Sparrows & Sacrifice

by Nellie K Neves

  A deep void opened within me, full of the darkness and hatred for the one who’d claimed love and betrayed me. None of it belonged to Ryder, but he was the one who felt it.

  “You have to,” I said through clenched teeth, “be who they want you to be.”

  “Stop fighting. It’ll end if you stop fighting.” Pain screamed from his strained features, cut open by the hatred that burned in my eyes.

  I jerked an arm free and smashed my elbow against his head, knocking him backward.

  “If I win, I can protect you,” I told him.

  Ryder pushed himself to his feet, and I stumbled to mine, legs weak and wobbling beneath me. Though I hated it, I knew I had to take him out, for both our sakes. I came at him, a quick jab to the front, connecting to his jaw, but as I went to swing with a right hook, he caught it and shoved me to the ground. I crumbled into a ball, tiny pebbles sticking to my wet lips, chalky dust coating my tongue as I struggled to move again. A strong hand jammed my shoulder down, but I had no fight left to give.

  I looked into his eyes, worried at what I might find there, afraid that whatever disease circulated the crowd might be contagious. But I found no anger in him, nothing beyond a silent plea to give up. The others sensed my defeat and cheered near deafening levels. In the height of the pandemonium, I heard Ryder’s voice, breathy and close to my ear.

  “You’ve got to stay down. Women aren’t strong here. Like you said, give them what they expect. Let me protect you for once.”

  He pushed off of me and stood with one hand above his head.

  I did as he asked.

  I stayed down.

  Ryder’s haughty voice ripped through me, a taunting tone claiming his victory. I whimpered as the pain filtered in. The men surrounded him in acceptance and admiration for his skill. But I was busy trying to place his tone, because I knew I’d heard it before.

  His father— Charles Harrison.

  It was the same arrogant tone, the same egotistical fervor, and the same feeling in my stomach of intense hatred as I heard it.

  No one dared touch me until the men left. When the square cleared, soft hands peeled me from the gravel, dusting me, supporting me, whispering gentle words of reproach for my actions.

  “Crazy to fight back like that.”

  “She’ll learn her place.”

  “It’s the proud ones that they like to break.”

  I focused on breathing because nothing else made sense. The world was not only upside down, but inside out as well. This reality, this place where even the thought of fighting put me at risk.

  I was a warrior. I had the scars. I wasn’t a damsel, and I had no experience waiting for a prince to save me. Through the din of my rambling mind, one thought gelled.

  I was an investigator, and I had a job to do.

  Chapter 15

  The women led me down a thin, worn path. Their skirts pushed the high, green grasses on either side. Their clothes weren’t reminiscent of pioneers like I might have suspected from a group such as theirs, but instead reminded me of the pictures Uncle Shane had shown me of his first wife when she’d gone to Woodstock. Each woman bled into the next, a sea of natural shades, every article made with thin cotton and closed with drawstrings. Clothes showed telltale signs of hand stitching, some uneven, but most with holes at the hemline. Children scattered in front of us, not afraid, but rambunctious and wild, and numerous as field mice.

  The cabins were less dilapidated than the shed I’d already seen, four in total, and no markings to delineate family or which cabin belonged to which woman. The men were absent. Everywhere I looked, there were feminine touches, little clues that the space was all they owned. A tin can full of wild flowers sat on a stump, a collection of river rocks lined the paths that led to the cabins.

  It reminded me of the summer my father had taken our family camping for two weeks. Eleanor and I had tired of the ordeal and set to work beautifying our space, creating a dining set out of stumps and a boulder, lining the paths with pine needles as if to create a sidewalk. The women of Eden’s Haven had very little of their own, but they’d worked hard to show that ownership.

  “She’ll have to stay with you, Fern.” The oldest woman of the group broke our silence. I doubted she could be much older than forty-five, but the lack of makeup made it hard to estimate age.

  “I know that, Ivy,” Fern answered, her voice considerably softer than the older woman’s.

