Marysvale

by Jared Southwick

  The officers laughed again.

  Hannah, unable to control herself any longer, rushed at Lyman, while at the same time accurately describing him with a few, choice cuss words.

  Prepared for her little attack, and with one arm, he simply blocked her flying fists with a sweeping motion and with his other, struck her hard across her face. The blow knocked her to the ground and a red welt appeared instantly on her cheek.

  The soldiers roared in laughter.

  Jane screamed, “Don’t you touch her!” and charged Lyman.

  Quickly, I snatched her up as she ran by and held her from behind in a tight hug.

  She struggled to free herself. “Let me go!” she demanded.

  Whispering into her ear, I said, “Don’t do it. He brought this many soldiers wanting a confrontation. There isn’t anything you can do other than get yourself hurt.”

  In a flash, Lyman’s countenance changed from snide to dangerous. His face flushed scarlet with anger and a vein throbbed on his forehead.

  “Getting our jollies are we?” he sneered, with a hard edge to his voice. “By all means don’t let me interrupt.”

  I stared into his hard, cold eyes and down into the dark abyss that was his soul. Irrational anger and jealousy floated at the surface, with murder waiting close by….He hated me for being close to Jane, and he wanted to punish her for letting me get there.

  Jane, even without any special abilities of her own, could tell something was terribly wrong with him. She stopped struggling and said quietly, “I’m fine, John. You may release me now.”

  I did.

  Lyman gave a forced little laugh and, looking at me, asked, “Is that the best you can do?” Then he purred, “I can assure you that I am capable and willing to do much, much more.”

  He raised an arm and snapped his fingers. More soldiers hustled into the house.

  “Take the girls to the garrison,” he ordered. They rushed over to apprehend Jane and Hannah.

  “No!” cried Mr. Wolfe. “You can’t take them!”

  Lyman laughed, “I can do whatever I want to, old man. You should know that by now.”

  It seemed the girls had different plans, however, and pandemonium broke out.

  Hannah furiously scratched the face of the first soldier who touched her, drawing long, red streaks in his flesh that quickly filled with blood. He shrieked in pain and backed away, with his hands protecting his wounds. The other soldiers were not so eager to be the next on her list.

  Jane kicked her attacker between the legs so hard that there was an audible pop. His eyes went wide and, clutching himself, he toppled over in pain. This had the same effect on Jane’s pursuers as Hannah’s defense had on hers. None appeared too keen to take the lead.

  Lyman screeched profanities at his soldiers and threatened many different forms of punishment if they did not get the girls quickly. The motivation worked. Two soldiers lunged at Jane simultaneously, while trying to safeguard themselves from suffering the same fate as their still moaning comrade.

  Mr. Wolfe dove in front of them. They stumbled on him and, aided by the flailing arms of Mr. Wolfe, they toppled over.

  Lyman’s officer friends now entered the fray. One drew his sword and went for Mr. Wolfe.

  Hannah, who had now been overcome by two of her assailants, and was being carried out, saw the sword and let out a scream.

  With devastating speed, I flew across the room and grabbed the officer’s outstretched sword arm with both hands. While yanking it down, I brought a knee up hard into his arm and snapped his bone somewhere near the elbow. In a howl of pain, the officer dropped the sword, and it clattered harmlessly to the ground.

  By now, Jane had been captured, and she too was being half dragged, half carried, kicking and screaming, to the carriage outside, where her sister was already inside and being bound up.

  Mr. Wolfe struggled to his feet, but was kicked to the ground.

  Another officer stormed me from behind. My senses flared to life and, without looking, I knew his exact position. When the distance and timing were right, I dropped to a knee and thrust my elbow hard and out behind me and into his gut. His body wrapped around it and the air flew out of his lungs with a whoosh. Using my other hand, I grasped my clenched fist and ratcheted my arm up even deeper into his stomach. At the same time, I shot up, lifting the man off his feet, and with a twisting motion, I sent him flying backwards into the next soldier surging toward me. Together, they crashed to the floor.

  Turning, I saw Lyman across the room, smiling menacingly, and aiming a pistol at my head. He pulled the trigger.

