A Light From the Ashes
Page 14
“That’s not what I mean, old man. We know you have connections to the Watch. Tell us who was responsible for killing Griffyth Credell. Stand still and answer me!” The sergeant jerked his head in the direction of his soldiers. Taking his signal, two of them walked to either side of Zacharias, holding him by the arms and forcing him to stand still and face the sergeant. But Zacharias continued to look past him, not focusing on his face.
With unexpected force, he felt a slap across his face that threw his head back. Then he did look at the sergeant. For a split second, Zacharias registered the coldness and hatred in the man’s eyes before he forced himself to clear his mind and face of all thought, remaining a blank.
“You will tell me what I want to know, or I will personally . . .”
“Z, I’m about to leave for Boswell, but you’ve got enough wood out there . . .” Sam called as he entered the room with measured stride from the back door. “What’s all this?” he asked, trying desperately to keep the edge out of his voice. He quickly assessed the situation tactically. He was outnumbered and had no easy access to a weapon. He would have to either comply with whatever the soldiers wanted or find another way to subvert them.
The sergeant turned on his heel an exact ninety-degree angle to face Sam head-on. “Your name, citizen.”
“Sam Erikson.”
“What is your relationship to this man?”
“He is my adopted father. What is he accused of?”
“I will ask the questions. This man is obstructing an official government investigation.”
Sam caught Z’s eye, noticed the way he was looking around the room, not focusing on anything. He couldn’t understand what Z was trying to do.
“Did you bring more flowers for my sweetheart, Sam?” Z asked in his childlike voice.
“No, no I didn’t, Z,” he said slowly. “You see, Sergeant, my father isn’t exactly all there. His mind started to go awhile back. He thinks he’s still courting his wife.”
“Why are you going to Boswell?” The sergeant ignored Sam’s explanation.
“Trade. As allowed by law.”
“Don’t quote the law to me, citizen! We have reason to believe this man has connections with the Watch and may have even instigated the murder of Griffyth Credell.”
“With respect, Sergeant, that isn’t possible. With these spells he’s been having, he couldn’t possibly be involved with anything like that. I assure you, he’s harmless. I will take care of him.” Sam started to walk toward Zacharias. The sergeant moved to intercept him and grabbed his arm so swiftly that Sam’s other fist started to fly involuntarily before he stopped himself. The Corsair put his face uncomfortably close to his. Sam could smell the eggs and coffee the man had had for breakfast blended with the sweat of horses.
“We’ve found one accomplice already. And we know this man is involved with the Watch. I’m inclined to think you may be as well.”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, sir. He can barely get up and fix his breakfast in the morning, much less help any kind of group.”
The sergeant gruffly released Sam’s arm, reaching down to straighten his own uniform. “You are required to report any subversive activity at once.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam said through a plastered smile. “We’ll be on the lookout for anything suspicious. Stay the course.”
The sergeant cocked his head, unsure what to think of this man. His boots clomped loudly on the wooden floor as he and the other soldiers left as quickly as they had come.
Sam and Zacharias stayed almost frozen where they stood until they could no longer hear the sound of horses’ hooves. When Sam looked at Zacharias, he was visibly shaking, holding onto the kitchen table for support.
“Z, sit down. You’re pale.”
“Glass of water, please, son.”
“Absolutely.” Filling a glass from the water bucket, Sam tried to calm his own nerves so he could help Zacharias. He busied his hands with wetting a washcloth for Zacharias as well. He didn’t like being in such close proximity to Corsairs and especially having them in his home. He fought back the memories of his parents being taken away. Zacharias was the one who needed help now. He couldn’t afford the distraction of a flashback now.
“Here, drink this slowly.” Handing Z the glass, he then placed the washcloth on the back of his neck.
They both sat in silence for a few moments before Sam finally ventured a question. “What do you think they’ll do with the accomplice?”
“I’m not sure I can even imagine.”
“Do you think they’re just going house to house, or targeting specific people?”
“I’m sure they’re just beating the bushes, trying to see who will run out or give them a reason to strike.”
“I don’t want to leave you like this, Z.”
“Nonsense, Gemma will be by later. You have to go help your friend. She needs you more than I do right now. Tell me you still have the pistol I gave you.”
“I do.”
“You know to keep it clean and ready even if you think you’ll never use it?”
“Yes, of course. But I hope it won’t come to that. Whatever made you think of acting senile?”
“I gave them what they would expect to find in an old man. Stereotypes can be useful sometimes if you know how to use them and then how to break them.”
“I’m surprised they believed it. Surely they know you’re in the Senate.”
“They only know the minimal amount to carry out their assignment. When the Triumvirate is fully in control of the flow of information, don’t think for a second that they’re just passing around their intelligence, even to their own troops.”
Sam took the washcloth Zacharias handed him, wringing it and twisting it in his hot hands. “There is no rest from it, is there? Will our whole lives be a struggle, a battle? The war is over, but it granted us no peace, and now this. Even when I was at the lumber camp, there was always the threat of some kind of punishment if we didn’t fill our quota. I guess there can never really be a reprieve.”
