by Joe McKinney
Stories of the time before God gave the world to the demons always left Oliver dubiously awed.
“Men had weapons that blazed fire and steel and could kill a thousand demons in a moment. Men owned the lightning and the thunder.”
“But it escaped,” Oliver blurted, unable to contain his excitement. “That’s what my mother said, before she went to the pyre.”
“Yes, it did escape,” Winthrop confirmed. “It lives in the clouds now, tormenting farmers, sometimes blowing down houses, sometimes burning barns.” Father Winthrop took a long drink from his cup. “The Ancients had the power to kill by the thousands, nay, the millions. But God was unhappy with man for creating such wickedness.”
“Millions?” Oliver asked. There was much to the story that his mother and father hadn’t known. “Why would they need to be so powerful?”
“In those days, the number of men on the great flat world was beyond imagination. The people of different cities fought and killed one another and grew so powerful that they believed they were equal to God. The Ancients believed that they were gods themselves. They told themselves that they no longer needed The Word, and as forgiving and loving as God was, he could not forgive that sin. So God opened Hell and spilled the demons free.”
“All of the twisted men came from Hell?” Oliver asked.
“Most of them, yes.” Father Winthrop nodded. “Many men were turned to demons, themselves. The demons killed nearly all the rest. The only way for men to survive in those days was to escape the demons, and the only place left to go where there were no demons was Hell. You see, they’d all left to come live on the earth.”
“I don’t understand that part,” Oliver said, having lost any thoughts about teasing Winthrop into a fluster.
“If I may, Father Winthrop.” Father Nelson sat up in his seat and leaned on the table.
Father Winthrop frowned, showing his reluctance to give up the spotlight. Nevertheless, he granted the floor to Father Nelson.
Nelson looked at each of the boys, “They say some stories contain metaphors to simplify the concepts, to make things easier to understand in these less magical times.”
Oliver’s brow crinkled. “I don’t understand. Are you saying the Ancients didn’t hide in Hell?”
“Hell can be many things,” Father Nelson said.
“Yes,” Father Winthrop confirmed, as if the words needed his blessing to be true. “In those dark times when the demons overran the great cities, there were one man and one woman in all of the great flat world who were not arrogant, were not drunk on the power of their magic.”
“Lady and Bruce,” Oliver blurted.
“Of course,” Father Winthrop nodded. “Lady and Bruce, among all people, were not enamored with the magic of their world, though they did know how to use it. They descended to Hell. Some say it was the real Hell. Others, as Father Nelson have suggested, believe that Hell is a metaphor. He can tell you more about that when I finish. Either way, Lady and Bruce stayed in Hell for seven years.”
“Seven years?” Oliver asked. His mother had said seven seasons. His grandfather had told him seven days. All those numbers seemed ridiculous to Oliver. How could anyone live underground in Hell for so long? “Was the old magic that powerful?”
“Yes,” Father Winthrop said, “Perhaps another metaphor, perhaps not. When Lady and Bruce left Hell, choosing once again to walk in the world of demons, they believed they were alone and they despaired. They believed they would be the last two humans ever to live.”
“I never understood that part.” Oliver interrupted, “Why didn’t they just have children?”
“Lady was barren,” said Winthrop.
That made Oliver a little sad. Barren women were of little use, except as prostitutes.
“Though Lady was barren,” said Winthrop, “she was strong. Together with Bruce, they built a safe place back in the world where they could defend themselves and grow crops. That place was called Brighton. Over time, other people found Lady and Bruce and settled here to live with them, seventy-seven in all.”
“But I always thought it was fifty-seven?” Oliver said, on the hunt for a contradiction.
Fathers Nelson and Winthrop smiled.
Oliver looked back and forth between them, sensing their arrogance.
Father Winthrop broke the silence. “There were many in the original seventy-seven who were jealous of Lady. It is said that it was their fault that Lady’s name was lost to history. Lady was an unusual woman. She was stronger than any man. Men with soft, weak hearts hated her for that.”
“I never knew any of this,” Oliver muttered.
Father Winthrop shared a knowing look with Father Nelson and said, “If only she could have had children, what a strong race of men we would be now.”
“What happened to the soft-hearted men?” Oliver asked.
“Arguments, hatred, and fights. The soft-hearted men hated Lady and Bruce.”
“Fights?” Oliver asked. “The soft-hearted men fought with a woman? Fist fights?”
“Yes.” Winthrop glanced at Nelson before answering, paused, and said, “No man could beat Lady in a fist fight.”
Oliver gulped. “Wow. I don’t know what to say about that.”
“It is difficult for most men to accept,” said Winthrop. “That is why we don’t tell those parts of the story in our devotional service. Most men cannot accept it.”
Oliver understood. “So the soft-hearted men got tired of being shamed by a woman and they left?”
“Lady and Bruce exiled them. After that, there were fifty-seven, the first of the clean ones. We are all descended from them.” Father Winthrop picked up a hunk of bread and bit off a large piece, as if needing to replenish his energy.
