The Furies

by Mark Alpert

  “Mother, it’s Sullivan’s fault. He broke his oath and revealed our secret because he wanted to hurt me. It was part of his torture.”

  “You’re jumping ahead, child. Before we get to that part, I’d like to know why you brought your paramour with you to Michigan.”

  “I didn’t bring him. He brought me. And his name is John, if you please.” She gave her mother a pointed look. “John drove me to Michigan because I had no other way of getting here. Hal and Richard were dead, and both my legs were broken.”

  “Why didn’t you communicate with us? We could’ve dispatched another team of Rangers to assist you.”

  Ariel frowned. “Sullivan is intercepting our communications. If I’d sent out a call for help, his men would’ve found me.”

  Elizabeth frowned too, her expression mirroring her daughter’s. “And what makes you think our communications lines aren’t secure?”

  “How did Sullivan find us in Brooklyn? How did he know our plans so thoroughly?” Ariel furrowed her brow. She was getting agitated. “We have to face the facts. Sullivan has spies in Haven. Someone is betraying us.”

  The council chambers fell silent. Still frowning, Elizabeth shook her head. She clearly didn’t agree with Ariel. The Elder named Margaret seemed less skeptical; a worried look appeared on her face and she shifted nervously in her chair, which creaked under her weight. It was impossible to say what the third Elder thought—the pale, ghostly woman was still staring straight ahead, her expression unchanged since she entered the room.

  After a few seconds Elizabeth waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “That’s another matter we can discuss later. I’d like to keep the focus on your paramour, Lily. I still don’t understand why you sought his help. You have more experience than anyone else in the Ranger Corps. Couldn’t you have found a way to return to Haven on your own?”

  “I was bleeding to death, Mother.” She raised her voice in exasperation. “John rescued me from Sullivan’s men and bandaged my wounds. The Riflemen were pursuing us, so we had no choice but to keep moving.”

  “Didn’t you consider the consequences of involving an outsider in your plans? Even with Sullivan at your heels, you should’ve realized how dangerous this was.”

  “Of course I saw the danger. But the alternatives were worse. If I’d tried to fend for myself, the Riflemen would’ve captured me, and all the information from Caño Dorado would’ve fallen into Sullivan’s hands.” Ariel raised the notebook again, waving it in the air. “So I made the best of the situation. I didn’t lie to John, but I didn’t reveal any information forbidden to outsiders. I was planning to part ways with him before we reached the gates of Haven. As long as he didn’t know our secret, I could let him return to Philadelphia. It was an acceptable risk.”

  “Aye, but look at the result.” The Chief Elder pointed again at John. “Sullivan may be at fault, but your actions made it possible.”

  Ariel nodded. “Agreed. But no blame whatsoever should fall on John. He did nothing to deserve any punishment, Mother. From the start he only wanted to help me.”

  It was a good speech, John thought. In addition to all her other talents, Ariel would’ve made a pretty decent lawyer. And her arguments seemed to have an effect on the Elders, judging from their expressions and body language. Elizabeth had stopped frowning. She pursed her lips as she stared at her daughter, her lone eye glistening. Margaret leaned back in her chair, as if deep in thought, and crossed her arms under her bosom. And for the first time, the ghostly Elder appeared to show some interest in the proceedings. The pale, thin woman turned her head ever so slightly and stared directly at John. Her face was absolutely still and her gaze was unnerving. John felt like an insect under a magnifying glass.

  After a long pause, Elizabeth let out a sigh. “This is disturbing news, Lily. Your brother’s hatred is beginning to overwhelm his sanity.”

  “Beginning? I think not. Sullivan lost touch with his sanity long ago.”

  “Nay, his rebellion was logical, at least at the start. He wanted something we weren’t willing to give, so he took up arms against us. It was a grisly choice, but perfectly rational. But breaking his oath? Revealing our secret to outsiders? That endangers his band of Riflemen just as much as it threatens Haven.”

  “Again, I agree with you. But I don’t understand what—”

  “Mark my words, child. If he breaks his oath once, he’ll break it again. And the oath is all that stands between us and destruction.” Elizabeth made a chopping motion with her right hand. Then she turned to her left and stared grimly at Margaret. “Sister, do you remember the Burning Times in Germany? The bonfires at Trier?”

