The Finisher

by David Baldacci

  “I am a good role model for my brother,” I cried.

  “Yes, of course you are, Vega. And you can come and visit him.”

  “Have you told John that I won’t be going?” I asked dumbly. I hoped that she said no, because John had not seemed overly disturbed about the move. Perhaps he assumed I would be joining him.

  “Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first.”

  That was actually nice of her, though it wasn’t like she had asked my permission for John to go. But at least I had my answer. John didn’t know.

  She gave me a benign smile and added, “May I tell John I have your good wishes for this arrangement?”

  I nodded, my mind largely blank and the lump in my throat and the ache in my chest so profound that I thought this must be what an Event felt like.

  “Thank you, Vega. And Wormwood thanks you too.”

  She turned and walked back to the Loons, which was apparently too awful for John to live at but perfectly fine for me to while away my sessions.

  I watched her tall form glide back to where John was with his books. A chill so deep that I felt I had been dropped into the most frigid of water settled into my skin when I realized fully that I had just lost my brother.

  THE WORK ON the Wall had commenced in earnest. Whole forests of trees had been felled. Involved in this process were long saws and axes and cretas and sleps and backbreaking Wug work. All able-bodied males were recruited to do these tasks, while other less physically fit Wugmorts and some females started digging out the foundation on the ground where the Wall would be erected and also the deep moats on either side. Council had wholeheartedly embraced my brother’s idea of a double-layered defense.

  I continued to work at Stacks, but I stopped finishing pretty things. I was helping to build metal straps that would hold the logs and placement posts together once they were laid into place as part of the Wall.

  Delph worked harder than anyone, his great muscles pulling and pushing and his lungs near to bursting as he dragged or carried heavy objects where they needed to go. I watched him do this when I was helping with the logs. We did not speak. Neither of us had the breath.

  His father, Duf, led teams of sleps in bringing the felled trees from the forest to the Wall. His trained cretas were employed to pull on the stout ropes attached to strong pulleys that lifted the logs into place, their huge chests and muscled withers straining with the immense effort. I eyed the elaborate pulley systems and figured it might be one of John’s creations. I had also glimpsed the setting up of what looked to be a complicated digging machine that I assumed John had invented as well.

  The youngs brought food and water to the workers and did some of the tasks that required nimble fingers instead of muscled arms. The females kept the stoves burning and the meals coming for the hungry Wugs. All of us were driven to work hard by the idea that Outliers of incomprehensible evil might turn up any sliver and devour the entire village. And every seventh light we would go to Steeples because it was now required. Ezekiel warned us in a booming voice filled with fiery brimstone that to not complete the Wall in the shortest possible time would spell our absolute doom, and the bones of our youngs would reside in the bellies of the evil Outliers.

  I’m sure that provided much-needed pious comfort and solace for many a Wug’s frazzled nerves. I had never been at war, but I could sense that that’s what Wormwood was becoming: a place waiting to be struck by the enemy. It gave me a better understanding of my ancestors who had lived during the Battle of the Beasts.

  I set about my work with great zeal. Perhaps it was to show Morrigone that John was not the only capable member of the Jane family. Maybe it was to demonstrate to myself that I had some worth to Wormwood.

  I rose before first light most times and was on my way to my tree with my tin of food slivers after eating a morsel or two at the Loons. I suppose as some sort of token of gratitude for John going to live with Morrigone, the Loons had been instructed by Morrigone to increase my ration portions, including a first meal.

  “More food for the likes-a you and why’s that, I ask,” Cletus Loon had barked at me one night as I was heading up to my cot. “We males are out there killing ourselves felling them trees. And you’re at Stacks probably skiving off most of the time. ’Tain’t fair. Wugs are brassed off, I can tell you that.”

  “I don’t skip work at Stacks. Do you really think Domitar would allow that?” I added with a malicious smile, “And I thought you were patrolling with your morta, shooting little, tiny quail before they can swoop down and get you.”

  “I work the trees at light and they expect me to patrol at night,” he snapped.

