by Valerie Puri
“What’s your name?”
“What?” she said startled, as if suddenly pulled out of a deep thought.
“Your name?” Ethan repeated.
“Oh,” she said, her eyes now focusing on his. “Jennie.”
“Jennie,” he repeated. “It’s nice to meet you. And who are your friends downstairs?” Seeing the alarm on her face, Ethan promptly added, “I heard people talking earlier, so I assume you’re not alone.”
Ethan watched her sit for a moment, apparently thinking about something. Then she shouted over her shoulder, “Belle, Travis, it’s safe. Come up here. Put the things on the table back into my bag and bring it up with you.” She paused then added, “And bring the medical kit on the shelf in my office.”
Ethan noticed that she was staring at the dried blood on his sleeve. He watched as she scooted closer to him, reaching out to examine his left arm. She smelled faintly of apples.
“Take your tunic off, let me see how bad it is,” she said.
He hesitated. “Can’t you just roll up my sleeve?”
“I doubt it can be pulled up that far. I can always cut the sleeve off.”
“And ruin a perfectly good tunic? I don’t think so.”
With his good arm, Ethan pushed himself up to a sitting position.
“It might be ruined already with all that blood and those holes.”
After the exertion of climbing over the wall, his left arm was still too painful to use, so he awkwardly maneuvered the shirt over his head with his right arm. Pain ripped through his left shoulder with the effort, and he cringed, swearing softly under his breath. A cold autumn breeze blew in through the window causing him to shiver without his thick, warm tunic.
Although her touch had been soft, Ethan flinched with pain as Jennie examined the extent of his wounds.
“Bring a bucket of water, some rags, and a blanket,” she called down below. “When did this happen?” she asked him.
Ethan peered into the sky through the open window of the barn. The clouds were streaked with color. He watched absently as bright purples, reds, and oranges blended into the deep blue of dusk. Soon the only light would be from the stars and the waning moon.
“Almost two nights ago, I think,” Ethan said. “I might have lost track of the days.”
“You’ve been up here for all this time?” Jennie asked astonished.
Ethan nodded.
“Did you even have anything to eat?”
“The thought of food made me nauseous. I came in here looking to rest,” he told her.
The truth was he had hardly noticed the passage of time. He slipped in and out of consciousness while laying here on his bed of hay. Hunger had not come to him, only the need to sleep.
Sweat trickled down Ethan’s forehead and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. He felt his energy draining away again as he rotated his body to prop his back against the hay bales behind him. Hay prickled his bare skin as he relaxed. His limbs became heavy and he let his arms sink to his side. The world faded away and he slipped out of consciousness.
13
All Belle could hear from above was muffled talking. She couldn’t make out any of the conversation taking place above her. She strained to make out the tone of the exchange. If it were Sash up there, she would’ve expected to hear screaming or shouting. Instead it almost sounded like a calm discussion is taking place.
She felt something was off. She imagined Sash overpowering Jennie. The talking she heard was probably Sash detailing the terrible things that would happen to her. He would make her disappear, never to be seen again. He was probably threatening Jennie’s family and friends if she didn’t tell him everything she knew about the Secret Archives.
It was unbearable just waiting to know what was going on. Belle was worried for her best friend and the desire to protect her was overwhelming. She was still standing where Jennie had indicated she should stay out of view – just inside one of the vacant stalls behind the loft ladder. If Jennie had to leave the loft in a hurry, Belle would be here ready to protect her.
The work she did in the morning at the solar farm left her hands raw and blistered. Wringing her grip around the wooden handle of the pitchfork only made it worse. It was a nervous attempt to convince herself this ordinary stable tool could become a weapon. If she could only grip it hard enough…
She wondered if Travis was feeling this same level of anxiety. It must be worse for him since he was told to stay put in Jennie’s office. He probably couldn’t hear anything.
Belle jumped and dropped the pitchfork with a clang when she heard Jennie shouting. Looks like I didn’t have a good grip after all, she thought. Jennie’s words had been clear. They were instructions for Belle and Travis.
She rushed over to the office and found Travis, still sitting at the table, his eyes wide with fear.
“Grab a bucket and fill it with water, quickly,” She barked at Travis. “We need to get up there.”
She scooped up the book, photos, and the paper with the horse rubbing. While placing the items in Jennie’s bag, she made her way over to the tack wall. Scanning the shelf with her eyes for the medical kit, she wondered fearfully if Jennie was injured. She spotted it next to a pile of neatly folded rags. She grabbed the supplies and rags, and shoved them into the bag. Finding a stack of horse blankets, she took one from the top of the pile. This will have to do, she thought, and rushed out of Jennie’s office. Travis was coming towards her with a bucket filled with water.
Belle slung Jennie’s bag over her shoulder and motioned to Travis. “Here, trade with me.” She offered him the blanket and took the water.
It troubled her why Jennie needed all of these supplies. She wondered if Sash hurt her and that’s why she needed the medical kit. It was also strange that she wanted the materials given to them by Mrs. Townsend. Maybe it was an exchange: the items for Jennie’s life.