  I jerked back just in time to hear the explosion, as the gun expelled its tiny projectile right through where my head had just been. The ball blasted the wall of the house. I closed my eyes as bits of debris from the collision showered my face.

  Taking advantage of my situation, soldiers charged in and tackled me roughly. They slammed my body to the floor and twisted my arms up painfully behind my back.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the carriage, which held the girls, sweep past the door. Jane screamed my name, tears streaming down her cheeks. I imagined what it must have looked like from her view: the powder from the shot, Lyman still holding the pistol, her father now on his feet, and soldiers swarming my body. She must think I’ve been killed or, at the least, seriously wounded. It wrenched my heart to hear her, and my love for her intensified.

  My wrists were bound up tightly.

  After a few curses and groans of pain, the wounded were helped to their feet and escorted out and onto horses, and the commotion died down quickly.

  I finally noticed that Mr. Wolfe was saying something over and over again.

  “You promised,” he cried. “We had a deal that you wouldn’t hurt them if I cooperated.”

  Tears welled in his eyes. It made me sad. I knew the anguish and panic he felt. The only thing in this world that meant anything to him had been taken away. Whatever deal he’d made had gone wrong. He placed his trust under the false hope that his enemy would be just as honorable as he. Unfortunately, time and time again, wicked men take the morality of the good and twist it, using it for their own purposes. Evil knows only two outcomes: triumph and defeat; compromise is merely a stepping stone on the path to victory.

  Lyman walked over and knelt down on my back, twisting and driving his knee in deeply. He grabbed my hair in his fist and pulled.

  “Are you watching this?” he asked. “Look how pathetic he is. Don’t you agree, John?”

  I said nothing.

  He jerked my head up and slammed it down.

  “I asked you a question, boy,” he hissed.

  Still, I said nothing.

  Again, he pulled up and slammed my head painfully against the floor.

  Then, dropping his head close to mine, he threatened, through clenched teeth, “You really must learn some respect, boy; your life depends on it.” Spit drizzled out his mouth and onto my cheek.

  I ignored him and, again, he repeated the process of bashing my head. A buzzing sound filled my ears, accompanied by an agonizing throbbing in my head. My eyes lost focus and, for a moment, I thought unconsciousness would overcome me, but it didn’t.

  Lyman, perhaps coming to the same conclusion, stopped the beating.

  “No matter,” he said calmly. “We can discuss this later, under a more persuasive setting. As for now, you simply must know how weak and wretched this man is. I think you will agree with me in the end that he truly is deplorable.”

  He barked at Mr. Wolfe, “Tell him. Tell him what a friend you are. Tell him, Judas, how you sold him for a pittance.”

  I could hear the glee in his voice. I’d heard it before in the words and thoughts of men like him. They pleasured in the humiliation of others—at their disgrace and belittlement. It made them feel powerful and in control.

  Then Lyman screamed, as if yelling made him more commanding, “Tell him!” His voice cracked, as the insanity filled him and, without waiti
ng for a reply, he drew another pistol and shot.

  Mr. Wolfe fell with a howl of pain.

  “No!” I cried, bucking Lyman violently off my back.

  Instantly, two of his officer friends leapt on me and pinned my legs and the rest of me to the floor.

  Lyman furiously jumped back on me, this time driving his knee down onto my neck. He motioned eagerly with his hand for another pistol.

  One of the officers obliged him, and he aimed it again at the poor man, who grasped his leg and writhed in pain.

  I closed my eyes, unable to bear the sight.

  Lyman, his voice dripping with the acid of uncontrolled anger, said, “Oh no, you are going to watch—or I will make this slow.”

  For Mr. Wolfe’s sake, I forced my eyes open. They were blurry from the grief I felt for Jane and Hannah, and the hatred I felt for Lyman and his cruelty. In my anger, I would have killed him right then if possible, regardless of the consequences. The world is simply better off without the likes of Lyman.

  “Tell him,” he repeated. “And I will be swift.”

