by Jill Cooper
Rebecca felt no satisfaction as the horse was near on top of her. She ran to the left, but the horse reared up on its hind legs and its front legs attacked her, pushing her down to the ground. The air knocked out of her lungs, Rebecca rolled out of the way to avoid being trampled and hurried onto her knees.
She ran away toward John. “John!” she screamed and skidded in a pile to get to him. His head was down, staring at his bucket.
“John, what did she do to you?” Rebecca grabbed his clothes and gave him a shake. When he looked upon her with dull, decayed eyes, Rebecca screamed. “No, John! No!”
He placed his hand on her face and started to squeeze.
“Go secure the others. I need an army.” The female rider spoke in a whispered voice, raspy and like the dead. She seized Rebecca by the shoulders, and the sheer strength of her brought Rebecca to her knees.
“Please,” Rebecca begged. “I’ve done nothing to you! Nothing!”
“Abby Taylor? She was here. Where did she go?”
Rebecca had no idea what she was talking about. “I know no one by that name. We don’t have what you’re looking for! Return to your mistress and leave us be! You’ve done enough damage here!”
The female rider tilted her head to one side. “I smell her here. The young woman from Rottenwood. Which way did she go?”
Oh, the girl Sebastian was with, she came from the civilized world. This thing was after Tarnish Rose, and that meant Tarnish had to be important. She had to be good. Rebecca took a deep breath and shook her head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Liar.” The female rider lifted her flaming mace as if to strike her.
Rebecca cringed. “Please!” She held her hands up, and when the mace struck, it broke her left hand, leaving deep burn marks. The mace punctured her skin, and Rebecca called out in agony.
She fell to the ground, cradling her hand to her body.
The female rider turned to face the circling horses. She grabbed one’s face with her free hand, and Rebecca watched as it morphed into an undead stallion right before her very eyes.
She had to get out of here. She had to get help. She crawled away, favoring her broken hand and keeping it close to her chest. Making it just past the gate, Rebecca came into a row of men and women. They stood in a single line, all holding weapons, all staring at her with dead, decaying faces.
No, oh God, no! She had already gotten so many.
They took a step toward Rebecca like a single army with a shared mind. One thought, one goal. She’d never get past them.
Nowhere to run, nowhere to go, Rebecca felt helpless as she fell over onto her butt, sitting in the mud.
A wind on her back made Rebecca glance up. The female rider glanced down at her from the top of her horse—the mace in her hand no longer flaming.
“Now we’ll see what you know.” The female rider reached down and picked her up.
“No, no!” Rebecca screamed as she was placed onto the horse face down, right in the female rider's lap. The female rider pressed one hand onto her head.
“We ride! Let this place burn to the ground as it will! Haven is no more.”
Rebecca sobbed and listened to her friends of so many years mount their undead stallions. Each gave their own call, each took up their own weapons. The female rider took the lead and charged them toward some unknown destination. Rebecca, powerless to stop them, watched the terrain charge on by.
*****
Margret charged across the vastness of the wilds with her new army thirty strong behind her. Not enough horses, she needed to find more.
She saw differently than she used to. Everything had mostly been gray, but now it was darker and obscured her vision. When she saw a living person, they lit up brightly like a white ghost with wisps of cloth flowing off their body. Easy targets, easy to destroy.
Easy to take.
This world was surrounded by another, and Margret slipped easily into the shadow realm, the one where the ministers shared knowledge and their ability. There, they shed their human form. There they were skeletons with decaying faces, like hers.
In the land of the living, they were shrouded with flesh and physical human bodies, but it was an illusion. In the shadow world, Margret walked among them, able to see through the gray Rottenwood.
Once, it had been her home. Once, she had been weak, hungry, and she suffered. Oh, how she suffered while those like Abby Taylor lived like a queen while the weak barely had enough food to survive.
Margret felt something and snapped out of the shadow realm and back into the world of the living. She gazed off in the distance, sensing the presence of someone. A woman. A tower.
She had an army and wouldn’t be afraid to unleash it.
That would be a challenge, but Margret feared her and what she could do. This woman, this Temptress, was the only thing keeping the Dark Lord Creighton out of the wilds. His inability to destroy her scared him.
And he was Margret’s master and ruler.
Margret unsheathed her sword and held it tight as her horse charged across the horizon. If she could sense Temptress, she feared Temptress could also sense her.
And Margret would be ready to fight. Ready to die for her master, but first for Abby Taylor. First to finish off Tarnish Rose.
Chapter Eleven
The Temptress
In her fortress, the Temptress sensed Margret, the death assassin, charging across her own lands. Temptress stood from her bed, grabbed her robe and charged through the pewter hallway into her armory.
Dropping the thin robe to the ground, she put on her black armor and then her red cape. She slid on her metal boots, clamping them tight, and gathered up the strength to call to the ravengers. Mirrors were everywhere, but The Temptress avoided looking at her reflection. Instead, she grabbed her staff, spun it, and put it in its spot on her back.
Hurry. Time was of the essence.
The hallways were like glass, and Temptress hurried along. She opened the doors with her mind as she went, slamming them with a flick of her hand. Hurrying down the stairs into her throne room, she peered out from her high perch and out over the lands.
