“And this is your response to someone who’s figured something out? You beat her to death? You murder her in cold blood? Not a single one of you was attacked, were you? Did she threaten any of you? How will you ever learn what she’s learned if you’ve killed her — no, murdered her?”
The silence was deafening, and in the early evening darkness, illuminated by the burning torches, Will could hear crickets chirping outside the walls. Elizabeth! You must stay with me. I will get you out of here. He projected Energy to her, willing her to live, but he received no response. He reached down to cradle her in his arms, and her head lolled to the side. Had he been too long delayed by Maynard’s attack to help her? If she died because of his actions… Will knew he’d kill the man, all sense of self-control abdicated to his grief over the death of the young woman he’d been sent back in time to save. Not for the first time, he wished he’d acted differently, and simply taken her away as soon as he’d arrived. But he’d hated being forced into making his decision to travel here, even though it was the decision he would have made anyway, and he refused to use the same tactic with Elizabeth.
And now she was dying due to his dedication to that principle.
Will returned his focus to the crowd. “All of you have fallen into a trap. No, it’s not a trap set by Arthur, though it’s one he manipulated to his advantage for a very long time. The trap is a comfort, a satisfaction with things the way they are. Even a dozen years ago, those of you here the longest found yourself with a freedom and a prosperity you’d never before imagined possible for someone with your background. Before you’d reached that level of comfort, no effort was too great to meet the goals you’d set for yourselves. As you began reaching those goals, as that first small camp became a village with walls, with its own private economy, with the foresight to plan plenty of room to produce and store those products of your labor to sell elsewhere… you feared the loss of that comfort more than anything else. That vision of the first Travelers, the mere idea that you could develop abilities so incredible, was desirable… but you were comfortable. You wanted the benefit, to be sure… and who wouldn’t? But the fire to achieve something new had vanished, the desire to risk it all for a greater goal snuffed out, because you had health, you had freedom, and you had money.”
He felt a new surge of Energy from the trees, and redirected it to Elizabeth. Stay with me. His thought was forceful, a shout to wake her up. It’s not your time to go.
Aloud, he continued speaking to the crowd. “You had become so proficient at making money, however, that you were able to spend it without great concern. None of you were in danger of starving to death. And so Arthur, ever the manipulator, but one not able to make crafts and earn an income in that fashion, offered to trade his daughter’s time — and her health as well — to all of you in exchange for a portion of that money. It seemed like a great benefit to everyone, didn’t it? All of you stay comfortable, working your crafts and trading them for money; Arthur collects money for the potential — the potential — to do the impossible. Everyone is happy; it’s a tiny amount of money to you, and the payoff, if it ever comes, is worth such a small amount. Everyone is happy, that is, except the forgotten one, the child of slaves made a slave, the child who had no say in the role she’d play in this community.”
Will slid his right arm under Elizabeth’s legs, keeping his left around her back, and he stood, lifting her limp body off the ground, cradling her head towards his chest. “And this is the result of that approach. You showed fire and resolve in building the Wheel, but that was still comfortable, wasn’t it? You were just building something else, and that was easy.”
Will turned and started walking away from the crowd. Arthur, who had watched, expressionless, as his daughter had been beaten with his blessing, walked toward Will, his face full of fury. “Will!”
Will paused, and then turned to face him.
Arthur approached with caution, his steps reminiscent of a man advanced in years, but he wasn’t looking at Will as he moved. He looked at nothing but Elizabeth’s shattered face as he moved with a leaden pace towards them. Arthur’s expression changed, first as if he’d undergone some type of internal trauma in looking at her, though it seemed more the face of one reliving their own nightmare than truly seeing the nightmare of another. It was the second expression that intrigued Will; it was the look of a man who has realized something shocking and profound.
After a moment, Arthur finally looked up at Will. His eyes showed none of the fury of a moment ago. “Is she… gone?”
Will glared at him. “I will do what I can, Arthur. But I fear you are looking at the third woman this village has murdered in the past five years.”
He turned and, with some difficulty, pushed open the door of Elizabeth’s room, using extreme caution to lay her on her bed. He then walked back to the door, glaring at the crowd that gazed at him with eyes of fear and remorse, none daring to ask the question they all wanted answered.
Will looked at Arthur. “Do not disturb me, Arthur. I suggest you engage the carpenters to build that box you always said Elizabeth would use to exit this village. Barring a miracle, she’ll need it.”
And he shut the door and closed the curtain.
Will flooded Elizabeth’s body with Energy as he checked her pulse; it was there, but quite faint. He listened to her heart, uncertain why he did, but he learned nothing new. He took her hand and squeezed.
Talk to me, Elizabeth. This is not the end for you. You must fight to live!
He finally felt it, a small trickle of Energy back, and smiled. She was still with him. I’m still here with you, Elizabeth. And I won’t give up until you’re walking around and smiling again.
He heard a sound he’d never heard before, a sound he couldn’t recognize, coming from outside her room. He heard something even more remarkable. What… is… that… noise? Her voice, though it might be inside his head, was one of the most beautiful sounds he could ever remember hearing.