“Sometimes, once in a long while, life will grant a short reprieve. A few moments of respite. I remember one summer when I took my wife and kids to my grandparents’ house down in Louisiana. They lived on a farm out in the country, much like here. I was happy to be out of the city. My grandfather took me and the kids out in a field of sugarcane, higher than our heads, and cut off a stalk of it, a piece for Max and a piece for Jill. They walked around chewing on them all day. There was an old hound dog that followed around at their heels. The air was warm and thick, sweet like honey. We spent hours just picking muscadines and honeysuckle. Weeks after we got back from that trip, the cloud seeders stirred up the storms. The tornadoes, earthquakes, and floods started. Then the drones started firing on neighborhoods all around us. Nothing was ever as peaceful as that summer again. But that was my respite I sip on slowly through the years like rationing water.”
“What’s mine?”
“Don’t you know yet?”
* * * * *
Aishe’s farm was much like Gemma would have imagined it, clean and organized. The fields had been lying fallow in the winter and would soon need to be planted. She wondered if Aishe had anyone who could take over the farm for her if she had to leave. The sun had already tucked below the horizon for the night, and the moon was rising, helping Gemma to find her way without the aid of a lantern. She didn’t want to alert Aishe to her presence before she reached the door. During the walk from Jesse’s Hollow, Gemma had been going over and over in her head what she would say but hadn’t managed to settle on anything that met her satisfaction. She knew she wanted to ask questions and give Aishe the chance to explain. But how do you just waltz into someone’s home and accuse them of murder, she wondered. Walking along the path checkered with moonlight through the trees, Gemma approached the back door quietly. A low fire was burning in the back yard, throwing dancing shadows around Gemma’s feet. As she came nearer, she could hear the hum of voices ins
ide through the back door which was slightly ajar. She wasn’t sure who was speaking but thought she might learn more by listening to the conversation than from a direct confrontation. So she pulled herself as close as she dared and tried to stay out of the light.
“That boy said they met her at Market Day a couple of weeks ago. She’d actually taken the child into town to try to get medication, poor thing.” An elderly woman was speaking, her voice moving closer and farther away as she walked around the kitchen. Aishe had never talked about her parents. Could this woman be her mother?
“That was a risk,” a man replied.
“Well, sure. But when a mother is desperate to help her child, she’ll do just about anything.”
“Now don’t get your back up, Martha. I’m not criticizing the girl.”
“Well, I’d better not hear you try.” Gemma heard a dish slam down on the table.
“I know how you dote on the girl, woman. I was just saying . . . Oh, it doesn’t matter.” The man’s voice sounded kind, but a little frustrated.
“I just still can’t believe the little mite is gone. How in the world is that girl supposed to go on with her life without her child?”
“We all face what life gives us, I suppose. Even death.”
There was silence for a few minutes. Gemma assumed they were eating.
“When do you think you’ll be coming back home so we can eat in our own kitchen again?”
“He should be back any time now to tend her. He’s a kind one, he is.”
“It’s a good thing he came along, that’s certain.”
Gemma moved quietly back along the path toward the road. She tried to piece together what she had heard with what she knew about Griffyth Credell. Aishe’s daughter must have gotten ill. Then she tried to get medicine for her. From the way the man in the kitchen was talking, it seemed as if the child must have been undocumented. So she was refused medication. Gemma’s mind fought against the conclusion of that story, the death of a child for the mere infraction of being undocumented. Once she reached the road, she sat down near the mailbox and tried to catch her breath. She realized she had been running. Images of Daisy floated in her mind, and she wondered how she would react if something happened to her. If she lost the one person in the world she loved more than anything else. The person who depended on her completely. What wouldn’t she be capable of if such a thing happened to her? No, she couldn’t picture it. But she knew Aishe was not to blame for her actions, no matter how it affected the Watch. And beyond that, she knew she was in no position to pass judgment on this woman.
She reached into the small bag that hung from her belt and pulled out the book she’d begun carrying with her. Not long after Sam’s return, Zacharias had given her the book, telling her Sam had brought it back from beyond the Border. Little Women. She’d read it straight through in one night, and as she did so, she knew why Sam had brought it for her. She could see herself in its pages. But she didn’t want to admit this to herself or anyone else. She didn’t want to know that Sam knew her better than she knew herself sometimes, that he could see her hopes, aspirations, and fears. She didn’t want to feel the sting again of seeing him come back from the dead and knowing he could never again be hers because of her own choices. She resonated with the character of Jo, trying desperately to hold onto the happy parts of her youth but realizing it was impossible not to grow up and change into someone she didn’t recognize. She thought of herself as the gull like Jo: Strong and wild, fond of the storm and wind, flying far out to sea, and all alone. Resonated like a guitar string being plucked. So instead, she just read the book again and again, whenever she walked, whenever she was at the cabin with Daisy. It became her touchstone and her anchor.