  Calmness inexplicably fell over Mr. Wolfe, and he sat up awkwardly. He didn’t even appear to be in much agony, though he still gripped his wounded leg as blood poured out between his fingers. He looked at me with sad eyes and said, “I’m truly sorry, John. They knew you were coming even before you arrived. They promised me that if I helped to keep you in Marysvale, they would not hurt my daughters, and they would increase our food rations.”

  “There,” said Lyman with smug satisfaction. “Now you see the true nature of this worthless mongrel. He betrayed you for a mere few sacks of corn.”

  “No,” said Mr. Wolfe. “They never told me who you were. Believe me, I would have gone with you if there had been any real plan of escape; but I never honestly believed there was. After you left last night, I went to Lord Wright and pleaded with him on your behalf. He said you would be unharmed and possibly even put in a favorable position.” Then sorrowfully, he added, “I should have known better. I should never have trusted them to keep their word.”

  “You stupid fool,” sneered Lyman. “We will keep our word. Hannah and Jane will be perfectly safe and well cared for in the garrison.” A twisted smile crept across his face. “I’ll personally see to it.”

  Mr. Wolfe glared at him. Conjuring up a mouthful of saliva, he spat it across the room and onto Lyman’s face. Shaking with anger, Lyman drew the pistol up and, without hesitation, shot Mr. Wolfe.

  He tumbled backwards, with his wounded leg stretched out in front of him, and the other bent behind. His arms fell by his side. A dark stain appeared on his chest and grew as his life quickly slipped away. Staring off into space and time, Mr. Wolfe took a few gurgling breaths…and then, for him, the pain of this world ended.

  Lyman gloated, but I ignored him and watched as Mr. Wolfe’s spirit separated from his temporal body and rose to his feet. He peered curiously at the body lying on the floor and then at me.

  He looked at me and asked, “Can you see me?”

  I nodded the best I could under Lyman’s knee.

  “Please forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” I said.

  Lyman looked down at me with a confused expression.

  “Don’t tell my daughters what I’ve done. I don’t know if they would understand my intentions.”

  “I won’t,” I promised.

  “And please take care of them for me?”

  “With my life.”

  Lyman laughed, “He’s gone mad; just listen to him babble.”

  I became aware of another spirit materializing beside Mr. Wolfe. As the apparition coalesced, I could see a woman filled with and enshrouded in a white glow. Mr. Wolfe noticed her, too. He turned and gazed at a beautiful, younger woman with green eyes and dark hair. Recognition dawned, and a look of sheer delight crossed his face. “Abby!” he exclaimed excitedly. Then, throwing his arms around his wife, they embraced lovingly. “Oh, how I’ve missed you,” he said.

  “And I you, Michael,” she replied in a musically tender voice.

  Her radiance flowed over and onto him like a warm blanket, filling his soul with light. And as it did, he too grew younger until their ages met.

  Chapter Seventeen: The Guest

  ENOUGH lunacy,” said Lyman abruptly. He ordered the soldiers off and then stood up, yanking me up by my hair and pulling some out in the process.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. and Mrs. Wolfe, still locked in their embrace, fade like sand blown away by the wind, to go to that place beyond the reach of even my sight. Before disappearing completely, Mrs. Wolfe looked at me, with a smile that reminded me so much of Jane, and gave me a small wink of recognition. And then they were gone.

  A strange feeling of peace fell over me. Was it acceptance of my fate? I wondered if it was the same calmness that had descended upon Mr. Wolfe at the end. My mind cleared of the trauma and raw emotion plaguing it. Instead, it filled with numbness and a strange clarity of thought.

  Lyman saw the change and mistook it for submission, or perhaps despair.

  “Ah, I can see we made some progress today. Well worth the sacrifice of one insignificant fool, wouldn’t you say?”

  I remained silent.

  “Oh, come now. You aren’t seriously distraught with the loss of that miserable life are you? It was hardly worth the price of the ball and powder to end his existence.”

  His comments should have enraged me, and perhaps, after the numbness wore off, they would; at present, I simply wanted to get out of the house. More importantly, I wanted to get Lyman out, to stop him from desecrating the now hallowed ground. Without a word, I turned my back on him and strode out of that sorrowful place and into the street.

