She turned to the Band, gulping hard when she caught sight of the zombie horde behind them.
Clara nodded and the Band parted as the zombies came through with the scum of the Kingdom of Kentucky.
They were heaved through the hole which remained of the new closure.
When all who remained were on the other side, the young Traveler pulled the material from one side of the wall to the other side of the sphere tunnel, effectively creating a new wall to close off the tunnel that had served as a conduit of trading for over one hundred years. It was a curtain now closed. Forever.
Clara gazed at the people of a rival kingdom, now shut out from hers and gave a shaky sigh of relief.
She turned to the boy.
The Master of Death. It was time to restore the dead of her sphere to their proper resting place.
Clara's eyes met his, and those of his beautiful intended, Jade. She opened her mouth to utter her request but he answered before she could give it voice, “I will.”
Caleb turned and with a silent command, the dead of Clara's kingdom followed him Outside to rest once more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The fire blazed, the Band stoking it with the dead royalty.
Caleb walked toward the heat of the fire, his hand shielding his face from the intense warmth, the smell was the most disgusting he'd ever been around.
That'd do it. Whenever you burned dead bodies, they smelled rank.
“Will this stop them?” Daniel asked the young Traveler.
Caleb nodded, he didn't think he was capable of raising something that no longer had a body.
He hoped that there wasn't ever a Cadaver-Manipulator that could. He shuddered at the thought.
He watched Queen Clara. Her eyes shone with wetness as she gazed at the flames that licked the remains of who had apparently been the worst of this world.
An insane prince and queen, bent on abusing everyone in their path. But their main focus had been Clara.
Caleb looked at the zombies that held the Zondorae brothers.
He told the dead what to do.
“No! You can't do this! You can't use these corpses to keep us here!” Joe yelled, trying to wrench himself free.
Caleb whirled around, stalking toward them, the zombies clutching the brothers tighter as they felt his rage leak out all over them. When he was within kissing distance, he threw his finger in the chest of the brother with the biggest mouth. “You're the one that screwed this six ways to Sunday. You created us by using them. Now your pet projects are taking over and you're pissed?” Caleb yelled in his face.
“Yeah, what he said!” Jonesy said.
Caleb looked at Jonesy.
He threw up his hands. “Chillax, dude. Let's get the hell outta Dodge.”
Right, Caleb thought.
He gave the zombies their instructions while the remaining dead poured back into the wounded and frozen ground.
Caleb and the rest watched as the ice slid over the graves, hiding them again until they would be mounds of dirt when the spring's heat returned.
*
Clara came forward, offering her hand and Caleb took it, shaking it gently and releasing it. A ghost of a smile appeared on Clara's face.
“You were supposed to kiss her hand,” John said quietly.
“Did you want to do this?” Caleb returned, just as quietly.
John shook his head. “No, you're boss this time.”
Caleb turned his back on the Js, looking at Clara.
He smiled back.
“We are well met, young Traveler,” Clara said as Caleb studied her, memorizing her. His gaze shifted to all the strong men who stood behind her, gills of pink flesh ribbons twined around thick necks, eyes different colors with the same look in each.
Loyalty and protection.
To her.
For Clara.
The one that stood at her back had the bluest eyes Caleb had ever seen.
And the most unflinching.
Clara came forward and reaching up, cupped her hand on Caleb's cheek. A little sound of surprise escaped his throat and he wrapped her hand as it lay on his face. Their hands pressed together for a moment and she stunned him with her words, the expression on her face.
Aimed at him.
“You honor your world this day. I thank you for saving all that we are.” Her hand slipped out of his and he felt the loss of it.
Caleb understood that royalty was different than birthright, it was a trueness in character, a desire to do the right thing at any cost.
He was reminded of his objective.
“Thank you, Queen Clara.” Caleb inched backwards, joining his friends, Randi at the center.
She was ready. Ready to cast the net of her power for the return to their world.
Matthew's large hand held Clara's small one, his chin clearing the top of her head with ease.
“Will we ever see you again, young Traveler?”
“Caleb,” he corrected softly.
Queen Clara inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment.
Caleb shook his head. “No.”
Sadness crossed her features and then was gone.
“Good fortune, Caleb Hart,” Clara said, her face a mix of grateful sadness.
A bittersweet feeling tightened inside of Caleb, to later become nostalgia when he was old.
John answered for him, “I think Caleb makes his own luck, Queen Clara.”
Daniel translated.
“Aye, we are more alike than you know.”
Caleb felt his smile widen into a grin. The most unlikely of allies, from two separate worlds, a common goal for both.
Using all that they were for the good of all.
Clara watched the young Traveler slip out of existence with a brilliant kaleidoscope of colors that coalesced into a brightness which blinded, a constellation of fallen stars.
Then they were gone.
Departed forever from her world.
Clara stood staring for a moment at the spot where Caleb had been. She sighed, turning to the portal of Outside where the naked schemers stood shivering, four of the dead remaining but for a time.
Clara nodded at the new sentry and he brought forward attire for the two.
