Red Death

by Jeff Altabef

  “Visions, your Grace?” Piers’s heart skipped. Eden Day had to be at the center of the High Priest’s plans, but how was it connected to his siblings and the cure?

  The High Priest faced him for a long moment, his gaze inward. Finally, he said, “The visions are not complete yet. I’m not sure what they all mean, but I will before Eden Day, and I promise it will be special.”

  Piers felt a cold shudder whip through him, and then he noticed the drapes by the window had blown in the wind. “Do you want me to shut those windows for you?”

  “No, Piers, I always keep them open. I don’t even know if they close. The fresh air helps me connect with Jacob. That will be all.”

  He left the tray and retreated through the swinging door and back into the Pantry. His heart raced and his hands shook. He leaned out a window and saw the open windows to the High Priest’s office. Fifteen feet separated them, not a far distance. The wall, made of coarse stone, had plenty of handholds and footholds.

  It’s only fifteen feet. If I climb that distance, I can access the High Priest’s computer.

  A crow landed on the window ledge and squawked at him. In the old stories, crows were always bad omens.

  He did not believe the old stories. He believed in The Book.

  Still, the bird’s squawking unsettled him, and he shooed it away with a wave of his arm.

  Will I be brave enough?

  He looked down and saw the long plunge to the ground, and his stomach lurched. The fall would shatter him.

  I’m the oldest.

  I’m responsible.

  ***

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  Chapter 50 – Viper

  The Viper, riding high on the horse he’d stolen from the Butcher horseman he’d killed, followed the trail in the slippery moonlight. Dawn had almost arrived, and he hadn’t slept since he left Eden, but he felt no fatigue. Exhilaration coursed through him as he sensed the electricity in the air, knowing he neared his destination.

  These woods were not entirely unknown to him. He’d traveled here when alone, always alone. Even Jonas had no idea hed spent such time amongst the Soulless. Only the High Priest knew of his adventures.

  He wore a woolen veil, careful to keep his face and gasmask concealed. Sometimes he tortured Soulless for information about the world outside of Eden. Other times he traded with witches, bargaining with them for news about the Soulless that would come in handy after they had a cure, when his life would truly begin. He always knew Jacob would deliver them a cure—always knew the battles would commence—and soon he could purify the world and have everything he wanted.

  First, he needed to kill the girl and her brother, and then he would be unstoppable.

  Over a year had passed since he had visited this particular witch, but the rabbit’s trail led through the small creek and to the old cabin. The wind swirled in short gusts, blowing frigid air against his ostrich suit and flapping his veil against his face. The branches in the trees swayed, and some gave up loose leaves that swirled to the ground.

  The cabin looked much like it did a year ago when he last came here. He chuckled. The witch who lived here had always accommodated him in the past. She would help him now.

  If he found the rabbit his search would end. If she had moved on, the Witch would know where she went and would guide him. Either way, he closed in on Aaliss and her brother.

  He dismounted and warily approached the front door with the crude red fish painted on it, wondering where the Witch hid with her bow.

  The door swung open before he reached the porch. The Witch and her bulldog walked through it; one shuffled and the other waddled.

  The bulldog barked and growled at the Viper. The Witch silenced him by rubbing his head with her gnarled fingers.

  “What has happened to you, Witch?” He continued walking toward her as he spoke. “You look weak and old and bent at the waist, as if you were an old horse that needed to be put down. Is this how the Dark One treats his followers? Only last year you looked young and beautiful.”

  “It is a blessing you could never understand, Veiled One.”

  He looked beyond her and into the cabin, but saw only shadows. “I’m looking for two travelers, a girl and a young boy. Where are they?”

  “I’ve seen no one. No one visits an old witch.”

  He started to grin, but before his lips turned into a full smile he seized the Witch by the throat with one hand. “I know they were here. Tell me where they are.”

  The Witch grabbed his hand and tried to pull it from her neck, but he locked on her like a vise. The bulldog sank its teeth into his leg, but he kicked the dog and sent him flying across the porch.

