by Bobby Adair
In fact, he hated Brighton most of the time. Sure, he knew he was lucky. He could be one of the futureless waifs in the orphanage. He was fed regularly, but never quite enough. Father Winthrop always ate most of what was on the table, and in Oliver’s mind, that was exactly the state of Brighton and the three townships. A fat few took most of everything, and the peasants scraped by on the crumbs, always in fear of Blackthorn’s blue shirts or Winthrop’s pyre. And it was Winthrop’s pyre. It was The Word that deemed that all men who were warty, smudged, bruised, or just disliked were burned. Blackthorn, apparent leader though he was, flexed the muscle that hauled the wailing doomed to the pyre pole. But Winthrop’s Word put the fear in every heart of the thousands of peasants, so that when Blackthorn pointed at the pyre, none raised a hand to stop it.
Oliver understood that he was… What did Scholar Evan call it? Chattel. But so was nearly everyone else in town. Perhaps the only free people were those in the small villages or in the tiny outlaw settlements that he’d heard about. Perhaps that was where Oliver should go; find himself a small settlement far from the repression of the towns, and there he could live out his days doing as he wished. Perhaps there, a future might look like something besides dread and hunger.
Tired of wrestling with thoughts and temptations, Oliver stared at the carefully folded note in his hand.
He unfolded the paper.
Chapter 48: Melora
“Years ago, I was a merchant in Coventry. My trade was animal skins,” Roger said, beginning his story. “I’d buy them from the hunters and turn them into rugs, coats, and hats. It wasn’t the most prosperous living, but it was enough. One day, one of Blackthorn’s captains came into town. He was drunk, and he didn’t have enough money to buy the skin he wanted. He started knocking over my wares. He cursed at me. I told him to leave. And so he went to Father Woodrow of Coventry, telling him lies about me.”
“What did he say?” Melora asked.
“He said I’d been spreading falsehoods about The Word. The Father must’ve seen through his drunkenness, and he dismissed him. But the captain’s ego was large enough that he wouldn’t let it die. The next day, when he was sober again, he went back and told the Father I’d been hiding my profits, that I’d been avoiding the town’s tithes. The accusation was untrue, but it was a serious one. I was to plead my case in front of the town at The Cleansing.” Roger’s voice trembled with anger, as if the events had occurred just yesterday, instead of some time ago. “I knew I wouldn’t survive. Nobody would believe a merchant over a soldier.”
“So what did you do?”
“All my friends and family abandoned me, knowing The Cleansing was the next day. They were afraid they’d be implicated. And so I did the only thing I could do—I fled that corrupt, shit-ridden town and the lying people in it.” Roger’s face hardened. “I used the rest of my silver to pay off one of the guards at the gate. Then I ran as fast as I could. From what I heard, they looked for me for months. I’m sure Blackthorn and the Captain have placed me on one of the census-taker’s lists.”
“And that’s when you went to the Ancient City?”
“Yes. I lived there for several weeks.”
“What’s it like?”
At the mention of the ruins, the lines in Roger’s forehead disappeared. His gravelly voice grew soft. “It’s beautiful—the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. But it’s also dangerous. The ruins extend higher than any of the buildings in the townships. There are all types of metals there—metals of different sizes, shapes, and colors. Sometimes the settlers bring back pieces to the wild.” He gestured at the walls. “Some of the scraps you see here were brought from the ruins, handed down from one settler to another.”
“Did you find any treasures?”
“Yes, there are treasures. Things you couldn’t imagine. But there are demons, too—more than I can count. I spent several weeks hiding in buildings and sifting through the rubble. I stumbled on valuable, beautiful things, but most were too heavy to carry. Sometimes, when I lie awake at night, I recall the things I saw, and I wish I’d brought them back.” Roger’s eyes grew distant, enamored by the memory.
“Why’d you leave the Ancient City?” Melora asked.
“A lot of the food had been picked over, either by the demons or others. I was able to survive off of berries and small rodents, but never without worry of starvation. As I told you, it’s a dangerous place. I didn’t know the terrain. Several times, the monsters cornered me. I finally left after I got trapped inside a building. The demons chased me in, and I found myself on the highest level. I barely fended them off. The only way I survived was by knocking several off the side of the building. I remember their shrieks as they fell.” Roger winced.
“Did you have a sword?”
“No, but I had a long piece of metal I’d found in the wild. It wasn’t enough to keep me safe.” He hiked up his sleeve, exposing a four-inch scar on his sinewy bicep. “One of them threw me into a sharp stone during the battle, and I dropped my bag over the edge of the building. My possessions scattered at the bottom, but the area was infested by demons, and I couldn’t collect my things. I knew I’d be risking my life if I went down there. So I stayed on top of that building for several days, with no food or water, drinking rain from puddles.”
Melora stared at him, enthralled. “How’d you finally get down?”
“After a few days, the demons wandered off. I was still injured and weak, so I snuck carefully from building to building, avoiding detection, and finally made it back into the forest. After that trip, I vowed never to go back. It’s too dangerous.”