Ohh, she felt this dark rider. She was getting closer. Creighton had grown so bold as to venture into her lands? Tarnish Rose scared him more than the Temptress thought. She had to protect what was hers.
And now she’d use this dark rider to crush him.
Pain hit her, and the Temptress cradled her head and moaned. She saw things in her mind from a previous life when things had been different. A wedding, an electronic box with pictures, children and laughter. She didn’t recognize it as being part of her history, but instead it was a distraction.
Her precious ravengers sensed her distress, and six of them entered her room. They quietly stood, waiting for her word. “We ride out. Those who oppose me wish to destroy me. We will find this dark rider, and we will end her.”
The ravengers nodded their heads, but they didn’t leave quite yet. “Gather any nearby ravengers. Have them join us on our quest. Nothing will stop me from obtaining the crystal sphere. Not this female rider, and not Abby Taylor.”
Chapter Twelve
Sandra Taylor
Transferred to a cell, Sandra sat in silence on the cold and uneven bench with her hands folded against her lap. The chanting from outside grew louder, and she tried to block out the sounds of worship and adoration.
“The Dark Lord Creighton is wise in his rule, I bestow him with my energy, the giver of life, allow him to forsake those who stand in his way. The giver of mercy.”
Mercy? Sandra thought not.
The voices droned on, louder and longer than ever before. The town would be punished for what Abby had done. It had started, and Sandra feared it might never end. She couldn’t think like that. She had to steady her mind, prepare to do battle.
Sandra stared at the bricks and counted the lines and imperfections she saw in each of them. Some of them were porous an
d had tiny holes; she made note of what made them different from each other rather than think about what was coming next.
The coming of the dark lord was something she had feared her entire life. It had been like a nightmare. Then, slowly, she started to realize it wasn’t a dream. Once she had Abby, her tiny, precious Abby, and her sweet girl presented signs of the family’s prophecy coming true, Sandra cared only about one thing.
Keeping Abby safe and her future hidden from her no matter the cost.
As a shadow cast in the hall, Sandra sucked in her breath and steeled herself for what was coming. She held herself rigid as the shadow moved closer. She saw the tail of his robe as the Dark Lord Creighton floated close. He was flanked on either side by death hunters, but he himself was taller and larger than the others.
Towering, like a shadow.
A medallion hung from his neck, and it swayed from side to side as he gripped the bars of her cage with his skeleton hand, a ruby ring on his left ring finger. The way it glowed made Sandra quake, and her resolve melted as the cell door flung open. She’d give anything to keep him away in that moment.
Anything.
He opened it, as if using the power of only his mind.
The dark lord’s movements brought a quick breeze, and Sandra moaned and closed her eyes. She rested her head against the brick wall, turning far away from him. From her vision, all light was snuffed out. Sandra focused on her memories of her youth with a small baby and those angelic first smiles.
Abby’s tiny fist gripped Sandra’s finger, and everything she thought she knew faded with motherhood. How they hid Abby’s ability to read from everyone and everything, even going so far as to threaten to spank her if she said the ABCs one more time. Her memories were harsh, but they were hers.
“Momma?” Toddler Abby said and held up a piece of parchment with her name written in chicken scratch.
Sandra took the parchment from Abby and folded it, preparing it for the fire. “Never again, Abby! Do I make myself clear? Never again!”
The grip of a skeleton hand to her throat forced her from her memories. Sandra’s eyes flung open, and she groaned. She brought an arm up to pry the dark lord’s gasp away, but her hand fell back to the bench as if pushed down with an unseen force. Staring at the hooded figure, Sandra could do nothing but quake with her own fear.
“What do you know?”
His voice was inside her head, and Sandra blinked her eyes and shook. The voice wasn’t just inside her head, something else was in there, too. It pried as if to remove wooden boards, forcing memories free that Sandra didn’t even want to see, but slowly, one by one, they ticked by until Sandra herself was a little girl, sitting with her parents before they died, promising to keep the secret safe and pass it on.
Because the time would come. Even as no one suspected, the one prophesied would be born, and it was their job to protect her or him.
“The curator. The librarian, you are part of the line, as is your daughter.” The dark lord released his grip on her, and Sandra’s head fell forward. She coughed, gasping and clawing at her own throat, desperate for air even as the skin of her neck burned. Sandra didn’t know it was possible to be so close to evil, yet survive.
She lifted her head and gazed at the dark lord as he came forward for her again, his hand outstretched in her direction.
“Please,” Sandra begged, “I know nothing. I am nothing. Please, leave me alone. My family can’t hurt you. Abby is a foolish child, but she can’t hurt you, dark lord!” Sandra brought her hands together, begging him to understand. Begging him to see.
“You will tell me where the rebels have fled to. You’ll tell me where they have gone.” The dark lord gripped her throat again with one hand, and his other he placed on her head.
Lips quivering, Sandra squeezed her eyes shut as the top of her head began to burn, raging with smoke. “No!” she screamed equal parts horror and tears.
****
“She knows nothing.”
