by Bobby Adair
Skinner’s Row ended where it intersected The Hay Road. Beck walked past modest wooden houses owned by farmers and hunters. Not many of those people were around. They were either in the fields trying to gather up what the snow hadn’t destroyed, or they were in the square, pointlessly repeating militia drills. Beck shook his head. Whatever Blackthorn was up to, the drills were only serving to make the matter worse.
Chapter 25: Ivory
Ivory opened the door to his father’s house, stepped in, and was surprised to a halt. Minister Beck was sitting at his father’s table. His father was not in the room. Ivory glanced back and forth, searching for Muldoon, but the room appeared otherwise empty.
“Don’t be alarmed, boy.” Minister Beck waved Ivory in and then laid his hand on a stack of three books on the table, Ivory’s books.
Crap.
Tentatively, Ivory moved forward, the weight of a backpack full of exotic, smuggled metals enough to set his pulse racing. Which would be worse to explain? The metals or the books? He glanced out into the street as he pulled the door closed behind him. Like every other resident of Brighton, Ivory was apprehensive—terrified—of the ministers. They wielded absolute power, and from what Ivory had seen, no good ever came of the ministers’ use of that power.
Thankfully, Ivory had taken the time to kill three rabbits on his way back to Brighton. He laid them on the table in front of Beck and slowly removed his backpack, trying to hide the awkward weight of it. With his bow and quiver in hand, Ivory contorted and slipped the bag off his shoulder. The strap hit his forearm as he was leaning over, and the bag hit the floor with the obvious clunk and jingle of metal.
Ivory sucked in a pained breath.
He turned around to see Minister Beck still watching him, waiting patiently, saying nothing, holding an innocuous expression. Ivory forced a smile and laid his bow across the table. He placed his quiver beside it.
Minister Beck pointed at the bow. “Please, put it away. It is not necessary to leave it on the table.”
Ivory put a hand on the bow and hesitated, reluctant to have the bow out of his reach. Nevertheless, he turned toward the wall above where he’d dropped his backpack on the floor and laid the bow across two pegs at shoulder level on the wall. He hung the quiver from one of the pegs and turned back to Beck.
“Those are good-looking rabbits.” Beck smiled.
Ivory nodded.
“Why not move those as well?”
Ivory took the three skinny rabbits and laid them across his bag on the floor.
“Not many to bring back. How many days were you on the hunt?”
“I lost count,” Ivory lied.
Beck shrugged. “Would you guess the number of rabbits in the forest has dwindled?”
“Possibly,” Ivory answered, hoping that Beck’s ignorance of life outside the wall had inadvertently gifted him a plausible explanation.
“Please, sit.” Beck motioned Ivory toward a chair across the table.
Ivory scooted the chair out and seated himself. “Are you here to see my father?”
Beck’s face seemed suddenly distressed; it turned immediately back to placid calm. “You’ve been outside since before The Cleansing.”
“I left the day before,” Ivory answered.
“The day before,” Beck repeated. “Some might call that suspicious.”
“I…” Ivory was caught without an exact answer to the implied question. “It was the first Cleansing for which I was of age to Cleanse myself. I…”
“You wanted to feel your freedom?” Beck asked.
“Yes.” Ivory nodded. “That’s it.”
“You’re not infected?” Beck asked. “No lumps. No red skin?”
Shaking his head perhaps a little too vigorously, Ivory said, “No. I’m in perfect health.”
“You knew about your father, Muldoon, no?”
Of course Ivory knew. If Ivory hadn’t seen his father’s skin, Muldoon’s mood gave it away. Also, of course, Ivory lied about it. “No. What about my father?”
“You don’t know?”
“Know?”
“Your father was unclean.”
“He…” Ivory couldn’t finish the sentence. He’d tried to convince Muldoon to leave town, to go into the woods with him and hunt, to keep his infection secret until…well, until he couldn’t. Heck, maybe for the rest of his life. Ivory had heard rumors of men who’d hidden the secret for years, some even into their old age. In those cases, the bumps came, but never progressed beyond a point. People lived normal lives.
But Muldoon wouldn’t listen to Ivory. The two had argued over it at least a dozen times, as they had argued over many things. Ivory believed Muldoon had never broken a rule in his life—outside of his gambling problems. Ivory’s uncle, the man who’d taken Ivory to the Ancient City to meet Jingo, the one who’d taught him how to smuggle metals, was Muldoon’s opposite. He didn’t believe in rules. Rules, in his uncle’s opinion, were simply the way the ministers provided regular men with the hints they needed to use to avoid the ministers’ wrath. It was an attitude about avoiding the rules rather than obeying them.
Beck said, “He was taken in The Cleansing.”
Ivory heaved a sigh and his eyes fell to the table.
“He died bravely. He took the pyre, though I advised him to take the sword. He was a strong man.”
Ivory nodded and did his best to blink away unexpected, though sparse, tears. Still, the situation with Beck sitting in his father’s house didn’t make sense. “Did you come here to tell me?”
