We Leave Together

by J. M. McDermott

He still didn’t know what the feeling inside of him was. He would never know. He knew that it didn’t feel good, whatever it was.

  ***

  Djoss Nolander? I heard about that giant. I heard he had six fingers on each hand and six toes on each foot and he was the biggest tosser in the Pens. I heard one time he grabbed this nobleman by the neck and squeezed so hard the noble’s head busted open like when you squeeze a sausage too hard.

  Naw, that didn’t happen, tosser. Nothing about that’s true. Djoss had six fingers on one hand, though. That’s the truth. He was always sucking on the pinks until he thought nobody could stop him on account of how big he was. He busted into this dive and started throwing fists like everybody should listen to him. They get him calmed down, and you know what that pink bull does? He starts throwing fists again over nothing. Some folk are like that when their head’s cheese. Think they got arms like Imam and they need to roll the world.

  He may have done that once, but lots of fellows did that. That’s nothing. I heard Djoss busted this toy shop up bad looking for something to steal and he found all these pinks. Pinkers steal pinks. Then the toymaker gets all crazy over it, and tries to kill Djoss. Djoss throws the fellow over a table, out a window, over a crate, and the toy fellow lands on a cart in the middle of the street. Cart driver thinks he’s under attack, and he’s no fellow worth a thing to a thing so he just bolts like a greased pig. Djoss comes out with all the pinks and sees this cart sitting there with the toy fellow in back. Djoss takes it for a ride. But, he’s cheese-for-brains so he can’t steer and the horses take him on the delivery route, and he’s stealing the whole way and smoking his pink pipe the whole way and by the last stop he just falls over on his face in someone’s house because he’s cheese-for-brains. Toy fellow fronting for the pinks wakes up and sees the cart full of things worth stealing and rides off like nothing happened. Made more money than he lost from all the stuff Djoss stole in the cart.

  Naw, naw! That didn’t happen at all. Not to Djoss, anyway. That was a different fellow and I know the toy fellow was a tabor man so I’d know if it was Djoss. That was that guy with six fingers!

  Djoss was the guy with six fingers!

  Djoss didn’t have six fingers.

  What do you know? Nothing.

  I know lots, mudskipper. Lots more than you. I remember Djoss, too, I do. He didn’t have six nothing. He just had really big hands. He went to Erin’s temple every single day because he drank their holy water and not one of the priests dared stop him. I heard he got in trouble with the Night King on account of his sister.

  He didn’t have a sister, tosser.

  Bloody Elishta, he had a sister. I remember. I met her, once. Ugly as sin, with mudskippers to spare. Sparrow was her name. Anyhow, his sister gets all mixed up over some blood monkey, and Djoss don’t like it. He starts throwing this monkey around until the monkey’s hurt bad. But blood monkeys don’t scare easy, you know. The monkey comes back on Djoss hard, but Djoss gets the jump on him because his sister warned him. Then Djoss strips the fellow naked and throws him out a window. After that, Djoss can’t go out unless someone finds him. His sister, she gets locked up somewhere and Djoss can’t find her. Next thing you know, he’s running around quiet-like looking for his sister. I don’t know if they caught him or not, but if he crossed the Night King like I heard he did over his sister and some monkey, the monkey’s dead on account of how someone got the drop on him, and the sister’s dead on account of how she messed up a good monkey, and the brother’s dead because of everything he did over just how his sister was giving herself away in the street and that’s not any monkey’s fault. Monkey’s taking advantage of what’s available to him, you know what I mean? Anyhow, that’s what I heard.

  There’s no Night King and you know it.

  What do you know? You only just got here. I bet you never knew Djoss at all.

