by Bobby Adair
He came to the part of the camp set aside for the militiamen. The neat rows of tents belied the sad shape of the canvas from which they were made. Though of a roughly similar tan color, the tents’ cloth was worn and patched. Many had holes that had never seen a needle and thread.
The militiamen grumbled and bellyached. None liked the camp followers, though whenever one of the Barren Women came into sight, the soldiers let their gaze linger and betray their thoughts. The older men who looked like they had the experience of many campaigns behind them complained that they’d never reach the Ancient City if it was the General’s plan to bed down so early every day. The old soldiers wanted to march forth, face the demons in the ruins, and be done with it. They wanted to get back to their houses, warm fires, and wives. The younger soldiers sat on the ground and rubbed their feet, complaining about the march. Some questioned whether they should be out in the wilderness at all. Why not stay within the circle wall and let the hordes come to them? One of them chased Oliver off and told him to go back to his mother’s teats.
The cavalrymen that Oliver came across did not complain. Their uniforms, though damp, were clean from their time on their horses, well above the muddy road. They looked down on the militiamen with disdain in their eyes but said nothing of it. They were in their element, on their way to war, eager, even, but displeased to be babysitting such a mass of inexperienced militiamen and camp followers.
When Oliver spied an enormous tent with a dozen fine horses standing behind it and two dozen stern soldiers surrounding it, he knew he’d found General Blackthorn’s quarters. Far in front of the tent, much too far to provide any warmth, dirty militiamen were leaning long logs together into a pyramid shape. When they were done, they’d light a bonfire that would be visible from everywhere on the pasture. On the side of the bonfire opposite General Blackthorn’s tent, a lesser tent stood, giving all the appearance of having been abandoned. Its front flaps whipped back and forth when the heavy air found enough strength to gust. A handful of guards stood near the tent, looking at it from time to time. They were only a grunt past apathy where the tent was concerned.
Winthrop’s quarters.
Oliver walked slowly around the area, observing, learning. If he was going to kill Winthrop and get away with his life, he needed a plan.
“Hey! Get out of here!” a guard cursed, shooing him away.
Oliver turned his head, lest he draw any more attention.
“Go back to the other side of the pasture with the other sluggards, where you belong!”
“Sorry,” Oliver muttered.
“If I see you again, I’ll give you a beating,” the guard added.
Oliver cursed under his breath, wishing he were a full-grown man who didn’t have to suffer the threats of bullies with swords.
One day, he thought. One day soon.
Chapter 4: Melora
Melora tensed as a demon screeched in the distance. She held fast to her sword.
She and the others found themselves among several pieces of fallen ancient stone, some as big as Melora’s house in Davenport. In some cases, the stones had sunk into the dirt, creating massive holes surrounded by overgrown weeds and plants. Melora looked up. She bit her lip as she pictured hunks of stone falling from the tall buildings, crushing anyone beneath them. She looked back at the forest. It was even smaller than before.
“It’s like a maze,” Melora said.
“The stones will get thicker up ahead,” Bray warned. “We’ll have to be careful navigating around them.”
Bray was right. A few were short, but most stood taller than her, prompting her to keep her distance. Melora’s fear was that something would jump out and attack. Scuttling sounds reminded her that rats lived in the gaps and crevices. She tensed at several such noises, certain that demons were close by.
“Stay close,” Bray warned.
They moved as a unit, keeping only enough distance to swing their swords. William’s sense of wonder seemed to have faded. He hung next to Bray in fear while Melora and Ella traveled behind them.
A gasp from Ella forced Melora to a halt.
Melora spun.
Ella raised her sword. A demon had clambered onto a nearby rock, hissing as it prepared to leap. Ella cried out. Without waiting for it to attack, she charged at it, swinging her blade, cleaving the beast’s ankle. The demon yowled and pitched to the ground. Melora leaped to her aid, spearing the demon, finishing it off.
More cries implied more beasts were coming.
“Come on!” Bray urged, weaving between the rocks.
Melora and Ella kept close, panting as they hurried through mounds of stone. Melora felt like she was in an ancient trap, navigating a path to which only its creators knew the ending. She whipped around rocks, praying their speed and constant change of direction would throw off any demons. Demon cries were everywhere, but with the rocks obscuring her view, she couldn’t tell from where they were coming. Underneath one of the huge stones, she saw a broken arrow and an emptied traveler’s bag; evidence that someone else had been here and possibly perished.
And then they were out in the open.
Melora spun in all directions, inspecting the clear, straight roadway. The debris was spaced out enough that she could see no threats were waiting.
“We might’ve gotten lucky,” Bray whispered.
They traveled hurriedly until they’d crossed a dozen overgrown cross streets and the demon cries had faded in the distance. The sky was gray and colorless, a solid blanket lowered by the gods to protect or crush them.
Soon it’d be dusk.
“We need to find a building before nightfall,” Bray said. “So keep looking.”
