by Jeff Altabef
The Artists decorated each woman, moon-by-moon and harvest-by-harvest, with details telling the story of her life—her loves, losses, victories, and defeats. The more colorful her arms, and indeed, her entire body, the happier her life was thought to be.
P’imina didn’t feel quite so happy as tears pooled in her eyes. She didn’t want to cry, but the night had been long, and the weight on her heart heavy. “I don’t want to leave.”
“You must go.” Kalhona lifted the needles. “It’s a huge honor. We’re having a special feast and everything. You have no choice.”
“If it’s such a big honor, then you go!”
“Why are you always so difficult?” Kalhona resumed her work, but softened her voice when tears started rolling down P’mina’s face. “I’m sorry, sister. I didn’t mean to yell, but you know this is a big honor. We only swap girls with them once every ten harvests, and only if you’re thirteen. I’m too old. You and the other girls will represent our tribe and help the Orion folk understand our ways.”
“They’re monsters! They treat their women like slaves. They think women can’t do anything but cook, clean, take care of young ones, and be wives!”
“Since when have you followed the rules?” Kalhona smirked. “You’ve learned all there is to know about plants—which ones are edible and which are good for medicine. That’s very important.” She touched the tattoo she had added to P’mina’s tree after the last harvest—a vine with a variety of colorful flowers, which depicted her knowledge of all things floral—and chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll be running things over there before long.”
Why is this so hard for her to understand?
“Shyla says they punish their women if they don’t behave. She says the Orions are mean and horrible. I don’t want to go!” She wrenched her right arm from Kalhona and wrapped it around her chest stubbornly.
“You can’t believe everything old Shyla says.” He sister lowered her voice and leaned close. “She’s had the red eyes for three days now. She won’t live long enough for the feast.”
“Shyla wouldn’t lie to me!” P’mina shook her head defiantly. Shyla wasn’t her friend, but she had an honest face.
“Maybe not, but what about Talia? She has a big family, and at last harvest’s Awakening Feast she couldn’t have been happier.” Talia had been swapped ten harvests earlier and was the sole survivor who hadn’t succumbed to the Red Death. Yet.
P’mina’s face flushed with heat. Talia lauded her six children over everyone in the tribe as proof of her happiness, which was more than annoying. Besides, she was sure it was really an act. “Talia’s a nit and has always been one. I won’t get to see you or anyone else. Aren’t you going to miss me?”
“That’s not true! I’ll see you each spring at the Awakening Feast, and maybe at The Exchange also. You’ll tell me everything that’s happened, and I’ll tell you all about us. I’ll spend all day adding to your tattoos and....” Kalhona paused and looked around, as if making sure no one could hear, and whispered, “You’ll be redeeming the family. From now on, everyone will talk about us with pride instead of those whispers and looks we still get sometimes because of Mom.”
Finally, she speaks true.
“They will never forget about our mother. We will always be witchborn to them. They can pound dirt!”
Kalhona shot her a sharp look, so P’mina lowered her voice. “It wasn’t Mother’s fault that the Dark One made her a witch. She left right away, and no one’s heard from her since. There have been no curses or dark magic or anything. They can all pound dirt!” Talk of her mother pulled strong emotions from her. Her face now burned with a mixture of anger, shame, and sadness, but mostly longing for the mother she missed. “She didn’t even have time to say goodbye.”
“You don’t remember how it was, little sister. One day she woke and her hair had turned red. The Dark One claimed her in our hut while we were sleeping! She left right away because it was the safest thing for her to do. You were in the nursery, and she couldn’t just walk in and say goodbye. Think of the other children. Many days of whispers and looks and rumors followed.” Kalhona gently reclaimed P’mina’s arm and resumed work on her tattoo. “Some wanted to banish us, too.”
“Do you ever think about her? Do you think maybe she’s still... alive?” P’mina’s voice cracked, but a trace of hope gleamed in her mind. Her mother could be anywhere, and P’mina would do anything to see her again.