“You can't take our clothes!” Gary Zondorae shouted, beating his fist against the zombie that held him, the skin sloughing away with each stroke of his hand. Finally he noticed the flesh was gone when his hand connected with the wiry sinew that encased the muscle beneath. He looked into the face of the zombie and blanched. It hissed its response.
“They can and will, fools,” Daniel said without rancor. Salt had been found amongst their belongings and more of the weapon of sleep. The Band took it all, flinging the useless wardrobe and belongings of a nefarious nature in the embers. They stirred those things with the globs of flesh from the dead prince and queen where they reignited to burn brightly once more.
A pyre for more than the dead.
Clara watched the scoundrels grab their nether regions, clinging to a modicum of modesty. She smiled and turning, walked with Matthew to the portal, the piled clothing at the feet of the Travelers.
Let them find their way amongst the fragment. They could reacquaint themselves with people of a similar ilk.
Clara was busy, she did not have time to mind ne'er do wells. They would make their own way.
After all, water sought its own level, as Daniel was oft fond of saying.
Clara watched as the Band locked the portal and the zombies returned to their graves, leaving the two men of another world stranded amongst the graves, living islands in a sea of death. Whatever plan they might have had, changed forever.
“Let us be about the business of my sphere,” Clara said, looking about her, taking in who remained, assessing injuries and expressions. When she was satisfied she gave a final look toward the new barrier between the spheres and watched as the people of the Kingdom of Kentucky pressed their noses against the new wall, barring their entrance
into her home forever.
Clara turned on her heel and did not look back again.
****
Clara strode toward the low, iron gate, the ornate metalwork speaking a welcome straight to her heart.
The Band and Clara reached the door. As she reached to depress the thumb latch on the huge scrolled door handle, Matthew stayed her hand.
“Do not,” he said quietly.
“Aye? Why ever not? The young female traveler...”
“Jade?” Evie said from behind them and Clara gave her a level look. “Aye, she be the one.”
Her gaze swiveled back to Matthew and her features softened, her anxiety to reconnect with Charles' father and her primary people never leaving her, making her thoughtless about her own safety.
“But not this dwelling. There may be some about even now.”
The Band released their weapons and the women, except Calia and Rowenna, stayed behind the protection of the Band.
Clara gasped when the Band filled the grand foyer, the wall of their bodies not able to hide the damage that had been wrought. Everywhere she looked there lay broken glass.
Her eyes moved of their own volition to the stained glass window depicting her real mother and saw that it was no more, broken shards littered the ground below.
Clara ground her teeth together, she knew that it was unimportant. Had she not found her blooded mother? Rowenna was by her side at this very moment but somehow... the destruction of her physical memorial symbolized everything that had happened to Clara, her losses.
To her people, her way of life.
Clara burst into tears.
Matthew strode to her side and wrapped her in his arms and stroked her hair as she cried.
“I know...” Clara sobbed. “I behave stupidly!”
Evie and Sarah came to stand next to her, patting her arm. Sarah stroked it like she had after especially bad events with Ada.
But it was Rowenna that caused Clara's broken heart to begin to heal with her deliberate words, “My daughter,” she began.
Clara looked at Rowenna out of the stronghold of safety within Matthew's embrace.
“The Travelers return no longer. The Kingdom of Kentucky, once ally and now enemy, lies in squalor to the east of us, safely segregated.” She raised an eyebrow and on the barest nod from Clara she continued, “The fragment remain Outside, washed aground by their own designs, your sphere is now healed of the damage by salt.” Her eyes locked with Clara's and she jerked her chin to the window that had once held her image, ruined forever. “And, the image that King Raymond immortalized for your benefit so that you may know me is no longer needed.” Her face broke out in a radiant smile, “For I am here, my daughter... for I am here,” she whispered, holding out her arms for Clara.
Clara ran to Rowenna and wound her arms around her.
“I am so very glad,” Clara said, her tears soaking the tunic that lay under her cheek and finally allowing the slimmest margin of peace to find its way into her soul.
*
“Queen Clara!” Billy boomed from the top of the curving and marbled flight of steps.
Clara glanced up from the cocoon of her mother's arms, reluctantly pulling away from the momentary sanctuary which lay there.
Clara ran up the steps, taking them two at a time, an easy feat with the wonderful breeches, and breathlessly she asked Billy, “What say you?”
Billy did not respond but scooped her up into his beefy arms, dirty, disheveled and very un-royal, spinning Clara around. “It is good to have you back with us, my Queen.”
Clara laughed at his enthusiasm but his smile faded as the Band came to stand behind the grinning pair.
“What say you?” Clara asked again, her initial happiness falling away at his expression.
Billy looked down at his hands and it was then that Clara noticed his rolling pin stuffed in a pocket at the side of his apron.
Stained a dull brick color.
Clara's eyes snapped to his. “Tell me,” she commanded as the queen she was.
“Methinks you need to see someone first... she needs ya, Queen Clara.”
“Who needs me?”
“Olive,” Billy said, standing tears in his eyes.
