by Chris Cooper
“I just needs me a drop, just to quench my thirst.”
A man seemed to sway in the wind as if he were a scarecrow held up by a flimsy wooden stake. Thin would have been an understatement—he was malnourished, and his skin seemed almost translucent. Oxidized blood caked his body, so much that Oliver had a hard time telling whether he was wearing clothes. In the heavy snow, he must have been freezing but didn’t seem to care.
Pan wriggled in Izzy’s arms and barked frantically at the blood-soaked man.
“Are you all right?” Oliver asked.
“Just let me have a drop, and I’ll be on my way.” He twitched.
“We don’t have any water,” Oliver replied.
“No, no—not water.” The man’s body convulsed as he let out a sickening cackle.
He pulled a knife from his belt.
“Let me cut your skin, just a little. Just give me a drop.”
He took a step forward and lifted the knife.
“Sometimes I can get a bit carried away, though.” He laughed again. “It’s not my fault. The blood just tastes so good on my lips.”
The man stood between them and the woods, preventing them from fleeing back to Christchurch. Oliver fumbled with his zipper, trying to reach for the weapon underneath his coat as he stepped in front of Izzy and Anna.
“At least the loud creature,” he said, pointing at Pan. “Let me have it!” The man screamed as he rushed toward them.
The crack of Anna’s bat against the man’s shoulder echoed through the square. He stepped back and screamed, grabbing his shoulder as Anna raised her bat again.
Oliver finally freed the gun sword from his coat as the man lunged. But before Oliver could pull the trigger or Anna could swing, the attacker stopped short, grunted, and stepped backward. He gripped an arrow embedded in his chest. As blood flowed down his torso, he didn’t seem concerned about pain—rather, he tried to catch his blood before it hit the ground.
“You’re letting it out!” he screamed. “I need it!” He began lapping the fluid from his hands. “I need it!” he shouted again before falling into the snow.
Something rustled in the trees on the side of the square, but before Oliver could flee, someone grabbed him from behind. He glimpsed Asher and a hand that covered his mouth as both of them were dragged toward a shop. He tried to pull free, but the lumbering figure towering over him was much too strong.
As soon as they were all inside, one kidnapper slammed the door.
“Gideon,” Oliver said, spinning around as soon as the assailant let go of him. Anna cracked the other man in the leg with her bat as soon as she had a clear shot. Arrows spilled from his quiver and fell to the floor.
The archer shouted as he let go of Asher and fell against the wall, gripping his shin.
“It’s okay,” Oliver said, holding out a hand. “They won’t hurt us. Will you?” he asked Gideon.
Gideon stood in front of him, his head wrapped with a bandage covering his left eye. His clothes were ripped and worn, and he looked as though he’d been dragged through the mud. He seemed to debate the question before shaking his head.
“See, you can relax,” Oliver said, holding his hand out to prevent Anna from striking again.
“Silence that beast!” the archer shouted at Izzy while he sat on the floor, rubbing his shin.
Pan was still in a frenzy, and Asher scrambled to gather Nekko from the corner of the room. Fortunately, she wasn’t difficult to catch.
The storefront, once filled with clothing, sat empty, aside from a few stray garments strewn about, covered in mold and rot.
“What happened here?” Oliver asked.
Shouting came from across the square, and a brigade of boots and breaking branches broke the momentary silence.
“We can’t stay. The blood seekers are on our trail,” the archer said.
Before Oliver could ask another question, Gideon grabbed him by an arm and led him toward the back door.
“Can’t we hide downstairs?” Oliver asked, but Gideon ignored the question. He pulled a mechanical ball from his pocket, pressed a panel in the center, then set it on the floor.
Once outside, Gideon led them behind the Clockmaker’s shop and hid behind the trees bordering the square.
“When I say, we run to the corner of the hall. If you fall behind, we will leave you to the blood seekers,” the archer said.
Oliver did not understand who the blood seekers were, but he wasn’t willing to find out firsthand.
