Burn

by Geoff North

  “Stole it off Eichberg,” Willem said defensively. “It’s mine now.”

  “You don’t even know what it is.” She crawled towards them. “Let me see if it will even power up.”

  Willem gave the object one final tug away from Cobe’s clutching fingers, and passed it to her. “Does power up means making the book pages come back on?”

  “That, and other things.” It vibrated in her hand. A warm blue light appeared at its center and coalesced into a stylish letter A. B, Z, and E appeared a moment later next to it. The tablet spoke in a soft female voice. “Eichberg, Jennifer. Thumb print and retinal scan complete… Welcome, Jenny.”

  Willem’s eyes widened. “Lothair showed me how to read books on it. I didn’t know it could talk.”

  The Lawman was showing an interest once again. “It’s one of them things like we saw down in Big Hole. They was built into doors and walls.”

  “It’s quite a bit more complex,” Jenny replied, “but yes, it is essentially the same. It’s a handheld computer, and it can pretty much answer any question you ask. You can read books on it, or have it read books to you. It can play music, and it can tell you the names of all the stars in the sky.”

  Willem tapped at her arm excitedly. “Show the Lawman all them Amos Hannon book covers. Show him all the stories.” Jenny spoke the name and the first nine book covers appeared on screen. Willem snatched the tablet away and showed it to Lawson. “See? There’s more stories just like the one you been holdin’ on to all this time.”

  The Lawman pushed it away from his face. “No… that ain’t right. It can’t be. There’s only one tellin’ of the way, and it sure as hells wasn’t just some made-up story. There’s only one book—right back there where it belongs.” He checked over his shoulder to make sure the bag was still there.

  Willem tapped at the screen as Lothair had instructed him and tried showing him the beginning of book one. “There was twenty-seven books in all. Eichberg told me they even made three moving picture stories that people watched come to life on these really big walls.” He stretched his arm out high above his head and drew a one-armed square into the smoky air. “They was all just stories, all of them. None of ‘em was about what really happened in the past. It was all what he called make believe.”

  Willem was too busy flapping the tablet around and shooting his mouth off to see Lawson’s puzzled expression turn dark. But Cobe saw. The Lawman’s almost cheery mood had soured in seconds, and there was something else—fear, doubt. His younger brother was putting into question all of the Lawman’s beliefs. Cobe didn’t even know of the old book’s existence until a few minutes ago, but the words Willem had read explained a lot. He smacked the device out of his brother’s hand. “Shut up, Willem. For once just shut your dumb mouth.” The boy gave him one of those wounded looks. Cobe had seen plenty of them in the last few days, but it was better than having the Lawman smack him quiet. “Eichberg was a gawdamn liar. Don’t go believing every word he told you.”

  “He told him the truth about the books and movies,” Jenny said. “This Amos Hannon was a character. He was made up.”

  The Lawman stood and went to Dust. He picked his bag up along the way.

  “Where are you going?” Cobe asked as he jumped up onto the old horse’s back.

  Lawson dug his heels in and rode off into the dark without giving any of them another look.

  Cobe yelled out into the shadows. “It doesn’t change what you are! Lawson! Come back!”

  He didn’t return.

  Willem found the tablet in the dirt and wiped it clean against his pants. “What did I say?”

  “What didn’t you say?” Cobe sat back down in front of the fire. “See what your learning to read has up and done?”

  Chapter 35

  Trot thought the rocks surrounding the pit outside of Rudd were big. They had been the biggest he’d ever seen—until now. The mountains loomed before them, all grey and orange and snow-covered white. The Lawman had said the sky rocks touched the clouds, but Trot never had a proper sense of how far off the clouds really were. Seeing the distant peaks at such dizzying heights left him awe-struck and frightened.

  “Quit looking up at them,” Angel said. “They ain’t gonna get any smaller.”