Kalhona sighed. “I try not to think of her—I don’t want to tempt the Dark One—but I did hear a rumor once.” She wiped the excess dye and blood from P’mina’s arm and leaned in close to her sister’s ear.
P’mina took a shaky breath and tried to calm her racing heart. Kalhona never spoke about their mother, and now she might know where to find her. Just the possibility of seeing her again sent P’mina’s head spinning.
“I met a trader at The Exchange from the Butcher Tribe. He told me about a witch who lives off the Ancient Road north of their lands. I don’t know if I believe him, and even if he told me the truth, I doubt she’s our mother.” Kalhona shrugged. “There are other witches, but she’s the only one I’ve ever heard of close by.”
Kalhona released her arm, and P’mina examined the new tattoo—two interlocking, identical round faces shined down on her ghost tree like two moons, one white, the other caramel. The white one frowned with a blue teardrop falling from the left eye, while the caramel one smiled. The Painted Tribe was famous for their blond hair, fair skin, and blue eyes. P’mina and Kalhona shared all three of these traits, though their hair differed. P’mina’s fell long and straight, whereas Kalhona kept her hair short with waves. The Orions generally had darker skin and black curly hair.
“Do you like it? You have the only one with a blue tear.” Kalhona had tattooed the other twenty-one girls who would be swapped with a similar image, but P’mina’s big sister had kept this special detail for her alone.
“It’s beautiful. I’ll always think of you when I see it.”
Kalhona grabbed her hand. “Listen, just behave for the next couple of weeks before the feast. Think of it as a new adventure. You love adventures.”
P’mina hopped from the stool and beamed a cheesy grin. “Of course. I’ll be the perfect angel.”
“Promise me you won’t do something stupid to embarrass me.”
“Yes, Kally, I promise.” She kissed her sister on the cheek. “Do you need help cleaning up?”
“No, you can go. You always put things away in the wrong places. It‘ll be faster if I clean up on my own.”
P’mina stepped into the crisp fall night, and the cold air refreshed her. She lifted her gaze to the star-filled sky, and a light cloud passed before the moon, making it seem as if it had long straight hair. Or at least that’s what she imagined.
She smiled. For the first time in months, she realized what she would do. The certainty felt good, as if she had discovered a secret trove of plants she needed for her medicines.
She looked to the woods that formed the border with the Butchers and spoke softly to the night and the moon. “Sorry, sister, some promises are not meant to be kept.”
***
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Chapter 8 – Viper
The first orange rays of sunlight peeked through the treetops as the Viper emerged from the tunnel. A light breeze swayed the branches of the nearby trees as if the forest were welcoming him, so he smiled in return. It felt good to be back here, where he felt at home—where no rules, no social constraints, and no laws held him back. He enjoyed the freedom to be his true self in the Zone, which brought him closer to his forefather, Jacob. If he had his way, he’d never go back to Eden. One day soon, with the cure and Jacob’s help, he’d live out his wish. First, he had to make sure the girl and boy didn’t disrupt his plans.
Plainly put, he had to kill them.
The door swung shut behind him as Jonas, his old instructor, lumbered to join him.
&
nbsp; The Viper regarded him carefully in the morning light. Jonas’s short, mostly white hair barely covered his head, gray stubble dotted his face, and he limped slightly on stiff legs. A few inches taller than the Viper, Jonas’s black ostrich suit stretched tightly against thick arms, a barrel chest, and a bulging stomach. In his day, he had been deadly with the battleax slung on his back, but his best days were behind him. Still, Jonas retained certain enthusiasms that would come in handy.
The Viper squatted and scanned the immediate area, his keen senses surveying the grass for clues. He understood these forests well and knew instinctively what was natural and what looked out of place.
Jonas pointed to the cameras on the floor, his voice raw. “No one has seen them in the Zone besides these Eyes?”
“No one.” The Viper remained still, and swept his gaze across the scene as he stroked his goatee.