“What...” Clara staggered back a step. “What transgression has been vested upon dear Olive?”
Billy just shook his head and began walking away.
Clara followed, Matthew taking the lead, a weapon in each hand.
For surety.
*
The Band sucked in breath with a combined hiss, the sight of the beaten and broken Olive, a shroud of bed linen covering her, throat to toe, notwithstanding the vision of abuse that littered her face and neck was revealed before them.
Clara ran to her side, sliding on her knees next to Olive.
Clara saw so many bruises, there was no place to touch her. Even the top of her head abounded with welts, cuts and matted blood. That she was conscious was a miracle.
Clara saw the Band move to the perimeter of the chamber they found themselves in, their eyes ceaselessly moving as they swept the room with their gaze.
Sarah stood openly weeping behind Clara and Evie trembled before the obvious vestiges of violence.
Clara stifled her horror and asked the question most important, “Who?”
Olive's warm brown eyes, one swollen shut, rolled toward Clara and she whispered out of her cut lip, “Caesar,” wincing.
Daniel brought a cup of water and that is when Clara noticed Peter, almost as abused as Olive. “What say you? What has happened that Olive has suffered thus?”
Her eyes bored into Peter's and his lip trembled. Clara schooled her expression, it could not have been anyone's fault. While she was kidnapped, rescued and driven across the land, her sphere had suffered at the hand's of the tyrant, Caesar.
Uncanny in his resemblance to his relative.
In every way.
Peter met her eyes, “Queen Clara, we heard her torture and could do nothing. It was Billy that freed me so we could attend Olive.”
Clara's eyes swept to Billy, then shifted to the pin that had rolled out half the pans of bread for the kingdom, and she gave a nervous bark of laughter. The Band looked at her in puzzlement.
“Did you...?” Clara asked Billy.
“Aye, I did. Brained the whole lot of 'em!”
“With your baking implement?”
He nodded, “Aye!”
“Marvelous!” Clara grinned, her eyes going to Peter's once again.
He continued, the remnants of a smile touching his lips, “After Billy... dispatched the ruffians,” he gave a look to Billy, who winked in return, “we then made haste to Olive. She has been thus since.”
Clara nodded, thinking.
She would need to speak to Olive without males present.
Clara stood, the breeches making a stiff sound as she rose.
“I would ask that everyone leave so I may have a moment alone with Olive. She may need... feminine attention.” Clara did not expound on the other questions she may have as they were of too sensitive a nature to explore with males about.
Matthew frowned and Edwin came forward. “Clara, it is not good for us to leave you here unattended.” Clara rolled her eyes. “We be at the Royal Manse, there is no one about any longer.” She watched as Matthew's eyes lit on every corner of the room. He strode to the curtains, jerking one half to the side, finding nothing he turned to her, a flutter in his jaw the only indication of his ire.
With her.
“In this, Edwin is right,” he conceded grudgingly.
“Out!” Clara commanded. “Let me have but a moment with my maidservant.” She scowled at the Band who were not in the least intimidated by her and they filed out, Matthew looking once at the room, surveying it with distrust.
Unbelievable. As if there were ghosts about? Truly, she was beginning to believe the men of the Band a trifle paranoid when it came to protection. Clara closed the door and hesitated. Shrugging, she threw
the bolt.
They certainly did not need interference in the middle of a most delicate conversation.
She turned and strode back to Olive's side.
*
Olive looked up at Queen Clara and gasped. “My queen, you look a sight!” she said, trying to rise but Clara gently pushed her back upon the bed.
Clara smiled. “Yes, I am aware.”
Clara knew that she had gravely offended Olive on some primitive level with her unseemly attire. Somehow that provoked her humor and she gave a chuckle.
Olive frowned at her mistress, scuffed, dirty and wearing boy's clothes. However, she ached from head to toe, her mind muddled after the violence inflicted upon her by the wretched royal. She would give Clara a firm tongue-lashing when she was past this... event. She was more so than ever convinced that Clara be the only one of decent intentions.
There was something Olive needed to tell her Queen but it moved through her foggy mind like smoke she could not catch. Olive almost had it when Clara began asking many questions.
Olive haltingly told her what had occurred and then Clara, with the utmost finesse asked the one which Olive felt best about answering.
“Did he... has he had his way with you?” Clara hesitated, biting her lip softly. “Did he rape you, Dear Heart?”
Olive shook her head, the first smile since the attack breaking over her face like sun through the clouds of Outside. “Nay, he could not.”
Clara's brow furrowed, her delicately bronzed eyebrows coming together in a smooth arch of question.
Olive nodded. “Aye, he wished to, very much. But he cannot. He is not able.” Olive squeezed her eyes shut, the memory of the attack still so fresh it caused a physical reaction even if the horrible man was no longer here.
“It does not function, Queen Clara. He is a male who wishes to rape but does not have the function of...” Olive pointed to her own nether regions and Clara understood.
Caesar, next on the throne as King of Kentucky, was impotent.
The perfect irony was not lost on her.
savage 04 - the savage vengeance Page 25