He knew the power such artifacts could hold.
Walking next to a metal frame hanging on the wall, comprised almost entirely of tube-like bars, Jonas stared at it for what felt like the millionth time. The bars formed what looked like a frame, and a fork came out of the front, looking as if it held something else. On the back was another tube that looked like it held a similar object. Several more tubes jutted from the tops of the frame, ending abruptly, looking as if they had once carried other pieces or parts. The object was roughly the size of a human.
He still couldn’t figure it out. At one time, he had thought the gods had used it as a gardening tool, or a contraption to ensnare animals, but its rigidity had made him give up on those ideas. He had even taken it outside in the dirt, hoping to decipher its use by experimenting, but it had served no obvious purpose.
One day, he hoped to determine what it had done, or what it still might do.
Moving farther, he looked up at what he could only describe as a metal board, about the length of a human arm. A weathered, square hole in the center held fragments of what might’ve been a cracked, glass tube. He couldn’t see what might be carried in the center of a metal board like that. The small area in the center of the board would be no good for protecting anything. What had it done?
It was a mystery, like so many other things the gods had used. He studied it curiously while wiping it off.
A noise at the end of the hall distracted him. He looked up to find one of Deacon’s soldiers walking in with a tray of breakfast. Jonas hurried down the hall to meet him, stuffing the rag in his pocket.
“Thank you,” he said, accepting a tray filled with a few slices of bread and some water.
“Is that enough?” the Trusted guard asked.
Glancing over his shoulder at a few of the rooms with closed doors, Jonas said, “It should be fine. Is Deacon awake?”
“He’s outside,” the soldier said, cranking a thumb over his shoulder.
Jonas nodded. He should’ve expected that answer.
Deacon rarely slept.
“I’ll be outside soon to meet him as soon as I’m finished with my chores,” Jonas said, hurrying off down the hallway.
He stopped when he reached one of the doors on the right-hand side, taking out a key from his pocket and inserting it in the lock. Slowly, he opened the door.
The men chained to the metal contraptions stared at him with pleading, broken eyes, their attention wandering from Jonas’s face to the tray full of food. Walking to the first man, Jonas unlocked a few of the clasps on the side of his metal mask, freeing the man’s mouth enough that he could eat. Careful not to get his fingers close to the man’s teeth, Jonas fed him some bread.
“Here you go,” he said, watching the man chew and swallow.
It had been a while since the man had refused food.
He knew better.
Chapter 49: Bray
Bray, Kirby, and William rode their horses down the dirt path, Bartholomew next to them. Bartholomew had insisted on going on foot, so as not be an extra burden to the horses.
Every so often, they traveled in an open area that wasn’t blanketed by trees, allowing the sun to shine through and warm their backs. Bray kept a tight rein on his horse and watched the trees for anything concerning, but he saw no men lurking behind tree trunks, no obvious traps into which they were being led.
“How far is the second island?” Kirby asked.
“We’ll go through the rest of the island before we reach it, of course, but we should be there before long,” Bartholomew said. “The main road will take us most of the way.”
Bray wondered if Bartholomew had seen him exploring the day before, or if any of the guards had. If so, Bartholomew didn’t reveal that knowledge. The island was less foreign to Bray than it had been that first day he’d crossed the bridge, waiting for a sword or an arrow in his back.
He was still cautious, but the view he’d gotten the other day had piqued his interest in the second island. He was curious about Deacon. And he wanted to know more about The Important Ones.
He recalled his first years in the wild, exploring hills and mountains, following his father into places that most people never got to see. When Bray was a boy, too young to know better, he often dreamt of encountering strange people, discovering things that no one in Brighton had imagined. There were plenty of stories of danger, but he hoped to find other things, too, things that would amaze most people in the townships.
For a brief second, he recalled his father’s map, and the prospect of filling it in gave him a sense of satisfaction.
Fuller would be proud.
Soon they were traveling on the main road, passing rows of houses that were new to them. More people than Bray had seen on the island trickled out from the dirt paths. Some pushed carts; others carried piles of what looked like blankets and clothing. Most of them stared at the horses, or Bray, Kirby, and William as they walked the road. Whatever small part of the islands hadn’t heard about them, had definitely heard now.
“Where is everyone going?” Bray asked, gesturing at the passersby.
“Today is one of our market days,” Bartholomew explained. “They’re headed to a field on the eastern portion of the island to set up their wares.”
“A field? The merchants in Brighton practically live in the market. Isn’t your market always open?”
“Only two days a week. We have a structure there. Our people bring their belongings and trade for what they need. The rest of the time they produce goods, or take care of one of the many tasks that keeps our islands running.”
“Are those farmers carting glass?” William asked, pointing at one of the carts as the farmer passed by, which was filled with clear, round jars. His face filled with wonder.
“Yes,” Bartholomew said, clearly unsure of what was so shocking.
“Glass is a rarity in our township,” Bray explained. “We don’t have much of it.”