  Margaret shuddered. John could actually see her trembling. Her plump body shivered within the tight green dress. She scowled at Elizabeth. “How can you ask such a question? Of course I remember.”

  “I remember it, too. The summer of 1587. When we lost Gabriele and Trude and Juliane and Grandmother.” Elizabeth raised her arm and pointed at the mural on the opposite wall. “Lest we forget, it’s pictured right there. The burning of Grandmother Annika, who screamed in Ancient Persian as her skin turned black. I saw it myself, just before we left Trier and fled to England.” She stared at the painting for several seconds, then turned back to her daughter. “Let me ask you a question, Lily. Do you really think it couldn’t happen again?”

  Ariel took a deep breath. “You know my opinion on this subject. We’ve discussed it many times. If we take the proper precautions beforehand, I think we can safely begin the process of revealing our—”

  “You think humanity has grown more civilized? You think they’ve given up all their murderous habits?”

  “Nay, but—”

  “How many genocides have taken place in just the past century?” Elizabeth’s expression turned fierce. The long, ribbonlike scar on her face seemed to darken. “The Armenians, the Jews, the Bosnians, the Rwandans, they all thought they lived in a civilized world.”

  “Mother, please listen. We can’t stay hidden forever. At some point we have to trust them.”

  “Who should we trust? The Americans? The same people who slaughtered the Ojibway and all the other tribes?” Elizabeth was shouting now. Her words echoed against the murals on all four walls of the chamber. “Nay, we can’t do that. For the sake of our family, we must uphold our oath, which has protected us ever since we came to this country. We must track down Sullivan and punish him for his transgressions. By violating our most sacred law, he put all our lives at risk. For this reason we must execute him.” Her voice quavered when pronouncing the word execute, but her fierce expression remained unchanged. “And unfortunately, we must also execute your paramour, Lily. It’s the only way to ensure he won’t spread our secret.”

  John wasn’t surprised. He’d recognized from the start that Elizabeth Fury wasn’t the compromising type. Before she’d even started questioning Ariel, he’d resigned himself to the prospect of a death sentence. And to tell the truth, he wasn’t even angry anymore. The Elders had nothing against him personally. They would’ve done to same to anyone in his situation. But he was a little disappointed by Ariel’s reaction to the verdict. He’d expected her to raise her voice and start shouting objections, like the good lawyer she was, but instead she just sat there in the front row, biting her lower lip and furrowing her brow. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

  “You’ll put him to death even though he’s innocent? Even though he saved the life of your only daughter?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “His guilt or innocence doesn’t matter. I’d condemn him even if he were Jesus of Nazareth. I can’t spare one life if it threatens the lives of all two thousand of us.”

  “And is this the decision of the entire council?” Ariel stared at her aunt Margaret. “Are all the Elders in agreement?”

  Margaret looked uncomfortable, but in the end she nodded. “I abide by the Chief Elder’s decision.”

  Then Ariel turned to the third Elder, the
ghostly woman sitting to Elizabeth’s right. “And you, Aunt Cordelia? Do you also consent?”

  Cordelia didn’t seem to hear her. She kept staring blankly at John, her face as white as milk.

  Elizabeth leaned toward her sister. “Delia? Are you paying attention?”

  A few more seconds passed. Cordelia sat very still, resting her wooden left hand on her right forearm. Finally, she opened her mouth to speak. “I have a question for you, John. Do you have a wife or children?”

  Her voice startled him. It was slow and breathy, the voice of a seductress. “Uh, no,” he answered.

  “Any living relatives? Mother, father, siblings, cousins?”

  He shook his head. He had no idea why she was asking these questions. “I never knew my father. My mother is dead, and I never met any of her relatives. She hated her family.”

  “What about friends, co-workers? Is there anyone in Philadelphia you feel especially close to?”

  Once again he shook his head. It was embarrassing to admit, but he was basically alone in the world. Maybe that was why the thought of dying didn’t bother him so much. He had so little to lose.

