The Fallow

by Alicia Britton

  “No,” James countered. “I won’t let you do that!”

  “I have to! It’s the only way. You know it as well as I do.”

  She was prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice—Fallowization in exchange for his life.

  It was such a romantic gesture, and one the Holy Authority surprisingly agreed to. Corollary clearly despised himself for putting his wife in this position, but he didn’t contest anything further.

  Clara was taken to Fallow Authorization Headquarters and Corollary—Dr. James Ashforth—was sent to the Treasurer of Portsmith. They wouldn’t kill him there, but they’d do their part to bleed him dry.

  Virtue swiped away another tear. It was something she wished she had done for Herald. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of that. She blamed it on debilitating fear and inexcusable naïveté. She had convinced herself that he’d be spared somehow.

  Then and there, she vowed to never let that happen again.

  “Before we break for recess, we’ll conclude our proceedings against The Verity Chronicles with . . . Virtue. Please step forward and offer your plea.”

  Conclude?

  Where was the Captain in all this? How did he evade the court summons entirely? Wouldn’t he have to deliver his lies . . . “for the record?”

  Rising from her seat, she scanned the faces of the men across from her one last time. As some left, others would take their places. Even so, the Captain was not there and never had been as far as she could tell.

  Still in handcuffs, she made her way through the crowded, narrow aisle. Other doomed women looked at her, some with curiosity or admiration. Some with hope in their eyes, willing to share it with her. Others clearly wished her Fallow, or worse, if there was such a thing. Their animosity could have been for what she had done, or maybe it was for what they thought she represented. Because of her youth and appearance, her swollen eyes and unbruised body, they assumed she was spoiled and weak. Therefore, the Holy Authority and the Verdict Panel would go easy on her.

  “Virtue, my dear. . .” The Holy Authority lowered his reading glasses. She felt naked as his eyes wandered over her tattered clothes, taking special interest in the buttons missing on her blouse. “High Treason is a very serious offence.”

  “I am well aware of that. Thank you.”

  “Could you explain to the courtroom why a girl of such outstanding Bearing potential would feel the need to put her matrimonial future in jeopardy? And merely for the sake of publishing this disgraceful excuse for composition?”

  What would Herald say in her position? Better yet, what could she come up with on her own that would make him proud of her?

  “I—” She paused to swallow the lump in her throat and to blink away the fog, her eyes flitting over the many men who acted as if they could see to her bare skin. All the while, she was digging her nails into her fists so that her blood could join Herald’s. “I believe in love . . . not Bonding or Bearing unless the three blend and unify.” She sensed the head shakes, the under-the-breath mockery, the eyes to heaven throughout the room. And she clenched her spine tight, rising higher. “Polygamy is now and never shall be best for everyone,” she continued, her voice louder but no less calm. “As the plurality of marriage expands, a man may increase his status and yet his wives are left to question their worth. I also believe in a human’s right to express oneself, to act, to love openly without rules or boundaries . . . or penalty. And love can take many forms, and I believe adults should have control over their own bodies . . . their own thoughts . . . their own destinies . . . without fear of oppression. And if you told me I had the option to go back in time, and once again, make the choice to write or refuse, my path would not sway.”

  Amid a few claps and whistles, she nodded once to let the Holy Authority know she was through. It was his move.

  The rising chatter in the courtroom soon required a reaction with the gavel. “Quiet, please!” he barked over the restless crowd. “Although I have no doubt, Miss Virtue, that your response was heartfelt, the law is the law. And—”

  A man Virtue had never seen before suddenly appeared at the bench, one hand raised to suggest he had a message to deliver.

  The Holy Authority was the only audience he sought, though. And the intruder had much to say behind the shield of his hand.

  Leaning to the side to better hear his words, the man in charge nodded a few times, giving nothing away. Before long, he straightened in his chair and said, not necessarily to everyone but loud enough for Virtue to overhear: “Yes, I’ll allow for that.” He cracked the gavel to call the room to order. “Virtue, you’ve received a motion for a private conference.”