“Understand?” he asked.
Oliver nodded, and the archer turned toward the others, who also agreed.
“And shut him up,” he said again to Izzy, who tried to hold Pan’s snout closed to prevent him from barking.
A band of men emerged from behind the brush at the corner of the square—three blood-soaked beings who looked no better off than the man who’d been shot with the arrow—each brandishing rusted metal weapons.
As Pan whined, Oliver was sure he’d give them all away until a shrill ringing blasted from Gideon’s old clothing shop caught the trio’s attention. The man in front screamed a random assemblage of incoherent syllables.
Once they’d gone inside the shop, Gideon pushed Oliver forward.
“Run,” the archer whispered before taking off across the square.
They followed Gideon as closely as they could, but Oliver hadn't needed to run for his life in some time and wasn’t exactly in running-for-his-life shape.
As they reached the Briarwood town hall, they ran past the front to the side entrance, where Oliver had been taken to the dungeon a year prior.
Gideon pounded on the door, and the viewing panel slid open on the other side, followed by the clunk of a heavy reinforcement bar falling to the floor.
Oliver had flashbacks of his time spent in the dungeon, suffocated by the darkness. Once everyone had shuffled inside and Gideon closed the door behind himself, Oliver recognized the man guarding it. The Clockmaker struggled to lift the heavy bar and brace it across the door, his wispy hair thinner than before and his hunch more pronounced. Gideon leaned in to help him.
“They’ll be close behind,” the archer said.
The Clockmaker slipped the peephole open once more then shut it again and locked it in place with a wooden peg.
The dungeon below the town hall had been converted into a workshop of sorts, and Oliver recognized several gadgets from the Clockmaker’s shop. A few bulky machines were stationed in one corner of the room, and clusters of metal rods hung over the edges of a set of shelves beside boxes full of assorted gears, screws, and other shiny pieces.
The Clockmaker turned, still mumbling to himself about the sturdiness of the door. When he saw Oliver, he stopped midsentence, straightened his crooked back, and placed a hand atop his head, on the bald spot nestled between two clouds of nebulous gray fluff.
“Well, praise be. Never thought I’d see you again.” The Clockmaker approached and placed a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “I’m so glad.”
The warm welcome surprised Oliver.
Gideon’s eyes were locked on Asher, who stood next to the doorway.
Oliver thought back to the night in Asher’s cell below Simon’s bedroom. He, Gideon, and Mercy were the only three to see Asher that night. And Gideon seemed to recognize him but didn’t give him the welcoming look Oliver had received from the Clockmaker.
The archer noticed Gideon’s stare. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
Gideon opened his mouth and looked as though he wanted to scream, but as far as Oliver knew, the man was still mute. Gideon rushed across the room, grabbed Asher by the collar, and pressed him into the stone wall.
“Wait!” Oliver shouted and tried to pull Gideon away. “He’s with me—with us.” But Gideon had already removed a dagger from his belt.
“No!” Asher yelled and lifted his arms to shield his face.
Gideon brought the blade down with a swift flick, nicking the skin on Asher’s forearm.
&n
bsp; “What are you doing? Stop!” Oliver shouted.
A trickle of blood formed at the corner of the cut, and a phosphorescent drop splattered to the floor.
Gideon jerked Asher around and held his arm for the others to see.
The archer’s expression soured. “You’re the reason for all of this.”
“I haven’t done anything,” Asher replied.
“What do we do with him?” the archer asked Gideon.
Gideon nodded in the direction of the door to the square.
“If they’re after his blood, we’ll give it to them.” He walked to the door and began to lift the bar, while Gideon dragged Asher over to the door.
Anna raised her weapon, but before she reached the archer, Oliver aimed the barrel of the gun sword at the man.
“I said stop!” Oliver shouted.
“You still have it,” the Clockmaker said in amazement, ignoring the severity of the situation.