William pointed at a cracked monolith. “The roof of that building is gone, and the inside is all black as if there was a fire.”
Desperation crept through Melora’s veins as she studied a building with a caved ceiling, rubble, and stones collecting in the center.
“That one’s no good, either,” Bray said, pointing to a rectangular building with eight floors that reeked like death. “Who knows what will be scuttling over you at night in there.” Bray grinned sideways at Ella. She ignored him.
They finally spotted a large, circular building tucked between the ruins of two others. Unlike the buildings on each side, which were covered in layers of brown and green weeds, this one had aged better. Through the open doorway, Melora saw support beams in what appeared to be a cavernous, rounded room. Some of the beams were crumbling, but most weren’t. The walls and ceiling were relatively intact.
“How about there?” she asked.
Bray, William, and Ella studied a set of steps that led up to it, covered by an overhang. They stopped in the street, listening to the squawk of scavenging birds. Bray cocked his head and peered through the entrance. He looked behind them, studying the street.
“Do you think it’s safe?” Melora asked.
“It might be.”
“It looks much better than most of the buildings we’ve passed,” William said.
“If it’s in good condition, chances are others might’ve noticed it, too.” Bray wrinkled his nose. “We’ll have to be careful. That’s all.”
They veered toward the building. Melora searched the ground for demon paths. Although a few weeds and stones were disturbed, she didn’t see any obvious signs of demons having passed.
After a minute of scrutiny through the entrance, Bray said, “Let’s go.”
Melora shivered as she stepped into the building. The air was cold. It was dry and didn’t smell like demons. The enormous room had plenty of lighting. A few windows placed high above the entrance allowed light to filter to the floor. The rounded roof only had a few cracks, enough to add illumination but not enough to leave it exposed to the elements. A few plants crept through cracks bene
ath their feet. Stairs wound up the left-hand side of the wall.
William reached down and rubbed some dirt off the floor.
“It looks like it was polished!” he said. “And the walls are made of smooth granite.”
“What kind of building was this?” Melora wondered.
Melora looked around the enormous main room. It was filled with waist-high platforms. Most lined the edges of the room, but some were in the middle. She walked to the nearest one and ran her hand over its cracked surface. Her boots crunched on shards of glass. It wasn’t often she encountered glass unless she was looking through a rich merchant’s windows.
“It looks like the platforms were holding something,” she said aloud. “What do you think it was?”
“Skulls of the Ancients’ enemies encased in glass,” Bray said with a confident smile.
“I’m not sure if it’s that,” William said, frowning as he looked around. “Maybe they kept old things here. Maybe the glass was a way of protecting those things.”
Bray gave him an irritated look when he noticed Ella was listening to William instead of him.
“An entire building to house things encased in glass…” Melora whispered. “It’s remarkable to think about.”
She imagined finding some of the treasures—or discovering some of the secrets behind the Tech Magic she’d dreamed about since she’d heard her first tales of the ancient city when she was small. They wandered the cavernous room for several minutes, exploring the platforms as if they might unearth a treasure. The only remnants were the immovable stone and fragments of glass. Melora’s gaze wandered up the cracked stairs on the left-hand side of the room, where the upper halves of several doorways were visible. A balcony along the top floor blocked most of their view of what was inside those rooms.
“What’s up there?” she wondered.
“We’ll check, but we’ll need to be wary,” Bray warned. “Look out for holes in the stairs where a foot might get stuck.”
Melora, Ella, and William followed the Warden up the stairs, heeding his warnings. William slid his hand along the wall, his face painted with excitement. Melora looked out over the rows of platforms, fantasizing about the objects they’d once held. How incredible it must’ve been to be one of the Ancients, surveying the room.
A gasp ripped her attention away.
Ella reached protectively for William. They’d traveled halfway up the stairs, enough to see a demon hunched against the inside of the balcony at the top of the landing. The creature’s head was bowed into its lap.
“It’s dead,” Bray proclaimed.
Bray mounted the remaining stairs, walked over to the demon, and prodded it with his sword. The reek of decay filled Melora’s nose as the creature’s head and arms swung to the side. It toppled onto the floor, and its entrails spread around it.
“It probably came here to die in peace,” Bray said. “Demons eat each other when nothing else is around. You’re lucky I’m here to protect you.” Bray grinned.
Ella and Melora frowned as the Warden walked past, heading into the hallway.
**
The upper floor of the Ancient building was lined with empty doorways. The hallway curved, creating a half circle over the main floor. Melora glanced at each of the thresholds, but didn’t see any movement. Convinced they were alone, other than the demon corpse, Melora, William, Ella, and Bray ducked into the first room.
“If others were here, they would’ve run out at us by now,” Bray said assuredly. “Or we would’ve smelled them.”
Like the expansive platform at the top of the stairs, the room was barren save rectangular display pedestals that lined the walls. An archway formed a half-circle between the first two rooms, providing a view from one room to the other.