“When did you meet Bernadette and Ashton?”
“Shortly after I left the Ancient City. Another band of deserters took me in—folks who’d fled the townships or villages, or whose parents had.”
“There are people who have lived out here that long?”
“Yes. People have been out here for generations.”
“I can’t believe that. How long have you been out here?” Melora asked, trying to find the answer in the man’s dirt-stained face.
Roger shrugged. “Twenty years. Bernadette and Ashton have never been to the townships. They were born in the wild.”
“They’ve never been?”
“No. And I wouldn’t risk taking them there.”
“Not even for supplies? You could always say you were from another settlement. People have moved from some of the farthest places, I think. You could probably even settle somewhere.”
“Eventually the lie would catch up to us. The census-takers would see to that.”
“Yes. They’re very strict with the census in Davenport village,” Melora agreed. “They have to be, for The Cleansing. The three townships are even stricter, I bet. And besides, after what I’ve seen at Davenport, I’m not sure anyone would want to live there…” She lowered her eyes.
At the talk of the village, the children’s faces perked.
“What’s it like in Davenport?” Ashton inquired.
Bernadette waved her hands excitedly. “I hear there’s so much food you never have to worry about going hungry.”
“We always have enough to eat,” Melora said. Feeling a wave of guilt, she padded her answer. “We have scarce times, as well.”
“How many people live there?” Bernadette asked.
“Three hundred. At least, they did, before yesterday.” Melora glanced at Rowan’s sleeping figure, her eyes welling up. “I—we—need to go back. We need to check on our families. Someone might be alive.”
Roger studied her intently. His face was solemn. “The soldiers will be in these woods for some time. It won’t be safe. And as you say, the census will give you away. They’re probably looking for you already.”
“I don’t understand why they did this. It makes no sense.” Melora wiped her face,
got to her feet, and walked over to the door. She pushed it open, revealing the dense forest they’d just traveled. Talk of the Ancient City and the settlers only served to distract her from her grief.
Roger walked over and joined her. He stared out into the wild.
“How have you survived out here so long?” Melora asked. “To think you’ve never been back…”
“The townships and the people who live under them are driven by three things, Melora: fear, power, and silver. That’s why I prefer to live in the wild. As dangerous as the demons are, they’re predictable.” Roger sighed. “They’ll never take your dignity without allowing you to fight for it. Out here, we have a chance.”
They stood next to each other for a moment, drawing breaths of fresh air. After a pause, Roger pointed to the grotesque, fallen bodies of the demons.
“We need to clear them from the area so others don’t come. Can you help?”
Melora hesitated. She glanced back at her friend. “I don’t want to leave him.”
Roger paused, looking her up and down. He waved to his children. “Ashton, Bernadette, will you assist me?” The children sprang to his attention. “Wait here, Melora. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Okay,” she replied.
Before exiting, Roger glanced over his shoulder. His face was hard. “If you take anything from our home, we’ll kill you, Melora. I need you to know that.”
Melora opened her mouth to answer, but the man and his children had already left. She closed the door. Melora glanced at the settlers’ meager belongings. She couldn’t imagine living in the wild, rationing every scrap of food and clothing, no village wall for protection. Demons could run right in the front door. Times had been difficult in town, but they were probably tame compared to what the settlers had to endure. She swallowed.
She’d experience the same scarcity soon enough.
Despite her situation, she found herself eyeing the metal on the walls, imagining its value. She shook her head, dismissing thoughts of taking it. She had no intention of robbing these people. She walked back over to Rowan, kneeling at his side. The fresh rags on his foot were already bloodied. His mouth hung open; his eyes rolled back and forth behind closed lids.
Was he reliving the nightmares they’d witnessed in Davenport? Was he still in pain? Melora closed her eyes and shook her head, wishing the last few days had been a nightmare from which she could awaken.
Settlers or not, she and Rowan were truly alone.
Chapter 49: Melora
When Roger and his children reentered the house, Melora was on the floor next to Rowan, watching him sleep. She noticed Roger staring at his pile of belongings in the corner. She hadn’t touched them. He roamed the house for a bit, shuffling through his belongings, then checked on Rowan. For a moment, Melora wondered if his short trip outside had been a test to determine whether she—they—could be trusted. She hoped they’d passed.
The children cleaned their hands in the bucket, then carried it over by the door.
“We’ll need food and water. It’s already dusk,” Roger said.
Melora’s stomach rumbled. Amidst the brutality of the past few days, they’d barely eaten or drank. The bags they’d lost the day before had contained the last of their possessions. She glanced at Rowan. His eyes fluttered, as if he’d heard their conversation. A moment later, he opened them.
“How’re you feeling?” Roger asked.
Rowan smiled weakly. He stared at his bandaged foot. “Not great.”
“We’re going to get some water. We’ll be back in a while.”
“Are you going to the river we passed?” Melora asked. “The one to the west of here?”
