by Donald Brown
Frieda and her husband were heading to a place they thought would suit them best when the confectionaries she was carrying fell to the ground. She hunched to pick them up, but Dan jerked her away. “Just leave it woman,” he hissed as he half-dragged her forward.
She threw his arm off, disgruntled, and continued to pick up her things. “It is just a storm, Dan, and it still has some way to travel before it reaches us,” she said in a muffled voice, as she was placing the precious confectionaries back in the basket.
Dan glanced at the dark clouds one more time.
This wasn’t just a storm.
He decided to continue on his own and left an annoyed Frieda behind.
When she had finished collecting her confectionaries, she stood up once again to follow her husband, but then stopped in her tracks as a thought suddenly struck her. Where are Dorothy and little Yara?
Never mind, her subconscious told her after a short while. They are both sensible, they will find a safe place to hide somewhere.
Soon, most of Zion’s residents were taking shelter from the storm, hiding inside various buildings and hoping the storm’s fury would subside instead of increase. By now, the clouds had slowly started to blot out the sun, sending the area below into an eerie darkness.
The first lightning bolt flashed in the sky and then thundered throughout the city, sending the few remaining stragglers honing for the safety of buildings. The lightning strike was instantaneously followed by an icy cascade of rain, something that felt to the few who’d experienced it as if it was slicing through their flesh and into their bones. Everyone felt afraid and most of them had decided to take refuge either in the local tavern to the south, or in the church building to the north, depending on which was closer to them.
Those who had found their haven in the Roasting Boar decided to drink themselves through the rainstorm.
Tom was quite plastered before anyone else and shouted loudly: “Perhaps ’twas Mr. Meyers who brought the storm!” He staggered upright and waved his hands around in the air.
Mr. Meyers, who was sitting with his kids at a table in the corner of the pub, chuckled at this. Another man took hold of Tom’s shoulders and brought him smashing down on the bar counter, causing the rest of the occupants to jolt upright. “Shut up, you blithering idiot.”
On the other side of Zion, those at the church sought their protection in spiritual activities.
Father Dennis was conducting a sermon and felt somewhat vindicated for his years of dire prophecies. “Be sure of only one thing, citizens of Zion,” he said, pointing to the sky with an index finger. “This is punishment from God! For our lack of belief and for our refusal to turn to the scripture for answers. Do not see this as the end, but as a chance to redeem yourselves. For believe me, my friends, if we do not shift our ways, this may just be a small portend of what is to come.” He then proceeded to lead those attending into prayer.
At first they thought that the noise of the tempest would be the worst thing they would hear that evening, but after another blast of lightning there followed a heart-wrenching scream. This made some citizens peer through the windows, curious to see where it had come from. Had someone been struck by lightning? But, as they saw nobody outside, they resumed their silent vigil, hoping that it had been a trick of the cacophony around them.
The problem with storms, however, was that one could not always hide from it.
On occasion it forced you to confront it.
***
Oliver was on guard duty and sat on the ramparts, huddled behind a pillar, desperately trying to keep himself warm with a thin cotton blanket. He was still trying to absorb the shock of this sudden storm when he heard a banging on the wooden gate below.
What in the blazes? he thought. He peered over the wall, straining to keep his footing, when he noticed a person standing on the other side, knocking on the wooden surface with balled fists. He rushed to pull the lever, which caused the gates to fly open and then – covering himself as best he could with the blanket – he sped down the stairs to reach the city gates. As he looked up, he realized who was standing before him. “Ms. Kuttle!” he cried out, his voice drowning in the howling storm around them.
Oliver was taken aback at first, seeing the school teacher soaked, the bursts of lightning making her seem like an apparition in the darkness.
She marched up to him, her eyes averted and red. “Where is the sheriff?” she asked.
Now over his initial shock, Oliver responded, “The sheriff? Uhm... the sheriff is most probably at the tavern, Ms. Kuttle… is there something wrong…?” His voice trailed off as she sprinted past him, leaving him watching her with a perplexed expression on his face.
