The Archivist

by Tom D Wright

“No, my father is. I’m his assistant, and he sent me to get supplies.”

  “So what? I’m more concerned about the injured right here. I need you inside, now.”

  The three men wait expectantly for Danae to move. When she does, they follow us into the building.

  Immediately I am assaulted by the sickly odor of rubbing alcohol, mixed with those of blood and burning flesh. A dozen cots line the room.

  At the back is a table with a screaming woman being held down on it, as someone uses a saw to amputate a shattered forearm. Another person stands by with a red-hot poker to cauterize the limb. Danae stands frozen in shock, taking in the horrifying scene while the blood drains from her face.

  I am afraid she is about to faint, when the man who ordered us inside points and says, “Take that one over there.”

  Danae looks like she just got slapped, then glances at a man across the room who lies moaning on a cot, with an arm twisted at an odd angle. Her face becomes businesslike as she steps over to him, examines his head and looks at his eyes. When her fingers prod his shoulder, the man screams in agony.

  While she works on her patient, I step next to a shelf and start discreetly tossing some bandages, bottles of an unidentified liquid and a few implements into my bag. Might as well take advantage of the opportunity to bolster our cover.

  Taking a bandage, Danae sticks it in her patient’s mouth. “Bite down as hard as you can,” she tells the man, and as he chomps down on it, without warning she yanks on his arm, then shoves it in. A loud pop is drowned out by another scream.

  “Dislocated shoulder,” she yells to the doctor, who is working on the amputee. Then over her shoulder she adds, “He’s also got a concussion that you should keep an eye on. Can I go now?”

  The man stares at her. Before the doctor can respond, the amputee patient wrenches her other arm loose and desperately flails at the man. Without hesitation, Danae snatches up my chain and heads for the door.

  We force our way past another incoming victim. I am only too glad to get out of that 1850s-era clinic. I would tell the new patient to go somewhere else, but at the moment this is probably as good as it gets in Wolfengarde.

  Danae’s face is pale as she whispers to me, “You know, I wasn’t sure I was going to get out of there without passing out.”

  “You handled that as well as anyone I have ever worked with. That was impressive, how you reset that shoulder.”

  Danae shoots me a raised eyebrow. “I picked up an awful lot from helping Papa all the time, and he said I was the best assistant he ever had. It was always blood that I couldn’t handle, but I realized something in there.”

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “It was after my mother died that I started falling apart. When that cougar ripped her open, her blood was everywhere, but mostly I remembered that it covered me. From that time on, whenever I saw blood it took me back to the meadow, and how helpless I felt. Realizing that in there gave me the power to put it behind me.”

  “That was when you went to help that man,” I observe.

  “Yes!” she says with a small smile. “I enjoy helping people, and I’m good at it. Maybe Papa was right about me all along.”

  We resume our trek toward the gate. It is maybe an hour or so before we get to the gate that I bolted through that morning. By the position of the sun, I estimate that it is early afternoon. People are now arriving from outlying communities to help both the wandering blind and the poisoned congregants.

  As we approach the busy gate, several Disciple guards look down from a small tower on one side. A guard moves to intercept Danae ten feet from the threshold we need to pass through.

  “Where are you going?” the man queries her, after giving me a quick and dismissive glance. “We are under full alert and it’s not safe out there.”

  Danae stops to turn a haughty stare on the man while I keep my head down, but watch from the corner of my eye. She puts one hand on her hip and says, “Yeah, and you know some of your patrols out there have suffered casualties. I’m a nurse and I’ve been sent to tend to the wounded.”

  “I wasn’t informed about that. Why the slave?”

  “He’s carrying supplies that I need. You, open the bag!” Danae snaps her fingers at me. I quickly lower the bag and open the mouth of the sack. The guard glances at the pile of bandages and implements, then grunts.

  “Well, I have got some injured men here as well. You should look at them.”

  Danae crosses her arms. “Really. You want to explain to your superiors, who sent me, why men safely inside the town wall need help more than the ones who are out there dying? I’m just curious how that will sound.”

  The man licks his lips nervously, and glances back at the center of town, where the Temple sits. I keep my eyes on the ground while the man reconsiders his position. Then I notice scattered blood drops landing in the dirt between Danae’s feet. All this walking must have loosened her bandage.