  I heard Djoss was last seen alive with this Senta. Senta’s screaming and screaming at him, but he acts like he don’t hear. She says all kinds of stuff about how he’s going to get himself killed if he doesn’t give up the pinks, but he don’t listen to her. He just keeps walking. Then he tells the Senta to toss off. She was messing with the fellow’s push, you know? So this Senta conjures up all this ice and it surrounds big Djoss like a prison. Why in bloody Elishta some Senta taken a personal interest in some tossing pinker is too big for my head. Anyhow, Djoss pushes and he pushes on the ice and then he cracks it loose. He tells the Senta to toss off. She doesn’t listen. She keeps yelling at him. Then the Senta makes this wall of fire all around Djoss, and he doesn’t care. He jumps through it. Then, this Senta brings down a storm. And bloody Elishta, this storm is like the Breaking all over again.

  You don’t even know what the Breaking is.

  I don’t know why he got a mark on him over a Senta, but I heard it was because of a Senta. Those bloody gypsies are nothing but trouble.

  Do, too. It’s a big, tossing storm. Let me tell the story. These foundations cracking all over the Pens because they’re all flooding out from this storm. And she’s screaming about how lightning’s coming for Djoss if he doesn’t turn home. And he doesn’t listen. He keeps going to the pits. Lightning strikes him right on his head. He gets blasted into the air three blocks away, big explosion and all that stuff. He gets up like nothing happened, dusts himself off and goes down into a pit. Never comes out. I hear he kept climbing down and climbing down and the Senta opened up the earth so he would keep climbing down to get to his pinks and he just keeps going. Then, he just keeps going until he’s down in Elishta and baatezus eat him up. That hole’s why we got so much demon fever. It’s coming up from the hole that Senta made in the ground to swallow that pinker.

  That didn’t happen.

  Did, too!

  Look, we know Djoss is dead because he crossed the Night King and he ain’t around anymore. It’s that simple. Happens all the time. How he crossed the Night King, I don’t exactly know. Lots of ways to do that. But, you know the thing I heard was like everybody been saying. Fellow was a pinker, and he roughed up the wrong fellow when his head was all cheese. There was a woman involved, and I know that, too. That’s the way it is, you know? Anyway, you gonna give us apples or aren’t you? We’re hungry. We told you everything we know and you said you’d give us apples.

  CHAPTER 14

  What is the difference between a palace and a prison?

  That is what I think when I see it. It’s a huge building, far from the nobleman’s Island, deep in the heart of the city, where the city’s oldest huts were consumed by the courtyards and fields and walls.

  There were enough windows to make a glass smith very rich if a strong-enough storm blew through. They were colored, too, and spotted with jewels. If we were closer, we could make out the images they contained, and decipher the symbols. None of that mattered, though. The king was not permitted so close to the windows that people could see, and people were not permitted so close when there were enemies in the world that could strike down a king.

  The matron herself rode in with us. The Anchorite had not left her order’s walls since she was sequestered there, but she told us, in her letter, that her duties were clear, and she would help us because though we were incorrect in our faith, we were never known to be dishonest in our old alliances. She did not speak to us when her carriage arrived to take us in, nor did we speak with her. She smiled to herself and looked at the city outside the carriage windows. She did not speak.

  When the guards came, she held out her hand through the glass, with her insignia on her finger. The men seemed to shiver. They backed away and waved us through, shouting at each other to let us pass.

  “Did you know I am the cousin to the king?” she said.

  I shook my head.

  “I am. It is how I could maintain such a place of honor, and never marry a man against my will. Imam has been good to his servant. I have had such a good life.”

  We said nothing.

  “Aggie was such a ba
d girl. She was a thief. She was disobedient. She refused to submit no matter how many beatings we gave her. She never cowed to the rod. A spirited girl. If we could only have gotten her through. She could have walked away from us if she had just been stronger. I pray Imam took her soul to rest. I pray every day since your awful letters came.”

  “We told you the truth, as I saw it in the mind of a demon child.”

  “I know,” she said. She scratched her chin. “I am grateful to know the truth. Despite our squabbles, I am very glad you came here. We pray and pray and… I don’t even recognize this city anymore. I don’t even know where I am and I’m only a few miles from my place of birth.”

  “You should get out more,” said my husband. “There are sins in this city that cannot be washed clean with prayer.”