  From the suspicious, narrowed eyes around me, I surmised none of them believed we knew each other before Eden’s Haven. She lied to the leaders of the group and put every life at risk to save mine. The debt was more than I could ever hope to repay.

  A third woman, blonde hair with long untamed curls caught in a loose braid, spoke up. “You better get her cleaned up. They’ll come for her soon for the naming ceremony.”

  “But not too clean,” a fourth warned. “They’ll see it as pride, and she’ll need another lesson.”

  She was the most beautiful with high cheekbones, dark, rich skin and hundreds of tight braids that dangled well past her shoulder-blades. She caught me watching her and glared.

  “What’s wrong with her anyway?”

  My voice remained timid, but strong. “Nothing. I’m overwhel—”

  “Shh.” Ivy’s stern features and prominent forehead crinkled into something frightening. “You cannot speak to us, not until the naming ceremony. You aren’t one of us yet.”

  Eager to make friends with my new clan, based on purely my instinct to survive, I clamped my lips shut and smiled. Fern snickered, but only for a moment.

  “Fern, take Harmony and try to wash her wounds,” Ivy said. To the other woman she said, “Genesis, visit Willow and try to find something that will fit her. I’m not sure she will survive another lesson today.”

  I’d been silenced, but my mind whirled with questions, with algorithms and patterns of behavior and information. Fern linked her arm with mine as if we were old friends, and I struggled not to pull away. The bark of the stump where they placed me pressed through the thickness of my jeans. Harmony went for water while Fern tore fabric. I hadn’t seen a hand pump since my sixth grade visit to the San Juan Capistrano mission, and I’d never seen a working one.

  A few beads of water slipped over my cheek as Fern cleaned the dirt and blood from my face. Worry pressed on me for a moment that the sight might trigger memories, but nothing came. Her kind grasp was a far cry from what I’d endured in that cabin. I closed my eyes and drank in the comfort.

  The water gushed over the cotton cloth to the steel bucket below. Harmony gasped as she passed the rag back to be rinsed once more. I wasn’t sure if it was the blood, the dirt, or both that disturbed her. By the look of her pristine nail beds, she was beyond a neat freak. Fern’s hands, however, held stains from the soil. The brown earth etched into the calluses on her palms, almost as dark as a tattoo.

  When they uncovered the scar on my face, Fern moved with sadness, a weight of her worry and concern, as if the cloth might tear open the injury and I’d have to start again. In reality, my scars were the farthest worry from my mind. There were deeper wounds that needed healing.

  “What happened to you?” Harmony asked after a second or two.

  Fern stopped her quickly. “She can’t talk, remember? She has to be sanctioned by the brotherhood.”

  I thought of the time in the shed. Fern had spoken to me, at least in a roundabout way. Her pale blue eyes locked with mine for a moment. A weighted glance passed between us. She knew the scars were the last thing I wanted to talk about in my circumstance. Gratitude swelled with me again. Even though I couldn’t see her scars, I wagered Fern understood pain.

  Genesis returned, a few braids falling forward, framing her face as her skirt rustled in her hurry to reach us. “I have clothing, but we must hurry. I saw her companion coming, and she has to be ready or…”

  She didn’t have to finish. The women all understood whatever consequence waited for me, with or without
the clothing. Breathing brought pain, bruises formed on my ribs, and my hands were raw from catching my fall too many times. But I could stand another match if I had to. I’d been through worse.

  Without waiting for my consent, or even walls to block me from view, their hands pulled at my clothes, removing them without so much as a question. Chilled air prickled my skin in the moments before they slipped the cotton over my head.

  “The scars are everywhere,” Harmony whispered. Genesis shushed her, but the concern couldn’t be silenced in her strong features. Unlike Fern, she didn’t understand pain. What kind of person attracted such abuse?

  I’d asked myself the same question many times before.

  “Pull her hair back. Braid it like Harmony’s.” Fern pulled the skirt around my hips and tied the drawstrings tight. “It will soften her appearance.”