Then the inclement weather brought him back to reality and he rushed back to his post, annoyed that of all nights, this was the one he should be on guard duty.
28
With his sword poised above his brother’s head, Hadrian was looking at him in a kind of a funny way.
Storm gazed back, his blue eyes still filled with tears. He detected a faint sense of hesitation in Hadrian, who stood still for so long that Storm thought he must have changed his mind.
But then he brought the sword down in a quick motion and Storm closed his eyes with a gulp, bracing for the sudden incredible pain…
…which never came.
He only heard the whistle of the sword and felt a breath of wind against his face, followed by a bloodcurdling scream and then a slashing sound behind him.
Upon opening his eyes again, Storm realized that his brother had just beheaded the Peacekeeper who’d been crouching behind him to hold his hands steady. Now Hadrian appeared to be quite shocked at what he had done.
“What in the name of the Guardian are we doing?” one of the Peacekeepers in the doorway asked incredulously.
Hadrian raised the sword in his right hand once more and planted his feet wide apart, now facing the two remaining Peacekeepers.
“What are we doing, Hadrian?” Storm managed to say.
His brother seemed almost as astonished as Storm himself when he turned his head ever so slightly and said, “We are saving our life, Storm. We made a promise.”
Storm didn’t know whether he felt more bewildered at the mention of his real name or the mention of a promise. His brother had gone completely crazy. But he was alive!
The Red Cloaks in the doorway at last appeared to be regaining their senses and realizing what was going on. “How dare we act in this manner?” one of them shouted. “The Guardian and the Council have found the boy unfit to live, and now we have killed one of our own? What is wrong with us?”
“We did not find the boy unfit to live, however,” Hadrian said, slapping his chest with his left hand in total confidence.
“What kind of blasphemy is this?!” the Peacekeeper spluttered back.
Nevertheless, Hadrian refused to budge. He just stood there in an attacking position. He was ready for the two Peacekeepers, who were now also drawing their swords. Clearly Hadrian’s mind had been made up. Storm slowly rose to his feet and then took position behind his brother, his arms held up in the air to indicate a sign of surrender.
“You will pay for this!” one of the Peacekeepers yelled, and then both of them pounced.
In a super swift motion, Hadrian turned, grabbed Storm by his sleeve and jumped to the left, dragging his brother with him. The two peacekeepers soared through the gap in the air and slammed into the opposite wall, heads first. Then came two loud cracking sounds (like fireworks going off, Storm thought) before they both slumped down to the floor, one unconscious and one howling in agony.
Hadrian and Storm shared a look of astonishment.
They heard movement from the door and swirled back to see the Outsider standing there, smiling his lopsided smile. He was holding a gun in his hand – something neither of the two Sanctuarian brothers have ever seen – with smoke coming from the barrel. The Outsider brought the device to his mouth and blew the cordite-smell
ing air away.
“It looked like you boys needed some help,” he said, strolling past them to inspect the two victims against the wall.
He had shot the one through the head and the other one through one of his lungs. As he was about to finish the job, the second Peacekeeper abruptly gave his last gargling breath and died right there in front of their eyes.
The Outsider holstered his gun and withdrew a small ivory pipe from a bag that was hanging over his shoulder. He then produced a silver lighter – another mystery to Storm and Hadrian – and proceeded to light his pipe. Then he stood there, puffing smoke for about half a minute, while the two brothers just stared at him, stunned.
“That’s better,” he finally said, after exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. He looked at the two corpses against the wall and spoke in a deep voice. “I know you crazies don’t want me to smoke inside your precious Mountain, but seeing as I just blew the two of you up, I think smoking is the least of our worries.”
All of a sudden, they heard shouts of alarm echoing from the passageway.