Let me check. He made as if to let go of her hand, and felt her grip tighten.
No… please… don’t… let go.
He nodded at this request, though she couldn’t see him. I’m going to try something.
The Energy in her body was doing its job; she was still physically decimated, but if Energy was coming from her, her body was producing more, something it wouldn’t do if she was still in danger of dying.
He sent his Energy out of the room, out into the courtyard area where the crowd had gathered, and increased the amount until he was able to see and hear outside. Can you see that?
Yes. Her inner voice was still weak. What… are they… doing?
Will had no answer to that for several moments. He watched as Arthur stared at the door, his face contorting more and more as the moments passed, until his face shuddered and a trace of moisture fell from his eyes. His grief forced him to his knees, and he bent over, the only sign of his grief the heaving of his body.
As they’d so often done since Will arrived — and likely before he’d arrived — the villagers took Arthur’s lead. The grief in their faces when Will had shut the door had been genuine; the wracking cries and sobs were now acceptable to display in public, and many joined in the tears.
He did love you, Elizabeth. Will felt almost guilty for saying so; despite the visual evidence, he had no reason to trust anything about the man.
Nor did his daughter. He’s… not grieving… my loss… Will. Her voice betrayed no sense of hurt. I… was never… a daughter… to him. I was… a possession… to be sold… over and over… again… for money… and power. He… said so… himself… remember?
Will did remember, since it was the time he thought he’d lost her. Not physically; the nanos and Energy combination could work miracles. When Arthur’s response to the mob attack on his daughter was to deny her, her spirit had been crushed, and without the will to live, no amount of technology or Energy could keep her alive.
I’m getting you out of here this time, El
izabeth. Don’t argue with me. Please.
She didn’t. How?
He considered. You can’t walk out of here; they’ll hound both of us the rest of their days if you seem to come back from the dead.
You can’t… teleport me… out of here either. Too many of them… would detect that. She paused. They need to think.. I’m dead… don’t they?
Will considered. What do you want to do, Elizabeth? If you want to walk out of here in full sight of everyone, completely healed, then we’ll do that. If you want me to teleport you out of here so that they know you’re alive but aren’t sure how you’ve left, then I’ll do that. If you want them to think you dead so that they never bother you again… then that’s what I’ll do.
It wasn’t lost on him that she’d not opened her eyes or moved since they’d entered this room, and yet he was having a complete conversation with Elizabeth.
I don’t want them… to come after me…. And I don’t want you… staying here… if that’s what… you want to do… having to… answer questions… about how a… nearly dead woman… got away from you… and escaped…. That means… I need to seem… dead to them. They need… to see me. I… I’m not sure if I can pretend to be dead.
Will considered this point. How could he help her to seem dead? He couldn’t stop her from breathing; she’d most assuredly die in such a scenario, and likely panic and move around. He needed to ensure that he was the only one to touch her; a touch of any type would provide the chance to feel her breathing or pulse or heartbeat or warmth. Yet at her current rate of healing, she’d clearly be fully alive and healed in only a few hours. He’d need her to leave this village, in full sight of everyone, but keep her out of sight as much time as possible.
An idea formed, one so crazy it seemed impossible that it could work. It was also incredibly risky.
I have an idea, Elizabeth. We’re going to have to put you in a coffin though.
He felt her panic at these words. No! Will, please… don’t do that… to me. I’ll be… too frightened… to pretend to be dead.
You won’t have to pretend, Elizabeth. I have a way to help you seem dead, so that you won’t have to act. There is a risk, though. Do you trust me?
Her answer was immediate. I trust you, Will. I trust you with my life. Do what needs to be done.
He nodded, though she’d still not opened her eyes. I’ll need my hand back for a while.
With a reluctance he could sense, she let her grip loosen.
Will took a deep breath, closed his own eyes, and extended his senses out once more, this time to his room, to the bag with his medical supplies. He teleported the small bag into the room; he’d tell anyone who asked that he’d been in the habit of carrying it in one of his pockets lately. That much was true; he’d mistakenly left it behind this evening after his much needed bit of rest.
He rummaged through his bag, digging through the various herbs he’d purchased for his role as village doctor, until he found the item he was looking for.
I have something here called opium, Elizabeth. It will make you very, very sleepy. I need to give you enough to make sure that you stay asleep until I can safely teleport you. You will be asleep when you are in the coffin. When you wake up, you will be free. Do you understand?
There was only the slightest hint of hesitation. It sounds scary… but I trust you.
He hoped he was worthy of such monumental trust.
He used his nanos to form a crude syringe, small enough to be hidden in her clothing, but large enough to hold the entire quantity of opium. He wasn’t sure if opium was typically injected or absorbed by other means, but doubted that having a “dead” woman chew or swallow medication was in line with their goals.
There was a knock at the door. “Will?” It was Arthur. “Is she… is she…”
“I have one last thing I can try, Arthur. But I need quiet. Move away from the door, please.”
He carefully injected the smallest possible amount of the opium into her system, and a few moments later her internal sigh of relief told him that it was working. I don’t hurt as much any more, Will. Is this what dying feels like?
