The Forbidden Plan Read online

  The Forbidden Plan

  The Freedom Protectors Series, Book 1

  Written By: Erika Starits

  Dedications

  Dedicated to my beautiful family: Tommy, Noah, Makenna, Kayleigh, and Skye

  A special thank you to my early readers for their cherished support and revered insights:

  My mom, Tommy, Jessica R, Diana W

  Cover Art - Braden Maxwell

  Chapter 1

  The wind billowed through the freezing night and was harsh against my face. I compelled myself to the frozen ground and tucked unsteady knees within my issued brown coat. I gripped the sides of my coat tightly and shaking hands revealed white knuckles in the moonlit night.

  My body shivered with the bitterness of the ruthless air as I turned to Zander. The mysterious drudge I saw often, but never officially met. Much to my bewilderment, he was my unexpected companion for Remembrance Duty. We were braving the hostile night together and the sun would rise with our lives or deaths.

  I usually endured Remembrance Duty with Old Jake. However, illness prevented his presence and Zander was thrown in my lot. I had aimlessly wondered if Old Jake was my “grandpa,” but drudges did not keep track of relations. Relatives were unknown and it was forbidden to inquire after them.

  Old Jake was what we called aged in Starosa community. He was ancient and the eldest of the old ones. Normally drudges did not live to see as many days as him. I was grateful to have him alive. He was one of my only confidants, becoming so on the rare occasions we were allowed to converse.

  During wintertide season’s remembrance duties, Old Jake encircled me in his arms. He held me close to his frail body. On cruel nights, he provided the extra warmth I needed to survive.

  Old Jake’s health never improved after the frigid winter night of our last duty. A deathly chill entered his brittle bones and weak lungs. The sickness was from being forcefully kept from proper shelter. I fiercely hoped he would fully recover.

  I was afraid he could not bear another Remembrance Duty. Especially if he could not face it with an able and well body. Drudges only received one pass for illness a year. He would withstand another obligation in a month’s time. Wintertide season’s harsh presence would still be felt. The icy and cold elements were a cause of great concern. I erratically dismissed the depressing worries.

  Remembrance Duty was a monthly commitment. It was not always bad, but during wintertide drudges were known to freeze to death. We were forced outside the security of the community and the safety of our houses. We were removed from the warmth and comfort of our shelters and cots. Drudges were dragged outside the gate by chains and shackles around their wrists. The chains were only worn for the occasion, but the message was clear.

  The horrid, recurring day and night was spent escaping beasts, fasting from food and drink, and struggling to keep from freezing during wintertide. We were driven to survive and compelled to remember the Chief's good graces. Chief Meadows’s expectation was for drudges to appreciate his leadership afterwards.

  If we ventured to leave the safety of Starosa permanently, survival would be unlikely. The Chief’s tyrannical laws prevented devastating destruction reminiscent of the Previous Sphere. The towering electric fence constantly buzzed with defense. Especially from the eerie flesheaters lurking in the shadows and crying for blood. After Remembrance Duty, a drudge was grateful to live under the protection of Chief Meadows.

  Movement appeared in my line of vision and I struggled to move my stiff neck to investigate. It took immense effort to maneuver my quivering body and discover what caused the rousing disturbance.

  Zander was jumping and rubbing his hands together in an effort to thaw. He caught me staring at him in the starlit night. His deep assertion shattered the still air.

  “The only positive of wintertide season is the beasts and flesheaters never make an appearance. It is even too cold for their kind to be out in this icy chill.”

  I could see his breath in the frigid night air. With a crooked smile he peered at my huddled body. We had been together all day and this was the first time he spoke to me.

  Through clattering teeth, I mumbled, “Yyeahh, thaatts rriigghhtt.”

  With extreme effort, I strained a cordial expression. It was painful to move my mouth in the unforgiving weather. I lifted my issued brown coat to cover my head. My breath clouded around me in welcomed warmth. Unfortunately, the heat was short lived. The resulting moisture seemed to freeze immediately. I would die during this crippling night of despair without Old Jake by my side.

  I refused to hint to Zander I needed extra body heat. He had been as cold toward me as the enveloping wintry air. I was not sure what intrigued him to finally communicate. Why did he decide to speak when it was nighttime? The darkness made it incredibly uncomfortable to move or talk in the biting climate.

  I observed Zander on many occasions around Starosa. His drudge duties involved creating with his hands. He would fabricate items for the benefit of the community. He was a creator drudge. Creator drudges did not mingle with cleaning drudges. I was a cleaning drudge.

  Drudges did not have families in the traditional sense. Not like the firstlings...with moms, dads, brothers, and sisters. We lived and worked with people of our same drudge line, but we were not family. We were merely a group of people who shared a familiarity and nothing more.

  We were rarely allowed to interact with the other lines of drudges. It was forbidden, except under special circumstances like Remembrance Duty. Zander ignored my feeble attempts at conversation throughout the day. The fact it was usually a violation explained why he waited over twelve hours to open his mouth.

  Zander extended his index finger in way of introduction. It was a gesture used as a formal greeting in Starosa. An action generally implemented by firstlings.