  His answers seemed to satisfy Cordelia. She turned to her sisters, slowly pivoting her pale face. “I see an alternative to executing the paramour. He can stay in Haven.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “You mean keep him as our prisoner? For the rest of his life?”

  “Nay, not a prisoner. He can join our community. He doesn’t have any strong ties to his old life, so he can start a new one here.”

  Elizabeth said nothing, but Margaret chuckled. Her breasts heaved against the neckline of her dress, threatening to pop right out. “You’re saying we should adopt this outsider? Take him in like a stray dog?”

  Cordelia shrugged. “Why not? He’s clearly a capable young man. And we’ve lost so many of our young men to Sullivan.”

  “I think it’s a brilliant idea,” Ariel interjected. She grinned from ear to ear, beaming in triumph. John got the sense that Cordelia’s suggestion was no accident. Somehow or other, Ariel had arranged it. She flashed her broad grin at her aunt, and Cordelia smiled in return. Then Ariel looked at John and her face turned serious. “I have to warn you, it won’t be easy. You’ll need to leave everything behind. No contact whatsoever with anyone you once knew. And you’ll need to learn our ways and follow our laws.” She locked eyes with him as she delivered her warnings. She was sending him a message: Just say yes. “So, John, what do you think? Are you willing to try it?”

  “Yes,” he said. He suspected that Ariel wanted him to answer immediately, before the other Elders could raise any objections.

  “Excellent,” Ariel replied. “And I volunteer to oversee your training. I’ll assess your talents and find a suitable place for you here.” Smiling again, she turned to her mother. “Would this plan be acceptable?”

  Elizabeth didn’t respond right away. Instead, she let out a weary grunt and stared at her daughter. Meanwhile, Margaret shifted in her chair again and Cordelia returned to her blank-faced trance, gazing straight ahead at nothing. John had the feeling that the Council of Elders made decisions by consensus, and that Ariel had outmaneuvered her mother. But Elizabeth didn’t seem to be angry. Her scarred face had gone slack. She just looked tired.

  “Are you sure about this, Lily?” she finally asked. “It’s a risky experiment. I don’t need to remind you what happened the last time we tried it.”

  Ariel stopped smiling. “That was long ago. I’m wiser now.”

  “I hope so, child. I truly do.” She shook her head. “I’ll give you three days to work with your paramour. Then the council will analyze his progress to see if he will fit into our community.” Grunting again, she rose to her feet. At the same time, she pointed at the notebook in Ariel’s lap. “And I expect you to continue working on your other experiments as well. Don’t let your paramour distract you from your primary assignment.”

  Margaret and Cordelia also rose from their seats, automatically following their sister as she left the judge’s bench and descended from the dais. Old Sam the bailiff stepped toward the exit and held the door open for the Elders as they filed out of the chambers. Before Elizabeth left the room, though, she looked over her shoulder and glanced at John one more time. She narrowed her lone eye. The look wasn’t friendly.

  TWELVE

  Sullivan stopped his Harley in front of a ramshackle barn on Maple Road, five miles south of Sault Sainte Marie. It was another cold night on the Upper Peninsula, so cold that an unseasonable frost had carpeted the ground a few hours before dawn. When Sullivan shut down his bike’s engine and switched off the headlamp, all he could see at first was the moonlight glinting off the ice. After a couple of seconds, though, his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw a gleaming black Chevrolet Suburban parked in the weeds about fifty feet away. Although this farm had been abandoned more than a decade ago and the barn looked like it was ready to collapse, the structure wasn’t empty. Judging from the footprints Sullivan spied in the frost, at least four men were inside.

  He got off his motorcycle and headed for the barn door. He wasn’t carrying his Mauser tonight. He planned to rely on his powers of persuasion instead. Sullivan had a talent for convincing other men to serve his ends. Using his wits and charisma he’d already assembled an army of nearly two hundred Riflemen. Although Haven’s guardsmen had dealt him a blow yesterday—he should’ve brought more men with him when he confronted Ariel and her paramour—the setback would be temporary. He was going to shelve his old plans and pursue a bolder strategy. And this strategy required forging an alliance.

