“It’s all right. We won’t hurt you.”
The man slowly emerged from the haystack.
He was not of the village. He was dressed in rags, and his face showed signs of prolonged exposure to the sun.
He took a few steps out of the haystack, then crouched down and scampered across the loft. He didn’t stop until they were almost nose to nose.
“Is the coast clear?” he whispered.
“I believe it to be, yes.”
His face twitched one way, then the other. “You can never be sure. They have spies everywhere.”
“Spies?”
His eyes rolled around full circle. “The hills have eyes.”
“They do?”
“Of course they do. And the walls have ears.”
“I…see.”
“And I have a mouth. Are you planning to eat that bread?”
He handed the stranger the loaf. The man chewed it down ravenously.
He started down the loft. The stranger followed warily behind him. The old wooden steps were not nearly as secure as they must have been in the time of the Ancients, but they were sufficient to bear their weight. All four gathered around the small fire, where Brita warmed some of her cured meats, then passed them around.
He was surprised to find how hungry he was. Something about a jailbreak, not to mention an aerial flight through Creeper country, worked up an appetite.
Throughout the meal, the stranger’s eyes darted all around the barn, always alert for any sign of activity. Finally the man spoke. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” Brita said. “What do you want to know?”
“Why are you cooking in a toilet seat?”
Brita appeared mortified.
He didn’t entirely understand. “What do you mean?”
The stranger shook his head. “Never mind. My name is Drake. John Drake.”
The three travelers greeted him.
“Are you from Clovis?” Brita asked.
Drake looked at her suspiciously. “Why would you ask that?”
“I...just wondered. It’s not far...”
“No,” he said. “I’m not from Clovis. Nice village, though.”
“Then where are you from?”
“You ask a lot of questions, girl.”
She drew up her chin. “Smart people always do. That’s how we get smarter.”
A tiny smile cracked on Drake’s face. “You know...that’s exactly right. That’s the Method.” He returned his attention to his food. “I’m not from anywhere.”
“Does that mean you’re an exile?”
“You...could say that. Yes. Fine. I’m an exile.”
He had never met an exile before, or even thought it possible. He had always been taught that anyone separated from the village and the Sentinel would die within days. But the Old Man survived. And now it appeared this man did as well. “How long have you been an exile?”
“All my life.”
“What?”
“My adult life, anyway. I did not submit to the Winnowing. I ran.”
“But—it isn’t possible.”
Drake winked, then returned to his food. “Evidently it is.”
Xander leaned forward cautiously. “Are you in the Sentry?”
Drake laughed. “Do I look like one? No, I’m an inventor.”
He blinked. An inventor? Wasn’t that what his father dreamed of being?
“But–how do you get around? How did you get here? Without being caught by the Creepers or the Savages?”
“No one ever spots me,” Drake said mysteriously. “I’m lighter than air. I leave no tracks. I’m like the wind. Whoosh!” His hand glided toward them. “Fast and invisible.” After another sibilant whoosh, the hand returned to earth.
“Why are you here? What are you doing?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to answer that question. Why have you three come here?”
They all looked at one another. Could they trust him? If he truly was an exile, then he might be sympathetic. But it seemed a terrible risk...
He coughed into his hand. “We’ve...uh...had a disagreement with the Black Sentry. And now…they’re looking for us.”
“Why do they want you?”
He hesitated, weighing the pros and cons of telling this strange man the truth. It would be safer to remain silent.
But he didn’t. “I just escaped from a Black Sentry Keep.”
Drake peered back at him. “Truly?”
He nodded. “But they are far behind us. They have no idea where we are now.”
Drake resumed devouring the food. “I have had many unpleasant experiences at the hands of the Black Sentry.”
“I can imagine.”
“And it will only become worse. There are rumors in the air. The Sentinel is about to unleash a new kind of Sentry, a policing force greater than any he has used before. A force that will make him invincible.”
Xander’s expression was grim. “I have heard those rumors as well.”
Where would a slave hear such things?
“Why do the Black Sentry trouble you?” Brita asked.
“Why else?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I disobey the Laws and Ways of the Sentinel.”
“Yes, but what in particular is your crime?”
He spoke while munching. “Possession of forbidden relics.”
“You have Constructs?”
Drake grinned. “What’s wrong with you, girl? You seem intrigued, almost pleased, at the prospect. Do you not fear Constructs? Do you not know they destroyed the world of Ancients?”
“I have heard that said,” she replied.
“But you do not believe it?”
“I do not know–I—” She took a deep breath. “No. I do not believe it. And besides, it does not relate to my question. Do you have Constructs?”
“Have them? I make them.”
She gasped. “And they work?”
“Well...that’s more complicated...”
“How many do you have?”
“Several.”
“Where are they?”
He swept his hand grandly in a wide arc. “All over.”
“You don’t keep them with you?”