  “Well, it’s good to keep busy,” I told him and then headed up the stairs.

  I didn’t care about the fairness of the extra ration. I had been hungry for most of my sessions. I was not going to feel bad for a couple more mouthfuls of something in my belly.

  TWENTY LIGHTS AFTER John had gone to live with Morrigone, I arrived very early at my tree. Our parting had been sad for both of us. John clearly had mixed feelings. What Wug wouldn’t want to live like Morrigone? Plenty to eat, a comfy, clean place in which to live, books that he could read until his eyes and brain could take in no more. And to have a mentor like Morrigone?

  Yet I knew that John did not want to leave me. It wasn’t just the tears he spilled and the soft cries he let escape as Morrigone escorted him out to the carriage. It was the look on his face that spoke loudest to me. My brother loved me and I loved him and that was really all there was to it. But go he did. He had no choice.

  On my first visit to John, he hadn’t changed all that much. Well, he was scrubbed clean and his clothes were new and his body looked a bit more filled out. He had been both sad that we had parted and thrilled with the potential of his new life. John confirmed that the pulley and digging machine were of his invention. I marveled at how quickly he had been able to do such a thing. He had shyly accepted my praise, which made me even prouder of him. As I was leaving, he gave me a crushing hug. I finally had to gently pry myself free.

  At my second visit seven lights later, a definite change had taken place. John was far less sad; his excitement about his new life and his important work for Wormwood was now paramount. He wore his new clothes easily and didn’t seem the least bit awed by his luxurious surroundings. Morrigone fed me, but she didn’t leave me and John alone this time. When I took my leave, John gave me a brief hug and then bounded up the stairs to his room to, as he said, “Finish up some important work on the Wall.”

  As Morrigone opened the front door for me, she said, “He is thriving. I hope you can see that.”

  “I can,” I had said.

  “Be happy for him, Vega.”

  “I am happy for him,” I had replied truthfully.

  She looked me over and then held out a handful of coins. “Please take these.”

  “Why? I have done nothing to earn them.”

  “As a means of thanking you for allowing John to come and live with me.”

  I had looked at the small pile of coins. Part of me wanted to snatch them out of her hand. “No thanks,” I had said, and then turned and walked back to the Loons.

  I now looked down from my high perch in my tree. It was still dark technically, although the last section of night always held edges of light creeping in. I gazed around. I had not seen any patrols on my way here and I strongly suspected that many Wugs were unable to carry out both hauling trees during light and acting as Carbineers at night. They simply wouldn’t have the energy.

  Thus, I felt it was as good a time as any. I backed up to the very end of my boards, took off running and leapt into the sky. The air enveloped me as I soared upward. I flew straight for a few yards and then I did a barrel roll, not once but three times, making myself a bit dizzy in the process. Still, it felt wonderful. So free, unlike down on the ground where virtually every sliver of my time was dictated by others.

  I had gotten to the point where I could look down w
hile flying without going into a dive and crashing. It was as though Destin and I had reached an understanding. Maybe it could read minds, or at least my mind.

  I landed smoothly and stood there for a sliver or two, breathing in the cool night air. It was hard for me to be without John. I had looked forward to waking him up. I enjoyed walking him to Learning, and then bringing him food when I picked him up after Stacks. Though it was not pleasant for either of us, the time we spent at the Care with our parents had been a significant part of our lives. But that part of my life was over and I could sense it would never return.

  I heard it before I saw anything. Four legs, moving rapidly. But I was not afraid, not this time. I had Destin, so I could take to the sky in an instant. I was also unafraid for another reason. The footfalls were not those of a garm, a frek or an amaroc. They were light, barely making an impression on the ground. I stood there waiting.

  It came around one tree, slowed and then stopped. Its haunches went up and its long nose came down close to the dirt. I took a few halting steps forward, hardly able to believe my eyes. It rose up and then sat back on its tail.

  “Harry?” I said.

