“We appreciate your hospitality,” Bray said.
“A thank you isn’t necessary,” Deacon said. “I heard that you helped one of our people in the forest. Flora is alive because of you. She spoke of your bravery.”
Bray accepted the compliment.
“I’ll admit I was surprised to hear we had visitors. Most people we see are here to fight. Our people have defended The Arches for many years. We are proud of this place, and thankful for the gods’ grace,” Deacon said.
“It is a beautiful place to live,” Bray said, and he wasn’t lying.
Deacon watched them with the curious expression of a man who had many questions. Instead of voicing them, he beckoned to the buildings behind him. “You’ve waited long enough. Why don’t we take a walk, and I will show you some of the island?”
Bray looked down at his horse, feeling inappropriately high for a conversation with a man on the ground.
“If you’d like, Bartholomew can tend to your horses while I show you the island. The horses probably won’t like him as much as they do you, but he won’t lose them.” Deacon smiled again.
Bartholomew looked slightly embarrassed.
“I don’t intend to keep you long,” Deacon said.
Bray looked uneasily at Kirby and William. Bray still hadn’t ruled out the possibility of an ambush, either from the guards on the bridge, or others he hadn’t yet seen.
“You are cautious, as I would be,” Deacon said. “I understand. My assurances are all I can give that no harm will come to you. We have avoided bloodshed on this sacred second island for many years. I don’t intend to spill blood here now.”
Bray looked for a lie beneath the man’s expression. If it was there, he couldn’t see it. He dismounted, passing the reins to Bartholomew and taking up a spot near Kirby and William, who had also gotten down. They walked behind Deacon. Bray kept his hand close to his sword.
Deacon led them up a dirt trail and toward the buildings. “Has anyone told you about the islands?” he asked.
Bray said, “A little, but not much.”
“You’ve been focused on getting better, I assume,” Deacon said with a firm nod toward William.
“The rest has helped,” Bray said.
“It is good to see you on your feet, William. Our healers do what they can to treat our illnesses. They are competent. It is colder living on the island, surrounded by water, but less dangerous than living among the Savages.”
“Of course,” William said quietly. “Thank you for allowing us to stay.”
“I see you have an injury,” Deacon said, motioning toward Bray’s shoulder.
“It is nothing.” Bray waved off the wound. “A scratch from battle. Nothing to be concerned about.”
Deacon nodded, turning his attention back to the buildings. He pointed as he spoke. “Many years ago, the gods inhabited all the buildings on this earth, including the buildings on these islands. They lived out their mortal lives, much as we live out ours now, hunting, fishing, and protecting their families. When they grew tired of this mortal plain, they returned to the heavens, leaving us to look after what they’d left behind.”
Bray kept quiet. The story was different than those told in Brighton, but he wasn’t about to refute it.
Deacon continued, “You might think our ancestors first spotted The Arches on the main bridge, and that is what led them to this place. But that wasn’t the case. They first laid eyes upon these buildings that you see here.”
Deacon pointed toward the wide structures at the front of the island. Then he pointed across the river on the island’s western side, from which the mainland was visible across a hundred feet of river. Bray pictured the first people cutting through the forests and spotting the massive buildings on the second island.
“According to the legends, our ancestors lived many miles south of here, in buildings many stories high that our gods provided for them. They called it The City of the Gods. They survived for many years there, feeding and clothing their people, raising their families. They battled off enemies that tried to take what they had, but none of those enemies were so plentiful, or so vicious, that they couldn’t ward them off. For the most part, they were safe.”
Bray nodded as he listened.
“Without warning,” Deacon continued, “A vicious people emerged from the forests, taking most of what they had, killing many of them and driving them from their homes. Our people fought with courage, but in time, they lost. A brave handful of our ancestors survived and took to the wild, fighting sickness and starvation as they journeyed north. Some died. They traveled for many weeks, fighting beasts they’d never encountered, battling fatal sicknesses, and fending off savage people. Eventually, the hardest few—the gods’ chosen—made it to the river that you see here, The River of the Gods. They followed it for many miles, until they spotted these buildings through the trees. It was the sign for which they had been waiting. They followed the river north, listening to the whispers of the gods, until they happened upon the bridge that you crossed to get in here. That is how The Arches became our home.”
“An incredible story,” Bray said.
“Not a story, but a truth,” Deacon affirmed.
Putting some things together, Bray said, “Our people know of a city to the south. We call it The Ancient City. I am not sure if it is one and the same.”
“Perhaps it is The City of the Gods,” Deacon said. “It is said some of our people attempted to go back, years later. They never returned.”
“What happened to the people who attacked your ancestors?” Kirby asked.
“They are the people of Halifax. The people with the markings on their heads.”
Chapter 52: Bray
“The people of Halifax?” Bray asked, confused. “I thought they lived close by. It sounds like these people lived further south.”
“They used to live further south,” Deacon clarified. “These were the ancestors of the people from Halifax. The gods took vengeance upon them, branding them with the markings you see on their heads. They were marked as a punishment for what they did to us. It is a reminder of the hell they will live in when they die.”