  He made a “come forward” gesture to someone behind her.

  “What?” She glanced over her shoulder. Two Authority Figures were closing in on her.

  “Escort her to Examination Room 3.”

  The Authorities nodded and cuffed both of her arms in their iron-handed grip.

  “Is there anything else you’d like to say to clear your conscience?” the Holy Authority asked her as they began carting her away.

  “My name is Virtue,” she cried out for all to hear. “I’d rather die by that name than live another day forsaking it!”

  Then it was time to go. That’s what she was told to do. That’s what force demanded of her.

  The Authorities could squeeze her arms until they turned purple, but she would not go willingly. And the thunderous applause put a little extra lead in her feet.

  Yes . . . Herald would be clapping too.

  ***

  “What is this about?”

  The Authority Figure on her left released her to unlock a heavy, industrial door. Examination Room 3.

  They led her inside. The door crashed shut behind her with shudder-worthy finality.

  “Sit,” was the only counsel they gave her.

  The room was simple, concrete and gray bricks, and no windows. Over a narrow table with four folding chairs, there was one lightbulb that swayed in a draft. Directly below it was where they attempted to seat her.

  “I’d rather stand until you tell me why I’m here.”

  Her guards wouldn’t meet her gaze. Instead, in near perfect unison, they removed their batons from their belts. She slipped into the seat before they had the opportunity to use them.

  They continued to loom over her, slapping the batons against their hands. She braced herself for a blow, but the intimidation must have been enough of a high for them. They soon wandered away and stood like sentinels beside the door.

  She rested her cuffed hands on the table. The metal had been grating her skin raw for a good many hours by then.

  Left, essentially, alone with her thoughts, her eyes had a chance to wander to what was there, and internally, to what had come to pass. She was so exhausted . . . and soon drifted off, until the jerk of nearly falling brought her back to the present.

  Right then, something in the shadowy corner of the room captured her concern. It was a table, or something similar, covered by a series of overlaid sheets that hid most of the detail, except for the wheels at the bottom. It was slightly inclined at one side and had odd projections jutting from the opposite end.

  She didn’t know what she was looking at earlier. And when she figured it out, she recoiled—head forward, eyes shut.

  It was an examination table, complete with stirrups.

  A shiver of fear ran through her as the door behind her opened. The first man who came to the table was the one who delivered the motion. He pulled out the chair across from her, sitting in it after sliding it to his left. After placing a pile of documents on the table, he set down a fountain pen that looked fancy . . . and heavy.

  He was followed in by someone she recognized to be Dr. Wayward. He sat beside her. And she didn’t have to do more than glance to figure out who the third man was . . . Captain. He dragged the final folding chair closer and took a seat directly across from her.

  “Where are your handcuffs?” Virtue
inquired before he had a chance to speak first.

  Captain put his elbows on the table, steepled his fingers, and gave her a formal grin. “Virtue, I’d like you to meet my attorney.” He turned to acknowledge the man she didn’t know. “Mr. Donald Hickey.”

  He measured Virtue shrewdly and nodded once to concur. “A pleasure.”

  “And you must remember Dr. Wayward,” Captain went on, his good humor still beaming bright.

  Virtue looked down at her hands to avoid acknowledging him. Dr. Wayward startled her, though, when he placed a sweltering palm high on her back. His fingers brushed across her exposed skin at the neck. The involuntary jolt gave her no choice. Their eyes met. He gave her what was probably supposed to be a consoling smile. “So sorry we must meet again under these circumstances.”

  His other hand patted and rubbed her balled fists, which were resting at the edge of the table.

  “Such cruelty!” Dr. Wayward admonished over his shoulder. “Would you mind removing Miss Virtue’s handcuffs?” he said to the Authorities. “I have trouble believing she’s a threat to us.”