“I couldn’t keep them all with me. I couldn’t carry them all, and if I tried, I would soon be apprehended. No, I have to be more cautious.”
He was anxious to see more of these wondrous contraptions, like the Watch his father had shown him and the map and the books. He wondered if Drake truly had Constructs, or if the strain of exile had made him mad.
“If you have any Constructs with you,” Brita said, “I should very much like to see them. Perhaps we could work together. Try to restore them, learn how they work.”
Drake appeared interested. “Would you like that? Restoring relics?”
“I certainly would. I can read, you know.”
“Indeed? How did you learn that trick?”
“I...came across some old books. Very old.” He understood her hesitance to tell all. She did not want to incriminate her mother, especially to a stranger. “Do you have a Construct with you?”
“Of course.”
“How near?”
Drake glanced up and pointed to a black bag behind the haystack.
“Will you show it to us?”
“Of course. Did you think I would take your food without offering you something in return? But it is very late. Perhaps tomorrow.”
“No!” she insisted. “You did not wait to eat. Why should we wait to see?”
“Such enthusiasm.” A tiny smile played on his lips. “Very well.”
“What is it? Some sort of weapon? A transportation device?”
“I assure you, it is nothing so grand as that.”
“Then what is it?”
“Flickers.”
*****
Daman and the others gathered in a small circle on the floor of the barn while Drake assembled his Construct. Various components were attached by a series of revolvin
g twists that inserted one piece into another. Large wheels–Drake called them reels—were attached by spokes to the main contraption. Thin black glistening material spooled around the wheels.
“There,” he said, after perhaps twenty minutes of assembly. “That takes care of the projector. Now we need a source of light. Xander, do you have water in that canteen of yours?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I have a vial of calcium carbide.”
“Of what?”
“Just get the water.”
Xander brought it to Drake, who poured it into a bucket and placed it behind the projector. Then they extinguished their candles. It was so dark they could barely see anything.
Drake took a vial from his bag and slowly poured it into the water. A small cloud of white smoke rose up...
And then, suddenly, a burst of blinding white light shone out of the bucket, brighter than the sun at midday.
“Don’t look directly at the light,” Drake said. “Look at the wall.”
He thought Drake had lost his mind, but at any rate, he could no longer look at the bright light cast by the bucket.
“I’ll have to crank this by hand,” Drake said. “The Pulse prevents the motor from running.”
“The Pulse?”
“Later, later.” Drake turned a knob on the side of the projector. “Watch this, Daman.”
He gasped, and he was not the only one to do so. He was glad to hear Brita and Xander were equally amazed. Otherwise, he might have thought he had lost his wits.
The projector cast pictures on the wall of the barn.
And the pictures moved.
*****
Daman listened as Drake explained. The pictures on the wall told a story. He did not have the entire flicker, and he did not know the whole story, but he tried to fill in the gaps for them as best he could. Apparently there was a group of men who were good, and they were trying to infiltrate the headquarters of a group of men who were bad, so they stole the bad people’s costumes and dressed up like them.
He had a hard time following the story, but Brita appeared entranced by it. What amazed him most was the view it provided of the world in which these people lived. It was like a window into the past, into a world that had died long before he was born.
The men in the pictures were nothing like anyone he had ever known. Their clothes were shiny, smooth and shimmering. Their tunics were bright gold and blue. The cities in which they lived had tall buildings that reached to the sky. They could travel from one place to another in the blink of an eye. They had a ship that carried them through the dark reaches of space. They had weapons they held in the palm of their hands that eliminated their enemies instantly. His blood raced, excited by this magical peephole into the past.
After a few minutes, the show ended. The light from the bucket faded, and the flicker came to an end.
“So that was the world of the Ancients,” he said breathlessly. “What marvels they achieved.”
“Haven’t I told you as much?” Brita said. “Now you’ve seen it with your own eyes.”
“What you saw,” Drake interjected, “was not the world of the past. It was a portrayal of how the people of the past envisioned the future might be.” He inhaled slowly. “They were wrong.”
Brita suggested it would be best if they got some sleep. They were all tired.
He was exhausted, but he found that as he lay his head down on the hay, he did not sleep. His heart pounded and his head was filled with questions.
“Brita,” he whispered.
“Yes?” she answered. It seemed he was not the only restless one.
“Are you awake?”
“Did you think I was talking in my sleep?”
“How did you persuade Xander to help you get me out of the Keep?”
“I didn’t. It was his idea. He came to me for help.”
“What?”
“He knew we were friends. He saw us in the alleyway, after the confrontation with Lieutenant Coffin. And apparently he saw you enter my house yesterday.”
“But why would he—?”
“Xander was concerned about you. He was prepared to do whatever it took to set you free.”
“I don’t understand. Why would he do that?”