Bray recalled when he’d rubbed the markings on the dead Halifax man. It seemed like they had dye on their foreheads.
Deacon explained, “The people of Halifax are a vile race. Instead of wearing the symbol of punishment with shame, they embraced it and started dyeing their foreheads with it. Their existence is an affront to the gods.” Deacon’s face grew hard. “A small party of them followed our ancestors from The City of the Gods, hoping to wipe us out, but they failed. Over time, more of their people came, when they heard about The Arches. They situated in the settlement we call Halifax. They’ve spent years fighting us, in hopes of taking our new home. But the gods have given us a place we can defend, and we have done our part by utilizing every man, woman, and child to defend our home. Everyone plays a role in our survival. All must learn to fight, and all must learn to defend The Arches. Everyone serves a purpose.”
Having finished his story, Deacon looked at the buildings, perhaps reliving some troublesome memory of battle. After a few moments, he snapped from his thoughts and waved them around the side of the building on the right.
“Enough about the past,” he said. “I want to show you the beautiful island that led our ancestors to safety. Follow me.”
Deacon veered from the path and around the western wall of the right-hand building, onto another area of dead grass that had been heavily traveled. Thick pine trees bordered the western side of the island, providing natural protection from the opposite banks, from where Bray, Kirby, and William had come. From the new vantage point, Bray saw that the island extended well beyond the two buildings.
“This island is a lot smaller than the first, though you can’t see it’s end. In the warmer months, this island is covered in beautiful flowers, and trees that only seem to grow on this land on which you are standing,” Deacon said. “I have never see
n their equal on the mainland. Most of those plants go away with the warmth. If you had come a few months earlier, perhaps I could’ve showed you. We could’ve hiked through the forest.”
“A nice thought,” Kirby said, though Bray figured she didn’t have the time or concern for flowers.
“I’m sure you are wondering who lives here,” Deacon said as he pointed at the solid wall of the building.
Hoping to conceal the fact that he already knew, Bray said, “That was my next question.”
“This island is a sacred place of safety for my people. It was the beacon that led them to The Arches, and therefore has the gods’ special blessing.” Deacon walked them further, until they were almost behind the building. “That is why we use it for our most special people.”
As they reached the back corner of the building, Bray saw several elderly people milling in a field behind it, about a hundred feet away. Most were much older than Deacon, walking with the assistance of sticks, shuffling slowly as they walked under the sunlight. All wore warm clothing. One person, a middle-aged man missing a leg, leaned on a crutch fashioned of some sort of wood.
“The second island is where we keep our elderly, those who have serviced The Arches for many years, or those too wounded to fight or work,” Deacon explained. “Most have survived great battles, earning special protection from the gods.”
A few of the elderly looked over at Bray, Kirby, and William, perhaps surprised to see people other than soldiers in the vicinity. None came toward them.
“How many live here?” Kirby asked.
“About a hundred,” Deacon said. “A small portion of our population. As you can guess, sickness and battles take most of us before we reach a privileged age. But that is the way of the world.”
“So it goes,” Bray agreed.
“The people who live here also serve a purpose to The Arches,” Deacon said. “As I said, everyone plays a part. They make clothing, cook for themselves and our Trusted guards, and help the healers. A few have a special talent in assisting those who are severely ill.”
“A good setup, for those who live here,” Bray said.
“They are here for their dedication. The gods have chosen them.” Deacon shrugged, as if the point was obvious. “And they inspire others, who strive to live as long as them. For that reason, we call them The Important Ones.”
“I see.” Watching some of the elderly walking around in bundled jackets, Bray said, “It seems some of them prefer the outdoors, even in the cold.”
“They are enjoying the day,” Deacon said with a smile. “They’ve earned it.”
Watching a few of the elderly people mingling behind the building, Bray asked, “Do their relatives visit?”
“Only our Important Ones and our guards are allowed here,” Deacon said. “But those that can travel are encouraged to do so.”
“Thank you for allowing us to visit this privileged place,” Bray said.
Deacon stopped walking and turned to face Bray, Kirby, and William. It seemed as if he wasn’t taking them any farther.
“How long have you been a leader here?” Kirby asked.
“My father died when I was at a young age, and wasn’t able to pass The Arches on to me. I hadn’t yet learned to fight. But my uncle respected my father’s wishes and led for an interim period. When I was of age, my uncle granted me his special privilege.”
“Does your uncle still live among The Important Ones?” Bray inquired, wondering if Deacon had killed him for the role. Maybe he would find an ugly truth beneath Deacon’s words.
“My uncle lived a full life. He passed a few years ago,” Deacon said with a sad expression. “He lived out the remainder of his time with the blessed ones, until he joined the gods.”
Bray nodded as he looked past the buildings.
“We have a few small farming fields back here,” Deacon said, pointing past the field, where several rows of frozen dirt were visible in the sunlight. “The rest of the island is forest. It provides a layer of protection, and a nice place to walk in the warmer months. If William weren’t sick, I would take you there, as I said.”