  Trot jogged ahead in his awkward way to catch up with Kay and Sara. They had stopped by a fast-flowing creek running down out of the forest at the mountain’s base. Their remaining horse drank from it thirstily as mother and daughter sat on a nearby log. Kay had an arm extended out, her fist and thumb pointing to the largest and closest peak. Sara smiled at him. “What does that sky rock look like to you?”

  “That’s easy.” Trot made a fist of his own. He held it out like Kay and wagged his thumb.

  “Thumb-Up,” Sara confirmed. “Our journey is almost over. Victory Island should be on the other side.”

  “How are we gonna get there? I can’t climb over something that big and steep. My dumb legs weren’t made for that.”

  “None of us could climb over that thing,” Kay said. “Hank’s gone up some more into those trees to see if there’s a way to go around.”

  Hank returned an hour later. “There’s a way through.”

  They climbed on. Trot’s whining and fretting continued. Angel shot a rabbit, cooked it with a crude spit, and shared it with the others. Hank disappeared again into the forest for a while and hunted his own lunch with his bare hands.

  The trees grew higher the further they went. The forest thickened; they debated setting their last horse free, and pushing on without it. “We’re almost there,” Hank said. “The horse will make it.”

  Dirt gave way to rock. The trees began to thin again, and the grade became much steeper. But they were on a narrow path of sorts. It had been carved into the sky rock and worn smooth with centuries of use. Hank led the way further up. Sara and Kay followed, pulling the big horse by its reins. Trot had to be pushed along by Angel another fifty feet back.

  The true scope of the massive range came into view as they carefully made their way around a sheer edge of rock that extended above them another five-hundred feet. Five-thousand feet below and ten miles distant was Victory Island. It sat in the middle of a deep blue lake surrounded on all sides by sky rocks. A few tiny lines of smoke snaked up from the small bump of green.

  Sara leaned against the horse and stared down at it in awe. “Lawson’s drawing didn’t quite do it justice.”

  “Not even close,” Kay whispered.

  Angel came up from behind them, dragging Trot along with her. They were hugging their backs against the rock and moving slow. Both, it appeared, had developed a strong fear of heights. “Yeah, it’s a real sight to behold,” the girl said. “Now when do we start climbing the fuck down?”

  Hank stood on the path’s outer edge, oblivious to the thousand-foot drop inches in front of him. He stared down at the island without speaking a word.

  A voice called to them farther up the rocky trail. Someone was approaching dressed in heavy grey furs. Sara went for one of the rifles. “No need for that!” The man shouted, hobbling down to stand with them. “I’m too old and feeble to waste bullets on.” Old was an understatement. The dark wrinkled face sticking out from the furry hood was ancient. He grinned and showed them gums only. “My name’s Hardo. Welcome to my home.”

  “Your home?” Kay asked incredulously. “You own Victory Island?”

  The old man tilted his head to one side and gave her a questioning look. “The Island?” His little black eyes suddenly shone with understanding. He began to laugh and stomped his big boots on the rocky ground. “Silly girl! I don’t own the island. I belong to this sky rock. Welcome to Boom Reach.”

  Chapter 36

  They found the Lawman the following morning sitting on the rocky shore of a small lake. A half-smoked cigarette was stuck between his lips, the Amos Hannon book hung limply from one hand.

  “I’m sorry for the things I said,” Willem offered. He climbed down off of Cloud
and sat beside him, far enough way so Lawson couldn’t quite reach out and throttle him, if he so chose. “Cobe explained how much that stor—how much the book means to you.”

  “I ain’t upset with you, boy. I’m mad at myself fer bein’ a fool my whole life.”

  Cobe sat on the other side. “It isn’t foolish believing in justice and keeping order. That book taught you something important. It helped you look after the people in Burn.”

  “A lot of good that did. They run me out of town in the end.”

  “They was stupid,” Willem said. “They killed our Ma and Pa, and dozens of other good folks that just wanted to learn. And when I say learn, I don’t mean the dumb shit they taught us in school—like how to grow up big and strong so you could get yerself killed in the Rites—I mean the good stuff… Reading words, adding numbers, and mesorizing dates.”