“Xander has always liked you. He’s done everything imaginable to curry your favor. He dreams of being your friend.”
His head was muddled. “I—didn’t realize—”
“Perhaps you were too busy asking him to fetch your breakfast.”
He fell silent. Her words stung, but he knew there was truth in them. All his life he had been taught to see slaves as just that. Slaves. Tools. Nothing more. He did not like to see them mistreated, but he never saw them as more than servants.
“Xander admires you,” she continued. “Worships you, practically. Frankly, I don’t see the big attraction, but Xander insists there’s something special about you. That you have something others don’t.”
“Like...a Gift?” He remembered the Old Man’s words in the cellar.
“I don’t know what he sees. But I know he dreams that one day you will see him as a friend. Not as a slave.”
“But Brita–we’ve always been taught that slaves are...well, not the same as us. Different.”
“We’re all different. Hadn’t you noticed?”
“But that...deformity. On the side of their heads.”
“What of it? You have a mole on the small of your back. It’s not much to look at, but it hardly makes you less of a person.”
His face reddened. How did she know he had a mole on the small of his back?
“Just try to be nicer to him, okay? He did save your life, after all.”
“Brita,” he said, after a moment, “I’m grateful for your help. Your and Xander’s help. But you haven’t been tried and sentenced. You haven’t been declared an enemy of the Sentinel. They don’t know who you are. You could still go back to the village. You could live a normal life.” He hesitated. “You could marry Mykah.”
She ignored the last comment. “They may not have known who we were before, but they surely do now. Someone probably recognized Xander or me or both during the chase. Even if they didn’t, the Black Sentry spent the day going from house to house, waking people, searching their homes, trying to determine who’s missing.” There was a brief moment of silence. “No, we cannot go back.”
“Brita...” he said, “...I’m sorry...”
“For what?”
“I’ve ruined your life.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I was the one who decided to help Xander rescue you. I made the decision fully realizing what the likely consequences would be.”
“You did that for me?”
She made a soft laughing noise that he did not much care for. “I did it for the Resistance.”
“We should rescue the Old Man. Before the Ritual of Execution.”
“I admit...I’ve had similar thoughts myself. But it can’t be done. Especially not now, when the Black Sentry are looking for us. It would be suicide.”
He tried to sound strong. “I would rather commit suicide than live knowing I left the Old Man in the clutches of the Black Sentry.”
“It’s impossible. When we broke you out, we had the element of surprise. But guards will be swarming all around the Old Man’s cell.”
“Then we won’t go there.”
“It would be wrong to just move on,” she murmured at last, “without even trying to save him.”
“Of course it would be.”
“But we’ll have to think this through carefully. We’ll have to work out all the details in advance. We can’t afford to make any mistakes. We will need a plan.”
“Of course,” he answered. “And if anyone can devise a plan that will succeed, Brita, you can.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I know so.”
She fell silent.
“So do you have any ideas yet?” he said, after a bit.
“I
did have a thought,” she said slowly. “About something I saw in Drake’s flicker...”
21
Daman and friends woke early the next morning. They found Drake was already gone, vanished without a trace. They gathered their belongings and resumed the journey to Clovis.
The rest of the trip was as exciting as the first part–perhaps even more so, because the sun shone and he could see everything, every bird, every bug, every blade of grass. He loved how each blade seemed individual and distinct, not flat and even and smooth like what they called grass back in the village. He kicked over a rock and found all manner of slimy creatures writhing underneath. He didn’t know what most of them were, but he was entranced by the variety. The sameness of everything in the village was dull by comparison.
The only consideration that spoiled the excitement was the ever-present danger of Creepers. More than once they heard the chilling rattle that signified a monster’s approach. By moving quickly, they managed to avoid them.
At one point, he attempted a conversation with Xander.
“Uh...Xander,” he said, clearing his throat. “I...uh..wanted to...thank you.”
“Thank me?” Xander said, his eyes widening slightly. “For what?”
“For yesterday. For saving me. Breaking me out of the Keep.”
Xander shrugged. “It was nothing.”
“I hardly think so.”
“I was happy to do it.”
“Yes. And I–I—” He swore silently. He knew what he should say, and this was the perfect time to do it. But every time he tried, he would glimpse that throbbing reddish bulge on the side of Xander’s head and begin to feel ill.
“Anyway,” he said, stiffening, “it was well done. You have my gratitude.”
Xander nodded, and his face returned to the usual brooding expression.
By mid-afternoon they saw the tall walls of Clovis. From the outside, it looked no different than Merrindale, except larger. They found an unwatched spot and, using the rope and hook, managed to scale the fence and descend into the village.
By chatting casually with villagers, they soon learned that the Old Man had been tried and, as expected, convicted of treason against the Sentinel. The Ritual of Execution would follow tomorrow morning. What’s more–the Acolyte himself was expected to preside over the ceremony.
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