by G. P. Ching
Epilogue
One month later, when the fields are harvested and the late fall chill has blessed us with an abundance of fat geese, I kneel down in front of my father, Jeremiah, and Korwin, as well as the rest of the Ordnung, and remove my kapp. The bishop pours water over my head. It runs in cool trails down my face and neck. He says some words about commitment and forgiveness. My soul feels buoyant, a feather in the wind. The light that streams through the Kauffmans’ windows is just for me, a sunny celebration of my baptism.
Korwin takes it all in, although I’m not sure he understands the nuances of the ceremony. He’s learning our ways and studying our language. If all goes well, he’ll become one of us in a few months. The Lapps took him in and we’ve officially begun courting.
Jeremiah has already been baptized. He says he’s happy for Korwin and me, but I see the way he looks at me, how his mouth changes when he thinks I’m not paying attention. Although I still consider him a good friend, he hasn’t been the same since we left on rumspringa. The boy who was always smiling now carries a permanent darkness. We don’t leap off the haymow like we used to.
My father has made a complete recovery, although he’s a bit slower at things than he used to be. Lucky for us, Korwin has decided he wants to farm and has taken up helping my father with his work. If everything goes as planned, we will be married, he’ll move into the house, and we can care for my father into his old age.
Korwin and I take long walks and talk about how we met. Every once in a while, when we kiss, the power returns and we have to wind it in tightly and tie it off inside our heads so that we don’t set anything on fire. We’ve become very good at controlling it and are sure it’s safe for us to be married. I joke sometimes that we should line our marriage bed with stones or bricks, just in case.
But secretly, I’m happy the power hasn’t left us, even though we’ve left the power. The Green Republic could change the rules. They could come knocking and try to transform Hemlock Hollow, try to force us into their world. It’s good to know that if that happens, Korwin and I are ready. We don’t want to hurt anyone, but, if we have to, we will.
Sometimes I sit in my tree and think about my mother and about the Alpha Eight. She and my father gave up having a normal life for love of their country and then died resisting the corruption of the same. I wonder what they would think of me here in Hemlock Hollow. I’m not ready to give my life for any of the Englishers. Let the rebellion die for the rebellion. I am one life, only interested in protecting the ones I love and the freedom I choose.
I think about Natasha and David. What has become of them? Will they find a way to get the serum they require to stay alive? I’m fairly sure they are either free or dead. If not, the Green Republic would have used David against us. He was a prisoner there as much as I was.
All Korwin and I want is to build a life here, far away from wars and politics. He’ll be baptized, and then we’ll be married and have children. I hope all of them have his hazel eyes. Maybe our kids will have the power we have. Maybe not. Either way, we’ll teach them how to be good, God-fearing people.
“You able to chat for a bit?” Mary asks. She takes a seat next to me on my front porch, just finished with her milking. I’ve finished first, as always, and am having a rest before I make breakfast. Korwin and my father are cleaning the barn.
“Yeah, what’s on your mind?”
“There’s a rumor going ’round that while you were on rumspringa, you had some kind of demon in you. People say that’s why you aren’t marrying Jeremiah like you should.”
“Who would say such a thing? No one knows better whom I should marry than me. Jeremiah and I were never courting.”
“I love you, Lydia, but those are not modest words. It was a bold thing to come back here with an Englisher. You must’ve known people would talk.”
All I can do is shrug. The sun breaks the horizon, a great ball of fire in the sky. For a moment, I wonder what would have happened if I’d never left Hemlock Hollow. I probably would have lived up to everyone’s expectations and been perfectly happy to marry Jeremiah. Maybe I would never know what I really am. But I did go and I changed. I can make myself become modest again, but my life will never be simple. The mere thought of “simple” makes me laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Mary asks.
“Nothing.” I give her a warm smile. “I’m baptized now, and nothing about rumspringa matters. But I love Korwin. You’ll see. He’ll be baptized too and become one of us. You’ll wonder what we ever did without him. And I don’t have a demon in me. I’m the same me as always.”
“Glad to hear it,” she says. “I knew it was just talk anyway.”
The sun warms my face. I smooth my apron and tuck a stray hair under my kapp.
“Well, time to make breakfast,” I say.
Mary hugs me before heading for home.
I move indoors to the kitchen, and pull the dough from its rising spot. On a dusting of flour, I knead it on the counter before rolling it out for biscuits. Here, with dough between my fingers and the log fire I started earlier burning in the hearth, the English world seems a million miles away.
I am plain. I am modest. I am grounded. And, for now, I’m happy to be home.
Flames lick from between my fingers. I yank my hands away. The dough’s on fire! I snatch my glass of lemonade from the counter and douse the mounting blaze. The bread is ruined, singed and soaked. I dump the mess into the garbage, then check the window to make sure no one’s watching. I’m alone. Mary’s already left, and Dad’s still in the field.
Hands shaking, I pull the flour from the pantry and start again.
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Please turn the page to enjoy an excerpt of Charged, book 2 in the Grounded trilogy, Available Now .
Charged (Excerpt)
The Grounded Trilogy Book Two
Dr. Emile Konrad was fascinated by pain. The delicious exhilaration as sharp silver approached unmarked flesh was one no drug could emulate. Was it the patient’s widened eyes that made him sigh in contentment? Or something more? Fear, perhaps. He prided himself on the horrors within his black bag, capable of eliciting a response by sight alone. An increase in respirations, pallor, a bounding pulse. One must be careful at this stage not to cause hyperventilation. Nothing was as disappointing as a plaything lost to unconsciousness.