Getting comfortable with the certainty that the floor was free of demons, William wove from one room to the next. The others smiled.
“Can we stay here?” William asked, pausing long enough to wait for the answer.
“It seems safe,” Bray said. “The stairs should give us a buffer. We won’t have time to find another building. Night will be here soon.”
“We can barricade the doorway downstairs, right?” Melora asked.
“Yes. That’d be a good idea,” Bray said.
“I saw some broken stones that we should be able to move,” Melora suggested. “It won’t be perfect, but it might give us some time to react if the demons decide to come in.”
William’s nod betrayed his excitement. “I’ve never stayed in a building with two connected rooms before. Can Melora and I sleep in the second one?”
Melora smiled, flattered.
Ella studied him with trepidation. “You’ll need to sleep close to the archway. If some demons come in…”
“I’ll be careful, Mom. I promise.”
“I guess it should be okay.”
No sooner had Ella answered than William traipsed off, unslinging his bag. He set it on the floor in the adjacent room. Noticing Melora’s gaze, he said, “Come on, Melora! Pick your spot!”
Chapter 5: Fitzgerald
Fitzgerald sat in a chair in Father Nelson’s guest quarters. She had no desire to leave. Of all the places in the Sanctuary, no one would look for her here.
She’d already made Father Nelson’s bed, tucking in the sheet corners as he liked, dimming the lights down to one candle so he could do his evening readings. Father Winthrop had instructed her to take care of Father Nelson during his stay, and she’d heeded those instructions, even after Nelson’s death.
One of his novices had already come for his belongings. Fitz thought she’d seen a smirk on the man’s face as he’d taken the bag filled with clothing and who knew what other valuables.
She knew the items would never make it back to his family.
Thinking of Father Nelson’s family brought with it the memory of his papery white skin turning to ash. She’d heard his screams as his body mingled with the smoke in the air. Even though she hadn’t killed Father Nelson herself, Fitz had played the game that had cost him his life, and that game had overwhelmed her with guilt.
As much as she wanted to blame Franklin, she understood why Franklin had burned Father Nelson on the pyre, just as she now understood why he’d beaten Oliver.
A position of power was no guarantee of free will.
She might not have to clean Winthrop’s filthy chamber pot, but she’d have new challenges, all the same. Fitzgerald’s tears were already spent. All she wanted to do was sleep.
She smoothed the red merchant’s dress over her knees, covering the remaining scabs and bruises left by Tenbrook. The wounds would heal, but her memories of the brutal attack would remain. She’d given a lot of thought about what to tell Franklin.
She couldn’t say anything.
If she told Franklin, he’d make some rash move that might get them both killed, ruining everything they’d built. She told herself what she’d done had been worth it, though the crusted scabs and the twisted memories screamed otherwise.
The idea of Franklin ruling next to Tenbrook made her sick. The memory of what he’d done would live in every movement, every glance he gave her. She envisioned Tenbrook counting his soldiers, eyeing the next woman he’d attack. The thought chilled her blood. But she remembered what Blackthorn had told her. As far as Tenbrook goes, he’ll forget you once you’re not in his house. She prayed that was the case. She gritted her teeth and choked back thoughts of killing Tenbrook in his sleep. Even if she could get past the guards and the thick doors and manage to kill him, people might suspect her or Franklin. She couldn’t risk that.
It seemed like such a short time ago she’d been Mary’s dispirited servant; now she was a woman in a position of relative power.
Franklin would do a better job than Winthrop.
; “He has to,” she whispered, with no choice but to believe it.
Chapter 6: Winthrop
Winthrop looked across the throngs of people in the campsite, realizing he’d walked so far that he couldn’t see a single cavalryman or militiaman. He couldn’t tell which of the distant tents was his. All he saw around him were the staring eyes of pig chasers and dirt scratchers, cobblers and tailors, harlots and whelps, all with questions on their faces, questions that said: give me answers, give me comfort, give me food, give me warmth.
They were stupid. They were lazy. They stank of dirty clothes and unwashed bodies.
Winthrop hurried through them, wishing he could run, wishing he could elude the frightful shadow that was nipping at his heels but was always gone when he cast an eye behind. He wished he could eat something and keep it from running through his gut so fast that he was squatting before he finished chewing. He wished he could close his eyes and sleep without quaking at all the ghosts clawing at him out of the darkness.
His back and his legs hurt from sitting in the saddle on that sadistic beast of a horse. His crotch was chaffed raw. He was wet to the bone, sweating. His life was misery, and that wicked Blackthorn was the cause.
Blackthorn’s name was like that of an ancient, unspeakable devil, sending shivers up Winthrop’s spine.
If only there were a way to exorcise that devil.
The fear came nipping at Winthrop’s heels again, and he hurried through a gang of gawking onlookers, bowling over an apprentice boy and his wretched master.
Hurry. Hurry. Don’t let it catch you.
He headed for a distant bonfire, hoping to keep the shadow at bay.