“No. That river has been overrun with demons lately, but there’s a stream nearby. It shouldn’t take us long to reach it.”
“Don’t the demons ever bother you here?”
“Not often. We build our homes far enough away from the water to avoid some of the danger. You’ll need to keep aware, that’s all. Are you familiar with the demon smell?”
Melora nodded. She still smelled it faintly in her nose and on her clothing—it was seeping into her memory so deeply she doubted it would ever leave. “Yes, I’m familiar with it. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”
“Keep watch out the door, but don’t go outside. If you stay put you shouldn’t have any trouble. We’ll get water and check the traps. With any luck, we’ll catch a few rabbits.”
Without further conversation, Roger departed, Bernadette and Ashton on his heels. Melora marveled at the children’s devotion. In town, children their age might be yearning for freedom, aching to play games and roam free. But these children were content to survive as a unit. They had no choice.
She glanced over at Rowan. He was breathing steadily. He was clearly in pain, but no longer whimpering, at least.
“I appreciate what you did for me,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“You could’ve run. Instead, you waited with me. You fought the demons.”
“Do you really think I would’ve left you?” Melora furrowed her brow, confused.
“Others might’ve.” Rowan lowered his eyes in shame. “I should’ve been the one to save you.”
Melora felt a wrinkle of anger. She often forgot what was expected of her gender. The three of them—Rowan, Cooley, and she—had grown up on neighboring farms. Their families had tended the fields together, harvested and sown crops at the same times, and shared meals. When it came time for the teenaged boys to hunt, there’d been no question as to whether Melora would accompany them, at least between her and the boys.
Even Frederick and Jean hadn’t put up much of a fight. Their only warning was to avoid the gossiping eyes of the other villagers.
Sensing her anger, Rowan said, “I’m sorry, Melora. I just wish we could’ve saved Cooley. I feel awful for what happened to him.”
“Me too.” Melora bit her lip, trying to quell the tears.
“Do you think we’re safe here?” Rowan asked.
“I think so—for now. But we can’t stay forever. These people can barely provide for themselves. It wouldn’t be right to burden them.”
“How will we manage on our own?”
“We’ll figure it out, like we did before. We know how to hunt. We can catch rabbits. Maybe we can go to the Ancient City.”
“How would we find our way?”
“The man we’re staying with went there. His name is Roger. He told me about it when you were asleep.”
Rowan succeeded in sitting up. He pulled himself to the edge of the bed and stared at Melora. “What about our families? What about going back to Davenport?”
“Roger thinks the soldiers will be after us. If they really wanted to kill the whole village, they’ll check the bodies against the census. They might already know we’re missing.”
“None of this makes any sense…” Rowan shook his head.
“You’re right, Rowan, it doesn’t. But if we’re going to survive this thing, we’ll need to hide for a while. Once you get better, we’ll head out on our own.”
They studied the walls, watching the sunlight retreat through the cracks. Outside, the animals chittered and darted through the woods. Melora fought the pit in her stomach. At least we have the walls to protect us, she thought.
It was much better than spending another night in the trees.
Melora impatiently fiddled with her knife while she awaited the settler’s return. Every so often, she snuck to the entrance and peered out into the forest, expecting to see a legion of demons. But each time she found only the treed setting she’d walked through on the way in.
Chapter 50: Oliver
Oliver muttered his way through all the curses he’d picked up through his short life. Some he learned listen
ing to his father; others he learned from random people in the market, when they thought little ears weren’t listening. When he got to the end of his list, he muttered through them again, joining them together in imaginative ways that made him giggle a few times. It felt good to get away with uttering the wicked little words without the risk of punishment.
Unfortunately, none of Oliver’s curses helped him read what was written on the page. Were there truly so many words in the world that a message could contain nothing but words he couldn’t read? Sure, he knew his simple words—the one-, two-, and three-letter words that glued the bigger ones together. Until the moment he opened the paper, he’d felt confident in his ability. The message, though, rubbed his face in the depth of his ignorance, and that made him sad. Would Scholar Evan truly accept him into the academy if he couldn’t read a simple message?
What if the message wasn’t even for the Dunlow twins? What if it was a test? What if it said something like, “Come to the academy after you read this, Oliver. You’ve passed the test.”
But Oliver knew what his name looked like in print, and it wasn’t on the page.
He refolded the message and stuffed it into his pocket. He sat up on the edge of his bed. He decided what he had to do.
With the decision taken, Oliver didn’t dawdle. He put on his shoes, wrapped his coat over his shoulders, and opened the bedroom door. He peeked out into the hall. He saw nothing but darkness. From somewhere in a distant chamber, he heard Father Winthrop’s voice harrumphing between his impassioned whispers.
Oliver hurried down the hall, through a door that led out of the private temple residences and then out to the front entrance. There, standing on the steps, with a brisk wind cutting through his threadbare coat, he grinned. He was free from Father Winthrop’s service, at least for a little while.