Years After Series | Book 1 | Nine Years After

by Clary, LeRoy

  “If you need anything, I mean anything that will harm Sir Wilson, just let us know.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She said, “You should go without a hat or long sleeves, not so much you get sunburned, but you need some color on you. Ever consider walnut juice?”

  “I don’t know what that is,” I admitted.

  She said, “Walnuts come in green husks with the nuts inside, as I’m sure you already know. You get the moisture from the husks on you and you’ll play hell getting it off. It stains, something terrible, a yellowish-brown.”

  Tess said, “Do you have any?”

  “I do. We use it for many things, but I was thinking that if it was mixed with water and a person put it on exposed white skin, it might look like a suntan.”

  “Or a skin disease if it lumps up,” Tess said with a wicked grin.

  The woman grinned in a way that reminded me of the grin I wore after unexpectedly winning a hand of poker. She said, “That might not be such a bad thing, either. Better that than advertising where you’ve been by displaying white skin and being hung from the nearest oak because of it.”

  Hung? I didn’t like the sound of that. “We can try the walnut juice,” I said, looking at Tess.

  The woman said, “Good. Call me Lyla or Mom, your choice, but I answer faster to Mom.”

  “Mom it is,” Tess laughed and spooned more stew into her mouth after the steaming bowl was placed in front of her. She took dainty bites and told Mom how good it was.

  I tested it. Hot food was a new thing for me. The gravy was warm and awoke senses inside my mouth I hadn’t known existed. The second spoon was fuller and the third overflowing because I was so anxious to get it to my mouth.

  Tess said slyly, “You should tell her if you like it. That would be polite.”

  Mom laughed, “He already did by the speed he is eating. Feel free to get seconds while I go find those old walnut husks.”

  “Why’d you keep them?” I asked.

  “Wayne, my husband did. He uses them to stain wood,” her arm motioned in the direction where the chairs were lined up. “Some of those were done by him.”

  Tess said, “I remember when a trip to the local hardware store got you a can of wood stain.”

  That comment drew a long, hard look from me. Tess didn’t look that much older than my sixteen, but Cap had indicated they were more than ten years older. That separated us from the worlds we grew up in. At sixteen, or eighteen, just before the war, there had been a hardware store for her to visit. For me, there was not even the faintest memory. Funny how just a few years separated us into different worlds.

  I kept expecting the men to join us. However, Mom returned with a bowl of dried husks in a bowl of water. She said, “Walnut stain is sneaky. You pick the nuts and your hands look fine. Later, you look again and they’re brown.”

  Tess said, “So, we won’t know how dark his skin will be until after we leave?”

  Mom laughed. “That’s about it. Take some dried husks with you if you want for a second application. But we’ll see how he looks and remember that you and I are going to have brown hands too if we’re not careful.”

  They used water to wet rags and took gleeful turns wiping the concoction on my skin, beginning with my face and ears. They got my arms and hands, too. The difference was, they washed often with foul-smelling soap.

  From my point of view, they enjoyed themselves too much.

  Finished applying the stain, and with full bellies, we left with several invitations to return. We both made promises we probably wouldn’t keep. We did promise to do what we could that would harm Sir Wilson and his men.

  Down the road a half-hour later, I said, “Are all families like that?”

  “Some are. Others not. More like that than not, I guess.”

  After a time, I said, “I wish Mayfield could have shared this day with us.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  The road we followed split the valley into the left side and the right. Both were filled with farms. It was getting late in the afternoon and Tess turned to me and started to say something. Instead, she pulled to an abrupt stop so fast my hand went to my pistol.

  “Your face. It’s darker.”

  “How dark? So much I’m a freak?”

  “No. Sort of yellow, but it might turn even darker.”

  “Will I look out of place?”

  Tess motioned for us to turn off the road and enter a line of trees that separated the fields of two farms as she said, “If your skin does not get darker, we can use a little ash from a firepit to help it along. But I think you can almost pass for one of us, with maybe a little lie to seal the deal.”

  “I’m not good at lying,” I lied. “What do I say?”

  “Your mother is Asian. Just that. No more.”

  I needed a mirror. We didn’t have one. We reached the end of the divided farmland and entered the forest at the end. I said, “Looking for a place to spend the night?”

  “Yes. One where we can build a fire, so we need a hill between us and the valley floor.”

  I liked the way she answered questions. She didn’t elaborate but provided the pertinent facts and the reasons to support them.

  We climbed the first hill and the undergrowth became denser, the briars clutched at us, the snakelike vines on the ground tried tripping us, and the ground was uneven. The thought of the vines being like snakes in the books caused me to say, “What about snakes?”

  “Don’t worry about them.”

  We walked on. “I am worried about them.”

  She chuckled and added, “I should have said don’t worry about them because there are no poisonous snakes in Western Washington. Never have been.”

  A whimpering/wailing sound that stood the hair up on the back of my neck came to us as I was about to tell her she should have said that part first. Tess instantly stopped. I did because she did.

  She put her finger to her lips.

  We moved much slower, taking care to make no noise. The sound had been close—or it seemed it was.