  After a few moments, the Disciple turns and gestures toward several men standing at the gate. “Move out of the way. You heard the woman, our brothers are out there dying!”

  They scramble to the side, and I sling the sack back over my shoulder as I take position behind Danae. She starts forward, and I make a quick sidestep to where she stood, and shuffle the dirt to erase the traces of her blood.

  “Let’s go,” she orders and gives the chain a light tug. I have just finished rubbing away the evidence and have not started moving, so the tug is harder than she probably intends and the slave collar pops off. The chain lands at her feet as she turns around.

  Before the Disciple sentry can react, Danae grabs an unlit torch that is leaning against the guardhouse a couple of feet away and whacks me across the back with it.

  “You idiot, pick it up,” she snarls. “I told you to tie it better. Now move, I have men to tend to.” The blows sting as she strikes me repeatedly, and I trot forward through the open gate.

  Moments later, we are outside of Wolfengarde, and hurry forward without looking back. After a hundred yards, we pass around the bend and out of sight of the gate. Scattered clumps of people come down the road on their way toward the entrance, but they ignore us as I lead Danae down a small side trail into the brush, and we circle back to where Little Crow and I waited to ambush the patrol. The people we passed probably figure that we took a shortcut home.

  Danae is pale and sweating, and I am sure it is from more than just stress. Getting this far has clearly taxed her physical endurance. I help ease her into a resting position. Then I retrieve my clothing from the hollow so I can change out of that dreadful slave toga.

  That is one institution I will dismantle, if I have any say about it.

  The copse we are in is fairly dense, so not only are we well-concealed from traffic along the road, but the air is cool and refreshing. As much as we need some food and water, right now the best thing we can do is just sit tight and wait for the afternoon to pass.

  I gather a small pile of dead leaves and spread out the toga as a crude bed for us to rest on. Danae settles against me, and within minutes, her slow, steady breathing tells me that she is fast asleep. Exhaustion drags me into sleep as well.

  When I open my eyes again, the light is starting to fade. It is time to get moving and meet up with Little Crow at the rendezvous point. Danae stirs when I sit up, and then moans as I help her to her feet.

  “How do you feel?” I ask.

  “Stiff. Really stiff, but that beats being totally stiff.”

  “Can you walk?” I could carry her for a little way in a fireman’s carry again, but that would be treacherous across much of the wooded terrain we need to pass through. Plus I am not sure how much my leg can handle.

  “Yeah, I can do it. I need to keep moving anyway to keep loose.”

  I am not so sure about that, but hunger and dehydration are already starting to take a toll. We head uphill. While I have spent plenty of time in the wilderness, I still do not have the woodcraft that Little
Crow has, so I am relieved when we finally stumble across the trail where I waylaid that unfortunate Disciple. I am just not sure whether to turn right or left.

  Since left leads away from Wolfengarde, I figure that is as good a choice as any, so we head that way. When the trail begins a steep climb, I have some doubts. A few minutes later, it opens onto the plain. Wrong way.

  Turning around, we retrace our steps. Twice, we scurry off into the bushes when small groups of Disciples pass by. They may not be looking for us specifically, but I know we are not looking for them.

  We reach the point we started from, and head the other way. Around the next bend, I recognize the spot where I feigned that I was drunk. A few minutes later, I make the whistling trill that Little Crow taught me.

  I hear an immediate answering call. Moments later, Little Crow steps out of the shadows. He gives both of us a hug and leads us into the secluded grove where he and Angie have been waiting.

  Danae and I take long swigs from a water skin, and we are chewing eagerly on the dried meat Angie hands us when Malsum glides out of the deepening shadows like a ghost. The big cat moves without hesitation to greet and rub her head on Danae.

  While Little Crow rearranges the harness so that Malsum can carry Danae lying on her stomach, I briefly recount what happened in the Disciple town. Neither Little Crow nor Angie makes any comment when I casually refer to Danae as my wife. I decide that will make a good fireside tale on the trail back.

  “When you said you would send a signal, you weren’t kidding,” Little Crow says when I get to the fireworks, and I am content to let him think I arranged that.

  As I describe our reunion with Deep Throat, Angie clenches her fists. Then I describe what happened on the roof, even if I do not know his final fate. “I forced him stay up there and the flash blinded him, but I have no idea whether he made it off the roof over the side or down the stairs.”