Gemma took the book in her hands now and turned to the page she wanted. She practically knew it by heart and so didn’t mind using it to write a note to Aishe. She scanned the page, savoring the words again: . . . that great patience which has power to sustain a cheerful, uncomplaining spirit in its prison-house of pain. She tore the page slowly and neatly from the book, and in the blank space beyond the last words of the chapter, she began to write.
My Dear Aishe,
Now is the time for courage. You’ve shown me “that courage wise and sweet.” “And tho we are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are; one equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.” You have been a true patriot to the cause and reminded me what and who we’re fighting for. Know that the Watch is with you. We will protect you. Return to us when you can. In the meantime remember that though I am your captain, I am the one who looks up to you.
With respect and condolences,
Foxglove
Gemma took the messages that had been left in the mailbox by the messengers and brought them back up to the house. She couldn’t take the chance of someone finding them there. As silent as a cat, she went to the back door of the house and slid them through the crack, leaving them on the floor. Aishe would find them when the time was right, along with Gemma’s newest letter.
As Gemma walked back to Jesse’s Hollow, she started formulating in her mind what this new battle against the Corsairs would look like. She knew she’d have to be extremely convincing to get the generals to go along with her idea. But she also knew their choices were dwindling.
Sometimes, despite fear, it was necessary to begin anyway, to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
* * * * *
Two men sat across a table from each other in a small concrete room lit only by a single bare lightbulb hanging directly above the table. The bulb was centered between them so it only partially lit each of their faces. The light buzzed and occasionally blinked with the limited electricity pumping from the generator outside. Neither windows nor light from under a doorway added to the illumination of the room. Simeon, the older of the two, sat silently reading through a file in front of him. He was in no hurry, but took his time, deliberately examining every page. The younger man, Colonel Vance, noticed his shock of white hair as he bent over the file. Both men wore the blue uniform of the Corsairs. As Colonel Vance sat waiting for his superior to address him, he tugged at the neck of his uniform, which felt tighter than usual. He had never been in the same room with a member of the Triumvirate before, and his body hummed with an excitement not unlike the electricity of the light bulb.
“You will sit with both hands on the table, Colonel,” Simeon said calmly, not bothering to look up.
“Yes, sir.”
It felt like hours to Colonel Vance before Simeon finally looked up to address him.
“Did they arrest him?”
“The man was demented, sir. Talking nonsense. If you’ll pardon me, I think we’ve got the wrong man. He can’t possibly be in the Watch. His son was having to feed him and take care of him.”
“You think? When did that become your role? You were not asked to think. Of course he feigned madness. He didn’t want to be taken. Tell me about the son.”
Colonel Vance cleared his throat several times before he was able to continue. “Well, as you can see in the file, sir, his name is Sam Erikson. His birth father was one of the ring leaders of the First Revolution.”
“I thought we’d worn him down at the lumber camp. But now here he is, perpetuating a lie to deceive my Corsairs. Showing his true colors at last.”
“Well, sir, he seems to be more of a pacifist by all accounts. No connection to the Watch. Doesn’t fight as his father did. Would you like me to send out another detail, sir?”
“Never mind. I’ll take care of it myself.”
“What do you want me to do, sir?”
“What does anyone do who has outlived his usefulness?”
For the first time, Colonel Vance noticed the pistol sitting on the table next to the file folder. Simeon slowly moved it across the table toward him. It sat as a dormant volcano directly before him as a drop of
sweat worked its way down his chin, dropping onto the barrel of the gun.
* * * * *
The next evening, Kyle walked slowly through the doorway, hearing Gemma moving around in the kitchen. She’d already lit the lamps, fighting off the encroaching darkness. “I’m home,” he called.
“Take off your boots,” she responded.
He knew to take off his boots. He didn’t know why she felt she had to say it every day. Maybe he was just annoyed because he didn’t want to have the conversation with her he knew he had to have.
“Hey, darlin’, what’s for dinner?”
“Tomato and lentil soup.”
Gemma felt Kyle behind her, looking over her shoulder into the pot on the stove. The woodburning stove he had found for her in another village and brought all the way here so she wouldn’t have to cook in the fireplace or outside over a fire like all of their neighbors. He kissed the back of her neck, then went to wash up at the sink. She wished he would have turned her around and covered her mouth with his. The way he used to when they were first married. She wished he’d take her upstairs, leaving the soup to burn on the stove while they made love. But the wishing did not fulfill her.
“I’m glad you’re home,” he said over his shoulder. “Is Zacharias any better since yesterday?”
“He’s resting now. I’m going to bring him some soup later.”
“I need to talk to you before you go over there.”
“Well, it’ll be ready in a few minutes. We can talk while we eat. Will you cut up some bread there?”
Kyle started slicing the bread absentmindedly, not waiting to jump into the difficult conversation ahead. He was never one to postpone unpleasant things. “An old friend of mine in the Corsairs came to see me today.”
“Oh? What about? Do they have any more information about the murder?”
“No. It was about the Senate.”
“The Corsairs don’t have anything to do with the Senate.”