  It came again.

  Followed by laughter. A man laughing crudely. No, two of them laughing together.

  The pitiful wailing sounded again.

  More laughing. Low talking, the words slurred by distance. Tess pulled her nine-millimeter and eased ahead, motioning for me, the club-footed one from below ground, to hold back. There were men ahead. At least two.

  She moved almost sideways, tilting her head now and then to hear better. I followed fifty feet behind, my gun in hand.

  She paused, then motioned for me to advance. I moved to her side. We were behind a stand of small evergreens so thick seeing through them was a problem.

  There was a clearing. Three men in it. One was riding another, meaning one was on all fours while another sat on his back. The third sat on the ground, raised a mug high in the air as a salute, and laughed as if crazy.

  Two wore the uniform blue of the soldiers we’d encountered. They were Sir Wilson’s men.

  The other wore filthy rags. His hair hung to his shoulders in greasy, limp ringlets. The man sat on his back as if he rode a horse while gripping a handful of hair. In his other hand was a length of a small branch that he used to whip the man he sat upon while laughing insanely.

  The rider fell off and lashed out with his boot as if it was the other’s fault. The boot struck the other in the ribs, and another wail cut through the still air. The third man tilted his mug again and drained half.

  The abused man had rolled to his side and held his ribs as he moaned. He wore only one shoe. His beard was black, tangled, and at least a foot long with pieces of grass and twigs entangled in it. His eyes were wild.

  Tess firmly shoved me to the side and wove her way through the evergreen trees until she emerged into the clearing as if she was a Mongol invading a village to conquer. Stories of Atilla came to mind.

  The men spun to face her when she leaped into their view.

 
She snarled, “What the hell is going on?”

  All three froze.

  I eased my way past the small trees until I stood beside her, my gun pointed halfway between the two in blue.

  “Get out of here,” one growled, his eyes focused on Tess. “Or I might be riding you before the day’s over.”

  The other didn’t make threats. He stupidly drew his gun from a holster at his side and fumbled to raise it.

  “No!” I shouted.

  He brought it higher, a snarl on his drunken lips.

  Tess and I fired together. Two shots to the head. From a distance of twenty feet, it was hard to miss. Our attention turned to the other.

  Instead of the death of his partner being a warning, he did the opposite. He screamed his defiance and charged, the blade of a knife suddenly in his hand.

  We had nine-millimeter semi-automatics, but a knife is just as lethal at close quarters—and he had surprise on his side. We were numbed by killing the first man, and therefore slow to react. He covered half the distance before either of us fired.

  The remaining ten feet to reach us would take only about three running steps, I figured out later. Less than a second. In pure instinct, Tess raised her arms high to protect herself. However, I shot three times. All were hits.

  The knife fell at Tess’s feet, still clutched in his outstretched hand.

  It had been close.

  I had almost lost another partner.

  The man on the ground that had been used as a horse for the amusement of the drunken soldiers put his hands over his ears at the sound of the shots, closed his eyes so hard his face contorted, and screamed, a sound of absolute terror. It went on and on.

  And on.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The screaming man continued. We stood and waited for him to finish. I’m not sure what Tess was thinking, but I was scared at first, then began to get irritated. We’d just saved his life and all he did was cover his ears with his palms and scream.

  Which was stupidity on my part.

  The man was terrified. Two strangers had entered his camp and shot two of the three people there. He had every right to be scared. And scream.

  Tess went to the man and knelt beside him without touching. She talked softly, saying silly things like it will be all right, and we’re here to help. I think the tone of her voice helped more than the words.

  “What’s your name?” she asked when the screaming had a brief interlude.

  “Bream,” he said after a slight hesitation.

  “Like the fish?” She sounded amused.

  He nodded vigorously. “Yes, the fish. Bream, like fish.”

  His words were short, his sentences simple, spoken in a broken, staccato fashion instead of a stream of words like people I’d heard.

  She helped him carefully sit. His one leg collapsed under him, the one barefoot. It looked odd and in pain. I asked, “What are those?”

  She twisted to look around his body to his foot. “Thorns, damn it all. I didn’t see them.”

  “Thorns? In his skin?”

  Tess said to Bream, “Never mind him. Hold still. We have to get those out of your foot,” then to me, “Get over here and help.”

  I moved near his foot. There were tiny pieces of wood stuck into his foot at all angles, most black but some brown. Never having seen them sticking in the skin like small wooden needles, I stood dumbly aside, confused as to what to do.

  Tess said to me, “Don’t just stand there. Get down here and pull out the thorns. One at a time,” then she turned to Bream, “What were those animals doing to you?”

  “Riding me. Horsey.”

  “Why?” She scowled at my lack of action until I got down.

  I knelt beside his foot. Dirt coated it, and dozens of the thorns stood out. I flicked one with my finger. It remained embedded. Bream howled.

  Okay, that was not the correct method. I rubbed my hand over a few. Bream twisted and howled louder. That wasn’t the right way, either.

  I said, “Let me hold him and you get them out.”

  “For the sake of stupidity,” she said but exchanged positions.