Father Nelson took over the conversation, as if he and Father Winthrop had practiced the handoff several times before. “Many years ago, when I was not much older than Franklin here, I went with Father Winthrop’s predecessor and a half dozen other faithful men on a pilgrimage to find Hell.”
Oliver shuddered. Franklin grimaced.
“You see,” said Nelson, “Father Winthrop’s predecessor believed in the metaphorical Hell. He believed that the place where Lady and Bruce spent their seven years below the earth was a real place, and he believed that it was a place not far from here. That makes sense, right? If they were going to build the first town after the fall of the Ancients, why travel far from their refuge to do so?”
Shaking his head, unable to hide his disbelief, Oliver asked, “Even if this place was real, how could Father Bristol hope to find it? The earth is, well…big, I guess, and demons are everywhere.”
Father Nelson put his condescending hand back on Oliver’s shoulder. “Father Bristol said he possessed a secret knowledge. He never told me or anyone else what that was, or where he got it. He said he’d tell me after the pilgrimage.”
“But he didn’t?” Oliver asked.
“You’re jumping ahead,” said Nelson.
“Sorry.”
“We journeyed into the mountains in the east. Of the six of us, two died from demon bite on the way.”
Oliver interrupted, “They turned to demons?”
Nelson shook his head. “They were murdered and eaten.” Nelson looked distantly at the bowl in front of him, but shook off the memory and picked the story back up. “We searched the mountain all through the summer and into the winter. We were up on the mountain in the deep snow, thinking we’d perish, when we stumbled upon something strange.”
“What was it? What did you stumble upon?” asked Oliver.
Nelson leaned over the table and let the suspense build as he looked around at them. “A steel door.”
“A door made of steel?” Franklin’s tone made it clear that he didn’t believe it.
Nelson nodded cockily.
“A whole door, the whole thing made of steel?” asked Oliver.
“Yes,” said Nelson.
“Was it a small door?” Oliver shook his head. Surely a door made of
such precious metal couldn’t be large.
Nelson leaned back and spread his hands. “No, a large door, as wide as a man can reach with outstretched arms.”
“No,” Oliver whispered.
“I saw it myself. Touched it myself.” Nelson looked at Franklin and then back at Oliver.
Oliver said, “With that much steel, you could be rich.”
“Yes, I could. But it was not riches that we sought; at least, not riches of this earth. We sought spiritual riches on our pilgrimage.”
“Did you open the door?” Oliver asked.
Father Winthrop said, “Let the man finish his story, boy.”
“Yes, Father.”
“We didn’t need to open the door,” said Nelson.” It was made of heavy, thick steel, but time had rusted it through in places, and we were each able to squeeze inside through the holes.”
“What did you find?”
“At first we thought it was a cave.”
“A cave with a door?” Oliver grinned.
Nelson shrugged and continued. “We realized that the walls were made by man, both of old, rusted steel, and Ancient Stone. There were artifacts, made by the hand of man, some for no purpose that we could discern, others that we could. We found jars and bottles with strange markings.”
Oliver was rapt.
“But the strangest, most wonderful thing of all, was a room that we discovered through a door in the corner of this strange place.”
“And what was in it?” Oliver asked.
“The door into that room was in better condition than the one that led into the shelter, being out of the weather, I suspect. When we let ourselves inside, we saw ancient and rotted artifacts on the floor, as we saw in the other room, but the most amazing thing was that the walls were painted in faded, flaking paint.” Father Nelson paused. “And everyone knows that in the legend of Lady and Bruce, Lady was a painter.”
Father Nelson looked around at his small audience, ensuring that he had everyone’s full attention. “The murals on the wall showed two people wearing strange clothing. The garments looked to have been made of leaves, and were of multiple colors of the forest. In some places the coloring on the clothes looked so similar to the background trees and bushes, it was hard to see if the figures were people or not. Their arms and faces were the only parts not covered with the cloth. In one mural, they were fighting the monsters and killing many. There were parts of the painting that showed the two living in the magical city, and showed them hunting the animals of the forest.”
“How did you know it was Lady and Bruce?” Oliver asked.
“At first, we didn’t. The pictures of the two people appeared to match the descriptions of the two from the legend. But in each picture, they both appeared to be men. At least that’s what we all thought. That is, until we came across a section of one of the murals where they were both naked and holding hands in a field of beautiful flowers. Well, I guess the flowers were beautiful before they were faded by time. But that confirmed it for us. The two naked people were definitely a man and a woman, Lady and Bruce.”
Chapter 18
Ella
After conversation with the Warden had died down, Ella focused on her surroundings. Other than the faint rush of the river’s current, she could hear the chirps and chatter of birds, and the sound was soothing. Despite her circumstances, she felt freer than she had in a while—perhaps freer than she’d ever been.
Gone were the confines of the guard, the commanding presence of the Elders, and the threat of Blackthorn’s men. All rules had been stripped away, leaving her alone with her decisions.
How nice it would be to build a house in the wild, to make one’s own way.
If it weren’t for the monsters lurking in the woods, the feeling of freedom might’ve overwhelmed her with joy. But another thought kept lingering in her mind.
Soon William would be one of them.