  I’d never been fussed over in my life. I’d never allowed it. Personal touch and close proximity wasn’t something I enjoyed, especially from complete strangers. Averting my eyes, I concentrated on the thought that Ryder was coming. They were afraid, but despite what they’d seen, I knew he’d done it all to save me.

  Harmony pulled at the strands that framed my face, loosening them and letting them blow in the breeze. She was young, maybe twenty-one if I was generous. Delicate features, strawberry blonde, with ruddy cheeks and hazel eyes. I wondered how she’d gotten mixed up in a place like Eden’s Haven.

  “Will he claim you?” Fern’s voice drew my attention with her tense edges and desperate worry.

  “Who?” I forgot I wasn’t supposed to talk. They allowed it, which told me my answer was more important than their traditions.

  “Your man, your companion,” Fern made sure to look me in the eye, “will he claim you as his?”

  She spoke as if she meant property rights. It sickened me to think that anyone could be claimed by anyone else.

  “I don’t know.” Panic crept up my spine. “What happens if he doesn’t?”

  Genesis set her hand to Fern’s shoulder to stop her, but Fern refused to listen. “Someone else will. Thomas is without a companion, as is John, and Cyrus can take as many under his care as he wants. There is always room in the main house.”

  Little cries of laughter and excitement erupted in the space near the front of the cabins. Children swarmed like little creatures sensing food in a crashing tide. But I’d gotten jammed against the idea that I could be owned by someone as vile as Thomas. I’d been a captive before. I couldn’t go back again.

  Genesis gripped my arm and pulled me from the others. “You’ve said too much, Fern. Her companion is here. She must go now.”

  Her stern shove made me stumble a few steps, but I caught myself before I could fall. In my mind, I rehearsed the words that kept me firm in reality.

  My name is Lindy Johnson. I am a private investigator. I have two sisters, Eleanor and Jackie. I am sick, but I am strong.

  Beyond the cabins, I spotted Ryder, looking as bewildered as I felt, surrounded by small children pulling at his clothes and clamoring for attention.

  I amended my statement in my mind.

  I am here looking for Tasha Saunders. Ryder Billings is my partner and the only one I can trust.

  Ryder took in my new appearance for the first time, relief flooding his features, tension finding a slight reprieve if only for a moment.

  And he says he loves me.

  He wanted to pull me close, but he knew it would be dangerous. Robotic words fell from his lips. “I’m supposed to bring you to our encampment.”

  In the distance, Ivy stood with her arms folded across her chest, her hooked nose prominent as she watched us.

  Distrust.

  Suspicion.

  I endangered her way of life and that made me a threat in her eyes.

  Without a word, I followed Ryder. We left the small circle of cabins. My skirt pushed the tall grasses aside as the other women had done on our arrival. He wanted to talk, I was sure of it. Even more, he wanted to run, and the pressure of his palm on my lower back burned. The ominous air of Eden’s Haven choked in my throat. The mystery and secretive nature of the compound only added to the knowledge that one false step meant your life was over.

  Children followed us at first, or at least trailed near us on their own errand. My heart broke for their predicament. They had no choice. They likely knew nothing of a world beyond the compound. The mothers appeared interchangeable. If not for strong genetic traits, I wouldn’t be able to determine who they belonged to, if anyone. Ryder's voice barely broke a whisper, his fear impossible to hide.

  “You know they're abused.”

  It wasn’t a question. It was an invisible trait he recognized from experience, a curse from his father.

  “The vacant stares,” he said, “the way some scamper away from me and hide in the grass, and the way others try to get my attention, to find my good graces before I retaliate.” All of it pushed on the deepest wounds of Ryder’s heart. I hated myself for putting him through it.

  As we neared an outbuilding, Ryder tightened the distance between us. He shoved me behind the small shed, pulling us from the sight of any onlookers. His eyes widened, his voice trembled as he tried to explain what he could.