The Green Republic wanted information and therefore it was only natural Konrad not gag his patient, but in truth the doctor wouldn’t have it any other way. He needed to hear the results of his handiwork, to see the bunching muscles and breathless torque of his subject. It was a disappointment when the patient gave up the goods too quickly. To do so would deny him the ultimate high—the scream.
Unfortunately, this patient had the spineless and weedy quality of a traitor. He’d have to savor the moment. The man’s mouth hung open for one… two… three seconds before the shrill screech pierced the room. The corners of Konrad’s mouth pulled toward his ears, and he inhaled deeply, the scent of blood enhancing the thrill. What a rush.
“Where is the girl?”
“I t-told you, I d-don’t know.” The man writhed against his bonds in a vain attempt at comfort, but the steel examination table was unforgiving.
“Let us review,” Konrad said. “We have established that you are a member of the Liberty Party. Through an act of treason, you attacked CGEF in an attempt to gain control of the energy hub and overthrow the Green Republic. You did this in collusion with Korwin Stuart and Lydia Lane, who are now missing. Given the considerable talents of these two, I find it difficult to believe that you are unaware of their whereabouts.”
“She came from nowhere,” the man babbled in a rush. “Maxwell raised Korwin in the manor. We all knew him. But Lydia appeared one day. I don’t know where she’s from or where they are now. M
aybe she took him back to wherever she came from.”
“Hmmm.” Konrad contemplated the revelation, stroking one stubbled cheek. According to the probes hooked up to the man, he was telling the truth. At least his chemistry said he was, and Konrad’s equipment was nearly impossible to fool. Lydia’s identification claimed she was from Willow’s Province, yet there was no record of her birth and only a minimal paper trail linking her to a Lakehurst address in the middle of nowhere. Green soldiers had searched every inch of Willow’s Province as well as Stuart Manor without gaining a clue to their whereabouts. They’d released flasher drones over the Outlands and in the most remote regions of habitable land. Nothing.
He must find Lydia and Korwin. Operation Source Code, his life’s work and greatest accomplishment, was permanently halted until he did. The loss of the beta specimens was intolerable, as unacceptable as the loss of the Alpha Eight. The deaths of David and Natasha had been a particularly hard blow, their bodies found burned beyond recognition in the wreckage of Lydia and Korwin’s escape.
No, he must not allow this loss. Dr. Konrad selected a new tool from his black bag, a twisted, clamping implement that glinted in the overhead light. He lowered his thin lips to the man’s ear. “You don’t know the whereabouts of Lydia and Korwin, but you must know where the Liberty Party is currently organizing. Where should I look for the one who would know?”
The man gulped air in panic, staring at the sharp implement in Konrad’s hand as it hovered over his breastbone. “A-all of the information about the Liberty Party—all of the members’ names and addresses, the organizational charts—all of it is in a vaulted basement in Stuart Manor. Maxwell called it the Compound. The place was rigged to lock down if the manor was infiltrated.”
Well now, finally a useful tidbit, although Konrad wondered how David had missed this fact while undercover. Certainly, as the butler, he would have been privy to such knowledge. Yet, what the patient said explained a vexing anomaly. When the Green Republic had arrested Korwin and Maxwell and taken control of Stuart Manor, Konrad thought it odd that Maxwell, a well-known albeit retired scientist, had no office or laboratory. A man of his many scientific pursuits would be expected to have a modest workshop for tinkering. A hidden compound made sense of the omission.
“Very good,” Konrad said. “Your honesty will be rewarded.”
The man blew out a painful breath. “You’ll let me go?”
Konrad lifted an eyebrow. “In one way or another.” Dr. Emile Konrad was fascinated by pain, but he could be merciful when a patient earned his mercy. Reverently, he returned the tool in his hand to his black bag before reaching for an oxygen mask beside the examination table. He strapped the mask on the man’s face and turned the dial on the attached canister. It did not contain oxygen. The foggy mustard-colored contents flowed into the tube with a hiss. Slowly, the patient calmed, then closed his eyes, and eventually stopped breathing altogether.
“As promised,” Konrad told the dead man. “An easy exit, I am sure you would agree.” He patted the man’s shoulder, then stood and reached for his phone.
Protocol demanded he call Pierce directly with any new information. Stuart Manor was now evidence and property of the Green Republic. But Pierce would want to follow procedure. Pierce would request the proper channels be followed to investigate the possibility of a hidden chamber. The man was becoming a bottleneck, too powerful for the Republic’s good.
No. This job called for a special set of skills. He needed someone who wasn’t afraid to break a few rules to get the job done. Someone who was properly motivated to succeed.
The phone rang against his ear. Seven times. It always rang seven times. As expected, when the call connected, no greeting whatsoever was offered.
Konrad didn’t hesitate to speak into the void. “I have a job for you.”
Continue reading Charged…
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Books by G.P. Ching
The Soulkeepers Series
The Soulkeepers, Book 1
Weaving Destiny, Book 2
Return to Eden, Book 3
Soul Catcher, Book 4
Lost Eden, Book 5
The Last Soulkeeper, Book 6
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The Grounded Trilogy
Grounded, Book 1
Charged, Book 2
Wired, Book 3
Soulkeepers Reborn
Wager’s Price
Hope’s Promise
Lucifer’s Pride
About the Author
G.P. Ching is a USA Today bestselling author of science fiction and fantasy novels for young adults and not-so-young adults. She bakes wicked cookies, is commonly believed to be raised by wolves, and thinks both the ocean and the North Woods hold magical healing powers. G.P.'s idea of the perfect day involves several cups of coffee and a heavy dose of nature. She splits her time between central Illinois and Hilton Head Island with her husband, two children, and a Brittany spaniel named Jack, who is always ready for the next adventure.
www.gpching.com
[email protected]