“Ah, I see,” Bartholomew said. “We have plenty in The Arches.”
“Where did you get it?” Bray asked, thinking how much that glass would be worth in Brighton.
“Years ago, some of our ancestors stumbled upon a hill left by the gods, filled with strange items buried under the earth.”
“I heard about that hill from Flora,” Kirby said, nodding. “Perhaps it is the same one.”
“Yes,” Bartholomew said. “Most of the items our ancestors found were destroyed and of no use, but the jars were intact. After digging them out of the rubble, our ancestors used them for many years, before passing them down to their relatives. Underneath the hill, they also found bits of metal, some of which our blacksmiths used to make swords, and also containers made of a strange light substance, which looked like they were used to hold liquid. Our ancestors also found some very, very thin rope that we use for fishing. Much of it was tangled, but they were able to dig it out. An expedition was made to cart back anything useable.”
“Is there anything left on this hill?”
“The area has been overrun with Savages,” Bartholomew said sadly.
“A shame,” Bray said.
“Even so, most of what could be used was taken long ago,” Bartholomew added. “The rest was buried so deep it was impossible to get out. The place reeked. The Savages must have discovered it after the gods left.”
Kirby watched some of the people wheeling their carts by and said, “It sounds like your people discovered a landfill.”
“A…landfill?” Bartholomew looked at her curiously.
“A place where people leave things they no longer use.”
“Those things were left for us by the gods,” Bartholomew said assuredly.
Kirby didn’t comment.
Unable to keep his eyes off the farmers passing by, some of whom were carting more jars filled with vegetables, William asked, “What is the liquid inside the jars with the vegetables?”
“Vinegar. We ration and preserve our vegetables at the end of the sea
son. Do you do that?” Bartholomew asked.
“No,” William said, shaking his head. “The merchants might have jars, but the peasants don’t. We mostly eat dried meats in the cold months. We don’t have many leftover vegetables.”
“Our farmers keep our leftover vegetables and ensure they don’t rot.” Bartholomew seemed proud of their system.
“I’ve never heard of that,” Bray said.
“It has always been that way.”
They continued down the road, watching flocks of people cut across trails on the western side of the road to the eastern portion of the island, heading away and out of sight. Soon they were traveling in a remote area with fewer people. Fields of uneven dirt lined either side of the road, where the snow had mostly melted and Bray could tell crops had grown.
“This is one of our farming areas. The soil is better here than in other areas.” Bartholomew pointed at some large, wooden buildings past the fields, in the distance. “We have farmers closer to the island’s sides, as well. Some of our goats live there, William. Maybe we can see them on the way back, or at another time.”
William’s face lit up.
Chapter 50: Jonas The Collector
After completing his morning rituals, Jonas hurried outside through the back entrance of the building, looking for Deacon. He didn’t see him at first. He didn’t see anyone else, either. Most of The Important Ones were probably eating their breakfast in the other building. He looked beyond the long, mostly dirt field that sat behind the two buildings, covered with frozen boot and shoeprints from the elderly brave enough to walk out into the cold. The rest of those footprints were from Deacon’s Trusted soldiers, who patrolled and protected the island, searching for Savages or intruders.
They didn’t get many Savages. In fact, Jonas couldn’t remember a time when one of the wild men had crossed the river. Usually the current swept them away before they got close.
He found Deacon by the riverbank on the eastern side of the island. Deacon was standing so still that Jonas might not have found him, if he hadn’t been looking carefully between the trees.
“You’re back,” Jonas said quietly, when he was close enough that he didn’t have to shout.
Deacon broke from his thoughts and looked toward him.
Jonas swallowed as he thought about his next question. He hoped to drive the conversation toward more important information, but he couldn’t sound too eager. Eager men became dead men quickly—both on the islands, and in the wild. “Was the hunt successful?” he asked finally.
“Not as successful as I’d hoped,” Deacon admitted. “But things are different now. I’m sure you heard about the strangers.”
Jonas nodded, grateful to get to the details for which he had waited. They had consumed his thoughts while he’d done his chores. Several times, he’d even woken in the night, unable to get the god weapons, or the strangers, from his mind.
Deacon watched Jonas. For a moment, Jonas feared that Deacon might hear the barely perceptible ticking from the object in his pocket. Just in case, he stuffed his hands in his pants, clasping the object in his shaking fingers and muffling what was surely an inaudible noise.
“I spoke with the girl who brought them here,” Deacon said. “She confirmed most of the information you probably heard. They have the god weapons.”
Jonas couldn’t help his surge of elation. “How many do they have?”
“The woman carries two. The man and the boy have none.”
“Did you find any weapons in the forests from the Halifax men?” Jonas asked.
“The Halifax men we came across didn’t have any. They most likely hid them where they live. We won’t get to them easily.”
Jonas nodded, but he was still excited about the strangers. “The strangers might change everything.”
Deacon agreed. “The weapons will be a huge resource for our people.”
“Are you going to take the weapons?” Jonas asked.