  Angie unclenches her fists, and a broad smile expands across her face slowly before she replies, “I can think of no better justice than to let him suffer the same fate he inflicted on me. There is something else I would’ve cut off, but I’m not going back there for it.”

  I shudder, glad that I am on Angie’s good side now.

  The darkness deepens around us and I continue my story while we prepare to retreat to the mountains. Little Crow gestures that until we get back to the mountains, he will lead his horse on foot, with Angie riding while I lead the other two horses.

  We finish our preparations as I wrap up my tale. “So I didn’t get the generator, that’s gone now. But I did get in touch with the colony on Mars, and it turns out I have a daughter I never knew about. Her name is Persi, and I have a couple of grandchildren. She sounded so grown up. I don’t even know what she looks like or…”

  My voice chokes up as tears flood my eyes and waves of grief overwhelm me while I ponder what I have missed. It seems that my emotional lockbox is broken now. Angie reaches toward me, takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.

  “I understand. That girl at the farm was my daughter. I never told you this, but after I escaped from the Disciple city I was attacked and raped. I killed the bastard, but it turned out I was pregnant. That old woman took me in, and I stayed at her farm for the summer, intending to kill the child when it was born. Just like I did the father. If it had been a boy, I’m sure I would have. But it was a girl and I couldn’t, so I ran off after leaving the babe inside the house. That was the first time I have ever been back. Like you, I will never see my child.”

  I squeeze my friend’s hand, communicating an understanding that transcends words.

  As he helps Danae get settled on Malsum’s back, Little Crow says, “Angie is coming back with me to my village. Let’s just say that she’ll make a wonderful stepmother to Running Deer. Where are you two going?”

  I saw this coming between Little Crow and Angie all the way out here, so I am not surprised. But I sure as hell would like to be there when Henry finds out.

  “We need to swing by Reyeston so I can hand these artifacts over to my Archives contact. Then it’s time for a leave of absence,” I reply thoughtfully. “Personally, I’m ready to retire from the retrieving business, and I have a promise to keep to John Tucker. The man wants to start a university, and I believe it’s time to establish an annex of the Archives. I imagine he would welcome some help starting up Tucker University.”

  “How about if you start with a school for doctors,” Danae suggests. “You’ve already got one student.”

  “He does have two doctors to start a faculty with,” I muse, then pat my backpack that holds the e-reader. “And we do have the medical texts.”

  “I’ve never been to Reyeston,” Little Crow says as he steps over to his mount and helps Angie up into the saddle. “Now that the passes are snowed in, I think the southern route will take us to the coast. In fact, we should be just below Reyeston.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” I ask as I sling my familiar pack over my shoulder and take the reins to my own horse. I am ready to go.

  It is time for me to begin retrieving my life.

  THE END

  Acknowledgements

  If books could scroll credits like a movie, the following are people you would see scrolling across the page. At least for now, you will have to use your imagination.

  Headlining my thanks would be my editor, Chad Brink, who pushed me hard and far ‘til it hurt, like an editorial personal trainer. Next would be Katie Cord, for believing in the book from the outset. Thanks to both of you for sharing the vision.

  Supporting roles were played by Beth Meacham, my instructor at Cascade Writers who saw the diamond in the rough, and Cat Rambo who helped me learn to polish that diamond.

  Other key roles in making sure I got it right were played by Anne Day-Jones, Bridget Kenyon, Carlos Talledo, J. C. Daugherty and Melodie Ladner. Your contributions, large and small, were appreciated.

  No acknowledgement would be complete without recognizing the support of Nancy, Amanda and Alexia—those closest to me, who sometimes carried more than their share and never complained when I would go away for days at a time.

  And a special thanks to Monica Britt: you called it, right from the beginning.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Tom D Wright lives in the Puget Sound area with his wife, cat and a small pack of dogs. When he is not writing, he works in IT.

  Tom graduated from Bowie State University with an M.A. in Psychology, so when people call him with an IT problem, he can tell them, “I understand, and how does that make you feel?”

  His other books include The Princess of Panchala (the first book in the TerraMythos series) and The Baylah Run, an SF&F story collection.

  Check his author website at TomDWright.com for more information and links.

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