  As soon as he slid the door open, someone inside the barn turned on a flashlight and aimed it at his face. At the same time, someone else shouted, “Freeze!” and a third person cocked a shotgun. But Sullivan wasn’t worried. He smiled at the men as he raised his hands in the air.

  “And a good fucking evening to you, too.” He changed his voice, switching to the accent and idioms of twenty-first-century America.

  “Don’t move a fucking muscle, Van.” This voice belonged to FBI Special Agent Mike Larson, who stood between the man with the flashlight and the one with the shotgun. “Are you armed?”

  “What the fuck do you think? Of course not.”

  “Well, we’re gonna search you anyway. Just stand still.”

  The man with the flashlight handed it to Larson, then stepped forward and started patting Sullivan down. Both he and the man with the shotgun wore the same kind of ugly gray suit that Larson did, so they were probably FBI agents too, lower-ranking officers whom Larson had brought along for protection. The agent reached under Sullivan’s bomber jacket and slapped his ribs and waist, then bent over to pat down his legs. Sullivan felt an urge to smash the cur’s head, but he clenched his hands and suppressed it. As he peered into the darkness he spotted the fourth man on their team, who had short, graying hair and an anxious expression on his face. This man looked less professional than the others. He stood several feet behind Larson, deliberately staying in the background, and kept his hands in the pockets of his green windbreaker.

  Once the agent completed his search, he grunted, “He’s clean,” and returned to his partners. Then Agent Larson stepped forward, shining the flashlight in Sullivan’s eyes. “What happened to your face, Van? Looks like you got a few scratches there.”

  It took some effort, but Sullivan managed to keep smiling. Hatred of Ariel flared in his chest. “I had a little trouble with one of my bitches,” he replied. “You know how it is.”

  “Really? You sure about that?” Larson gave him a skeptical look. “I heard that you and your boys were busy yesterday. There was an incident on Mackinac Island.”

  Sullivan shook his head. “Never been there. That’s the place with the fudge, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s a friendly, peaceful place. So peaceful there’s only half a dozen cops on the whole island. You can imagine their surprise when a bunch of thugs in black leather jackets showed up at the W
hite Star Ferry docks and started shooting.”

  “Wow, that’s fucked up. Who were they shooting at?”

  Larson frowned. “Funny you should ask. The White Star Ferry has a surveillance camera on the wharf, and it took a picture of the guy. It was the drug dealer from Philadelphia who drives the Kia with the vanity plates. John fucking Rogers. The same guy we were looking for at the goddamn checkpoint on the bridge.” He moved a step closer to Sullivan. “You were playing games with me, weren’t you? You wanted to get rid of Rogers, but you couldn’t find him. So you decided to ask the feds for a little help. You ratted out Rogers and his meth business to get us to put pressure on him. After we set up the checkpoint, you put your own boys on Mackinac Island, because you knew Rogers wasn’t stupid enough to take the bridge. You were using us to trap him.”

  “Whoa, I don’t know what you’re—”

  “I don’t like games, Van. You’re in a hell of a lot of trouble now. While your boys were chasing Rogers, the asshole hijacked a goddamn ferryboat and beached it on the shore of Lake Huron. The picture of the boat is gonna be on the front page of every newspaper in the fucking state today. We’re talking some serious shit here, and you’re buried up to your neck in it. Do you have any idea how long I could put you away for this?”

  The agent stood right in front of him, trying his best to intimidate. This was a stupid tactical move on Larson’s part. With one quick lunge Sullivan could put the man in a headlock. The agent with the shotgun wouldn’t fire for fear of hitting his boss, and in the next instant Sullivan could grab Larson’s pistol and eliminate all four of them. He’d been a Ranger for thirty years before he started his rebellion, and close-quarters combat was one of his specialties. But this wasn’t the time for combat. It was time to be clever.

  “So why don’t you arrest me?” he asked. “Why are we talking in this fucking barn instead of the police station?” He didn’t wait for Larson to answer. “It’s because you don’t have any evidence against me. The cops didn’t catch the shooters on Mackinac Island, did they?”