Ashken raced down the stairs, jumping two and three stairs at a time. He left Jeremiah at the top of the wall. Jeremiah yelled something after him, but Ashken ignored whatever he had tried to say. It did not make a difference. Jeremiah was not to be trusted anymore. Ashken’s circle of trusted friends was shrinking. Whatever plot Jeremiah and his cohorts had put together, Ashken could not see the end or purpose for it. He pushed such thoughts out of his mind. He had to concentrate on the stairs and getting down to Moses and Jessica before something terrible happened. The thought of that many militiamen in one place was very disturbing. When he had first seen them, he had hoped they were massing for defense of the walls from the outsiders. But, of course, there had been no outsiders past the walls, and besides it would have been a strange coincidence for the militiamen to appear at the wall and not be related to the same large group of militiamen Ashken had seen at the Friar’s house.

The stairs were made of a rubbery material, which helped Ashken keep his balance as he raced down from landing to landing. The banister was cylindrical and smooth, and Ashken used it to slide down portions of the stairs, landing hard on the soft landings. Night was rapidly falling and a weak yellow light glowed from the edge of the stairs. There were few places left in the enclave where the Moderns’ lights still worked. Even in his father’s house—Ashken could not bring himself to call it his house yet—only the front porch light and a light on the far side of the kitchen still gave off any light. The lights along the stairs were bright enough for Ashken to see where the stairs ended and the landings began.

Ashken was planning what he would say to the militiamen when he got to the ground, when he misjudged the landing after jumping four consecutive stairs. He tripped as he jumped on the final stair, his hand lost contact with the banister, and his legs went out from under him. Ashken reached out his arms to catch his fall and he fell down to the next landing. His hands found the top of the last stair before he could bang his head on the landing. When he regained his balance, Ashken found himself on the landing, hugging the top stair with his legs out and up above the landing. He swallowed hard and forced himself up. He did not bother to check to see if he was hurt, but hurtled himself down the stairs instead, pivoting with each jump on the banister.

He slowed his pace halfway down the stairs. After he had left the wall on the top of the stairs, there were no opportunities to look at what was happening in the courtyard. He strained his ears to hear any sounds, but except for the winds gusting through the staircase, he did not hear any sounds of the militiamen or his companions. If Jeremiah followed him down the stairs, he did so far enough away that Ashken did not hear him either. He did not bother to look back, but focused all of his energy on making it to the bottom of the stairs and into the courtyard.

The second half of the stairs took him twice as long as the first half. It took him a few jumps to realize that he had twisted his leg when he tripped. He limped badly down the stairs as he landed and jumped from stair to stair. He put the pain aside and kept moving, however. He was more careful as he climbed down the stairs. The moon was hidden behind the wall when he made it to the bottom of the stairs, and it was completely dark except for the weak light coming from the second to last step.

It took all of Ashken’s efforts to resist running out into the courtyard to see what was happening. He needed to know what he was getting himself into before he got himself into it.

He approached the edge of the staircase that led out into the courtyard and leaned past the wall that opened out into the courtyard. It was very dark. There were many smoky torches held up by militiamen, and the small puddles of torch light enabled him to see the scores of militiamen. They were standing and sitting around and talking quietly amongst themselves. He tried to listen, but the militiamen were not close enough to hear what they were saying. He could not see Moses or the rest of his companions. It took him a few minutes to gain his bearings. He had to orient himself from what he remembered from the top of the wall. Moses and his companions had been near the entrance to the staircase when he had begun climbing. They had moved along the wall to a more sheltered area at the side of the front gate. That was where the militiamen had confronted them. And that was where Ashken needed to make his way.

The enclave did not have many trees, and the torches the militiamen used were made of a dried grain bundled together and tied in many places with a braided rope. The militiamen held the torches with a wrapped wet leaf, which protected their hands. The fire did not burn through as long as the leaf remained damp. The torches’ light did not reach very far and the militiamen tended to huddle in small groups around the lights. There did not seem to be many guards or lookouts. The militiamen seemed did not seem alert, which was strange for them. Usually discipline was maintained by the captains, who were spread among the troops. The captains were the younger sons of the families, which the families sent out for service to the enclave when the older sons took over control of the family’s assets.