  He expressed, “It’s nice to officially meet you. I am Zander.”

  My hand was shaky from the elements. I interlocked my index finger with his and gave it the formal shake. The contrast of our skin was remarkable. Zander’s was as dark as the midnight sky. Mine was as pale as the moonlight. I knew Zander’s name from our time in the nursery together, but it was a unique occurrence to properly meet him.

  Due to the hostile air I stammered, “I am Analysse. We were in the nursery together. But you left before me.”

  “Yes. I remember.”

  Zander could not see the indicating color of my shirt because it was hidden beneath my coat.

  I was positive he already knew, but as a formality he asked, “You are a cleaning drudge correct?”

  His coat covered his signifying drudge color, but I did not pretend I was unaware.

  “Yes, and you are a creator drudge. Even in the nursery we were made aware of our different drudge lines, weren’t we?”

  Zander sighed as he described the mundane reality of our existence.

  “Yep. Never allowed to communicate, but could be seen practicing our future trades from across the room.”

  “Exactly,” I muttered with unsteady speech.

  As abruptly as the conversation started, it ended.

  Chapter 2

  Zander wandered into the darkness and left me to my thoughts. I endeavored to not become a block of ice. I reflected on my beginnings. It was rumored my male creator was a sustenance drudge and my female creator was a servant drudge. I was made to replace one of the old ones. A woman named Rose...whose weary body was laid to rest. Although I had makers, they were simply that. Their roles as my creators were not the same as the firstlings’ roles of mother and father.

  Firstlings cared for their young and were allowed devoted acts of affection. Chief Meadows viewed too much fondness distastefully, but they had more flexibility to exhibit the emotion.
In his presence firstlings restrained their feelings, but drudges were expected to stifle them completely. Firstlings called one another endearing terms like grandpa, aunt, brother, and cousin. Those terms would never leave the lips of anyone in the drudge houses.

  Drudges were removed from their creators immediately after birth and raised in the nursery. After reaching the appropriate age, we officially joined our drudge lines and moved into our drudge houses. The expectation was to fend for ourselves, unattached throughout the course of our lives.

  Only drudges from the same line could communicate freely, but hindering expectations kept conversation scarce. Most of our relationships were built on curt dialogue and amiable bluntness.

  It was bearable most days. Starosa community provided what was needed for survival. We had shelter from the elements, cots for resting our bodies, and provisions of food in our bellies. We contentedly existed as long as we followed the rules enforced by Chief Meadows and his elite tens. By working our exhaustive and required twelve hours a day, we were kept breathing. I was malnourished and overworked, but these were insignificant prices to pay to stay alive. I remained thankful for my meager existence, especially after a day and night of Remembrance Duty.

  A snapping sound startled my thoughts. I drew a knife from the sheath tied around my waist. I swiftly jumped into a combative stance. We were issued one knife for survival during Remembrance Duty. It was not ours to keep and was returned immediately after our monthly obligation. Chief Meadows did not prefer us to perish from the deadly attacks of beasts and flesheaters. His sole desire was for us to remember how fortunate we were to dwell in the community. He ensured we had protection against the terrifying entities lurking in the night, but it was minimal.

  Drudges received basic defensive training with a knife. I was prepared to unleash a few essential skills at the beast heading my way. I strategized darting in the left or right direction to attempt an escape. I could not run forward because the blazing fence would be the means of my death.

  The deafening sound echoed once more. It was a distance away, but shattered my resolve into millions of pieces. Where was Zander?! I searched for him frantically in the shadows of the night. My heart was racing and terror coursed through my body.

  With unsuccessful attempts to calm my nerves, I twisted to the source of splitting and cracking. I strained my eyes, hoping I did not discover the means of my destruction too late.

  Fearful tension in my neck and back muscles instantly relaxed. I spotted Zander near a tree in the distance. He was the disturbance in the silent, frozen night. After identifying the source of my ignited fright, a calming wave flowed through my limbs. Relief washed over me like the continuous, hot, steamy flow of water.

  There was a scattering of trees decidedly far from the towering electric fence. Zander was using his issued knife to cut and break off branches. What was he doing? Trying to stay warm by staying busy? He would not be able to use the limbs for anything useful. I shivered and watched him intently. I unsuccessfully surmised why he was cutting branches from the surrounding trees.

  My attention shifted to the hollowness of a starving stomach and a tongue as dry as sand. Remembrance Duty included a treacherous fast and my body was weak. The increased vulnerability made me easy pickings for a flesheater.

  I shuddered from a memory of eerie yellow eyes and a deadly encounter from my past. The fearful flashback rattled me to the core. I traced the scar on my hand with tremulous fingers. It was a reminder of fangs violently tearing through skin.

  Flesheater beasts could rip flesh into shreds in a matter of minutes. They were unnervingly human-like in mannerisms and stance. There was nothing like staring into the eyes of one during an encounter. Their glare reflected fury and pain. The remembrance of my brush with demise, burned through the scar on my hand.