  She looked up at him. “Prayer is a greater power, you old wolf. Let’s not discuss theology. I left my convent for your sake. How could I remain there, when Aggie was burned alive and this hand signed her death warrant?” It was the hand with the royal ring. She held it up in wonder. “I came here, to my cousin, to stay. That’s how you’re getting in to see him, by the way. Don’t think anyone else has enough power against Sabachthani, even with your seditious letters.”

  “We are grateful for your aid,” I said. “Ignore my husband. He has spent too long as a wolf to appreciate the delicacy of the human heart. Our seditious letters are being copied every day, by every one. They are spread like fireseeds upon the city. Everyone will know the truth about their city. Everyone will know the truth about Sabachthani’s unholy deeds.”

  “Knowing the truth doesn’t mean anyone will do anything about it.”

  My husband grunted. “You should have more faith in the darkness of men. The wolves of the city will rip her apart. They will riot at her gate, and she has no more guardians to frighten the mob.”

  The carriage stopped. The old woman rose up and pushed her way out of the carriage by herself, without aid. She walked easily into the door to the inner palace. There, another carriage waited for us, open to the air, that would lead us through the interior gardens.

  At the center of the gardens, there was a fenced off house, with a locked gate. The guards there stood at attention. The abbess’ ring appeared again and they backed away.

  “I am expected,” she said. “Come with me, then, Walkers.”

  Inside, the cherry trees were in blossom, though it was not the season for such things. They smelled too sweet. Their color was too purple. The grass was thick and lush. It burned beneath my feet. I felt it burning. My husband was tense. He felt it, too.

  The king sat, staring confused and befuddled by a butterfly that had landed on his tea cup. He held up the cup and looked at the butterfly. He saw us. He put the cup down and sneered at us. “Who are you?” he said.

  The abbess held out her hand. “You don’t remember your dear cousin?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I am your dear cousin. I have brought some friends with me to visit.”

  “Have you seen my sons? No one will tell me where they are. Are we winning the war?”

  “You have won all the wars, old warrior,” I said. I plucked a seashell from a crevice in a tree. The salt smell filled the air beneath the too-sweet flowers. I slipped it into a pouch at my waist.

  My husband plucked handkerchiefs and necklaces from the king’s body. “Do not struggle, now.”

  “Hands off! I’m the king! Robbing me is death!”

  “I am here to help you, old man. Your possessions shall remain with you, always.”

  “Liar!”

  My husband was far stronger than anyone the king had known in life. My husband peeled away all the shells and bones and diamonds from far below the earth where they were hidden in the king’s clothes. I entered the house, spreading my seeds.

  The abbess sat down across from her cousin. “I have brought you something to drink. Do you remember the apples at my mother’s estate? We used to sneak them before they were ripe. We ate them tart and bitter and dared each other to finish the apples we had taken.”

  “What is this man doing to me? What are you doing?”

  He started coughing. He started coughing and coughing.

  My husband lit a match and held it up to the flowers. They took to the fire as if the tree was long dead kindling, and not fresh wood in bloom.

  The king was coughing. The guards at the gate were quick to jump through with arabesque blades drawn. My husband threw the wolfskin over his back and howled. This sent them jumping back, afraid. He growled at them. It is holy work we do!

  The men ran.

  The abbess took her cousin’s old hand. He was coughing and gasping. She held out a small bottle of cider. “This cider comes from the trees of that orchard, when we were young. Take a drink, old friend.”

  He smacked her hand away. He stood up and looked at the fire spreading through the flowers. He ran towards the gate. The abbess walked after him.

  In the little house, I spread fireseeds. I spread coal. The fire from the yard would make it here on its own.

  The old man couldn’t run. He could barely walk. He fell over outside with his guards. The abbess strolled out ahead waving her hands to the guards.

  “Take him somewhere safe,” she said. “I will be there shortly to check on him. The fire was no accident, but it is not a crime. We meant no harm to the king. We did no harm. He is merely frightened by our help. The assassins that ruled here, the Sabachthani clan—they are no more in power. They are criminals who were poisoning the king with demon power. Don’t you see the flame?”