  “Memorizing,” Jenny said from behind him.

  “He knows what I meant.”

  They sat there for a full minute in silence, hoping their words had sunk in. Lawson finally stood and threw his old book out into the water. Cobe shook his head. “So that’s it? You’re going to stop being a Lawman?”

  “Can’t stop bein’ what you are,” he rumbled. “I reckon I don’t need to carry that thing around any longer to prove it.” He grinned at each of them and tipped his hat towards Dust. “Let’s ride west. We got family to catch up with.”

  Chapter 37

  Hardo led them up another thousand feet along the rocky trail. The part of the mountain that resembled the first knuckle of a fist from far below was actually the man’s home. The hundred-foot high stone ledge wrapped around the greater part of the mountain’s south-western face. Half of that rock had been carved out, forming a cave-like interior with dozens of rooms and slits on the exterior allowing light to stream in.

  “You made this place all by yourself?” Trot asked in wonderment as the entire group stood in front of the large entrance. “A little old man?”

  Hardo laughed again and clapped Trot on the shoulder. “This place was here centuries before me, and will be standing long after I’m gone.” He ushered them all in. “We call this the Jewel Room.”

  It was immense. A hundred people could have gathered inside and still had room to move about freely. The rock ceiling was low, however—no higher than six feet—stealing away the open feel with a constant reminder of the ledge pressing down above their heads. Six massive columns of sky rock remained in the room, pillars spaced out evenly, supporting the great weight in place. Four openings, each three feet high and eight feet wide, had been chiselled out of the cliff wall, flooding the entirety of the rock chamber with sunlight. Kay and her mother went to one of them and stared out at the incredible vista of snow-covered peaks and lakes beyond. Two thousand feet of vertical cliff wall stretched out below them. The rock gave way to dense forest beneath that, and the trees continued for another four or five miles to the lake surrounding Victory Island.

  Hardo pushed between the women and gazed out appreciatively with them.

  Kay asked. “Why do you call it the Jewel Room?”

  He pointed at the island. “Doesn’t it look like a beautiful green jewel from up here? An emerald wrapped in blue.”

  Sara nodded. “It does.” Sara stepped away from the window and looked the room over again. “Lawson never said anything about this place. He didn’t mark it at all on the map.”

  “Lawson?” Hardo said. “The young man with all the guns?”

  “I wouldn’t describe him as young, but the guns… yeah, that’s him. You’ve met?”

  “Twice. He was very young the first time he climbed the path. Close to the age of this girl with you.” Hardo stared at Kay a moment longer. “She looks a lot like him.”

  “She’s our daughter.”

  He pulled them both in for a tight hug before Sara could say another word. “Lawson’s woman and Lawson’s daughter! I wondered often what had become of him.” He winked. “He was busy.”

  Sara pushed him away gently. “Not that busy. Tell us more about this place. Why do you call it Boom Reach?”

  Hardo called the others around. “Boom Reach is a holy place. The Gods below reward our worship with thunderous applause on occasion.”

  Hank spoke for the first time since their arrival into the mountain. “Gods below?”

  “It is where they live… under the Island.”

  “These gods… they move freely from the underground to the surface?”

  Hardo shook his head. “Oh no, the Gods have never been seen. It is said they once walked the surface among us, but chose to separate themselves. The day is coming soon when they will return. Hopefully that day will arrive during my lifetime. Until then my brothers and I will continue worshipping, singing our praise and chanting our prayers. The Gods below will hear our voices, and be pleased.”

  He clapped his hands together and a dozen men entered the Jewel Room from a dark doorway leading further into the sky rock. They were a dishevelled looking bunch wearing plain brown robes tied in at the waists with dirty ropes that looked similar to the one holding up Trot’s pants. The hair on their heads grew in unwashed knots down past their backsides. Beards trailed down at an equal length towards the fronts of their knees. Each was carrying a wooden stool. The men smiled, politely pushing the visitors aside to sit at the room’s center in a circle. They bowed their heads and began to chant.