Ashken considered that it may be that the militiamen were waiting for someone. Or perhaps they were standing down after their forced march. They had to travel very fast for a large group to arrive from the Friar’s house to the enclave’s wall as fast as they did. From Ashken’s experience with the militiamen, they did not move fast, especially when there were so many of them. Except for the once a year parades that celebrated the fending off of the outsiders, it was very rare to see so many militiamen gathered in one place. Ashken was a bit surprised that there were so many of them in the enclave. Either way, they did not appear tense or readying for a battle. If Moses had attacked the militiamen, Ashken knew there would still be fighting or at least bandaging going on. The troops seemed calm and in control. Perhaps tired from the march, but not coming down from a battle or preparing for one. It all seemed rather odd to Ashken.

Ashken had heard his father and Moses discussing the efforts of the governing council to recruit more militiamen. It was the council’s attempt to pull resources away from the farmers. Instead of the farmers’ sons becoming more farmers that needed even more land, the council hoped their efforts would provide different jobs that kept them off the farm and off the great families’ lands. It seemed their efforts had succeeded, but in succeeding, they had created something that they could not control, the they being most of the council except Jeremiah and his cohorts.

Ashken stepped out of the corridor and close to the walls until he got his bearings. He remembered not to stare at the torches and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The militiamen were a ways away from the walls, and Ashken could see an empty path leading along the wall and toward the last area he had seen Moses and his companions. Ashken listened careful on the stairs to check if Jeremiah was approaching. He doubted he would make it the rest of the way down for at least an hour or two, but he wanted to check to be sure. When he did not hear a sound, he moved away from the corridor, staying in the shadows, and walked along the wall toward Moses’s last location.

He moved slowly, walked crouched and close to the ground, and tried to remain as silent as possible. He walked as quietly as possible over the lightly packed cement that covered the ground around the wall in an effort to avoid the militiamen’s attention. After the first few hundred years, he realized his efforts were unnecessary. As he grew closer to the main wall, the militiamen became louder and more boisterous. The torches were no longer held by the militiamen, but were stabbed into the earth on top of large pikes. These militiamen had planned to stay the night. Ashken did not know of any time where militiamen had stayed the night anywhere except in their own homes. Times were definitely changing in the enclave, and Ashken did not think these changes were for the good.

Ashken approached the edge of the wall where he had last seen Moses and his companions. There were more militiamen around as he drew closer, and the militiamen seemed more interested in their duty. They were alert and every other one seemed to hold a torch in one hand and his baton in the other hand. Ashken stopped and waited against the wall to see what if anything the militiamen were doing.

It took Ashken a while to figure out where the militiamen were concentrating their efforts. He thought about approaching them and working his way toward the middle to see what was going on there, but decided against it. He would be spotted, and he was dressed different enough from the militiamen to draw notice. The militiamen were dressed in ordinary clothing except for a red satin slash and belt that they wore. They each carried a baton and wore matching black boots.

Ashken wore the same clothes he had put on the previous day. His trousers were brown and slightly puffed out at the waist, and his shirt orange, the sleeves long and the neck clothe reaching up to his chin. The clothing was of high quality and of Moderns’ make. The clothing adjusted its fit based on how Ashken wore them. He needed to only roll down the neck part or roll up the sleeves to expose more skin, the clothing automatically resizing itself. The clothing kept Ashken at a comfortable temperature, no matter what parts were rolled up or down. Even after wearing the clothing for more than a day, the fabric still looked and smelled fresh. There was only a slight tear where the assassin’s sword had caught him near his shoulder. Over his clothing he wore his father’s coat. In the dark, the coat made Ashken almost disappear into the shadows. He had never noticed how dark the fabric became when light was not projected on it. He tightened the coat around him. He remembered how the coat had protected his father from the assassin’s first strike. He hoped it would do the same for him if needed.

There was a commotion further up around the militiamen. Ashken stood up against the wall and attempted to peer over their heads. A tall man with the distinctive red sash was making his rounds around the militiamen. He was saying something to the men and most responded by nodding. Ashken did not recognize the man. He had an aura of command about him, but he was not a member of the council or a captain from a great family. Ashken would have recognized him otherwise. The militiamen clearly respected and deferred to the man as he made his way through the ranks. He was surrounded by ten militiamen, all carrying swords and torches. The militiaman’s only weapon should be his baton. It was only on the wall that the militiamen used their only other weapon, the shooter. To see militiamen with their sashes carrying swords similar to Moses was strange and outlandish.

Word count: 2,042

Words remaining: 13,369 (words so far: 36,631)

Thoughts: Okay, so I managed to say nothing in 2k words today. I don’t know why I couldn’t move the story forward (as if there is much of a story to move forward), but I couldn’t and didn’t. I guess there’s always tomorrow. At least I ate up more words. Mmm…tasty.