  The Viper snarled and released the Witch’s throat.

  She sputtered and sucked in air. “You... have... no power of life and death over me.”

  The bulldog ran at him.

  This time he grabbed the dog and lifted him with both his arms. “I’ll snap his mangy neck if you don’t tell me where they are.”

  The Witch frowned, tears glistening in her eyes, yet she stayed quiet.

  “Did they return to the Stronghold?”

  The Witch’s gaze fluttered from the dog to the moon.

  The Viper laughed. The small tell gives you away.

  “You’ve told me all I need to know.” He twisted the dog’s head, snapped his neck in a vicious yank, and dropped the lifeless animal to the ground.

  “You’re a fool, Veiled One. That was no ordinary dog you killed.” The Witch paused for a heartbeat and cocked her head to the side, as if she were listening to a voice on the wind. “You have one last chance. Leave the girl and boy alone. Repent and follow the one true God, and you will be saved. You can still be saved.”

  “Saved.” He laughed. “I don’t need saving from your god. Jacob provides for me. Once I kill the rabbit, I’ll have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

  The Witch shook her head. “You follow a false god. Jacob is not the prophet you believe him to be. He sits in darkness. Your plans will fail.”

  The Viper ground his teeth in rage. He lashed out both of his hands and clutched the Witch’s throat. “What do you know of my plans? What did the girl tell you?”

  He dug his fingers into her flesh, but she did not struggle. Instead, a tranquil expression graced her face.

  “Why are you smiling? I’m going to choke the life from you!” He relaxed the pressure on her throat so she could speak.

  “I smell freshly baked bread.”

  “You have lost your wits and now your life is forfeit.” He grunted and squeezed her throat again. She closed her eyes, and an overwhelming rage filled him. He crushed her throat, and she stopped breathing.

  When he let her go, she fell, and a bright white aura left her body. Like a shooting star, it rose to the heavens and swirled out of sight—one last illusion by the Witch.

  Still, he shivered as a cold wind blew through him, and turned from the cabin without searching it.

  He had no time to waste. He had a rabbit to snare.

  ***

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  Chapter 51 – Eamon

  Eamon had trained with Aaliss throughout the night and until morning. He marveled at her skill and gracefulness. He’d never seen anyone move so quickly—always in control, always a step in front of him, always calm and clear-eyed and lethal. He had learned more in the one session from her than a year on his own, but when the light started to brighten, they returned to the Stronghold.

  Midday approached and he was in Dermot’s room. His brother still hadn’t stirred, his eyes remaining stubbornly closed, and quiet anxiety covered Eamon like a shroud....

  ...until Fintan and Cormac burst into the room.

  “Where’s Dermot?” Fintan’s eyebrows bunched together when he saw him in the bed. “Is he dead already?”

  “He lives still. I gave him something to drink for his... health, and he does not stir.”

&n
bsp; “Good job, Brother! You’ve poisoned Dermot!” Fintan laughed. “You should have been the one on trial!”

  “He’s not poisoned. He’s just sleeping. I’m sure he’ll wake shortly.”

  “It matters not to me, Brother. Midday is almost upon us. The bell will toll and the Circle will close with my sword in it. If you want to face me, you’re welcome to throw yours in with mine. I don’t recommend it. The contest is to the death, and I will not accept your yield, even if you beg.”

  “Don’t you think we should wait for Dermot to wake? He’s sure to rise soon.”

  “Rules are rules, Brother.” Fintan’s face turned hard. “I’m sure Dermot the Just would not want us to break the rules. After all, he felt obligated to try his own brother for murder and treason! No, no, no! Rules are meant to be kept, little brother, and keep them we shall!”

  “We need to ally with the Painted Ones to defeat the invaders from the north. We can’t fight the Painted Ones now,” urged Eamon.

  Fintan chuckled. “Oh yeah, the mysterious invaders from the north no one has seen.”