  The words made no sense, and soon even the language was lost. It became mindless sound. Some of the men were louder, yelling out in long howls, while others hummed deep from their chests. Trot looked positively terrified. Hardo tried comforting him. “Don’t be afraid. They’re singing to the Gods… speaking with their souls, asking forgiveness for sins, and wishing the best for our new-found friends.” Trot stared uncomprehendingly at him. Hardo rested a hand on his chest. “I’m talking about you.”

  “They’re praying,” Angel said. “My parents used to do it all the time, but it never sounded like that.”

  Hardo nodded. “Twelve times a day, an hour each time.” He took Trot and Angel towards the opening the men had come through. “Let me show you the rest of my home.”

  The others followed him through a narrow passageway. Torches were set into the rock walls, casting orange light and long black shadows ahead of them. They passed half a dozen more rooms. Holes barely large enough to poke one’s face into had been hewn out of the six-foot thick walls, allowing for the movement of air. Beds of straw covered with thin blankets were laid into the corners of each room. Hardo paused in the doorway of the last one. “These are reflection rooms. It is where we worship in silence and rest our heads to sleep.”

  “Is that all you people do?” Sara asked. “Worship?”

  “Mostly, yes. The rest of our time is spent preparing people like you.”

  “Preparing us for what?” She had a sudden worry they had walked straight into a trap—an inescapable stone prison filled with hairy cryers.

  “Come. I will show you.” He urged them deeper into the sky rock and down a steep set of stone stairs. A wooden door was set into the bottom. It was the only structure they had seen inside the mountain not made of rock. Hardo pulled on a heavy iron ring and the door swung outward. He grabbed a torch from the wall and pulled each of them through, one at a time. “This is where I brought Lawson his first time many years ago.” He took the torch and lit a candle on top of a stone pedestal. The space revealed itself in a dancing, yellow glow. It wasn’t as big as the Jewel Room, but the rock ceiling above their heads was twice as high. Hardo lit more candles. The walls from top to bottom had been hewn away to create a wrap-around series of ledges, each a foot in height, and a foot deep. There were hundreds of the individual rock alcoves.

  “Bookshelves,” Hank said. He reached into one and pulled out a dusty, leather-bound dictionary.

  “Be careful with that.” Hardo took it from him and placed it gingerly back into the shelf. “Unless you’re planning to buy, touching is st
rictly prohibited.”

  “You sell books?” Sara asked. “How do people pay?”

  “Our rates are reasonable. Whatever the buyer has, we consider. Lawson purchased an ancient thesaurus on his first visit with a gun and a rusty knife.”

  Angel was wandering around the room, running her fingers along the mostly empty stone shelves. “Looks like you could keep thousands of books in here. How come you only got a dozen or so?”

  “Visitors have been buying from us for hundreds of years. My brothers have been venturing out further over the last few decades trying to replenish stock, but there are only so many places left to dig up out there. We haven’t found a book on our own in more than three years.”

  “A used book store,” Hank muttered. “I never would’ve imagined the first business to open up in a post-apocalyptic world would be a used book store.”

  Kay poked her nose into a dark shelf and saw an ancient tome sitting on its back. The spine had long since worn away, and the glue binding had turned into flaking yellow crust. “So when you and your brothers aren’t singing to Gods that live under the island, you go out and try to find more books to sell to people… Why?”

  “That’s the way it’s always been in Boom Reach. We sell books to wanderers so they can be admitted onto the island.”

  “What’s so good about the island?” Angel asked.

  “Victory Island is the safest, holiest place in the world. There is order. They are tolerant and loving. They accept all.”

  “For a book,” Hank said. “The island isn’t all that big. If as many people have been going there for as long as you say they have, where are they now?”

  “Some leave after a time. A life of peace and tranquility isn’t for everyone.” He grinned again. “Lawson was one of those… just visiting.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Hank pressed. “Where do all the people that decide to stay go?”