Beck patted the pile of books. All three had been borrowed at different times from Jingo’s collection through the years, but because Ivory liked those particular books so much, Jingo had given them as a gift.
Beck asked, “Do you know the value of these books?”
“In what way?” Ivory asked, knowing they were of immense value if sold to the right merchant. He couldn’t help but think of them in the same way that Jingo thought of them, as the secret path to the knowledge of the ancients and knowledge of the world that still existed around them.
“That’s an odd question.”
“How so?” Ivory asked.
Beck tapped the books. “If you sold these, you likely wouldn’t have to waste your time on rabbit hunts anymore.”
“I like hunting rabbits. I’m good at it.”
Beck looked over at the three carcasses. “It would seem the evidence does not agree.”
Ivory couldn’t help but look at the three scrawny rabbits while he cursed himself for having said such a thing. It would have been so much better to appear incompetent. Nobody worried over what stupid people were up to, especially stupid people with backpacks full of contraband metals from the Ancient City that could get them tied to a pyre pole.
Beck dragged his fingers back and forth across the rough cloth cover of the book on top of the pile, looking at the book as he did so, as though he might learn something from it just by staring long enough. “Your father asked me a favor before he went to the pyre.”
Ivory said nothing. He realized that the fewer words he spoke, the more likely he was to live through the day.
“He told me you can read,” Beck said.
Ivory’s heart galloped. He envisioned the fate—the punishment—that might meet someone who had secretly learned to read.
Beck said, “He asked me to take you on as a scholar.”
Chapter 26: Bray
Despite his broken sleep, Bray charged through the forest with renewed vigor, driven by a need to get away from the dwelling. He made it seem as though he was pushing hard to reach the Davenport survivors, but he was glad to be rid of the place. The snow had stopped falling, leaving only a thin coat of evidence. Much of it had melted in the early morning hours.
Ella and William trekked the forest alongside him. Neither complained about the pace. The importance of gaining ground was unspoken, driving the three of them onward. Bray wove a diagonal path, hoping to cut back in front of the soldiers and pick up the survivor’s tracks. If they were lucky, maybe the blue-shirted bastards had gone home.
Maybe they’d given up.
As calloused as the soldiers acted, Bray doubted they were equipped for a long journey. They’d probably planned on massacring the townsfolk, finding Ella, and returning quickly. Supplies were hard to come by deep in the forest. He knew that as well as anyone.
If we can get to the survivors in time…
Bray was surprised to find himself immersed in Ella’s quest. Since leaving Davenport, he’d assumed it as his own. The actions of the soldiers had stoked his anger. What they’d done to the residents of Davenport—and to the settlers—was cowardly. Only weak men killed on the basis of orders alone.
Besides, the soldiers had cut off some of his trading resources. Bray would like nothing more than to thwart their efforts, to rub their inefficiencies in Blackthorn’s face. Whether or not the General was his employer, Bray’s loyalty was to silver, not to the man or his townships.
He forged through the trees. Thick foliage hung at the tree line, blocking off the sun overhead. They’d entered swampland, and the muck clung to Bray’s boots, dragging him closer to the ground. He heard the slick pull of wet earth on Ella’s and William’s feet, as well. They breathed heavily as they fought for each step. The rains had been heavy the week before, and the melted snow added to the already-moist ground. Shadows abounded. If Bray hadn’t been in a rush, he would’ve skirted the area; given their situation, they needed to plow through it.
“We should be on the other side soon,” he told Ella and William.
“I assume this is the quickest way?” Ella asked.
Bray nodded and kept going. He heaved his sword into the ground, using it for leverage. William did the same, looking for Bray’s approval. Bray recalled his own childhood, walking next to his father. The similarities weren’t lost on him. But this situation was different. William wasn’t here to learn; he was here because he was infected.
Soon the demon seed would take him over.
Bray recalled one of the other Wardens, Everett, who had fallen victim to the spores a year ago. Everett had been hunting the demons in the southern forests, far outside of the realm of the townships, when the symptoms had taken him over. Unlike Bray, Everett had been married; he’d had a wife and son in Coventry.
For some reason, Everett had hiked the many miles home, battling both demons and delusion to see his wife and child. He’d finally ended up in the woods outside of the township, just a few miles from his house. When Bray had encountered him, he’d been sitting by a campfire, yelling into the night. Bray had approached cautiously, fearing the worst. The man had been huddled over a stick, roasting something over the fire. It wasn’t until Bray had gotten closer that he’d determined what it was. Everett was feasting on one of the demons, stuffing bulbous chunks of flesh into his mouth.
Out of respect, Bray had killed the man. He’d never told the man’s wife. She thought he was still out in the wild, that one day he’d come home. Sometimes it was better to have hope than to learn the truth.
The settlers don’t feast on the blood of demons. But the infected… There’s no telling what they might do.
Bray shook the image from his mind. The muck had thickened, and the stench of wet soil reminded him of the musky scent of demons. It wasn’t until he’d gone another few steps that he realized the threat was real.