Jonas stomped toward the north. “There’s no way the three of them used this trail. It would look like a cattle stampede if they had. They must have gone toward the main path.”
The Viper stayed where he crouched. Has Jonas always been so clueless, or have his skills slipped so much in the past few years? “Look at this grass. It’s trampled down, but there are no marks leading to the main path.” He pointed in the opposite direction. “It looks as if they went toward Eden River.”
Jonas trudged toward the river. “You’re right, Gabriel. They definitely went this way, and it looks as if they moved in a hurry.”
“I’m not surprised.” He pulled a few blades of grass from the ground and sniffed. “There’s a partial track from a firefox. From the size and smell of it, I’d say he’s a full grown male.”
Jonas shook his large mug. “How do you do that? It’s almost like you’re part hound. I sure hope the firefox hasn’t done our job for us. I’d hate to have gotten up so early and have nothing to kill.”
“I knew I brought you for a reason.”
“Two reasons, actually.” Jonas ticked them off with thick fingers. “One, I like killing as much as you do, Priest. And two, you know I can keep a secret. Those kids were wearing gasmasks in the video feed. We could just bring them in, but you want them dead. Why?”
“There’s a third reason I brought you, old man.” The Viper stalked past Jonas and bumped into him with his shoulder as he went. “As long as you get your drink, you don’t ask a lot of questions. Don’t make me regret my decision.”
Jonas kept his mouth shut, rubbed his bloodshot eyes, and shadowed the Viper.
The Viper followed the messy trail to the river’s edge, where it took him only a second to spot drag marks that led to the water. “Very clever, little rabbit. They made a raft from loose driftwood and used Eden River to escape the firefoxes and go south. They launched it from there.” He pointed at a partial boot print in the dirt.
Jonas stood with the toes of his boots hanging over the riverbank. “I hate the south! Good chance something else will get them before the day’s done.”
“You shouldn’t underestimate our little rabbit. She graduated at the top of her Guardian class.”
Jonas shrugged. “I’ve seen the reports and heard the stories. Her scores rivaled your own, but she’s young and inexperienced. She’s never even stepped into the southern part of the Zone before, and she’s burdened by her weird brother and a Soulless. They’ll offer no help and will only slow her down. She’ll need luck to survive.”
The Viper dragged his hand in the river, let the frigid water lap over his fingers, and smiled as it bit against his warm skin. “Maybe, but for now we go after them. The water’s frosty. They couldn’t have lasted long on a raft in the middle of the night. We’ll follow the bank south and find where they beached it.”
“Who’s leading the team in the southern part of the Zone? We should radio them to close the circle, just in case the kids survived the night.” Jonas pulled a radio from his pocket.
“Samuel.”
Jonas frowned and rubbed the stubble on his head. “I don’t like him. He’s not like us. I don’t trust him to keep his mouth shut.”
“If he becomes a liability, we’ll get rid of him and his team and blame it on the girl. But first we have another more pressing problem.” The Viper pointed to a large thorny bush a few feet away. “There’s a firefox sleeping under that bush.”
Jonas squinted, and after a long moment, the corners of his lips turned upward. “It’s damn hard to spot, but I see it now. We could quietly go down the bank here, and it won’t bother us. They usually sleep during the day.”
“Yes, but with it so close to the tunnel door, it could cause a problem for my Guardians.” The Viper felt a jolt of adrenaline and grinned; a firefox was a worthy adversary. “What type of Priest would I be if I left a full-grown firefox where it could harm members of my flock?”
He heaved a heavy stone into the bush.
Almost instantaneously, the firefox appeared, snarling and angry, amber eyes blazing even in the daylight.
The Viper unsheathed both his short swords and kicked another rock at the beast.
The animal bolted forward before the stone landed. It leaped at him, jaw open, both rows of teeth razor sharp.
The Viper moved fast, sidestepping the charge and slicing both of his short swords into the animal’s side.
