by Jeff Altabef
The girl stood mesmerized by the closed tunnel door, as if she couldn’t quite understand what had happened to the tunnel.
Aaliss grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. “Listen, you, I don’t care if you follow us or not, but if you come with us, you do as I tell you and you keep quiet. I’ll leave you behind at the first hint of a problem. I’m not going to risk our lives for a Soulless girl.”
The girl stayed mute with a glazed look in her eyes.
Wilky tugged on Aaliss’s arm. “Eden River!”
She shook her head. “We can’t go back to Eden, Wilky. The river is mined, and even if we made it back they would find us. Who knows what story they’ve spun? They’ll brand us as traitors and execute us. Our necks will be on the headman’s block in no time. We need a plan first, and maybe some help.”
A howl tore through the night from the forest just in front of them, and a chill crept into her blood.
It’s a firefox!
Their distinctive cry sounded longer and higher-pitched than regular foxes. Extremely dangerous, they usually traveled in packs. The size of wolves, they had strong jaws with two rows of razor-sharp teeth, and amber eyes that glowed in the dark. Their fur started deep red at the base, lightened to orange, and then blazed bright yellow at the tips. When the sun hit the fur just right, the animal appeared as if were on fire. Beautiful, if only they gave you time to appreciate it before they went for your throat.
Aaliss glared at the full moon and stepped closer to Wilky. He’d be defenseless against one of the predators. “It’s getting late, and the moon’s lost most of its power by now. We should be all right.”
She scanned the forest in search of the firefox. She didn’t see any signs of the animal, and turned to....
Wilky and the Soulless girl raced toward the river, crashing through brush and stomping long grass.
“This is crazy,” she muttered as she ran after them. “The river is a dead end!”
Within a few minutes, Wilky skidded to a stop where the forest ended and the river began.
Eden was only a half-mile across the water, yet it felt a lot farther away. As a peninsula, Eden connected to the mainland by a narrow strip of land littered with landmines called the Bridge. Only a fool would try to cross the Bridge without the map pinpointing the landmines, and they didn’t have it. Eden River protected Eden’s other three sides, its water fast and wide, and also treacherous with numerous mines. The fishermen could navigate those explosives, the information passed down from generation to generation, but they never shared that knowledge with outsiders.
From here she could see the massive wall that circled the city, the tops of the four towers that stretched above the wall, and the pitched roof of the cathedral that stood in the center. A few lights twinkled from the Parsonage, and her ire rose.
“I bet the High Priest is making plans to capture us.” She turned toward Wilky. “Now what? I told you we can’t go back to Eden!”
“We take Eden River that way.” He pointed downriver.
She grinned, surprised at her brother’s quick thinking. “Good idea! The current will carry us a few miles downriver. As long as we stay along the bank, the mines should be no problem, and they won’t know where to look for us. We’ll need some dead wood to make a raft.”
She had always thought of the river as Eden’s protector. Its fast currents and mines kept unwanted visitors from the community, shielding the Edenites from the Soulless and the Red Death. Now the river had become their ally, the only chance for two Edenite runaways and a Soulless girl. Perhaps the moon still had some power left, turning things upside down.
Another firefox answered the first’s howl. The shriek came from their left, hungry and close.
Aaliss rested her hand on the hilt of her sword. “Sounds like a hunting call. Let’s move fast.”
They had no problem finding dead wood along the riverbank. Using rope from their satchels, they bound four long, wide branches together.
Aaliss pointed at a rocky portion of the riverbank that jutted into the water. “Let’s launch the raft from there.”
She studied the river with trepidation and tried to see how deep the water flowed, but no luck. She couldn’t swim, and the current moved swiftly. She watched as white water splashed up and over nearby rocks, and a tree branch raced downstream. She followed the branch’s path until it crashed into a rock and split in half.
The river flowed south. She had never gone south before, having been warned away from that part of the Zone. Even though she’d finished first in her class, she had only been a full Guardian for less than a year, so her superiors prohibited her from patrolling the most dangerous parts of the Zone, and everyone considered the southern sectors the most dangerous.
Another firefox howled to their right, and the hair on her neck stood on end. This one sounded even closer than the last, and she felt the trap tightening around them—at least three beasts hunted them.
Bending low, she tapped the water with her hand, testing it.
Will it save us or drown us?
“The water’s cold, Wilky, but not too cold. I’ll stand in the river and hold the raft steady. You and the Soulless girl jump on. Be careful to stay on top. We’ll take it downriver for as long as we can last and avoid those rocks.”
Another howl. Tall grasses by a nearby tree swayed, and a flash of red mingled with the green in the moonlight.
Wilky edged away from the forest. Even he realized the firefoxes were close now.
They snarled and she smelled their wild fur. Better to risk death in Eden River than face a hungry pack of firefoxes.
Aaliss huffed, pushed aside her fear of drowning, plunged into the water, and battled to keep her footing on the slippery riverbed. The water reached her waist and the cold knocked the breath out of her.
“Come on, Wilky, I’ve got it steady.” She clenched her teeth.
He clumsily jumped on top of the raft while the Soulless girl nimbly swung her body next to his.