“Not at first,” Deacon said. “Getting the strangers to cooperate might give us an advantage over the men from Halifax. We can take two guns, or we can get the knowledge to make more.”
“Very true.”
“Plus, we will need to know how to use them.”
Jonas felt some shame that Deacon didn’t trust him to figure it out. Masking his disappointment, he said, “I heard the other rumors, about the boy who can speak to Savages.”
“We will need to test that, too,” Deacon said. “I’m hoping the boy’s skill might be learned. If that is the case, he might have a greater benefit to us. He can teach our soldiers. But because of his illness, we might need to give him some time.”
Jonas nodded. “I’m worried about the people of Halifax, and the weapons they have.”
Deacon looked grave. “So am I. I will try to gain the strangers’ trust. I will give it as much time as we can afford. If not, I will do what is necessary to protect our people.”
Jonas nodded. He knew that was true. “When are you meeting them?”
“Bartholomew is retrieving them now,” Deacon said. “They are on their way.”
Jonas nodded, wishing Deacon would trust him to speak with the strangers, too. But he knew better than to ask.
“I will let you know how it goes. Once we get a hold of the weapons, you will be among the first to study them,” said Deacon.
Jonas thanked Deacon and excused himself, walking back toward the buildings.
Chapter 51: Bray
After passing more farmers’ fields, the ancient, curving road looped in a circle at the end of the island and reconnected to itself, just as Bartholomew had described. A small trail at the road’s end led to the water and to the wooden bridge at the end of that path, which extended over the water, connecting one island to the next. Bray noticed several large, natural stones on either bank that were even more apparent than Bray had realized from the forest. The enormous gray and orange stones sat about ten feet above the water, jagged in some places, smooth in others. Past the bridge, the second island started narrowly, but quickly expanded to the size of the first island’s width.
A few handfuls of guards—not as many as on the main bridge, but enough to make him nervous—hung by the wooden bridge’s opening.
Past the bridge, visible beyond a browning field, the sun speared the two buildings situated in the middle of the island. One sat on the left, the other on the right.
“Here we are,” Bartholomew said, beaming as they transitioned from the road to the dirt trail, heading toward the bridge.
Kirby and William took in the setting with awe.
“The second island is a sacred place for us,” Bartholomew explained, as they got closer. “Not many of our people are allowed here, and only a select portion live here. You might’ve heard that, while you’ve been staying. I’m sure you will have questions, as Deacon will have some for you.”
Bray said, “I’m sure.”
As they approached the wooden bridge, the guards hung to the sides, letting them pass. Bartholomew greeted them with a reserved nod. Bray didn’t recognize any of them, but they were dressed similarly to those at the front of The Arches. As they traveled over the bridge, Bray looked out over the river and at the water underneath, which was shallow enough that he could see the bottom.
“Occasionally, some of this island’s residents fish off this bridge,” Bartholomew said. “Though they don’t catch much.”
Bray looked out over the water and to the banks on either side of the expansive river. He wouldn’t mind spending time here.
He turned his attention to the buildings, which sat silently a hundred yards from the end of the bridge. He expected to see some of the elderly people that he’d spotted before, but the brown field in front of them was empty.
“Please wait while I fetch Deacon,” Bartholomew said.
Without another word, Bartholomew walked across the field, heading toward a large door on the building on the left.
Bray looked behind him. The guards
traded their attention between the newcomers, the water, and the banks. The closest guards were about twenty feet away. Bray figured more were probably watching, or stationed in places he couldn’t see. He looked for a place where they could ride their horses back over the bridge, if they needed to get away.
Keeping his voice low, he asked Kirby, “What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful,” Kirby said. “But I’m wondering where all the people are.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Perhaps it’s too early for them to be out.”
“Or they were told to stay inside.”
Bray looked at William, who was shivering. They shouldn’t stay longer than they had to. The silence had deepened into something ominous. It seemed as if the ground had opened and swallowed the residents of the island up. After they had waited a while, the door where Bartholomew had disappeared reopened.
Two figures emerged.
One was Bartholomew.
The other, Bray could only assume, was Deacon.
The second man had long, stringy gray hair, and wore a long, dark coat. He strode with an aura of purpose. Like the guards on the bridge, he had the air of a fighting man. As he got closer, Bray saw weathered lines on his face and deep scars on his cheeks. His eyes were dark and piercing. Unlike some of the other rulers Bray had encountered, often flanked by guards, Deacon approached with only Bartholomew at his side.
He was either brave or confident. Bray steeled for the guarded interaction characteristic of most of the leaders he’d met.
He was surprised when the man smiled warmly in greeting.
“My deepest apologies. If I were home, I would’ve welcomed you earlier. I’m Deacon.”
Bray, Kirby, and William introduced themselves, waiting for whatever came next.
“Bray, Kirby, and William.” Deacon pointed at each of them in turn, correctly repeating their names. “I am glad we could provide you with a place out of the cold.”
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