  Cormac followed with a forced laugh and sputtered in a high-pitched falsetto, “The b-bearded ones with he-heavy battleaxes.”

  “We’ve seen them. Eamon killed one when we faced them.” Aaliss took an angry step toward Fintan.

  Fintan hesitated.

  A year ago, Fintan and Cormac claimed to have killed three tribeless in the forest. Both suffered minor injuries, but no witnesses could confirm the deed.

  Perhaps he fabricated that story. Maybe he hasn’t seen death up close.

  “These axe people, if they are real, will only make my job easier. They’ll destroy the Painted Barbarians for us.” A smug look graced Fintan’s face. “By the time we face the northerners, they’ll be weak. We will defeat them, and I will have what I want.”

  “You play a dangerous game, Fin!”

  “Don’t worry, Brother. I’ll save a place in the front of the battle for you. We can burn those silly books you’ve been working on, and you can do some real manly work.” Fintan laughed arrogantly. “Perhaps Eamon the Handsome will prove his worth at war. Try to duck when they swing their axes at you. I’d hate to see your pretty face get lopped from your neck.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” added Aaliss.

  Fintan scowled at her. “Are you still here? I will be known as Fintan the Famous. No one will remember Dermot the Just. He will pale in comparison. Songs will be written about me! My place in the stars will be bright. Glory will shine upon me!”

  “This is all about your glory?” accused Aaliss. “You’ll risk your entire tribe just to measure up to Dermot?”

  “I’ve heard enough from you! Don’t think I’ve forgotten your crimes. Dermot may have pardoned you, but his rule ends when the Circle closes.” Fintan paused, and let the threat linger heavily in the air, before he turned to his brother. “I expect you to be at the Circle when the time comes. I want you to be first to bend his knee to me as the new king!”

  Fintan whirled and left the room with Cormac a step behind.

  “That one’s a real charmer,” muttered Aaliss.

  “There’s still time for you and Wilky to leave.” Doubt wove into Eamon’s voice. “Fintan’s threat is real. Who knows what he’ll do when he becomes king.”

  “If he becomes king, but that won’t happen. You’ll beat him. And besides, I’ve already talked to Wilky, and we’re staying.”

  Wilky nodded.

  “Look!” Gemma practically jumped to her feet. “He’s waking.”

  Dermot groaned, twisted and blinked his eyes open.

  They’re brown!

  His brother’s chestnut eyes were the most wonderful things Eamon had ever seen.

  “I had the weirdest dream,” said Dermot. “I met Father... at least I think it was Father. He looked just as I remembered him, only broader in his shoulders. Next to him stood a tall man with a beard and a great, round belly.”

  “Was it Grandfather, Finnegan the Fat?”

  Dermot smiled. “Your guess is as good as mine, but I think so. They were angry with me. I could tell by the look on Father’s face. He always had the same pinched look when he was angry with us. I rode a silver mare toward them. At first I rode hard, and then I slowed the horse to a canter and finally stopped in front of them. Father grabbed the reins with that look on his face. I tried to ask him where I was, but the words never left my mouth. Before I said anything, he turned the horse and grandfather slapped it hard on the romp. The horse bolted away from them, and I woke.”

  Dermot scanned their anxious faces. “Why so worried? What time is it?”

  “It’s almost noon,” answered Gemma. “Your eyes are brown again!”

  “I know. I feel different. The Red Death has left me. We better hurry or the Circle will close.” Dermot hopped out of bed as the bells started to chime.

  The twelfth bell had just rung when Eamon reached the Circle.

  Dermot had beat him there and held the Sword of Power in his right hand. “The Circle remains open!”

  A gasp spread throughout the crowd.

  “His eyes are brown!”

  “He’s been cured!”

  “What type of magic is this?”

  A hum rippled through the tribe. Some sounded relieved and others scared, as if the tribe were torn between the two emotions. A hushed, uneasy silence replaced the voices as the tribe collectively tried to determine what Dermot’s recovery meant.