  Lyman, predictably, chased after me, followed by his men.

  “Don’t you turn your back on me,” he snarled.

  Grabbing my shoulder with one hand, he twisted me around and threw a fist into my gut.

  I was ready for him. His blow was met with hard, tensed muscles. He would have to be a lot quicker than that to catch me off guard. It was almost laughable to watch his expression, as the punch landed harmlessly with a dull thud. For a moment, I debated if I should take a page out of Jane’s book and kick him hard enough between the legs as to permanently end his accursed bloodline. However, after a brief internal debate, I decided against it, knowing that the satisfaction of crippling him wouldn’t outweigh the obvious retribution that would follow.

  Angrily, he grabbed a musket from a nearby soldier and slammed the butt into my stomach. It was much more effective than his fist. I doubled over in pain. If I had any food in my stomach, it would have come up. Still, it didn’t have his desired effect and, raising the weapon, he hammered it down onto my hunched back.

  The force flattened me to the pavement and mated the pain in my gut to the newly acquired one in my back. An unpreventable moan escaped my lips, and this seemed to satisfy him.

  He looked down and said, “Despite the enormous amount of pleasure this brings me, we really do need to be on our way.” He sighed, “Sadly, my father still wants you alive for the time being. Although, picking up this conversation later does give us something to look forward to.”

  Then, contorting his face in rage, he hauled back a foot and kicked me hard in the side. Spidery tentacles of pain shot through my body. I grit my teeth to keep from crying out.

  As if addressing a small child, he asked, “Now, are you going to behave and ride like a good little boy; or do I have to tie your feet and carry you like saddlebags?”

  “Ride,” I moaned.

  “Good.” Then, to no one in particular, he ordered, “Get him on his horse.”

  If only that were true…but Smoke wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

  With my hands tied behind my back, it took a few awkward maneuvers to get me up and onto my nondescript mount. Finally, we set off through the streets of Marysvale, with Lyman proudly taking up the lead. The soldier, whose arm
I had broken, brought up the rear and glared at me, while bearing his affliction stoically. I wondered if he planned on just throwing visual daggers at me the whole ride, or if he would get to take his revenge later.

  We worked our way through the streets and the townsfolk scurried out of our way. Where possible, they fled up alleys and into buildings and homes. Those who had nowhere to go got as far out of the way as they could and avoided looking directly at the soldiers; though their curiosity often got the best of them, and they watched me as I passed. Their faces were gaunt and sad, with worry lines beyond their years. Most looked scared, and a few even clasped their hands together and offered up silent prayers—probably on my behalf.

  Leisurely, we ascended the hill.

  As much as I loathed to even speak to Lyman, a question burned in my mind, so I finally asked, “How did you know I was coming?”

  He craned around to get a better look at me, a bemused look on his face.

  “You still have not figured that out?”

  I shook my head.

  He threw his head back and chortled, “How delightful! Well then, we mustn’t spoil the surprise. Where would the fun be in that?” He laughed again and turned away, obviously with no intent of telling me.

  We traveled the remainder of the way in silence.

  The stone walls of the fortress loomed before us, as we clattered our way up the cobblestone path to the massive black doors. After a heavy clunk, they parted in the middle and glided silently back, revealing the courtyard beyond.

  Our party passed safely through, and the doors, propelled by a few soldiers, again slid silently closed.

  I twisted around in my saddle and watched a thick wooden bar lower into place, again sealing the doors shut. A couple of soldiers on the ground ran toward two huge, ornately carved timbers that jutted straight up into the air, located about 15 feet behind each of the wall doors. The base of each timber was fastened with iron hinges to massive, perfectly square stones buried deep in the earth. A little over midway up, chains were attached to each of the timbers with an iron band. From there, the chains ran back at an angle and down into separate boxes, which were also embedded in the ground. Out of each box protruded a lever. The soldiers each grabbed a lever and pulled back. With a loud clanking sound, the chain slid out of the ground, and the tops of the timbers slowly lowered until they buttressed up against each door, effectively making them impossible to force open.