearly whispered, her name sticking to his tongue. Her surreal presence captured the air. He couldn’t feel his surroundings or hear the clamor of the midday hustle. He could only hear his own breath on the crisp spring air.

  “Hi. Glad you came.”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t?” he asked. El just shot him a playful smile.

  “Come on, let’s get off the Plaza,” she commanded. Entranced by her voice, he nodded and followed as she quickly ducked into an incognito alleyway leading toward the beach. They hustled along in silence. Rogan’s heart pounded as the feeling of danger flared up in his chest. What was he afraid of?

  The vast ocean emerged from the shadows in a sprawl of crashing waves and polished rocks—just a stone’s throw from where he had first found her whimpering in the sand like an injured puppy. She paused and stared at the beach, as if this was where her plan ended. She bit her bottom lip, scanning the panorama—clearly this whole clandestine meetings thing was new territory for her. She looked to him and shrugged. Rogan mustered his courage.

  “C’mon,” he motioned for her to follow him. “I know a good spot.” He ignored the blinding panic flowing through his veins and boldly took her hand. She tensed, but then relented to his pull. They hustled across the sand toward the rocks and stopped in front of a towering pile of slippery stones.