  But of course it was not Harry. Many sessions ago, I’d had a canine I had instantly loved. I called him Harry because he was hairy. He was not too big and not too small, with beautifully soft dark eyes topped by long eyelashes, and a mingling of brown, white and rust fur. He walked into my life one light and instantly loved me with all his heart. He trusted me. And I missed him terribly.

  I was also the reason Harry was dead. I had walked too close to the edge of the Quag with him, and a garm had come after me. Harry had gotten in between us, and the garm had killed him as Harry defended me and gave me time to escape. I will never forget the image of my dead Harry in that foul creature’s jaws as it carried my beloved canine into the Quag to devour. Even now, as I recalled this terrible memory, tears filled my eyes. When Harry had left me that light, I had screamed and screamed and cried more tears than I could have thought possible. It had been my job to take care of Harry and I had let him down, costing my canine his life. I would never forgive myself for it. I would have done anything to bring Harry back, though I knew that was not possible. Death was irreversible.

  Yet this canine, I swear, could have been Harry’s twin. I took a few more steps forward and it rose up on all fours, its tail sweeping back and forth and its tongue hanging out of its snout.

  “Harry?” I said again because I could not help myself.

  The canine came forward hesitantly and then it broke into a run before skidding to a halt inches from me. Light was just breaking as the sun began its rise and the Noc retreated to wherever it went in the sky when its far bigger sibling woke. And in that first wash of illumination I took this canine fully in.

  I touched its head. The fur was soft. It slipped between my fingers like the sort of exceptional cloth I had used in Morrigone’s loo. It was warm and its eyes were mismatched, right blue, left green. Harry had had the same, but their order had been reversed. I had always loved the confluence of those two colors on his face, and I loved their looking-glass twins on this canine’s.

  I knelt next to it and took one of its front paws. It allowed me to do so with a hint of mild curiosity on its face. The paws were large and promised that the little canine would one light be large. Harry had grown to over seventy pounds, still far smaller than the hideous garm that had claimed his life.

  Then I noted that its coat was dirty and I could see its ribs through the fur. It also had a cut on its left front leg that needed some sorting out. I scratched its ears and thought about what to do. I knew that Loon was not keen on beasts at the digs. At the very least, he would demand more coin, which I did not have. Harry had been killed a short time before my parents had been taken to the Care, thus I had never needed to face such a choice. It seemed that I was out of options. I would have to let him carry on without me. And it was a male, as certain parts of it I could see confirmed.

  I rose and started to walk away. But he followed me. I picked up my pace, and so did he. On sudden impulse I took off running and soared into the air. I thought that would be the end of it. But when I looked down, he was right there, running hard and keeping up with me somehow. I swooped lower and landed, and he skidded to a stop at my feet, panting and his tongue hanging out. His blue and green eyes were fully on my face. He seemed to be wondering why I had just done what I had.

  I opened the tin in my tuck and held out a knob of bread for him. As hungry as he no doubt was, I expected him to snatch it from between my fingers. But he slowly lifted his snout, sniffed at it and then gently eased it from my hand before devouring it.

  I sat next to him and pulled out the bit of meat, a slice of hard cheese and the one egg that, along with the bread, was supposed to constitute my first meal. I laid them on the ground. Again, he sniffed at them before gobbling them up. His breaths lengthened and then he rolled over so I could scratch his belly, which I did.

  When he turned back over, he nudged my hand onto the top of his head. Harry used to do that too. But maybe all canines do. Harry was the only one I ever had. I stumbled onto him in much the same way as this, walking in the woods and seeing him darting between the trees, chasing a rabbit. He didn’t catch the rabbit, but he did capture my heart when there weren’t many things in Wormwood that possibly could.

  I pondered what to do.

  “I can call you Harry Two,” I said. His ears peaked and he cocked his snout at me. Adars can understand Wugmorts, but I knew that canines really could not. Still, Harry Two seemed to know that I had just bequeathed him a name.

