Crisped + Sere (Immemorial Year Book 2)

by T. J. Klune

  Cavalo shook his head. “What do you want?”

  “We wanted to… thank you,” Hank said. “For doing what you’ve done. After everything, you didn’t have to. I know you’ve thought about leaving.”

  “Still do,” Cavalo said.

  They stared at him.

  He said nothing.

  “Be that as it may,” Alma said, recovering first, “we’re glad you’re here.”

  “You wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for me.”

  “Maybe,” Hank said. “But maybe not. We could have ended like Grangeville. At least now, we have a chance.”

  “Yeah,” Cavalo said.

  “Could you…?” Hank stopped.

  “Spit it out,” Cavalo growled.

  “Tomorrow,” Alma said, reaching out and touching Hank’s arm. “Before everything. Could you speak to them? Cottonwood. One more time.”

  Cavalo was confused. “What? Why?”

  “Because,” Hank said gently. “They need to hear from someone in charge. They need to be led.”

  “Why me, then? You’re not….” He closed his eyes. “Goddammit.”

  “It has to be you,” Alma said. “They see you and…. It just has to be you.”

  His eyes snapped open. “I never asked for this,” he said, voice hoarse. “I never wanted any of this.”

  “Neither do most men when greatness is handed to them,” Hank said.

  “That’s what you think this is?” Cavalo snarled at him. “You fucking bastard. We’re all going to die in two days!”

  Hank and Alma took a step back. He slammed the door in their faces.

  “Are they gone, Daddy?” Jamie asked from behind him.

  “Yes,” Cavalo whispered.

  Lucas didn’t come in that night at all.

  ONE DAY remained, and Jamie was gone. He’d disappeared somewhere during the night while Cavalo hovered just above sleep. He couldn’t be sure he was ever really there to begin with. Cavalo thought not, remembering he was losing his mind. Maybe he already had.

  He should have seen coming what happened next. He walked out the door, taking a deep breath of the cold air. The morning sun was weak in the sky.

  They had gathered outside his house. All of them. All that remained in Cottonwood. They stood before him, not a single word spoken aloud. He stuttered once in his step as he walked through the door, trying to convince his feet to turn him around and go back inside. Instead, he closed it behind him, his hand slipping off the doorknob.

  Bad Dog was the only other thing that moved. He walked up the steps to the porch and bumped his head against Cavalo’s leg.

  They’ve been waiting, he said. For a long time.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Cavalo whispered down to him.

  I know. But you’re my MasterBossLord. You always say the right thing.

  Lucas stood off to the side, away from the group. He twirled the knife in his hand. He glanced up at Cavalo briefly before he looked away. Something was wrong there. He felt a flash of anger at it, that Lucas had some sort of problem now, at this moment, but he pushed it away before it lit something inside him and exploded.

  It was easier than he expected. Maybe because he was tired. Maybe because they were all going to die tomorrow. Or maybe he was just tired of being angry.

  “I don’t…,” he started, but his voice came out scratchy and fragile. It cracked, little pieces breaking off. He shook his head. Cleared his throat. Tried again. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know what you want me to do.” He raised his head to find all were watching him. A chill went down his spine. A burst of fear. But wasn’t there something else too? Something that felt stronger? There was, but Cavalo pushed it away. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want any of this. He opened his mouth to tell them to go the fuck away. To tell them he couldn’t be what they wanted him to be. To maybe threaten them again. Point his gun at them. Only this time he’d tell them there was nothing he could do. And maybe that was why he said what he said instead.

  “We’re all going to die tomorrow.”

  The people of Cottonwood sighed, their fears given words spoken aloud.

  Bad Dog’s tail thumped against his leg. He took it for what it was.

  “I’ve seen….” He paused, considering. “I’ve seen monsters. All my life. Everywhere I’ve been. Sometimes they’re real. Sometimes they’re in my head. And sometimes I can’t tell the difference.” He took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “You won’t understand when I say it’s all lost in the bees, but I don’t know how else to explain it. I’m not… wired right anymore. I don’t know that I ever have been. The things I’ve seen. The things I’ve done. It… it doesn’t allow me to be fixed.”