  Was she believed or was my husband’s wolf-ish countenance so terrifying? There had to be faithful of Erin among the soldiers here. There had to be men who knew exactly what we were. The guards dragged away the king, while my husband howled to the wolves beside her.

  I came out. The shell was still in my pouch. It was the same sorcery Sabachthani used to extend his own life.

  “Our old kingdom,” she said. “Enough is enough. How long will he live without such demonology?”

  “Not long,” I said. “Scrub his walls clean. Keep out all visitors. Accept no gifts. Hold matches to everything to see if they burn.”

  She nodded. She pointed. The king was coughing and coughing. Blood was falling from his mouth. The guards were frightened. One was running for aid.

  “That might be it. You had better go,” she said. “You can run faster than that guard? You’ll need to.”

  We pulled the wolfskins over our backs. We bolted past the guard. We leapt over walls and charged through gates like monsters. We ran to the walls, and ran to the woods, and ran to the edge of the kingdom of the dogs.

  Let the fires come. Let the retribution happen. Let Ela Sabachthani’s head replace Aggie’s on the spikes of the wall. Let her house and all its sins burn to the ground and beyond, and remain as dead as the red valley of the north.

  The dogs will come for dogs. King’s men will ring bells by the will of the king, Elitrean the mourning lord, who lost his son to demonology. Sabachthani would find no safe passage, no safe harbor. Every sanctuary was known to the king’s men. Every place she could hide and muster escape was known. Her father would not be able to save her, or himself.

  Everyone dies.

  The fires of the island came, next. Once begun along the grasses, there was no stopping it. We did not bother attacking the house directly. She would be too strong there. We set fires. We set fires in the trees and grasses and ferries and docking stations. We ran and set fires. The guard had been pulled away. Eritrean had seen to that.

  For three days the fire burned.

  Eritrean’s men, with the king’s men, hunted down and slew anyone they thought might have been of Sabachthani. Been home to the sleeping dog.

  It happened all over the city. It was news all over the city.

  It was such a simple thing to do.

  Jona knew enough to tear it all down, and he didn’t even know what to do wit
h it.

  The paper was enough. I wrote it all down. I handed what I knew from the mind of Jona.

  We returned to the city one last time, to seek out Salvatore who had no one to keep him from us anymore. We sought out the empty sanctuary of the damned near the Pens district that had been a sanctuary for Salvatore before. We slipped into the darkness of the abandoned brewery, never removing our wolfskin cloaks for a moment. We hid in the shadows there.

  Dog came back. He was still alive. He stumbled into the ruin. He was shaking. His sweat was pink. His eyes were bloodshot. He opened his mouth and howled and howled but it was only a whisper’s breath. I barked at him. I jumped and snarled to keep him back. He was crying blood, shaking his head. He was mouthing something, but I didn’t know what. His tongue had been cut so deep. However this was done, it was done that they had reached deep into his jaws with a hook and ripped his tongue from the back of his throat. He stank of blood from his failing skin and pores. He stank of dirt and filth and blood and death and the slow rot that comes to anyone who spends so much time in this mud. He was crying. He was in withdrawal. He had gone days without any weed, and it had driven him insane.

  I pulled the wolfskin from my back. I touched his skull. I said, “You poor man.” I let him hold onto me. I let him scream and wail and clutch at me. My husband watched the doors for signs of anyone following after him, but no one came. The rain was too strong. It drowned out everything. Dog had come here to get out of the rain. He knew he could be dry a while here, even in such pink agony.

  He fell asleep in our pile of blankets and rags. We left him there.

  We left him the matches.

  We left.

  Do you know where we can find a demon child?

  No. You?

  No. Shall we hunt again? Have we healed enough of this place?

  We must see the estate first. I want to see the estate, what’s left of them all once the decree goes out.

  ***

  The rubble had only smoldered when the fire came. It would be a long time before anyone came back here. The fires we had started with Jona’s memories written down were not put out by anyone by the king’s command. They had spread, drawn to the center of the demon stain in the estate of Sabachthani. The house was destroyed. The willows were standing sticks of ash still smoldering. Rubble and bones floated in the lake burning, still.