The animal landed hard on a pile of rocks and yelped. Its front right paw broke from the fall and blood gushed from the gashes in its side. It couldn’t stand, but it still lunged toward him—jaw working feverishly, snarling, wanting to bite, to taste, to kill.
Jonas chopped his long battleax down and cut the predator in two.
Blood splattered onto the Viper’s ostrich suit, and he smiled. The morning was off to a good start, and he had more important quarry to hunt.
***
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Chapter 9 – Eamon
Eamon usually enjoyed breakfast in the Feasting Hall. Having slept outside last night, worrying about the Red Death and Dermot for endless hours, he now felt a bit worn down and not quite his usual self. At least the energy in the large chamber lifted his mood. A fire roared in the fireplace on the far end of the room, and six long wooden tables stood equally spaced throughout the hall. Fresh straw littered the floor, and a stack of oak logs rested neatly next to the fire.
Everyone ate in the Feasting Hall. Broad-backed smithies sat next to chicken farmers who bumped against scribes and tanners. Before Dermot had started his reign, royals and a privileged few took their meals in a separate dining room in the Royal Hall, but early in his rule Dermot banned that practice in favor of the camaraderie of shared meals among all members of the tribe. Even some of the prominent families now ate beside the lesser ones.
Eamon liked the change, but not everyone agreed. He wondered how long it would take Fintan to reverse the decree.
Eamon spotted a dozen Little Ones serving in the hall, all in their plain gray tunics, and more worked the kitchen. Children who lived ten to thirteen winters spent most of their time in school, but they also helped with different chores, the most common of which involved the Feasting Hall. When younger, he’d worked in the kitchen and the Feasting Hall.
The Master Cook jokingly called them his Army of Little Ones, treating them much like soldiers, teaching harsh rules about discipline when needed, a cane never far from his hand. The previous Master Cook treated them the same way and so did the one before him. No one knows what happened before that.
Eamon sat alongside Dermot on one end of the hall, farthest from the fireplace, scrambled eggs and roast pork piled high on wooden plates in front of them. Newly baked loaves of bread and jugs of fresh milk and sweet spring water completed the meal. The time was late for breakfast, so most people had already left the hall to begin their day.
Dermot seemed content to stay planted. He teased Kelly, his seven-year-old cousin, threatening a royal decree to outlaw pigtails, her favorite hairstyle. Kelly’s face tinted pink as she struggled for the
right words to protest while Dermot laughed and playfully tugged her hair.
The door opened, and Fintan sauntered inside with his shoulders swinging confidently. His full-length cowhide cloak drifted in his wake as his longsword swayed at his hip.
Cormac, as usual, walked a step behind.
Eamon thought it odd that Dermot had allowed Fintan to name Cormac as the Captain of the Guard. Older, more experienced soldiers had proven their courage with Dermot years earlier, but Dermot let Fintan choose his friend.
It hadn’t made sense... until last night. As a young king, Fintan would need someone he trusted as his Captain.
Dermot must have known Fintan would succeed him last spring when he let him choose Cormac.
Anger flushed his face. When did he decide Fintan would be the next ruler? Has it always been obvious to him that I’m unworthy to be the next king?
As the duo strolled across the room, Eamon scanned the Feasting Hall, glancing at the faces out of habit. They told him the mood of the people—who seemed content, and who held grievances. People usually guarded their emotions around him, but their masks vanished when they thought no one was looking at them.
A pair of brown eyes caught his attention. They belonged to a young woman, who kept her gaze fixed on Fintan as he approached the table.
“May we join you, my king?” Fintan asked Dermot with his usual cocky grin and a small nod of his head. Courtesy required him to ask the King’s permission before sitting at his table, although in this case it was a mere formality.
“By all means, Brother.” Dermot waved at the bench opposite him and Eamon.
A Little One brought two large plates, carefully placing them in front of Fintan and Cormac. The youngster stumbled as he turned to leave.
Fintan chastised him. “Careful, boy, or you’re headed to the stables. We can’t have you spilling all the food.”