She squeezed her son’s hand tighter, savoring the minutes. She’d protect him to the end. Whatever that took, however long he had, she’d be there for him.
The guards would be after them soon. Ella and William needed to hurry. If they were caught, all the freedom they’d gained would be stripped away.
They followed the Warden for half of a day, until the sun transformed from yellow to orange and the tree branches started to blend with the forest. Bray broke the silence.
“We’ll need to take shelter soon. Are you hungry?” he asked.
“A little,” Ella admitted.
“Do you have food?”
She thought of the berries in her bag. Although she had enough food for three people, she was hesitant to share. Who knew how long it would need to last?
“Not much.”
“Don’t worry about me—I’ve already eaten.”
At the prospect of stopping, Ella instinctively glanced behind them, half-expecting a troop of men on their heels, or a pack of demons, but the forest was empty.
“Don’t worry. We’ll be concealed,” Bray said. “Nightfall is coming, and we won’t want to stay out past sunset. Follow me. I know a place where we can stay.”
Bray took a turn through the trees. He wound through brush and bramble and up an incline, navigating a bed of loose stone.
“Be quiet,” Bray warned, as William tumbled a few rocks noisily underfoot.
Ella and William followed his lead, stepping lightly, gaining elevation with each step. Before long, they were on top of a grass-covered hill. Several ancient stones marked the perimeter, lined up in a rectangular formation. In the center of the stones was a recessed hole, about ten feet deep. The bottom was covered in tall weeds and ivy.
“Was there a building here?” she asked.
Bray nodded. “Yes. A long time ago.”
Bray walked the perimeter, peering off the small hill and into the surrounding forest. After a few minutes surveillance, he proclaimed that they were safe. He pointed to a half-crumbled wall and directed them to crouch behind it.
“Rest here and eat. Then we’ll hole up before dark.”
He scratched his chin, and then stationed himself nearby. Ella and William followed his instruction and dipped behind the wall. She unslung her pack and dug into it, keeping a close eye on the Warden, but he wasn’t showing any interest in them. He was busy glancing over the hill.
“I’m not hungry,” William told Ella, almost immediately.
“You have to eat,” she stated.
She opened the flaps and began digging for a pouch of dried berries. She found one in the bottom of the pack. Among the food pouches was another containing her silver. She buried it underneath some clothes, then scooped out a handful of fruit and reached out to William. He kept his hands at his sides.
“William!” she snapped, giving him a stern look. It was the look she reserved for the rare occasions when he wouldn’t tidy the house, or when she had trouble rousing him in the morning.
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Mom.”
“Of course it matters. You need to eat.”
“But pretty soon I’ll be—”
Her eyes widened and she made a grab for him, and William silenced himself immediately. She snuck a peek at Bray. He was still standing ten feet away, looking out over the trees and hills. It didn’t appear he’d heard anything. Still, there was no way to be sure.
“We’ll talk later,” she said quietly.
She retrieved a handful of berries and popped them in her mouth, chewing out of habit rather than hunger. After a few moments of silence, Bray wandered from his post and back over to them.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked.
“Fine,” Ella said, keeping her eyes on her bag.
“I was just checking. A lot of townsfolk aren’t used to the exercise.”
She snuck a look at him, and saw that he was smirking.
“We get plenty of it,” she retorted.
Ella felt a tinge of annoyance. Between her time spent gathering and her daily rounds to the merchants, sh
e was in better shape than most. Maybe even better than when she’d tended the farm with Ethan. Rather than explaining herself, she kept quiet.
Right now, it was better to be annoyed than afraid.
When William finished his food, he stood, dusting the dirt from his pants, and surveyed the horizon. Ella noticed he’d lost his look of resignation. She packed the remaining berries back in her bag and stood.
Bray was pointing at a mountain in the distance.
“Do you see that?” he asked.
Ella and William nodded.
“That’s what we call Wanderer’s Peak.”
“Is that where we’re going?” William asked.
“Not now. We’d never make it before nightfall. Tomorrow evening we’ll stay there.”
“Why is it called Wanderer’s Peak?”
“It’s the highest point between Brighton and Davenport. A lot of the Wardens use it for safety. It gives us a better view of the demons. Better than here.”
“Will other Wardens be there?” Ella asked, trying to mask her concern.
Bray shrugged. “We’ll see. I have a spot of my own up there that nobody knows about. So either way, we don’t have to worry about finding a place to sleep tomorrow.” He looked up at the sun, which was starting to descend.
“Where are we staying tonight?”
“Right here,” he said.
Bray pointed down into the square hole beside where they’d eaten.
Ella followed the line of his finger down. “What am I looking at?”
“You can barely see it,” he said, “But down there, behind that debris is an ancient door that leads to a room.”
Ella asked, “Do you mean a room built by the Ancients?”
Bray looked at Ella like she had just asked him the stupidest of questions. “Of course.”
“The demons.” Ella looked around nervously. “They live in ruins like these.”
Bray laughed heartily. “Is that what you’ve heard? That they have their own houses?”
Ella glared at him. This Warden was going to be hard to like.
“Not all ruins,” said Bray. “Just in the ancient city.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.