“What’s your game?” the archer asked. “His blood nearly destroyed this town. Now you have brought him back… for what? To destroy us all? Between the storm and the blood seekers, we don’t need your help to achieve that destiny.”
“To save his life. To save our town,” Oliver replied. “We need your help.”
“And why should we help you?” he asked.
“If you want the storm to end, you have no choice.”
“And how do you control the sky?”
“Not me, but the man who came looking for Asher. He calls himself the Collector.”
“A wanted fellow, eh?” the Clockmaker asked, still oblivious to the tension in the air.
“If you help us, we’ll be able to end the storm and get rid of the blood seekers.” The name blood seeker was self-explanatory, but Oliver wondered who they were and why they wanted to torment the town.
The archer relaxed his grip on the bar and looked at Gideon, who shrugged.
“Fine,” the archer replied. “Now please aim your weapon somewhere else.”
Oliver lowered the gun and clicked the hammer back into place. “So we have a deal, then?”
“Not so much a deal as a reluctant agreement, perhaps,” the archer replied. “I’m Aymes.” He extended his hand.
“Good enough,” Oliver replied as he lowered his weapon and crossed the room to shake Aymes’s hand. “And these are Anna and Izzy.”
“Can I see it?” the Clockmaker asked, holding out his withered hands for Oliver to hand him the weapon. “It’s been so long.”
“Let him go first,” Oliver said, glancing at Gideon, who still had a firm grip on Asher.
Gideon loosened his grip, and Asher pulled himself away.
“Here.” Oliver flipped the weapon around so that the Clockmaker could grip the handle.
“It’s been so long,” he said once more. “I made this to fit her hands. Always had such big hands. The boys called her ‘ogre’ when she was a child, at least until she sent a few home with blackened eyes.” He felt the weight of the weapon as it rested in his palms. “Just the perfect size for her.”
“I’m sorry,” Oliver said.
The Clockmaker looked down at his feet then up at Oliver. “You have nothing to be sorry for. She knew what she was getting herself into.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come back—that I left you here to fight by yourselves.”
“And how would you have helped? Not exactly a soldier, are you?” Aymes asked.
“No, but—”
“The blood seekers would have devoured you. Just be glad there are still people in this town for them to feed on. Once they run out, your town is next.”
Oliver felt a chill run up his spine. “You know about the barrier?”
“Know about it? We saw it fall from the sky,” Aymes replied.
“Why haven’t you fled, then?”
“Too risky. We’d only be trading one danger for another. At least this danger is known.”
“Why are they after you? What’s wrong with them?” Oliver asked.
Aymes thought for a moment. “Let’s take a walk.”
Chapter Seven
Izzy and Anna stayed behind with Gideon while Aymes and the Clockmaker led Oliver and Asher through the town hall. The corridor, once brought to life by odd-colored flames from flickering wall sconces, now sat dark. Aymes pulled a torch from the workshop wall and held it out in front of him, lighting the pathway.
“It wasn’t long after we booted that wretched man from power that word spread about the blood. Those who knew of its properties traded the secret for safety and privilege although most met terrible fates at the hands of the blood seekers.”
Oliver thought of Elias, Simon’s assistant, whom he’d met while locked in the dungeon.
“There seemed to be a limitless supply, at first. We started using it for treatment, to heal wounds and cure diseases,” the Clockmaker said.
They climbed a back staircase and crisscrossed several hallways before reaching the wood-paneled landing that led to the room above the town hall atrium.
“But some started to drink it—not for healing but for pleasure and power. Vials set aside for treatment would go missing, and those who kept control of the blood started to see it as a right, as a prize for having led the town out of darkness. So they drank.”
“And you didn’t?” Oliver asked.
“No,” Aymes replied. “The older men became spry again, and the younger ones built muscle. They brought the blood to their families. They all drank. But the looks in their eyes changed—became vacant as if they stared through the world without truly seeing it.”
He pressed a wood panel that shifted out of the way to reveal the staircase to the platform.