  I shoved the dreadful rumination away and observed Zander bearing a pile of roughly cut branches. He managed to hack, saw, and break off a bundle of decent sized limbs with his blade and strong hands. He brashly threw them near my feet.

  I was inexplicably annoyed at his presence. What was he doing? Why was I serving duty with him? Drudges so close in age and of the opposite sex did not attend Remembrance Duty together. Adolescent drudges typically served with more experienced and mature companions. It was customary to have duty with someone from the same drudge house. Zander and I were from different drudge lines. Being forced together did not follow usual protocol.

  I dismissed disturbing reasons for why we were thrust together and determined to focus on surviving. After a restless night in the harsh climate, I could return to my life as a cleaning drudge. He would be restored to his as a creator drudge. A frosty burst of wind whipped my face. It was a cruel reminder. Regular life was only a possibility if I did not die. My body continuously convulsed in a failed attempt to stay warm.

  With a hint of annoyance and through rattling teeth I asked, “Whattt are you dddoing?”

  Zander cast a mischievous smirk in my direction. He pulled two foreign objects from his pants. What were these two unknown items? Obviously, something we were not supposed to possess or they would not have been concealed. How fiercely would Chief Meadows punish Zander if the smuggled items were discovered? Zander’s voice was confident and smooth.

  He arrogantly responded, “I am a creator drudge and so I have access to various materials.”

  “Yeah, but taking them would be an offense...and the punishment could be execution.”

  My response caused Zander to laugh out loud with mocking sarcasm.

  He harshly snapped, “Oh Analysse, are you always one to follow the rules?”

  His scornful manner hurt my pride. Much to my dismay, my cheeks warmed with embarrassment. An alarming irritation surfaced. I squeezed my fingers into fists in an effort to channel the unexpected energy. Zander kindled indignation rarely perceived in my existence.

  Of course I followed the rules. The rules were established for our safety and protection. Why would you break the law if you could be condemned to death?

  Vigilant not to hide rising emotion I retorted, “Well, as a matter of fact I do. I for one, would like to see tomorrow.”

  I set my features into a dignified expression. Zander’s eyes darkened with sullenness.

  He lashed back, “Yeah? And why? Do you take pleasure in your existence as a menial drudge tomorrow? How about for the rest of your life?”

  His heated questions reduced my resolve. Yes, what else would we be? We did not live the privileged existence of firstlings, but our lives were tolerable as drudges. We were alive and kept protected from foretold destruction. Devastation would occur without the immovable control we resided under. We were provided for every day.

  I determined to take a bold stance and demanded, “Well, why not? Chief Meadows takes care of us and keeps us safe.”

  Zander scoffed, “He provides for us alright. By taking away our rights! He forces us to live and work as he sees fit. He renders any of our own ideas and opinions useless. Drudges are withheld from education and a chance to better their situation. Forcing drudges into marital unions for the sole purpose of making another laborer is not providing and protecting.”

  Agitated pacing revealed aversion he could not conceal.

  He resumed his resentful rant, “I suppose it is a good thing arranged marriages end swiftly for drudges. The marriage ceremony is simply a means of self-righteously controlling our morality. Once drudges create a child the enforced union is terminated.”

  He threw his hands up in angry exasperation. His voice was heavy with cynicism.

  “Not even firstlings can escape the shadow from under Chief Meadows’s towering thumb. They are encouraged to marry those he secretly arranges and forcefully prefers. Firstlings do not have agency in matters of any importance either.”

  His speech softened, but was laced with unwavering venom.

  “Although, at least they get to remain in devoted family units. It’s not right, Analysse. You are
wrong with crushing force. Chief Meadows does not truly care for the needs of his people. If one must insist he does, it is inadequately and at the expense of our liberty. It hardly seems a life worth living to its end.”

  Zander’s words brought unsettled awareness. Was there so much wrong with our lives? Chief Meadows maintained peace and kept us safe from wars, corruption, and destruction. In our controlled existence, we never needed to fear failure as a society. We were secure and our needs were given provision. These ideals were taught in our nursery years. Zander and I were both raised in the nursery. A couple years before me, he entered his tenth year of life and undertook laboring. It became unacceptable for him to prove me wrong. I aspired to counter his arguments with tenacity.

  “What do you mean it is not right, Zander? How would you secure the existence of a population and eliminate possible ruin?”

  His face flickered with frustration and growing impatience. The disgust in his expression indicated I had the naive notions of a child. His words stung when he whipped them irritably in my direction.

  “The possibility of ruin is a lie they feed and whisper to us, Analysse. They want to numb our minds and hearts to an innate need for more of an existence. We do not have to be drudges for the rest of our lives. We could have our freedom. Every person should be entitled to an education and a chance to better themselves. We should be allowed family and to choose who we love and marry. It would be a life of liberty! I feel in my bones such a life could exist and it would thrive and not destroy!”

  Zander’s discussion was so far removed from our upbringing. It made me as unsettled as a blustery fall evening. A leaf billowing on a tree would be less restless and uncomfortable. He was spewing outlandish ideas and they were hard to grasp. A place where everybody was free from oppression was challenging to comprehend. My head physically ached from the exertion.