  Cavalo looked down at his hands. Rough. Callused. They dealt only in death, and they were ready to do it again. He felt that old familiar itch in his fingers, that itch that meant he wanted the weight of a gun or knife in his hand. The tenseness of a bowstring. He narrowed his eyes and fisted his hands, dropping them to his sides. It would come soon enough.

  “I’m tired,” he said, more honest than he’d been in his entire life. “I’m tired of this life. Of living. Of having just enough to make it through the next day. Or week. Or month. I’m tired of the voices I hear in my head. I’m tired of the ghosts I see walking in the trees. I’m tired of them touching my skin at night when all I want to do is sleep.”

  Lucas watched him now. Cavalo would know those eyes anywhere. He couldn’t meet the gaze. Not yet.

  “But most of all,” he said. “I’m tired of being scared.”

  There were tears on some of their faces. Anger too, twisting their features. Cavalo didn’t think it was at him, though. Not this time.

  “I’m tired of looking over my shoulder and wondering if this is the last breath I’ll take. I’m tired of feeling like there is nothing left to hope for. I’m tired of feeling like we can’t do a damn thing to change this. That this is the world we were born into, and this is the world we’ll give back when we go. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of it all. Something has to change.”

  He looked at Lucas then. Met his eyes and held them. He didn’t look away as he spoke his last.

  “We’re all going to die tomorrow,” he said again, “but we’re going to fight like hell. We’re stronger when we realize that we have nothing left to lose. And we don’t. This is it. This is the end of the road for us. And I can promise you I’m going to take as many of those bastards down with me as I can.”

  Cottonwood murmured their agreement. The tears had dried. The fear, while not gone completely, had lessened. There was something new that had overtaken it. Acceptance. Relief. Determination. Even though Cavalo knew it was surely easier to feel brave when safe than in the face of an enemy, he would take it for what it was.

  “We’re going to hit them,” he said. “We’re going to hit them hard. Your children are safe, and we’re going to crack this earth around the feet of our enemies.”

  Cottonwood was louder now. Someone shouted in the back, a vocal noise that rose like a howl.

  “We may be going, but we won’t go quiet. I’m tired. I’m scared. But by the time tomorrow is finished, I promise you the world will forever know that this was the time we said no, that we said we would not back down, that we would not surrender. I promise you that long after we’re gone, the world will remember what you’ve done. This will be the start, the catalyst, and you’ll be the spark that ignites it all. We will rise, and though we may fall, things will never be the same, and from our ashes, there will be rebirth. There will be hope. There will be a chance that everyone who comes after us won’t have to live as we did. And that’s why tomorrow, we fight.”

  And though he spoke to the crowd, his final words were for Lucas alone. The relief he felt caused his eyes to burn. “My name is James Cavalo, like my father before me. Like my son who came after me. They’re gone now. I do this for them. And I will do this for you.”

  He stopped talking
then. He knew it was more than he’d spoken in years. Maybe in his life. His throat hurt, and he was embarrassed, sure he’d said too much. Sure that he’d said too little. That none of it was right and they’d descend on him with their hands and tear into him until all that was left was a pile of blood and bone.

  And they did descend on him. One by one. Reaching out and touching his hand. His arm. His shoulder. Face and hair. One by one.

  Most of them spoke to him in low tones, barely above a whisper.

  They said:

  I do this for my sister, who disappeared when I was twelve.

  I do this for my home because it’s the only one I’ve known.

  I do this for my father, who was raped and left to die in an alley.

  I do this for my brother. We only ever found his arm. He was seven.

  I do this for my children. They’re all I have left.

  I do this for my wife because I will protect her with all I have.

  I do this for my mother, who said I would never amount to anything.

  I do this for myself, because I don’t want to be scared anymore.