  I looked to the sky. First light was here. Soon, second light would be toddling along and it would be time for me to go to Stacks. I rubbed Harry Two’s ears, letting my fingers slide up and down each one. Harry had liked that and I figured this one would too. He did, licking my hand in appreciation.

  I came up with a plan. On the way to Stacks, I threw sticks for Harry Two to chase. And he brought them back each time. I scratched his ears and when we reached Stacks, I paused, bent down, pointed to Stacks and told him to wait.

  He immediately sat down. I put down a small tin cup pulled from my tuck and poured some water into it from the cork-stoppered pewter bottle I carried. There was a tree above to provide shade. I figured if he were still out here when I finished work, I would worry what to do about him.

  Domitar watched me walk into Stacks. He was now perpetually drunk on flame water every light. It was a wonder to me that the Wug could even stand. I think he wanted to say something to me, but apparently the dexterity of his tongue failed him, because he remained silent and simply tottered off.

  After I put on my work clothes, I walked out to the main floor and approached my workstation. I eyed the stairs up. Ladon-Tosh was no longer guarding them. He was probably felling trees along with all the other hardy Wugs. I was one of the few Wugs left at Stacks. All but three of the Dactyls were gone, using their muscle to bring down the great trees and strip them of their bark. The ones who were left had to do the work of many Dactyls, to whack and gong metal into the requisite shapes and thickness for straps. There were a few Mixers left who were using all of their energy to ready the metal for the Dactyls. From the Dactyls the still-hot metal moved to the Cutters, who made the strips into the necessary lengths and widths. And then it was left to me to finish them. There seemed to be an infinite number of straps required for the Wall. That was testament enough to the enormity of the project.

  During my meal break, I looked down at my right hand. Along with the scars was the ink stamp of Dis Fidus. That protocol had not been dispensed with even with the urgency of the Wall. I wondered why, but I had many things to wonder about and in my rough pecking order, the ink stamp maintained a lowly place.

  I had two slivers left of my mealtime, so I went outside and was heartened to see Harry Two still lying in the grass where I had left him. I went to him and petted him.

  “No beasts
in Stacks,” barked a voice.

  I turned to see Domitar behind me. His face was flushed and his speech a little jargoled. I thought it a trifle ironic that he would not allow a canine in Stacks when jabbits were permitted to run freely.

  “He’s not in Stacks, is he?” I countered.

  Domitar drew closer. “Is he your canine?”

  “Perhaps. We’ll see.”

  Domitar came to stand next to me. I moved away a few paces because the stink of flame water was so strong.

  “I had a pet once,” said Domitar. I was stunned when he squatted down next to Harry Two and rubbed his ears.

  “You had a pet, Domitar?” I wondered if it was a jabbit.

  He looked embarrassed. “When I was a very young of course. It was also a canine.”

  “What did you call him?”

  He hesitated, perhaps afraid that I might consider him soft by naming a beast.

  “Julius,” he finally answered.

  “Your given name?” I said.

  “Yes. You think that’s peculiar, do you?”

  “No. You can name a canine whatever you want.”

  “What is yours called?”

  “Harry Two.”

  “Why Two?”

  “I had a canine named Harry when I lived with my parents, but a garm killed him.”

  Domitar looked down. “I am sorry for that.” And he indeed did look truly sad.

  “And Julius?”

  “He died when I was still a very young.”

  “How?”

  “It doesn’t matter, does it? Not much matters anymore, not really.”

  When I looked down into his face, I was surprised to see his eyes gazing out listlessly over the terrain in front of Stacks. He didn’t seem a bit squiffy from flame water right now. He was a Wugmort who seemed totally lost, when I would expect Domitar to be as secure in his future as any Wug could be.

  “Times are changing and Wugmorts must change with them, Vega,” he said in what sounded more like a general pronouncement than specific advice. “But we must carry on here. No budge jobs ever at Stacks. Quality work through and through. ‘Buck up right and proper’ is our motto so long as I’m in charge here.” He hiccupped, covered his mouth and looked embarrassed.