Once both of her passengers were safely on their stomachs, Aailiss kicked off the riverbed and deftly pulled herself up to join them. She thanked Jacob that the wood stayed afloat as the strong current raced them downriver.
She chanced a look over her shoulder and found four disappointed firefoxes sulking along the bank. Their amber eyes sparkled in the moonlight as they howled their displeasure at a meal missed.
She exhaled, wrapped her left arm around her brother to help him cling to the raft, and watched Eden with a heavy heart as they floated downriver.
When the towers and the Compound disappeared, she muttered under her breath. “They’ll pay for this.”
***
Aaliss lost all feeling in her right hand and both feet, which dragged in the river. Her teeth chattered incessantly, and her left arm and shoulder had cramped under the strain of holding her brother tight to keep him safe.
“We have to g-get off the water. It’s t-too cold.” She kicked with her feet, pushed hard with her right hand, and guided the raft to the bank, where she beached it onto rocky sand.
They had lasted half an hour on the river, having traveled six miles or so.
Good enough.
She shoved the raft back into the water, hoping to throw off anyone who would pursue them.
The full moon still cast enough light to guide them. “Let’s follow this path.” She pointed to an active deer trail. “We need to put distance between us and the river. Try to be quiet.”
This part of the Zone felt different from the areas she usually patrolled. Although it had the same trees and vegetation, more giant ghost trees dotted the landscape. The trees’ massive size and broad branches created wide swaths of clear space on the ground.
An eerie silence settled into these woods as the three of them traveled quietly for a long time, until Wilky began to stumble from fatigue.
She stopped in a grove of four vast ghost trees. She liked to camp among the giant trees. The higher branches were usuall
y safe from predators and an easy place to hide.
“Okay,” she said. “We’ve traveled far enough. Let’s make camp here. We’ll climb up and sleep in our hammocks. It’ll be light soon, so let’s get a few hours of rest. We’ll start out again at daylight.”
She helped her two charges up the largest of the four trees. They climbed thirty feet and settled on an intersection of three wide branches. She removed hammocks from their satchels, firmly secured them to the tree, and placed hers close to Wilky’s.
She whispered to him, “Okay, everything is quiet, and we’re safe for now.”
He had difficulty communicating, but if he grew familiar with his surroundings, and she removed much of the outside stimulus, the words would come.
“We don’t need to rush, but there are things I need to know.”
He nodded.
“I overheard the High Priest and our uncle talking. They said you’ve discovered a cure to the Red Death. Is that true? Have you figured it out?”
He smiled slyly.
Edenites had been searching for a cure from the beginning, more than eight hundred years. The idea that her sweet, slightly odd brother could have solved the mystery sent a jolt through her. It was both miraculous and shocking at the same time.
“How did you do it?”
“I saw it.” He spoke slowly, each word strained. “It came like a dream. I saw the virus in the microscope, and then I saw the cure. I can’t explain it any better.” He shook his head, obviously frustrated.
She could see that he wanted to say more, to explain it to her in a way she could understand, but he simply couldn’t—not now, in the middle of the strange forest and the giant trees. Maybe he’d be able to later, when things became more settled.
If things ever become more settled.
“What’s the cure? They said something about a mushroom and a flower. Is that all it takes?”
“Everyone can be cured.”
Aaliss paused to consider his words, not sure she understood their meaning. “Everyone can be cured?” she repeated. “Does that mean that the Soulless can live free of the disease? And we don’t have to worry about catching it?”
The moonlight twinkled in his eyes. “Everyone.”
“That’s incredible!”
The Priests had always discussed a cure for the Red Death in terms of an inoculation, a drug that would shield Edenites from the curse. They’d never mentioned the possibility of curing the Soulless, and the fat pig of a High Priest certainly said nothing about that.
“The High Priest and our uncle plan to cure the Edenites on Eden Day,” she said. “They want to add your cure to the Sacred Drink and make it seem like a miracle, but that wouldn’t work with you hanging around. You could tell someone that you developed the cure, and then their miracle would become yours, not theirs. They assumed I would know what had happened and would protect you.”
She sighed as the truth of their circumstances fully dawned on her. It was even worse than she suspected. “We’re too dangerous, too much of a threat to their grand plan to keep alive. They’ll do anything they can to find us and kill us.”
Wilky shrugged, and the Soulless girl turned her head toward them.
“What’s her name? I can’t continue calling her the Soulless girl. She must have a name.”
Guardians never asked the Soulless they captured their names. Names were dangerous—Edenites had names. Better to refer to them simply as “Soulless.”
“Gemma.”
“Can she speak our language?”
The girl stared blankly into space, and Aaliss wondered if she knew what was happening.
“Yes,” Wilky said. “She uses our words, only she mixes up the sounds a little. If I listen closely, I can understand her.”
“So she understands what we say?”
“Yes.”
“And we still need her?”
Wilky didn’t say anything, but she knew his answer by the stern expression on his face.
Glancing at Gemma, she spoke loud enough for the girl to hear. “She can come with us, but I’m not responsible for her. If she gets in the way or causes trouble, I’m cutting her loose.”