  Deke looked nervous as he stood in front of Cavalo. He looked down at the step of the porch he stood on. “I….” He stopped, brow furrowing. He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  Cavalo reached out and gripped his shoulder. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

  Deke looked up sharply. His eyes were wide, and his chest heaved as if he was on the verge of tears. “I shot you!”

  “I gave you no reason not to.”

  He shook his head. “I should have listened.”

  “It’s done, Deke.”

  “You did it, though.”

  “What?”

  Deke looked up at him with big eyes. “Chose us.”

  Cavalo sighed. “Seems that way.”

  Deke nodded. He reached up tentatively and touched Cavalo’s hand on his shoulder. Then he was gone.

  Hank was behind him. “I do this,” he said, “because we’re withered and sere.” He grabbed Cavalo in a rough hug, patting his back before letting him go.

  Alma was the last. She had a strange look on her face as she squinted up at Cavalo. He let her look. Eventually, she said, “I thought it’d have been John.”

  Cavalo didn’t stop the laugh that came out. “Sorry,” he said.

  She hugged him too. “I do this for Warren.”

  “I know,” he said quietly.

  “And you? Who do you do this for?”

  “All of you.”

  “Do you?” She pulled away, her cheek brushing against his. “I knew it would happen one day.”

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  She walked away, back into the crowd.

  Bad Dog had stayed by his side the entire time. He leaned over and rubbed his head against Cavalo’s leg. You smell like all of them, he said, sounding grumpy. You need to smell like me now. He lifted his snout and licked Cavalo’s fingers. Everything I do is for you, MasterBossLord.

  “I know,” Cavalo said, scratching behind his ears. “Because you’re Bad Dog.”

  Bad Dog huffed his agreement.

  And then the crowd parted slowly. Cavalo watched as Lucas walked through, the expression on his face unreadable. Cavalo pulled himself back up to his full height, his eyes locking on to Lucas.

  He climbed the steps slowly. Deliberately. Never taking his eyes away from Cavalo. He only stopped when he’d reached the top where Cavalo stood. Cavalo could have touched him if he’d wanted to. He felt itchy and exposed. The bees wanted him to run. And so did the rest of him.

  He made up his mind to turn and flee into the vacant house. But before he could turn, Lucas’s hands were on his face, pressing against his cheeks. Fingers trailed and prodded. His chin. His lips. His nose. Cavalo could smell him, standing so close. Like blood and sweat. Death and lightning. Lucas’s eyes were narrowed.

  Cavalo stayed where he was, unsure.

  Lucas poked him in the chest. You, he said.

  “Me? I’m… me.”

  Cavalo.

  “Yes.”

  Lucas shook his head. Held up a single finger. He remembered then, that day in the prison when Lucas had been in the cell and he had asked him if Cavalo was his first or last name.

  James, he said now, and Cavalo understood. Like your father before you. Like your son after you.

  Cavalo closed his eyes, unable to stop the shudder that roared through him. He thought the very earth beneath his feet shook and that the walls they’d hastily constructed would come tumbling down.

  It stopped as quickly as it had started.

  He opened his eyes.

  Lucas frowned up at him. James, he said again. Cavalo. As if he had trouble reconciling the two.

  “Yeah,” Cavalo muttered.

  The question in his eyes was obvious. Why now?

  “It doesn’t matter,” Cavalo said. Everything felt too bright. He looked away.

  Lucas nodded tightly.

  And stepped away.

  He was back into the crowd and was gone before Cavalo could call out after him.

  HE WAS still awake that night when he heard the door to the vacant house open and close. The fire crackled in front of him, a log splitting as it settled. He didn’t dare turn. Today had been too much.

  Bad Dog looked up behind Cavalo. He thumped his tail once before he lay his head back down on his paws and closed his eyes.

  He was surprised when he heard the footsteps approach from behind him, further so when Lucas walked around him and stood above Cavalo between him and the fire. He was careful to keep his wet boots off the blankets spread out on the floor. Cavalo knew he was looking down at him. He waited.