They made their way over to the ladder. Standing at the base, they stared up through the access hole cut in the loft floor. All they could see from there were the wooden beams which supported the roof running. Belle took a deep breath.
“Let’s go,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady for Travis.
With difficulty, she climbed the ladder with her free hand, holding the water bucket at her side with the other. The wire handle of the metal bucket cut into her fresh blisters making her grimace with pain. She tried to adjust her grip on the handle by bending her wrist, but water sloshed over the top of the bucket, soaking her pants. No matter how she tried to hold the bucket, the handle still pressed cruelly into her blisters.
With relief, Belle finally reached the top. She stepped out onto the floor and pressed her sore hands together, trying to ease the pain. Travis was climbing up right behind her, and fumbled with the blanket as he reached the loft.
“Where are you?” Belle called out to Jennie.
“Over here,” Jennie responded, her voice coming from Belle’s right.
Belle picked up the water bucket, and led Travis through the middle of the tall stacks of hay. She thought how incredible it was that Jennie had piled all of this hay by herself. It was quite physical work and she was so petite. Belle continued to walk towards the end of the loft. She felt a breeze tousle her curls as she neared the window.
She reached the end of the barn and halted. The sight before her was not at all what she expected. Jennie was kneeling next to an unconscious young man; his shirt was off for some reason. As she stepped closer, she saw his left arm was bloodied, and Jennie was examining it.
Belle let out a sigh of relief that Jennie wasn’t hurt and hadn’t needed the medical kit for herself – it was for this man. She felt a pang of guilt because she was relieved the man was injured instead of Jennie. She didn’t want anyone to be hurt at all.
Belle set the water bucket down and gave the sack to Jennie. “Who is he?” she asked.
“A stranger named Ethan,” Jennie responded, “He’s from beyond the wall.”
<
br /> Belle heard Travis gasp. She had forgotten he was right behind her.
“From beyond the wall?” Belle repeated. Saying the words didn’t make them feel any less strange. Everyone in the Commune was told repeatedly that there was no one left outside of their settlement. Yet here this man was, proof this teaching was wrong. "What else have they lied to us about?” she muttered.
Jennie looked up and met her eye, “That is the question we need to answer.”
14
“Ethan may be able to help us answer some of our questions,” Jennie said.
“How did he get so badly injured?” Belle asked.
“He said he was caught in that awful storm the other night and got disoriented in the forest,” Jennie began, as an explanation. “He claims he was attacked by a lemeron. The way he described it, he barely got away alive.”
Both women watched as Travis collapsed to his knees. He was shaking and tears were streaming down his cheeks. Jennie went to Travis, knelt down, and held his shoulders firmly in her hands. She looked into his eyes.
“We can’t help our mother now, nor can we bring her back,” Jennie said softly. “But we can help save this man. I need your help to do that. Will you, Travis?”
Travis nodded, wiping his tears away with his sleeve.
Jennie stood and helped Travis to his feet. “Come sit over here by me. You can hold the medical kit and pass me the instruments as I call them out.”
Ethan’s left arm had five deep puncture wounds. Jennie surmised they were from the lemeron’s fingers when it grabbed him. Yellow pus was oozing from each injury. A foul odor hung in the air around his arm causing Jennie to scrunch her nose. His bare chest was gently rising and falling with his deep breaths. He was unconscious, but he was alive.
“He’s fighting off an infection. We need to thoroughly clean the wounds and stitch them closed.”
“How do you know how to do all this?” Travis asked.
“I have to know for when the horses get injured in the fields. The farmers are careful with them, but sometimes a buried root gets ripped out of the ground by a plow and nicks the horses. If the wound is severe enough, I have to stitch it closed.”
“I’ve heard the farmers say you are more focused than some of the doctors in the Commune.” Belle said proudly.
Jennie took a clean rag, dipped it in the water, and wrung it out. She began to clean the wounds in his left arm. When the cloth became too blood-soaked, she would rinse it in the bucket, squeezing out the excess water. She continued in this manner until all the pus and dried blood was cleaned away. His arm looked better, but there was still more work to be done.
The last light of day was now gone. Jennie took a lantern hanging from a nearby post and lit it with matches from her bag. In the flickering light she could see large, purple bruises on his bicep surrounding the puncture wounds.
“Travis, in the medical kit you will find a bottle of alcohol and cotton. Pass me both of those please,” Jennie instructed.
Travis did as she instructed, and she dabbed the wounds with alcohol-soaked cotton to sterilize each injury.
“I need the curved needle, suture thread, and scissors,” she said to Travis, who passed the items to her with a trembling hand.
Using the alcohol, she sterilized the instruments. When she pierced Ethan’s skin, she felt his muscles tense. Jennie stopped and searched his face for signs that he was regaining consciousness. If he awoke now, it would make her work more difficult. In her experience, it was easier to stitch up a subdued horse than a fully aware horse who could become frantic. Jennie imagined people were the same.
“Travis, put the riding crop in his mouth so he can bite down on it if he wakes up,” Jennie had seen this done when she observed procedures in the medical clinic. There, they used wooden rods and not whips.
