The Tithe

by Elle Hill

  “Well, yeah, I know,” she said. “But what were they like?”

  “A lot like all of you,” he said calmly. “They just lived with different rules, different beliefs.”

  “Without honoring their god,” she murmured.

  “They had gods back then.”

  Josh’s breath stopped. She hadn’t known that! Gods? More than one? Finally, she asked, “How many did you kill?”

  “Thousands, maybe millions.”

  Her breath locked up. Finally, she choked, “Did you mind killing them?”

  “No more than I minded taking Tithes much later.”

  She fell asleep shortly thereafter, held safely and lovingly in the arms of someone who had slaughtered millions. Her dreams teemed with gore.

  Josh awakened with a start to find Garyn looking at her.

  “My dad always says it’s not polite to tell people they drool during sleep,” she said.

  “Uh-huh,” Josh mumbled.

  “But you did,” the girl said helpfully.

  Josh wiped her mouth. “Thanks.”

  “Anyway, it’s dinnertime. RJ said to tell you it’s roast and potatoes.”

  Josh ate a light dinner while chatting with Lynna. Next to her, Blue’s solidity warmed her, just as his cool silence comforted her.

  She really, really wished she could take some aspirin.

  After dinner, Lynna bustled to the kitchen to wash dishes. Moments later, Netta settled next to Josh with a small “oomph” in Lynna’s usual place. A minute of silence passed. Two.

  Staring at the entrance to Josh and Blue’s hallway, Netta said softly, slowly, “I’m sorry you were hurt.”

  “Thank you,” Josh said.

  “I know there were two people involved,” Netta said. “Everyone is talking about it.” Josh almost groaned. “I just wanted you to know.” She paused for a long moment. “I want you to know I didn’t do it.”

  Josh sat back in surprise, crushing Blue’s arm behind her. She wondered what he thought of this exchange.

  “I know,” she said.

  Netta nodded. “Good. I thought you might, well, wonder.”

  Josh smiled. “If you ever came after me, I’d be dead.”

  Netta glanced up in alarm and relaxed when she saw Josh’s expression. “I’m not that ruthless,” she said.

  “Ruthless? Oh, yes. But I know you’re not violent.”

  Netta shook her head. “You have quite the tongue on you, young lady,” she said. She rose and tottered away, but Josh still saw her small, pleased smile.

  Early evening crept into late evening. Bit by bit, so subtly Josh doubted anyone noticed, the knot tying together their group cinched tighter and tighter. Their boundaries shrank from an erratic scattering to a tight circle of bodies.

  Blue scooted even closer to her, and his arm, casually thrown over her shoulder, wasn’t. Unless she told him no with all the firmness in her, he would keep her safe tonight.

  She looked around the room at the thirty-nine others. It wasn’t such a large number. Thirty-nine pairs of tense shoulders, thirty-nine sets of tense lips, thirty-nine prayers to Elovah to spare them one more time.

  Spare them, she prayed.

  As the late evening pressed forward, Marcus left for his room. RJ, Lynna, and Garyn retired early to play games in their own rooms. Josh thought RJ wanted to keep Lynna as close to her as possible when the angel came.

  An hour or so after leaving the Great Hall, RJ, eyes darting, mouth locked into a grimace, wheeled herself with fierce motions out of the hallway that housed her and Lynna’s room. Josh frowned and sat forward. RJ rolled to a stop before Josh.

  “Are you—” Josh began.

  “Can you come talk to Lynna? There’s . . . it’s . . . look, she’s not looking good.”

  Josh bolted to her feet, gritted her teeth against the pain, and followed RJ toward Lynna’s and her room. Blue strode behind her.

  Josh’s legs burned in her boots, and her head throbbed a nauseating rhythm. Her hot breath scalded her throat. But, Lynna. It was Lynna.

  They reached the door, and RJ maneuvered her chair to allow Josh to come forward.

  “There’s not enough room for all of us,” RJ told Blue. Her breath came in gasps, perhaps from fear, perhaps exertion. Possibly both. “And this is women’s business. Sorry, big guy.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Josh said, flapping her hand at Blue. “It’s just Lynna.”

  She opened the door and shuffled inside the room. On her right, the bed lay empty.

  Motion to the left of the door had her turning her head a moment too late. A shove sent her stumbling to the bed. Her knees kissed concrete.

  Before she could get up, a small, metallic sound snicked. She’d been locked in.

  Josh concentrated on not throwing up as she turned her head to the left. One other person occupied the room, and it wasn’t Lynna.

  Don’t vomit, don’t vomit, she commanded herself, swallowing several times in succession.

  “Where’s Lynna?” she finally asked in a calm voice.

  “She’s all right,” Marcus said.

  Josh tried to get to her feet, but the fire in her legs burned too brightly. Instead, she dropped onto her bottom and stared up at the handsome blond man standing near the door. She opened her mouth to ask what was happening and then closed it.