“They underestimated how quickly the supply would dwindle,” the Clockmaker said as he hobbled behind them.
“The blood brought strength and vigor, but when it left, so did the remaining humanity in those who relied on it,” Aymes said. “As their bodies thinned and faded, so did their minds. They became desperate, animalistic. I’m not sure when or how, but one of the blood seekers discovered that those who had consumed the blood still carried a little inside them. Townspeople turned on each other, and fathers turned on their families, killing their wives and children for another taste of blood.”
They climbed the stairs to the top of the platform. The room had once been filled with a lavalike glow from the expansive pool of vibrant liquid but now sat dark and desolate.
“The lights extinguished half a year ago when the blood ran out,” Aymes said.
“Can I see?” Oliver asked, pointing at the portal that had once protected Simon’s private residence.
“Go ahead.” Aymes waved him on.
Oliver stepped through the portal of twisted copper scales. He felt a cold breeze through the crack at the bottom of Simon’s office door. When he twisted the handle, a gust of winter air greeted him.
“No one has been here for a few months. No use for the place, really,” the Clockmaker said.
Snow covered Simon’s desk and the surrounding area. Although the back of the room, near the entrance, had been somewhat protected from the elements, the books, once so neatly arranged on the bookshelf, lay strewn about the floor.
“Why did you tear the place apart?” Oliver asked.
Aymes knelt and picked a book from the floor. “Wasn’t us. After the well ran dry, the blood seekers pilfered every drawer, crack, and crevice in search of blood vials. Simon kept them hidden everywhere.”
Oliver walked across the room toward Simon’s grand desk and the lantern-like chandelier hanging above it. The lantern that had once burned brightly now sat dark and had corroded from exposure to the elements.
Simon’s desk drawers had been pulled free and their contents dumped in piles now covered in snow.
Shards of glass still lay scattered at the base of the window where the Witch had burst through, and the heavy door that had once held her was ripped from its hinges. Oliver stood next to Simon’s desk and loo
ked out upon the devastated town below.
His eyes traced the landscape to the top of the hill where Izzy’s house sat in the distance. Considering Eric’s frantic plea for them to flee, Oliver expected to see Christchurch in shambles. Dawn had come and gone, but the sleepy town still sat mostly undisturbed.
As they crossed through the entryway from Simon’s office back toward the platform, Asher stopped and turned toward the door to Simon’s private quarters.
“I remember this place. It’s this way, isn’t it? My room?” he asked.
Oliver nodded.
“Go have a look. Won’t find much in there—it’s been raided for supplies,” Aymes added.
Asher timidly turned the knob leading to Simon’s dining room and stepped inside.
Once an elegant dining space, the room had been trashed, much like the rest of Simon’s compound. The upturned dining table leaned awkwardly against the far wall, and broken plates crunched under their feet.
The Clockmaker pulled a chair from next to the toppled table. “I’ll rest here, if that’s all right.”
Aymes eyed another chair in the corner. “Me too. I’ve seen his private quarters, and I don’t care to see them again.”
“Will you come with me?” Asher asked Oliver. “I want to see my old room.”
Oliver wondered why Asher would want to see the cell that had held him captive for so long, but he obliged.
They walked through Simon’s living area, passing broken furniture and piles of debris until they reached the hallway leading to his bedroom. The bed had been eviscerated, and feathers coated the floor. The blood seekers had left no drawer unsearched nor surface untouched. The bookcase concealing the secret room was ajar, and Asher squeezed through to the spiral staircase on the other side. Oliver followed closely but was careful to give Asher his space. When he reached the bottom of the staircase, Asher was already inside the cell, looking out the small window.
“This window was my portal to the world,” he said, “just a sliver of the town square. Everything else came from books.” Asher walked across the room to a set of bookcases, careful to avoid the chair where Oliver had first found him bleeding and broken. His books lay in a heap on the floor, and he knelt to flip through them.