  Her eyes grazed the fountain pen again, but they darted off quickly before anyone noticed.

  While an Authority Figure did as he was told, Dr. Wayward was stroking his way down her back. She arched away to urge him to stop. She’d rather keep the handcuffs than give him an excuse to touch her.

  When her hands were free, she scooted her chair over and away from him, and rubbed over her wounds for some relief. Meanwhile, Dr. Wayward appeared to get the hint. He folded his hands and placed them in his lap, which took shifting and effort around his girth.

  “Virtue,” the attorney began, bringing his chair closer to the table. “My client is aggrieved by your plight. He wants nothing more than to help you.” He separated three documents from his pile and placed them in front of her. “And he brings to you a final offer of marriage. If you accept and initial my client’s Letter of Intent, sign and date the Marriage Bond Application, submit to a medical exam, and initial all items in the Prenuptial Agreement and its addendum, he’ll make your legal problems disappear.”

  “An addendum? What for?” Virtue asked.

  Donald Hickey, the attorney, picked up the Prenup. “It’s a rather long list, but a few of the more important points state that the bride-to-be will not draft any new fiction unless granted preapproved material and/or permission to do so. Her work will then be subjected to an inspection for decency. She will also sever all ties with The Verity Chronicles and any of its surviving writers. Lastly, she will remain at Cliff Haven under constant supervision unless my client authorizes her temporary and probationary release from the premises.”

  “And if I don’t agree to the terms?”

  “Well, that would be very unfortunate for you, indeed.” The attorney procured a fourth document from his black, Brother-of-God robe, the state crest embroidered in white at his shoulder. With a ceremonious flourish, he presented to her the title. Fallow Authorization Order.

  She crossed her arms and looked in the direction she didn’t have to reencounter the examination table. “And what about my stipulations?”

  Her eyes flicked back to them. The attorney and the Captain were exchanging glances and they both chuckled.

  Captain shifted in his chair, readying himself for a response. “Such as?”

  “Two pardons,” she replied, no remorse, no hesitation. “For Herald and Law. And one for Blasphemy. . .” She almost choked on the end of her request. “If it’s not too late,” she gasped, no louder than a whisper.

  “I’m afraid we can’t do that,” the attorney informed her, crossing his fingers and setting them on the table. “Their Death Certificates have already been signed, sealed, and filed away. The same holds true for any Fallowization Order that was stamped today during business hours.”

  “Well, you obviously bend the rules at whim, so unfile them.”

  “I don’t appreciate what you are implying. And it’s still a no.” He looked to Captain, who nodded as if they were partaking in some question-answer mindreading endeavor. “Any other requests, though, we’d be willing to consider.”

  Virtue leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. She had to close her eyes to channel her strength and will her tears away. “Then my answer is no. File the Fallowization Order.”

  She dismissed them with a resigned wave.

  Captain simply stared at her in blatant disbelief, no trace of a smile remaining.

  Dr. Wayward then set one elbow on the table and shifted closer to her. “Mind if I have a word?” He directed the question at the two other men, but his eyes seemed more captivated by the missing buttons over her chest. Hearing no objections, he began his pitch: “Virtue, you’re a healthy, intelligent girl with such alluring femininity. Would you really sacrifice that for some foolhardy publication?”

  “Foolhardy?” She shot to her feet, causing her metal chair to fall over with a crash. “He signed over the banknotes!” She pointed at Captain. “But is he in a similar predicament? No! He gets to do whatever the Hell he wants!”

  “Language!” the attorney scolded.

  “I’m sure marrying me and abandoning ‘the cause’ wouldn’t seem quite so tragic to you if you weren’t screwing around with the Editor in Chief.” Captain twirled out a finger to further insult her. “Would you even pass a medical exam?”