Bray looked back at the buildings.
Noticing his gaze, Deacon said, “I would take you inside the buildings, but they are sacred. I hope you can understand.”
“It is no worry,” Bray said.
“I hope you found something of interest in what I’ve told you about The Arches.”
“It is an amazing place,” Bray said. “And a privilege to see it.”
Deacon started walking again, leading them back along the wall of the building and toward the bridge.
Bray looked for Bartholomew. He hadn’t wandered far from where they’d left him with the horses by the bridge. He held the ropes, admiring the animals and occasionally looking their way, as if he were waiting for them to finish. Falling silent for the first time since they’d arrived, Deacon looked between them, his eyes settling on the guns.
“I’ll admit it was difficult to refrain from asking you questions,” Deacon said. “I’m sure our people have been asking you plenty, since you arrived.”
“A few,” Bray admitted.
“Now I have some questions for you.” Deacon stopped again, staring at the guns. “I’ve heard about your homelands from Bartholomew. And I have also heard about your weapons, and the people of Halifax. It is an unpleasant coincidence that has brought us together. As I’m sure you can guess, we are worried about the people of Halifax, and concerned about the weapons they have.”
“Of course,” Bray said.
“They are a continuing threat to us. We need to understand what we are up against.” Deacon paused, keeping his focus to Kirby. “I was hoping you could show me how your weapons work.”
The forthrightness of the question took Kirby by surprise. She watched Deacon with a face that showed she was uncomfortable. “They are loud,” she warned, glancing over her shoulder at the people milling behind the buildings, some of who were still visible behind the rear wall.
“I was hoping you could use them on the trees over there.” Deacon pointed.
“They would scare the people. And most likely draw attention from the mutants.”
“My people aren’t easily scared.” Deacon smiled, with an expression of pride that showed he was telling the truth. “As for the Savages, I am willing to risk a momentary noise.”
Deacon watched Kirby with an intensity that showed he wasn’t used to being refused.
Hoping to dissuade Deacon, Bray said, “We can’t fire the weapons. We only have a certain amount of ammunition. It would be a waste—and a risk—to spend it on anything other than demons.”
Deacon turned from Kirby to Bray. “I admit I’m ignorant in the ways of such weapons. But surely a demonstration wouldn’t render the weapon useless.”
“It wouldn’t,” Bray agreed. “But as I said, we can’t afford to waste resources frivolously.”
“You wouldn’t be able to see much without a demon to use as a target,” Kirby added.
“Are you able to make more of these weapons?”
Kirby shook her head. “The knowledge was lost with my people. Even if we could find the materials, I do not know how to make them myself.”
Deacon paused for a long moment, looking as if he was trying to discern the truth from a lie. Bray and Kirby remained steadfast. For a moment, Bray wondered whether the discussion would become an argument, and how it would end. He looked at Bartholomew and the guards by the bridge. None of them had moved, but a few were staring in their direction.
Finally, seeming to decide on something, Deacon said, “I understand. We are a people that use resources wisely, too. I know your intent is to get back some of the existing weapons from the people of Halifax, our enemies. Perhaps I can ask another favor. When you retrieve more of your weapons, will you bring one of them back to show me?”
With a conciliatory nod, Bray said, “We can do that.”
Deacon smiled, unable to mask his disap
pointment. “I’ll admit most my of guards thought you were gods. Many believed you were sent here to protect us from the people of Halifax. Talking to you now, I can see that you are real people, just like anyone else on the island. I hope you aren’t offended by that.”
“If I were a god, I’d have hundreds of weapons,” Bray said with a grin.
Deacon returned the gesture. “My hope is that we can help each other. However long you stay, we have a lot to learn from each other. I won’t take up more of your time. I know William needs his rest.” Deacon’s eyes lingered on William for a moment. “We can always meet again at another time and talk about other things. Do you know how long you will be staying?”
“A few more days at most,” Kirby said.
“I hope you feel we have repaid our debt for your helping Flora by providing food and a place to stay.”
“We do,” Bray agreed.
“Please don’t rush into the cold,” Deacon said. “But if you stay, I do have another request. I do ask that you provide your own meals. Food is scarce in the winter, as you know, and our people are expected to earn their keep.”
Bray said, “We have no problems with that.” Recalling Flora’s suggestion to Kirby, he said, “Perhaps I can join one of your hunting parties. When do your hunters leave?”
“Talk to Bartholomew. He will set you up with one. Most leave at dawn and go out for a night or so. We go only as far as we need, with the people of Halifax around.”
“Sounds good,” Bray said.
“Bartholomew will keep me posted on William’s progress. And please let me know before you leave. If you stay longer, I would love to talk more. If not, I will see you off.”
Chapter 53: Jonas The Collector
Jonas waited in the hallways, pretending to look at the relics on the wall while he impatiently waited for Deacon. After heading inside on Deacon’s instruction, he’d peered out between one of the window shutters, watching the strangers walk around the yard, unable to take his eyes off the miraculous devices.
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