  She selected one and took it between her fingers. With a quick motion, she yanked it out and tossed it aside where he might step on it again.

  Bream had twitched, but there was no screaming.

  “Talk to him,” she said. “Distract him.”

  After careful consideration, I said, “Maybe we should exchange jobs again.”

  She blurted out a short laugh, then pulled another thorn. “Talk to him.”

  “Bream, my name is Danner. What do you do for a living?”

  “For living? I eat.”

  Tess laughed again. Then pulled one thorn more stubborn. I felt him flinch, but he soon relaxed.

  He said to me, “You look strange.”

  “We’re trying to help you,” I told him, trying to deflect his observation. I’d thought my “tan” was effective until he ruined it for me.

  “Not hurt Bream?” he asked me as he flinched again as another thorn was pulled. “Not ride?”

  “No. Not like those others. We’re trying to help you.”

  “I will pull the thorns. Me,” he insisted.

  The conversation was not exactly getting anywhere. It was time to change the subject. I said, “Those men, why were they doing that to you?”

  “The blue men. They catched me when I sleep.”

  Blue men? Oh, the color of the uniforms of the soldiers. I understood that part. They catched him? Why did they do that? “Bream, have they ever chased and caught you before?”

  He was still flinching every few seconds as Tess pulled more thorns. I saw drops of blood where a few had been deeper. He said, “Yes. They catched me and beat me. Before.”

  Tess said, “There, I think I got them all, but we need to get his foot into the water and wash the dirt off to be sure. Can you walk?”

  “I hop, walk, and run.”

  “Okay, well, hop over to the stream and sit down.”

  “My shoe.” He pointed to where the men lay.

  I went there and found his shoe beside one where he fell. I retrieved it and joined them at the stream where Tess had washed his foot and was examining it. She also found where his wrist was scraped raw and so was one knee. Then she removed his shirt and fresh red welts were revealed.

  “Did they whip you?”

  “With a belt. Then a stick when they ride.”

  Tess said, “We need to wash your wrist, knee, and back. It’ll hurt.”

  “Help to heal. I know.”

  She gently washed the injuries and I watched and wondered. What kind of world had I entered?

  Tess said, “Who do you live with?”

  “My brother. He died a long time ago, but I stay with him.”

  “You buried him?” She asked.

  “Oh, yes. Nice deep hole and planted flowers. He liked flowers. I live there.”

  “With other people?” she asked.

  “No. Just him. And me.”

  “Is there a house?”

  “We made one.”

  I pulled a vial of antiseptic from my supplies and applied a thin coating to his foot, wrist, knee, and back, which used the entire small tube.

  Tess said to me, “You know you can’t replace that.”

  She was not scolding me but making a point. I said, “It was put it to good use as far as I’m concerned.”

  I liked the expression she wore.

  She helped him get his shoe on and said, “We have to leave, but you should be fine and stay away from Blue Men from now on.”

  “I go with you.”

  “No. Where we’re going there is danger. You stay with your brother and when we come back this way, we’ll find you and say hello.”

  “I go.”

  “You cannot,” Tess said in a firmer tone.

  He scowled and then pursed his lips and whispered stubbornly. “I go.”

  Tess placed a hand on his shoulder an
d leaned closer. “Bream, listen to me. It is better if you stay here.”

  We left him sitting dejectedly beside the little stream and the two dead soldiers. I hoped he would take whatever he wanted from them. He deserved it. His eyes followed our every move. I felt guilty for an unknown reason.

  Tess was unusually silent for a couple of hours. I studied my maps and realized we were going to pass very near another sanctuary if my directions were accurate. We sat on a fallen log at the edge of the forest overlooking where the valley was so flat and wide, I couldn’t see the far side. There were farms, houses, and barns, as well as roads. It seemed there were people everywhere.

  Tess said, “We’re approaching a town. Want to go in or around it?”

  I unfolded my maps and showed them to her. “Where are we?”

  She studied them and finally placed a finger about an inch away from a rose. As if trying to decide, I pointed to the rose and said, “What is here?”

  “Does that mean something to you?”

  She didn’t sound suspicious, just curious. Near the rose was a river or stream, and a meaningless icon of a house meant to confuse any who didn’t know the code. “I want to see this house.”

  “It’s almost on the way. Sure. What’s with that house?”

  Another lie to tell. “I think there is family there.”

  That was almost the truth. I wanted to see the lay of the land, and of course, if there was a sanctuary. If there was, I would have some serious explaining to do.

  Our travel mode was always within forests or trees. We never ventured out into the open. Once we saw four soldiers in blue riding horses, and another time a small group of about ten men walking. That group led two cows, a huge pig, and several sheep by ropes. They were gathering food for the army in Everett, most likely. The animals were seized from farmers in return for the protection that Sir Wilson claimed to provide.

  Tess explained it to me while we watched.

  As we neared the area with the icon of the rose, my attention heightened. To reach it, I’d anticipated going into the flat of the valley, but as we closed in on the correct area, there were several small hills, too small to be considered mountains, but large, nevertheless.