  “You’re a threat. They told me that. Hide every part of you that I love. The strength and the courage, hide it so they can’t find it.” His warm palm caught my face, pressed over the bruise he’d likely caused. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  I pressed my hand over his, increasing the pressure. “I know you can. Give them everything they need. We’ll find Tasha, and we’ll be gone before you know it.”

  “If I give them everything, I’m afraid you’ll lose me. He’s inside me, Lindy. My father has always been inside me, and if I let it take over, I don’t kno—”

  I set my fingers to his lips to silence him. It was only a matter of time before they noticed we weren’t on the path. How long before the children reported our absence?

  “I’ll keep the parts of you that belong to me,” I said.

  His brow creased in question, as if he couldn’t think of any way he could belong to me. I moved closer in order to keep our voices silent beyond our secret place.

  “I’ll keep your tender heart, your soft touch, the careful way you watch over me. Give them everything else and I’ll keep the rest safe.”

  Ryder caught my hand and pressed it against his kiss. Unable to bear his desperation, I stared at the ground below us. Twigs, broken dried leaves, evidence of the impending fall season. Clouds shifted across the sun. The sky grew darker, as if evidence of our dire straits. A small white feather caught my attention, poking out from beneath a pile of pebbles. I bent and pulled it free, the vanes slick between my fingers.

  “You need something to hang on to so you won’t forget,” I said, pressing it into his palm. “Remember who you are when you see this. Remember me, and,” I struggled to get the words free from the net I was trapped in, “what we have.”

  For the first time hope glimmered in his eye. I’d given him no indication of my own feelings and though the token wasn’t much, it was a little piece of maybe.

  “I’m scared, Lindy.”

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pulled him close. “You’re allowed to be. They want to teach you how to be one of them. They’ll let you be scared for a little while.”

  “We have to go.”

  Taking his hand, I led him from our secret place, one last moment where I could protect him, where I could be the one with strength. As we moved out into the thoroughfare, he took the lead but refused to release my hand. He knew the path. Wwe moved faster than we had before. His disguise eased over his features again. It broke my heart to see so much of what I cared about slipping away.

  I thought about his admonition to hide away the strong parts of me. Cassidy had enhanced those traits, but this role required me to eliminate them. How could I stop the words not only before I spoke them, but before I ever thought them in the
first place?

  I thought of the future I feared for deeply, life bound to a wheelchair or a hospital bed because my body and mind could take no more. I’d met people who lived in that reality. Theirs was a different strength than I’d ever understood, and more than I’d ever hoped to be. I doubted it was even within my grasp to handle such adversity with the grace that they managed.

  As his thumb brushed over my knuckles, I realized I could do it for him. For Ryder, I could assimilate and allow the life of submission to be mine.

  For him I could do anything.

  Chapter 16

  I knew we were close because Ryder’s grip tightened to a vice. We rounded the last buildings and almost slammed into the crowd of men on the other side. Unlike the women, they were dressed in t-shirts and jeans, some brands and emblems I recognized. Their cabins were similar to the women’s, but without the care. A broken window in one, missing slats on the stairs that led into the larger cabin near the back, and a dirty feeling that permeated my pores. The main house glowered down on us from a slightly elevated height. It wasn’t particularly ominous, but I swore I felt it breathing. White paint peeled from deteriorated siding, a broken porch swing tilted haphazardly, all memories of good times that had vanished.

  Cyrus spoke first, emerging from the crowd not because he moved, but because the crowd had.

  “Welcome, Brother Ryder. I hope she wasn’t too much trouble this time.”

  I was pretty sure the only thing that kept Ryder from shaking into bits was my grip on his hand.

  “No, she wasn’t,” Ryder answered, his voice disconnected and hard.

  “No, sir,” Thomas corrected, pushing his way out of the crowd, his rifle still firm in his grasp.

  Cyrus set a gentle hand to Thomas’ chest to silence him as if he were an overly exuberant child. “Patience, Thomas. He is new to our ways, and the outside world is still polluting his thoughts.”