  “You’re the other one from two days ago,” she said.

  Marcus, their leader.

  “You’re going to kill me, right?” she asked. Her eyes skittered around the room, looking for a weapon within range. Unless she planned to suffocate him with the bed’s thin, green blanket, she was out of luck.

  Marcus shook his head. “Killing is a sin.”

  Josh narrowed her eyes. “Um, so is helping a killer kill. Just because it wasn’t your hand wielding the knife doesn’t mean you’re not complicit.”

  He stood, arms crossed over his chest. Marcus didn’t project the same frigid inscrutability as Blue. Instead, his blue eyes clouded with all the thoughts crowding his pretty yellow head.

  “Why am I here, then?” Josh asked.

  “I just need to keep you here long enough,” Marcus said.

  She stared at him for a moment, eyes narrowed. Then, finally, she understood. “For the angel to come.”

  He leaned forward very slightly, lowering his voice. “I know it wants you,” he said. “Blue hides you from it under his cloak.”

  “How do you know that?” she demanded.

  “I watch you every time the angel comes,” he whispered back. “Everyone keeps their heads bowed, their eyes closed. I leave the room but sneak back and watch you whenever it comes. I know what Blue is.”

  “Marcus . . .” She began in frustration. “Then you know Blue will break that lock and be in here soon. I’m not sure why he’s not in here yet.”

  “RJ’s stalling him, telling him horror stories about Lynna,” Marcus said. “I told her to make up something about him needing to fetch some bandages for self-inflicted wounds. When the angel comes, it’ll take him three minutes to break the lock. I timed him last time. The angel—” The lights went out. Josh could hear the smile in Marcus’ voice. “—never takes that long.”

  The darkness pressed against her eyeballs, filled her nostrils. She breathed it in. “RJ’s my friend,” Josh whispered, hands fisted. She’d forgotten all about her part in this. RJ, the woman who regaled them with stories from her life before. RJ, the woman loved by Josh’s closest friend.

  RJ, one of her close friends.

  “So am I, Josh,” Marcus said gently. “And don’t hate RJ. I told her the angel would come for Lynna if Blue kept shielding you.”

  She heard the first snap of wings.

  “Then why do this, Marcus?” she asked.

  “Because I’m the leader. It’s up to me to ensure you all face your destinies with faith and humility, not projecting your doubt and fears and worshipping false angels. One terrified person, one person without faith, infects us all
.”

  “Joshua!” Blue shouted from the other side of the door. “Open the door!”

  “I can’t!” she called. “Marcus is holding me here!”

  The darkness sighed against her lips. She breathed it in, tasted it. “You had them all—Len, Sira, Kadin—killed for being doubters,” she said.

  The sound of wings grew closer. Blue pounded on the door. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!

  “I’m trying to save them all,” Marcus called.

  The town should have caught my mother’s condition. People like her shouldn’t be allowed to bring children into their lives.

  Marcus had turned over his own mother to be sacrificed as a Tithe.

  “Don’t do this, Marcus!” she cried.

  “It’s my duty to Elovah,” he had to shout now in order to be heard over the pounding . . . and the crack of wings.

  “Blue will kill you.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m already dead, Josh.”

  “Joshua!” Blue screamed. His voice was anguished.

  BOOM! BOOM! She heard something, perhaps metal, squeal briefly.

  A gust of air brushed her hair back from her head. Josh lifted her face.

  “Tell them I love them!” she shouted to Blue.

  “JOSHUA!” The pounding continued. More metal groaned.

  She reached up an arm.

  “I love you, Blue!” she yelled.

  The door crashed open.

  Chapter 13

  The door shrieked open and banged against the concrete wall behind it. Blue stepped inside.

  “Joshua!” he shouted, but he knew. The pressure in the air, the clap of wings, the susurrus whispers in his head: all had ceased.

  A brief rustle of cloth had him spinning to his left. His left hand wound into material; his right balled into a fist he imagined the size of an autobus.

  “She’s gone,” Marcus said. Although spoken at his normal volume, his words roared in the sudden quiet.

  A sensation, louder than the ocean, sharper than the slice of a sword, fiercer than the sun, spiraled outward from his core and into his head and all four of his limbs. It chimed in harmony with the background pain that sang the song of his existence.

  “You killed her!” Blue roared. His hands shook with the effort it took not to rend, tear, and snap.

  “I just let the order of things progress,” Marcus said. He sounded calm, satisfied.

  “You. Finally. Succeeded. In killing her!” The last word turned into a howl of pain, of desperation. He’d understood everything when Josh had named Marcus her captor. Of course he would be the one with the keys, have sway over others’ actions. Blue thought he even knew why: they loved her, they feared her. Joshua, their real leader, the spirit of their collectivity.

  Like fangs, like thorns, the pain pierced his head. He roared once again.