I haven’t died recently, Elizabeth. He smiled faintly. The opium lessens the pain as it makes you sleepy.
He took his time, injecting minute amounts of opium into her body and assessing the effect, until her face seemed a serene picture of the perfect calm of one no longer suffering. Her breathing wasn’t noticeable unless he laid his head down on the table next to her; only then could he detect the faint rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He used additional nanos to attach the needle to her arm inside the sleeve of her dress. He withdrew most of the healing nanos, leaving behind only one-tenth the full amount. Not certain if it would work, he directed them to work only on internal injuries; surface injuries and cosmetic repair would need to wait until the ruse of burying a dead Elizabeth was completed.
He steadied himself into an appropriate mix of anguish and anger, took a deep breath, and walked to the door. Every eye in the community snapped to him immediately, their grief-stricken, tear-lined faces hoping that he’d bring news of a miracle, rather than the news of dread they knew must be true.
Allowing a tear to form in his eye, Will choked out the words. “She’d gone. I tried everything I could. The injuries were simply too much.”
The silence was so complete that it seemed that even the nighttime wildlife had gone silent in mourning. Arthur was, for the first time since Will had arrived in the village, unable to find a thing to say. Will felt he must provide the guidance they needed.
“We must perform a proper burial for her. We will need a coffin; nothing fancy, a simple wooden box with a lid.” Will looked at the carpenters, and especially Joseph, as he spoke the words, though his eyes flicked to Arthur at the word “box,” a gesture the man noticed.
Will then faced the Traders, a group that had made the most notable effort to act as a type of family for the troubled young woman they were about to bury. Yet in the end, they’d aided in her final destruction, a fact that their faces reflected all too clearly. “She should be buried next to her mother. There should be shovels among the tools the farmers use. The torches will provide the light you need. Go now.” They did not question the request to dig the grave in the darkest part of the night, for none of them would be able to sleep. They turned as a group to seek out the shovels they’d need to dig.
“The rest of you should help those two groups,” Will said. “Help the carpenters find the wood they need to build her coffin. Help dig the grave. I will prepare the body for burial. Do not disturb me.” He turned and re-entered her room, shutting the door behind him. He directed his nanos to seal the door and window shut, in the event the curious might want to know what he was doing.
He walked over to her, rested a hand on her warm, bruised cheek, and bent over to kiss her on the top of her head. He thought he detected a twitch of her lip, the closest thing to a smile she could manage in her opium-induced sleep.
Then he lay down on the dirt floor, curled up into a fetal position, and cried silently as exhaustion took him and he fell into a deep sleep.
XXIV
Burial
Will woke, his back in pain from sleeping on the dirt floor. The pain was a reminder that the nightmare of the previous evening was no dream. He stood and walked over to Elizabeth, and saw with that her external injuries — bruises, swollen eyes, lacerations, and cuts — were still extensive and visible. He put his head down on the cot next to her, watching, ensuring the faint rise and fall of her chest still occurred and still showed that she lived.
Satisfied, he reached out to her. Are you awake?
I’m starting to hurt a lot again, Will.
He nodded, then smiled, realizing she couldn’t see him. The effects of the opium wear off after a time. I need to talk to the people outside and then I’ll come back in and give you more, so that you’re asleep when we put you into the coffin.
I mean I’m hurting abou
t what he did to me, Will. About what he allowed everyone to do. About what he said last night, when he could have stopped all of this.
Will cringed, his anger at Arthur being reignited. It infuriates me, Elizabeth, to know what’s been happening to you. I wish you’d let me take you away from here when I first arrived, but I know you wanted to try to help him redeem himself. I fear there’s no redemption for him, though. The fact that he’s hurt you in so many ways… it makes me want to end his life.
No, Will. Her plea was plaintive, the emotional trauma dampening her usual forcefulness in their conversations. That’s what he’d do, what Maynard would do. Don’t be like them, Will. Don’t ever be like them. Don’t ever, ever, kill anyone, least of all on my account. I’m not worth it.
You’re more than worth it! Do not let them define who you are, Elizabeth, any more than you want me to define myself by what they are. The world sees you as the citizens of Richland see you, as the citizens of the town you visited with the weavers see you. Don’t define the world by the attitude and approaches of two evil men. You are your mother’s daughter, a woman full of love and compassion, even for those who would harm you and hurt you for their own good. If that’s not someone worth saving, and admiring… then I don’t know who is.
There was a pause. That attitude only succeeded in getting me killed.
You’re very much alive, Elizabeth. And soon, you’ll be more alive than you’ve ever been before, finally free of the clutches of those who seek to do you harm. Free to live as you see fit, to have the love you offer to everyone returned in kind, rather than abused. Yours is a life worth living, Elizabeth, and a life worth saving. It’s been my personal mission to make sure that you are able to do just that.
She was quiet for a long time. He took the opportunity to inject more opium into her system, enabling her to relax into a deep, death-like sleep. He injected as much as he had the previous night, and a bit more besides; it would not do to have her wake up prematurely.
Preserving Hope (The Aliomenti Saga - Book 2) Page 25