The Minister of City Affairs was bent down low on the carpet of his office with his head hanging by his knee. A difficult position to be in, but one the dark lord commanded. “That’s unfortunate, my lord.”
“Unfortunate for you.”
“Did you kill her?” the minister asked with regret. He really didn’t want to know what the dark lord had done with Sandra any more than he cared for the last six hundred years of rule. The death hunters destroyed and killed, sometimes even at the minister’s request, but he didn’t need to know the details.
“She’ll heal enough with time.”
“Enough?” The minister squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the hand of the dark lord on his shoulders.
“Enough for us to use the Taylors to control this town. Execution is on tomorrow’s menu. Everyone must witness it, and everyone will quake at my knees. Their fear will secure my reign. Replenish me.”
The minister peered up and smiled. “Yes, my lord,” he said, his knees quivering ever so slightly.
Outside, the sounds of the townsfolk worshipping the dark lord drew Creighton’s attention. He moved slow, almost seemed to stumble. What Abby had done had weakened him considerably. “They fear me, but their worship is enough. They lose their strength. It fuels me. Soon, there will be nothing left of these people but empty sacks, like drones, and Rottenwood will be no more.”
The minister kept his head down low. “The sacrifices and gifts will start tomorrow morning, my lord.”
“Good. Make sure it is known through the lands and through the ministers, any relations to Sandra Montgomery Taylor are now enemies, our sworn enemies. They will burn, be enslaved, and reduced to ash.”
The minister licked his lips. “Not all of them will be part of the curator line, my lord.”
“It doesn’t matter. Burn them all.”
****
“Sandra. Sandra!” Robert Taylor called through the bars of his own cell as his wife lay unconscious on her bench, desperate to wake her. Was she all right? He had spent all his life wanting to protect her, and then Abby.
He couldn’t remember a time when they hadn’t been his life’s mission.
Her hair was disheveled and obscured her face, but he could see her well enough to tell dry blood covered the corner of her mouth.
He stroked her cheek through the bars, and Sandra moaned, turning her head to the side. “The pain…” Her voice gasped, and her hands balled up beside her head. “Oh, it’s bad, Robert. So bad.”
Her pain made him want to look away, but he didn’t. “Just take your time. No one is rushing you to your feet today, Sandra.”
“That’s the problem,” she whispered and gazed at him. “He took everything from me. Every bit of knowledge I had, he pulled from me, but he didn’t kill me.”
Robert felt great relief his wife still breathed, lived. It meant they still had a chance. “No reason to sound so upset about it. Maybe…”
“There’s no maybe, Robert!” Sandra forced herself to sit up. Saliva dripped from her mouth, and she gagged.
“He kept me alive for one reason. Abby. They want to catch her. Somehow, they’re going to use us for some evil end.”
Robert sighed and squeezed his finger around hers. “What can we do?”
Sandra shook her head. “We can’t get out of here. Escape would be near impossible, especially in my condition.” She sighed. “I fear the only way out is death. Our death. It’s the only thing that will buy Abby more time.”
Robert sighed and gripped the bars with fear. “We can’t let Creighton use us to lure Abby back, to hurt her.”
Deep grief spiraled out of control in Sandra’s eyes. “No,” she whispered, but barely any sound came out. Barely any at all.
Robert looked across the way at the cot in the corner and the bedsheets covering it. Regret was thick and slimy in his mouth, more than before. It looked like tonight everything was going to end for them one way or another, even if by their own hands.
Chapter Thirteen
Tarnish Rose
As the day wore on, the grey fog lowered to the ground and we walked through the mist, barely able to see in front of our own faces. Sebastian stayed close to me, and Ella was a few meters in front, almost to the point where I couldn’t see her anymore.
“Wait up, Ella,” Sebastian said as we struggled to keep up.
“We’re almost to the bridge,” Ella called without looking back to us. “We need to keep moving, or else they’ll find us.”
“Who? The hunters?” I asked.
Ella shook her head. “Other humans, and trust me, you don’t want to meet them.”
Her words sent a rush of cold up my spine. Sebastian and I shared a glance. “I wish she mentioned these other humans before.”
I shrugged. “Maybe it’s not as bad…” As we reached Ella, I made out the start of a giant suspension bridge. Like a monster, it stretched up out of the fog and beneath it an old dried up riverbed. Now it's a graveyard to twisted metal and the old broken bones of those who had once lived here when the world was whole.
Ella held on to the cable in front of us, and I slowly stepped up onto the bridge. It swayed back and forth, and I suspected whatever held the structure up all these years had been in slow decay. I glanced down at the dried-up riverbed filled with metal vehicles clustered together, old and rusting. Emotion swelled in me.
“They must’ve been trying to leave the city.”
“We’ll join them if we’re not careful,” Sebastian said quietly.
“One step at a time. Don’t look down, and try to keep up, but don’t run. It doesn’t like it when you run.” Ella started forward with confidence, and I had to hazard a guess she had done this more than once.
With a deep breath, I loosened my grip on the support beam and started forward, taking it gingerly. When the metal clanked together like an angry beast, I slowed my movements and glanced back at Sebastian.