She lowered her voice and whispered to her brother, “Try to get some sleep. It will be light soon. I’ll wake you in a few hours.”
“Can’t sleep.”
Her heart ached. He sounded so small and young and scared.
“Sing to me,” he said.
“We should be quiet now. Just close your eyes.”
“Can’t sleep. Sing to me.”
New places and things frightened Wilky. He had a hard time managing them.
She could only imagine what effect their predicament and the Zone had on him. She hated to sing, but if singing would make him feel a little better, she could not refuse him. “Okay, just for a moment.”
He closed his eyes and she sang him a song, a lullaby their mother sang to them when they were young.
Sleep and let God attend thee,
He’s sent Guardians to protect thee,
Soft the darkness comes a creeping,
The Red Death comes a sneaking,
You will be safe while you are sleeping.
~~~
Angels watch over thee,
Jacob keeps the Dark One away from thee,
Soft the darkness comes a creeping,
The Red Death comes a sneaking,
You will be safe while you are sleeping.
The gasmask distorted her notes, but the song worked. By the time she finished, both Wilky and Gemma had fallen asleep.
The night sky started to lighten and turn gray. She didn’t expect to fall asleep, but exhaustion overtook her. Right before she drifted off, a troubling thought tried to break through her fatigue.
The forest is too quiet, even for this hour.
She was too tired to understand what it meant.
***
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Chapter 5 – Eamon
Eamon studied the faces around the campfire, worry etched on his own as he wondered whether this would be the last time they would all gather together. He sat between his two older brothers, King Dermot and Prince Fintan. Dermot had lived six winters more than Eamon had, and Fintan one, yet he was the planner and worrier. Often he wished he could be more like them, but he never stopped fretting about tomorrow, the next season, the next winter.
All the council members, twelve in total, joined them this night, forming a loose circle around a campfire that had started to lose its intensity. They met in the Courtyard, in the middle of the Stronghold, a small city protected by a sturdy stone wall. The Stronghold stood in the center of Dermot’s kingdom between the Outpost to the north and the Settlement to the south.
When Eamon realized everyone had stopped talking and were looking at him, he remembered what they had been discussing. “We’ll have to slaughter more cattle this year. The tribe’s grown since last winter.” The answer was obvious to him.
“The herd’s also added numbers this year, my Lord,” added Keenan, the Cattle Master. Built broad and strong like a steer, he had been Cattle Master for three years, and Dermot trusted him. “I reckon we could cull the herd by another twenty over last year and still maintain the size.”
All eyes turned toward Dermot. His reign had already lasted six years, almost an eternity. The Sword of Power lay across his lap, a long sword so heavy that it required two hands to wield it in battle. Its blade gleamed in the firelight, and the many rubies in the gold and silver hilt sparkled brilliantly. An inscription, written in a language no one understood, ran down both sides of the blade and glimmered in the firelight. The smithies could no longer make a weapon like the Sword of Power. That knowledge had been lost. They made other swords, fine ones, victorious ones, but none so grand. Only the King could wield the Sword of Power, the tribe’s finest.
“Twenty more will do.” Dermot sounded tired, his energy waning with the dying fire.
&nb
sp; “The butchers will need help,” Eamon added, always worried about the repercussions from their decisions no one else seemed to consider. “We lost four to the Red Death this year, including the prior Master.”
Everyone spit when he mentioned the Red Death, to ward off evil spirits.
Clay the Cleaver, the new Butcher Master, nodded his head gravely. He had lived only seventeen winters, but Dermot had judged him most capable. He was Keenan’s younger brother, although the relationship was impossible to tell by looking at them. Clay resembled a cleaver, wiry of build, face thin and angular, with small black eyes sharp and dangerous.
The tribe’s main industry involved livestock, so the number of their cattle and the quality of their butchering made a big difference in their fortunes. Prices at The Exchange where they bartered with other tribes varied. Known for offering the best meat, the Butcher Tribe fetched the highest prices, earning them more silver for the supplies they needed, such as steel for their smiths and wine for their feasts.
Dermot turned toward Fintan. “How many new swords have you added to your ranks this year, brother?”
“Thirty, but our northern neighbors grow increasingly bold by the day. We can not be left unprepared if they develop the nerve to attack us.” Emerald flecks in Fintan’s dark brown eyes flashed angrily in the firelight.
Eamon knew Fintan wanted to say more, but that he felt uncomfortable discussing it at an open council meeting. Eamon could see it in his brother’s eyes, the clenched jaw, and the tense muscles in his shoulders—he had plans, ambitions. Eamon could guess what his brother wanted, but would surely find out later.
“With thirty new swords, you can temporarily spare ten.” Dermot glared at Fintan, which silenced his protest before he voiced it. “Your new soldiers can practice their steel work on the cows, and then you can have them back.”
The full moon shone down on them. The council met on the evening of each full moon, and this meeting had been longer than any Eamon remembered. He glanced at Dermot, looking for signs of the Red Death even though he knew he was being foolish. Only red eyes warned of the disease, and his brother’s eyes had thankfully remained his natural brown. Still, his imagination played evil games on him.