Several monsters sloshed through the wet ground and toward them.
“Ella! William!” he hissed.
He grabbed for his companions, but they were already prepared, readying their swords. He had the brief thought that they shouldn’t have come here. It was too late; it was time to survive.
The things were closing fast. They covered the ground between them, as if they’d been lying in wait. Despite the drenched ground, the demons came at the travelers with remarkable speed. Their naked bodies were slicked with mud, as if they’d fallen several times. The closest creature charged at Bray.
Bray swung his sword, severing its arm from its body. The creature fell, splashing face-first into the sodden ground. It writhed and wiggled, pushing itself up on one good hand, snapping at Bray. Bray raised his boot and squashed its head into the muck. He stabbed it in the back with his sword, finishing it off.
“Look out!” he yelled at Ella and William.
Two more demons were hurtling toward them, their bare feet kicking up mud from the swamp. Ella and William stepped backwards. Ella was farthest from Bray; the things were homing in on her. They reached her and she swung her sword, slicing the first one’s chest open. It toppled to the side. The next bashed into her before she recovered, sending her sideways. She cried out. Bray sprung.
“I’ve got it!”
But Ella had already brought her sword back, goring it in the neck. The creature pitched to the ground. Blood spewed from its wound. It didn’t move.
She grimaced.
“Keep alert!” Bray yelled.
Others were close. The monsters had been hunting in larger and larger packs lately. Two more creatures slithered from behind two nearby tree trunks, mouths agape. Their heads sagged from the weight of unwieldy spores, their arms cocked at odd angles.
It appeared they’d been watching.
They were smart demons. Bray could tell by their cunning looks. They’d been waiting for the others to take the survivors down so they could reap the rewards. The creatures’ eyes strayed between Bray and Ella. Their gazes stopped on William.
Bray roared and took a step forward as the first one bounded at him. Bray swung his sword, cutting the thing’s stomach, fending it off.
The other went for Ella.
Dammit. He couldn’t help her—not until he’d slayed the thing in front of him. The creature snarled and bit the air. It swung. In his peripheral vision, Bray saw the other creature slam into Ella, knocking her into the mud.
“William! Help your mother!”
Bray sliced at the creature attacking him, keeping a panicked eye on the situation a few feet away. But William didn’t move. The boy watched the battle as if it was happening across the forest instead of next to him. His mouth hung open in awe as the creature hovered over Ella, screeching and pawing.
“William!”
Bray gritted his teeth and slashed the beast he was fighting, cutting sideways through the upper half of its head. Blood and brain matter spewed from the gap above its mouth, where the rest of its face had once been. Ella shrieked for help.
Bray moved for her. The thing striking Ella was still on its feet. Bray speared the creature, the momentum of his body carrying the two of them backward, and planted both his sword and the creature into a nearby tree. He let go of his weapon, watching the pinned creature squirm its death throes.
“Are you all right, Ella?” He ran back to help. Ella was on the ground several feet behind him, her dress wet with mud. Her face was speckled brown. He reached for her arm to pull her free, fearing she’d been wounded.
Thankfully, she hadn’t.
She clutched her sword as if it were attached to her hands. Bray glared at the fallen creatures around him—the ones he’d killed and the ones Ella had taken care of. She’d surprised him. Despite her inexperience, she’d done well.
“William,” she managed, pointing to her son.
Bray followed her finger. While he was helping up the boy’s mother, the boy had wandered close to the squirming, pinned demon. William stared at it with his head cocked sideways, as if he were admiring a wildflower instead of a vicious predator.
“Keep away from it!” Bray yelled. He dar
ted the few steps to William’s side and pushed him backward. “What do you think you’re doing?”
William ignored him. William’s eyes were focused and thoughtful. The creature gnashed its teeth, flailing its arms. It stopped and locked eyes with William.
“What are you doing?” Bray asked.
“I can understand them,” William said.
“What do you mean?”
“I know what they’re trying to say.”
The creature sputtered unintelligibly. Ella splashed through the mud. “That’s ridiculous!” She grabbed hold of her son and shook him. “You stay away from them. You hear me?”
The boy didn’t answer. He continued staring at the creature, even as his mother pulled him away. When they were at a safe distance, Bray removed a knife from his belt and held it in front of the creature. Sensing death, the creature snarled, making half-hearted lunges with its hands.
Bray listened to its meaningless rambling for several seconds, trying to decipher a sound, then stabbed it in the head.
Chapter 27: Ivory
Ivory was taken aback. Through all the arguing between him and Muldoon, he never guessed his father would one day divulge the secret that he could read. What else had Muldoon said? In his apparent desperation prior to stepping up to the pyre pole, he might’ve said anything. Ivory’s grief turned to anger, but he couldn’t show any of it to Minister Beck. He wrestled silently with what questions to ask the Minister, deciding that asking served no purpose. If Muldoon had said too much, Ivory would learn of it when he got dragged off to the pyre at sundown.