“I guess they must have found the body of the Red Cloak I killed,” the Outsider said casually, while extinguishing his pipe and putting it back into his bag. He walked to the doorway, but then noticed that the two brothers were just standing there, unmoved. The Outsider turned around impatiently and raised his brow. “So, are you coming or not?”
It took a moment for Storm to realize what the Outsider was offering them. He was asking them to come with him to his world. But…
“You are an Outsider,” Hadrian said, voicing Storm’s concern.
He had agreed to escape, but he had never imagined it being with the help of an Outsider.
The Outsider sighed and rolled his eyes. “And?”
Hadrian watched him in silence, while Storm shrugged his shoulders.
“Look, boy,” the Outsider snapped, “you just disobeyed your oh-so-mighty Guardian, as well as your annoying Council of Peacekeepers, or whatever the hell they call themselves. They are going to be after your blood now and seeing as you obviously prefer to be alive than dead, it seems like your only option is to follow me.”
The two brothers were still hesitant, but then they heard the sound of footsteps hurrying up the hallway, which prompted Storm to say, “Let’s go with him, Hadrian.” They had no choice, he figured. The outside world could only be a better place than what they could expect from Sanctuary at that point in time.
“That a boy,” the Outsider said. “Finally SOMEONE is talking sense in this place.”
Hadrian looked at Storm for a split-second and then nodded, reluctantly. They ambled over towards the Outsider and awkwardly took up position behind him.
***
Before the large force of Peacekeepers could reach them, the Outsider led them deeper into the Mountain, past the helpers operating in the workrooms, who were now curiously peering out to see what all the commotion was about.
The Peacekeepers were closing in on them and there were repeated shouts of “Stop!” as they hurried down the pathway, which had reached its peak and was now gradually declining.
The Outsider removed what looked like a ball of metal from his bag of endless wonders and flicked it over his shoulder, towards the incoming Sanctuarians behind them. Storm, intrigued, watched the object land between the Peacekeepers, who all skidded to a halt and stared at it warily. When nothing happened, they charged again in apparent triumph, but then a brief wave of white light suddenly radiated from the ball. The Outsider yanked the two brothers around before they could witness the full blast. “It’s called a flash bang,” he shouted over the hullabaloo, panting slightly. “It blinds everyone who watches it detonate.”
Although Storm gave a quick nod, he didn’t really understand anything at all anymore. He felt as if the world he had always known had been turned upside down in the past week. He wheeled around to see Hadrian’s reaction and was surprised to see his brother was no longer with them. Hadrian was busy walking back to the Peacekeepers. “Perhaps we can help them,” he mumbled with a concerned look on his face.
The Outsider leapt after him and grabbed him by his robe, whirling him around to bring the two face-to-face. “Listen to me, kid!” he shouted, gripping Hadrian’s robe tightly in his hands. “I am not going to die in this place and those fools are going to kill you. You know that! So stop screwing around and let’s go!”
Hadrian came to his senses and the continued down the passageway.
Ninety yards further, they reached a stone door that was edged awkwardly into the Mountain. It was guarded by two uniformed Peacekeepers, who raised their swords as the three of them came closer.
Storm and Hadrian slowed down, but the Outsider simply drew his weapon and fired two shots. The sounds boomed through the passageway and made Storm’s ears ring. The two red cloaks fell to the floor, clutching their stomachs in agony.
The Outsider raced past them and yanked the door open. “Come on!” he shouted, beckoning for them to hurry through.
Hadrian rushed through the doors while the Outsider kept watch, focusing his gaze on their rear as they moved forward. The moment Hadrian was on the other side, a loud, despairing cry escaped his mouth.
When Storm followed him, he instantly knew why.
They were in the tunnel…
29
Ms. Kuttle hurried through the streets of Zion at the height of this particular storm. The rain was now pouring down so fiercely that it blurred her vision. She passed a group of children, Alfred and Kurt among them, who were taking advantage of the rare opportunity to play in the rain. There were fearless – as children usually were – stomping on the little rivers that had formed on the cobble stone road and splashing water over each other, giggling. When he noticed his teacher, Kurt opened his mouth.