Travis opened Ethan’s mouth and put the crop between his perfectly straight teeth. “Like this?”
“Perfect,” Jennie nodded at him with approval.
She was able to finish stitching up each of the five wounds without Ethan waking up. She reached over and took a roll of gauze out of the medical kit and wrapped it around his arm a few times to ensure his injuries remained clean. She tied the gauze off and cut the end. Leaning back, she admired her handiwork.
“Wow, you’re fast,” Belle said, from the corner.
Jennie slowly let her mind relax now that Ethan’s arm was cleaned and stitched. She removed the riding crop from Ethan’s mouth and the rag from his forehead. With another moistened rag, she wiped the sweat away from his face and his upper body. Jennie couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was. The flickering light from the lantern accentuated how toned Ethan’s exposed torso was. Absentmindedly, she let her eyes trace the contours of his lean muscles. Her eyes wandered from his toned shoulders and chest down to his muscular abdomen. Suddenly, she felt a flutter in her stomach and turned away to pack up her medical supplies.
“I know that look,” Belle gave a coy smile. "You’re taken with him.”
“Don’t be silly, I don’t even know him,” Jennie answered, blushing. She found the warm horse blanket and covered Ethan with it, so only his handsome face was visible.
“But you didn’t deny it,” Belle teased.
15
Sash entered the tower from the third floor of the Sanctuary and began to climb the stairs. He stepped onto the little landing before a small arched wooden door with large ornate metal hinges. He lifted his large fist and pounded twice on the solid wood. Moments later, the door opened. Victor stood before him, still dressed in the dark purple robes of the Elders.
“Come in and close the door behind you,” Victor said flatly.
Sash entered the sprawling room with its lavish furnishings. He followed Victor across the stone floor covered with red silk rugs in elaborate designs. They sat in cushioned chairs angled toward a roaring fireplace with a carved stone surround and mantle. Sash loved fire. It was so cleansing and reminded him of his rebirth into adulthood.
“Well done today,” Sash said, “those undesirables actually believed every word you said at the emergency Council.”
“That may be so,” Victor said, “but we cannot become over confident. There may yet be those who doubt us.”
Sash let a knowing sneer spread across his thin lips, “What do you need me to do?”
The two men sat silently in front of the fireplace, their shadows dancing on the wall behind them. Sash was observing Victor closely, trying to read any thoughts which might be revealed by his facial expressions. He knew it was in vain, though, Victor never projected what he was thinking on his face.
Victor finally spoke, “When you saw Eleanor Townsend leaving the Sanctuary this morning, she likely took something after accessing the Secret Archives. It’s very possible the information she gathered was shared. This could be very dangerous for us, for all of us in the Order.”
His grey eyes were now transfixed on Sash, the orange flickering of the fire reflected brightly in them. “Find out who she was last in contact with - her co-workers, her students, the damned person who served her lunch. I want to know if any of them are acting suspiciously, but be discrete about it. Report back to me once you find out who we need to deal with next.”
Sash grinned, “It would be my pleasure.”
He stood up and left the room.
16
Sitting at the carved wooden desk in his study, Victor finished writing the death certificate for Eleanor Townsend. She was a nuisance, and he was glad to be rid of her. He signed off on the document making it official. He leaned back in his oversized leather chair and reveled in his work. She got what was coming to her, he thought. She won’t be able to recruit anyone else in her current state. She, of course, wasn’t dead. Victor thought that would be too good a fate for her. Yes, an eternity of living hell was much better suited for defiant people such as her.
The Order had readily sanctioned the processing of Eleanor Townsend. It hadn’t been hard
to get the authorization since Victor was the head of the Order and had a very compelling case. Their most reliable footman, Jacob Sash, had been following Eleanor ever since they had eliminated her husband, James. Victor knew it was only a matter of time before she entered the Secret Archives, searching for answers to her husband’s disappearance. The Order feared the release of information stored in the Secret Archives and would go to any length to silence those who threatened to do so.
He rose from his chair, picked up the small lantern on his desk, and collected the death certificate. He left his dwelling and descended the spiral staircase. He enjoyed the coldness of the stone walls around him. It made him feel invigorated. As he stepped out into the third floor of the Sanctuary, he was not surprised to see that it was deserted at this late hour.
The little lantern cast a small glow in front of him, giving him just enough light to see by. He walked down the long corridor, reaching more stairs at the end. He continued to make his way down until he reached a door labeled “Lower Level – Records.”
Victor extracted a key from a pocket in his purple robes – only the Elders had access to the Commune records – and he unlocked the door. Marlene never came down here, so she would have no idea how Victor had transformed the records room. Before his innovation, he had to manually file all of the birth, death, and marriage certificates, the annual crop yield ledgers, and all of the other Commune documentation. It was tedious work, and he disdained it.
He previously requested an assistant to do this filing for him. The matter was put to a vote during one of the Commune Councils. His request was denied. He could still picture the chamber filled with people, the majority with their hands raised, voting against him. Each one was an undesirable in his eyes from that day on. Systematically, he had been getting rid of them. He no longer had to do the mundane task of filing documents, thanks to his ingenuity.