  Fintan shattered the silence. “What type of witchcraft is this? No one is saved from the red eyes.”

  “No witchcraft, Brother.” Dermot smiled. “It’s simply not my time yet. I met our father in the stars, and he sent me back.”

  “No, Brother, your time is over!” Fintan shouted so everyone could hear. “The twelfth bell has rung! In accordance with our laws, you’ve resigned and a new king is birthed from combat. It matters not if your eyes have returned to brown. I’ve thrown my sword in the Circle. It is too late for you. Your rule has ended.”

  “Surely you see the providence in this miracle. I’ve been sent back from certain death.”

  More than half the crowd grew angry, shouting encouragement for Dermot, but Fintan would not relent. “We are a tribe of laws, are we not? I demand the Circle close. I am the rightful king!”

  Other voices, led by Cormac, sided with Fintan. Swords scraped against scabbards as the declarations grew louder and angrier. Two Guardsmen jostled each other, shouting insults.

  Dermot scanned the angry mob and looked soulfully at Eamon.

  He doesn’t want to rip us apart. Eamon felt a pit in his stomach.

  The tribe was uncertain. Fintan and Cormac could rally enough people to make a fight of it. Many in the King’s Guard looked as if they would fight for Fintan.

  Eamon hung his head. He should have anticipated this reaction and spoken to the Masters. With them on Dermot’s side, the tribe would rally behind him, but now it was too late. He was a fool.

  “You’re right, Fintan,” Dermot said. “No man is above the law. My time has passed. The Circle will close, and you will be king.”

  Dermot lifted the Sword of Power. Once he thrust it into the ground, the Circle would indeed close and Fintan would rule.

  Eamon’s senses sharpened.

  Gemma screamed, “No!”

  He noticed the edges of the leaves on the Naming Tree had started to turn color. In a week’s time, each would have the color it had chosen for itself, and all would drop to the ground.

  Dermot’s hands rose to strike the sword downward. His muscles tensed before the thrust.

  “Wait!” shouted Eamon. “I throw my sword into the Circle!” He tossed his sword high into the center of the Circle. It revolved slowly before it fell, blade first, plunging into the grass at Dermot’s feet.

  Dermot stared at him, the Sword of Power still raised in his hands, sadness written into the corners of his eyes.

  Eamon could not remember their fat
her’s look, but he knew Dermot’s. The accusation remained unspoken: You broke your promise.

  Dermot thrust the Sword of Power into the ground. “The contest will begin at midnight within the Ring of Fire, as it is written!”

  A cheer roared from the crowd.

  Eamon wondered if they approved, or if they just wanted to see a fight.

  Either way, I fight to the death.

  ***

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  Chapter 52 – Aaliss

  Aaliss stared at the torches around the Ring of Fire. They blazed bright and hot and bathed the Courtyard in flickering firelight.

  As the final bell tolled, Fintan strolled toward the Ring.

  Aaliss cursed to herself.

  The chain mail flowed naturally over his wide shoulders with no sign of the added weight. Even worse, he moved with grace and confidence. He swung his longsword in looping circles as if the weapon were an extension of his arm, while carrying his shield lightly in his other hand.

  She looked for weaknesses and, if she were honest with herself, she would be wary about fighting him. She’d defeat him, but he demanded a certain level of respect and caution she’d failed to notice before.

  After yesterday’s moonlight training session, she had convinced herself that Eamon would best his older brother. Now her confidence slipped, and she felt numb. A tourniquet squeezed her heart tight. Eamon might be fighting, but it felt like her life was at stake, and she was helpless.

  The Witch’s warning rang in her ears. This was the test. Everything had led to this moment. Fear rippled through her, not because Fintan might seek vengeance on her or Wilky if he beat Eamon. She could take care of them, but she could no longer imagine living without Eamon.

  And that terrified her.

  Eamon ambled over to her, the first time he’d appeared since sunset. He’d wanted to be alone to gather his thoughts.