  Blue knew the only cure for this scratching, this burning under his skin: Bathing his hands in the hot flow of the traitor’s blood.

  Josh’s jaws cracked in an enormous yawn. She stretched her legs, pointing her toes and raising her arms over her head. A fluffy pillow puffed around the sides of her face.

  Fluffy pillow? She hadn’t known a cushiony pillow in—well, ever.

  Her eyes cracked, and she blinked against the brightness of the room. To her right, a giant window, stretching ten or twelve feet high, spanned almost the entire length of the white wall. Filmy white curtains filtered the sunlight into soft, fairied hues that fell like sighs to the beige-tiled floor. Beyond the windows, a landscape of hot yellow desert sat in loving, obedient silence.

  So far, heaven seemed pretty decent. For one, her room size had multiplied by ten. Second, the air tasted sweet and fresh on her tongue. She hadn’t realized how accustomed she’d become to the stale air of the bunker. Silence stroked her ear, but it was the silence of expectations rather than the cold absence of sound.

  She sat up and swung her legs off the bed. Her head pounded, albeit more dully than it had in the room with Marcus. She tried standing and found her feet wobbled.

  Well, that was disappointing. Pain didn’t end in heaven?

  She thought of Blue and his agonized shouts before the angel had whisked her away. A weight in her chest tried to pull her breastbone into her stomach.

  No, pain didn’t end in heaven.

  She sat back down on the bed and suddenly spied her shiny, brown boots. Drawing them on, she wondered if they’d been there before. Well, it was heaven. Making boots materialize was probably the least of the wonders here.

  Josh stood up. She thought her legs might hurt a little less than usual, but not enough to start skipping through the room.

  Her bed seemed the only furniture in this enormous room. Twenty or so feet away stood an open door, painted a gentle ivory. Not a lot of chromatic diversity in heaven.

  What should she do? Stay here in the bedroom, or explore? Remembering her advice to the Tithes a month ago about Elovah’s gift of curiosity, she quit the room.

  Outside, a hallway stretched interminably in both directions. Its white paint matched the interior of her room, but no open windows spilled light into its lengthy expanse. The dim hallway simply stretched into darkness on either side.

  Right or left?

  A large painting with an ornate gold frame hung heavily, expectantly on the wall opposite her door. Josh walked slowly toward it. She almost forgot the pain in her feet and legs.

  The subject of the painting was an older man, painted from the waist up. He wore a handsome gold shirt and a dark brown vest, the kind Josh had seen on teachers and other master crafters. Gray-white hair cupped his shoulders; one shiny lock trailed down past his collarbone. Brown eyes crinkled with a sardonic humor that echoed in the tilt of his smile. One arm rested loosely at his side.

  “Avery,” Josh whispered. Her eyes stung.

  She half-expected him to open his learned mouth and speak to her, dead person to dead person. Or perhaps to gesture at her, or smile in recognition. He did none of those things.

  Instead, he pointed.

  Avery’s likeness sat at ease before the viewer—in this instance, her—but for one minor detail: his right arm pointed to her left.

  Josh waited for a minute for Avery to suddenly spring to life and hold an uplifting, or at least edifying, conversation with her. Finally, she whispered, “I miss you” to the picture and walked to the left.

  Ten or twelve feet later, she encountered the next painting, this one on her left. A little girl, perhaps six years old, clad in a colorful, beaded shirt. A shiny red ribbon held her brown hair from her face. Dark eyes peered from a light brown face, lit by a guileless smile.

  “I’m sorry, Izel,” Josh murmured into the quiet of the room. The words surprised her. “You look . . .” Her voice broke. Moisture seeped from her eyes. “You look happy, though.”

  She stood a moment longer before the likeness of the little girl before walking on. When the next painting loomed on her right, she took a deep breath and planted herself before it. A young woman, smiling shyly. She wore a blue, round-necked shirt and a necklace of chunky orange amber. Her mouth was wide, her eyes brown and sparkling. She also pointed down the hallway.

  Mare, the young woman Josh had “married” to Kadin.

  Josh murmured her name and proceeded down the hallway. Although the pain in her legs sizzled, it had leveled off into something awful but not unbearable. That was probably best, since she apparently had twenty-nine more stops to make before she reached her destination.

  A portrait of Sira greeted her next. Sira, the young, blond woman who had found their life so unendurable. Sira, whom Marcus had had murdered. Her last view of Sira—bloody, unnaturally pale, twitching toward her—had occupied many a nightmare. Josh felt a small loosening in her stomach to see Sira grinning saucily, head tilted and eyes wide and playful. She, too, pointed the way down the hallway.

  The next painting featured Kadin and the next, Kann, the man who had grieved so piteously
for his lost love. The men, both clad in festive clothing, smiled and pointed ever onward.

  Of the pictures that followed, Josh knew maybe two-thirds of their names. Still, she stopped before every one of them and spoke their name or marveled at their easy smiles before moving on.