  And on the silence stretched.

  It was Cavalo who broke first. He’d been scraped raw and for one of the first times in his long and painful life, he felt the need to touch. To be touched.

  He reached out. He could not stop his hand from shaking. His fingers closed around Lucas’s pant leg. He felt the ankle underneath. He held it tight. The bone under his fingers was strong and unmoving. It anchored him. He took a breath. And another. And another.

  Eventually, he let go.

  Lucas waited until he pulled his hand back before stretching out next to him. He kicked off his boots. Cavalo lifted the blanket, and Lucas slid underneath. They lay on their sides, hands curled under their heads, faces inches apart.

  It was Lucas who spoke first. James Cavalo, he said.

  “Lucas.”

  Tomorrow.

  “Yes.”

  Are you scared?

  He thought of lying. “Yes.”

  Oh. A hesitation, eyes darting away and back again. Me too.

  “I know.”

  I could…. He shook his head almost angrily. I could go.

  “Where?” Cavalo felt cold.

  He raised his hand and mimed walking with his fingers. Away. Back to them. To… Patrick.

  Cavalo grabbed him by his coat. Shook him a little. “Don’t you fucking say that.”

  Lucas looked pained.

  “You can’t.”

  He looked away.

  “Promise me.”

  Defiant eyes.

  Cavalo shook him again, harder this time. “Promise me.”

  Lucas held up a finger. Pointed at Cavalo. James. Why did you tell me?

  Cavalo thought to push him away. To lie again. It’d be easier. So much easier. Instead, he said, “Because it’s all I have left to give.”

  Lucas kissed him. There. In the dark.

  And later in the night, their bodies moved together as one day ended and another began. Except this day was unlike any that had come before it. A great and powerful man had once said there would come a day when someone would rise, rise and fight back against the dark.

  One hundred years later, James Cavalo fell asleep held by a clever monster who pressed a knife into his side, unaware that his day had
come at last.

  a brief interlude before war

  THEY WOKE the next morning as weak light filtered in through the windows. The room was colder, the fire nothing but embers.

  They didn’t speak much, the three of them. There didn’t seem to be any words needed. They’d said what they needed to the night before.

  They dressed quickly and quietly.

  Cavalo opened up the door to the vacant house to let Bad Dog out. He started to follow when Lucas stopped him. “What?”

  Lucas tugged him back into the house. “Lucas, we don’t have time for—”

  Lucas shot him a look. Make time. This is important.

  Cavalo sighed but didn’t try to pull his hand away.

  Lucas pulled him to a small bathroom. The shower had rusted. The mirror was cracked and dirty. Lucas sat him on the lip of the bathtub and shut the door behind them. Cavalo didn’t know who he was trying to keep out, but he didn’t question it.

  Nor did he question the little jar that Lucas pulled from his pocket. He turned the lid and set it down at the sink. Lucas looked at himself in the mirror. Cavalo wondered what he saw in his reflection but didn’t think it his place to ask. Lucas closed his eyes and took a breath before letting it out slowly. Cavalo couldn’t help but think this felt like a tradition.

  And it did, especially when Lucas opened his eyes again. He reached down and dipped two fingers into the jar. They were black when he pulled them away. He watched as Lucas began to spread them around his eyes. He remembered then, the snowstorm he’d stumbled through after he’d been shot. The black mask on the door, covered in bees, the word suffering burned into the wood. And maybe he was. Maybe he was suffering now. But he didn’t regret his choice. That surprised him.

  It didn’t take long for Lucas to finish. He looked as he did the first day he’d held a knife to Cavalo’s throat. Cavalo was amused at the nostalgia, but he didn’t say it out loud.

  He thought they were finished until Lucas turned to him. He cocked his head at Cavalo, eyes searching for something on his face. He must have found what he needed because he reached for the jar again. He dipped his fingers in it and kicked Cavalo’s legs apart. Cavalo grunted but didn’t speak. Lucas dropped to his knees between Cavalo’s legs and looked up at him.