  His gall silenced her. And in that moment of reflection, the pieces clicked together. “It was you!” she accused. “You told us we were safe and then you turned us in, didn’t you?” Captain merely lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t even bother to deny it! This entire thing is a game to you. How can I bring Virtue to her knees? Well, guess what?” She smashed her fist on the fountain pen, crushing it and spraying ink on his crisp dress-shirt and tie. Then she swooped into his face. “You win.”

  “That may be what it looks like, but that’s not how it is.” The attorney’s voice broke their staring standoff, a battle between hate and cold, hard indifference. Virtue turned to face yet another lie. “Emotions are high right now. We understand. But Virtue . . . we know what’s best for you.”

  “We would never want to see you suffer,” Dr. Wayward said from behind. He brought her chair back to the table. “Please, have a seat.”

  Virtue collapsed into the chair. She slouched and crossed her arms over her chest. “I want to see Herald. Otherwise . . . this conversation is over.”

  Around the table, their wide eyes checked and crosschecked. “That’s not possible,” Captain clamored, and then he backhanded the broken pen pieces off the table.

  “Are you an attorney?” she countered, and then she turned to address the actual attorney. “If you want me to reconsider. . .” She glared at them, one by one. “Make it happen.”

  Chapter 10

  Herald

  Herald peeled the caked-on strip of fabric from his left eye. He removed the connecting tie and knot from the back of his head as well. It wasn’t wise, but he was too curious to leave the bandage in place.

  His eye was fused and swollen shut. Would he ever be able to use it again?

  Not that it mattered. There wasn’t much to see behind bars.

  And by the next day, he’d be dead.

  How exactly did it come to this? Much of the previous night was a mystery to him. He didn’t remember the Authorities arriving or have any recollection of how or why they left the island.

  Alas! The vision out of his bad eye was a blurry mess, but he could detect light, color, and the basic shapes of things. His hands. His shoes when he moved them side to side. He didn’t have a window, but the empty cell across from him had one. He could see how gray the sky was around the grid of bars.

  After inspecting the bloody fabric in hand, he could at least hatch a story of what he’d been through. The thin red scarf was immediately recognizable as the one Virtue usually wore at the bottom of her braid. And he believed the course gray material once belonged to her skirt.

  He pinche
d both eyes shut. Bit by frustrating bit, his hands chafed against the coarseness of the fabric while they were sliding up . . . fumbling over her smooth, soft, incredibly warm inner thighs.

  They parted for him. Eagerly and with a sweet gasp as his thumb slipped beneath the final cloth barrier.

  But did he. . . ?

  He shook his head, and then clunked it backwards a little too hard. He winced and groaned as the pain radiated from his eye and temple all the way down to his toes.

  A baton. An impossibly dark night. Black water. Rain. The wet ground. Wet. . .

  The skirt. What a nuisance. In lust and haste, he pinned Virtue up . . . against . . . on top of the handrail and sought to expose every last bit of her demanding flesh.

  In the light of the revolving lamp, her skin glowed bright, then shifted into shadow. He believed the buttons of her blouse to be his worst adversary. He cursed them in the light and mangled them in the dark. Then, finally, he buried his affection in her . . . scent. Between her perfect . . . and delectably exposed breasts. Her knickers were already on the floor. Along with his pants, which had, at her persistence, fallen over his shoes. He was free. And as rigid and volatile as humanly possible. And his fingers were . . . his mouth. . .

  But not. . . ?

  Would he have?

  If it had been offered?

  If he had any notion that it would have been his only chance?

  If Herald had had her completely, he wished, with what remained of his brainpower, that he could sift out the full memory of it. If that were the case, he’d have a better chance of staying calm and sane.

  But then . . . an unexpected light hit his eyes. A boat? At an inopportune time, he was almost sure.

  He’d never know what it was like. To love like a husband for the only wife he’d ever need or want. The memory of it was gone, or more than likely, it was never his to have.

  He crumpled and squeezed the makeshift bandage in his fist, grateful he had something of Virtue’s to hold on to.