“Ms. Kuttle where is…”
But Kurt stopped his question in midtrack, when they all noticed her usual smile was replaced with angst and the sleeves of her dress were covered in blood. She went flying past them and the children exchanged a look of confusion, before Kurt threw Alfred back into the water and the fighting recommenced.
The intensity of the storm was now picking up at a tremendous pace. So much so that Dorothy Kuttle passed one house where the door and windows were continually battering against their frames, since the wind had ripped the locks and latches away.
She dodged a sudden torrent of water from the gutter of the house, even though it was a futile attempt. She was already drenched from top to bottom. It did not seem that she was completely aware of her surroundings. The pelting rain masked the tears on her face – the only trace of her emotional pain – and she continued jogging, determined to tell someone of authority about what she had seen.
Doctor Ron opened the door of his house to make a dash across the street and witnessed in bewilderment as Ms. Kuttle sped past, her dress torn at the bottom. “Ms. Kuttle?” he shouted. “Ms. Kuttle!” he added with more urgency, but his cries were lost in the fury of the rain.
Now and then the sound of the rain was eclipsed by a boom of thunder that echoed through Zion. Yet, even the arching lightning bolts forming in the distance couldn’t remove the horrible picture in Dorothy’s mind. She had seen something that could not be unseen. This vision was now driving her, urging her onwards.
Reaching the plateau of the road beyond the market, she slipped on a slick stone. This broke her momentum and she collapsed to the pavement, a tumble that sent a sharp pain up her knee. Hunkered over, she let out an inaudible cry of frustration. Then after a moment of regrouping, she remembered her mission.
Glancing up at the buildings ahead, she spotted her destination.
The tavern’s metal signboard was dangling in the wind, making the emblem of the Roasting Boar look like it was running back and forth.
She staggered upright and covered the remaining eighty yards to the building, straining against the strong breeze. From the windows, she could see light inside, which was falling on to the paveme
nt in rays. Upon reaching the door, she wrenched it open and stumbled into the cheerful pub, bent over and clutching at her chest.
“Yara has been stabbed, Yara has been…!” And then, realizing the finality of her words, she succumbed to sobs.
Her announcement was followed by another clap of thunder, sounding dangerously close.
The festive atmosphere was instantly replaced by a state of confused disbelief. Some of the patrons slowly rose to their feet, at least those that could manage. Others remained seated, seemingly paralyzed. They couldn’t comprehend the news. Yara? The five-year-old girl? One man hurried to close the door behind Ms. Kuttle, as the rain was now gushing in, drenching her even further. As the door was shut, the frightful sound of the storm diminished a little.
The first person to reach Dorothy’s side was Frieda. She crouched down next to her crying friend. “Tell us what happened, Dorothy,” she said, pushing her fiery red hair from her face. The rest of the tavern patrons began to form a circle around them.
After a moment, Dorothy’s sobs subsided somewhat and she recounted her story, which was now and then punctuated by awful haggard gasps.
“Yara…” she started, but one of the men immediately exclaimed, “Louder!”
Some of these men – especially the ones who had been in the tavern since early in the afternoon – were a bit disgruntled by the fact that their cheerful drinking evening had been interrupted and wanted a good reason why. Frieda frowned in response.
“Yara went to play with the other children…” Dorothy struggled. She caught her breath before blowing her nose in a handkerchief, handed to her by Frieda. She emitted a trumpet-like sound, which made one of the men grimace, but luckily Frieda didn’t notice. She then continued in a clearer voice. “But she took much longer to… to return. So, I went out to find her.” She looked at Frieda, whilst still wiping tears from her face. Frieda was nodding encouragingly, but then Dorothy appeared to become horrified. “She was… she was beyond the fence… I found her lying… outside… beneath a Willow tree… near where George…” This was too much for Dorothy and she descended into miserable tears once more.