The first man was still nervous. "Do you want us to go after another Savage?"
Deacon shook his head. "Not now. We have more pressing concerns."
Chapter 57: William
William watched the demon wading into the river, fighting the flowing current. It screeched as it bumped into something under the water that William couldn't see. The river was plagued with rocks, sticks, and who knew what else. There was no way the demon would make it.
Cupping his hands around his mouth, hissing as loud as he dared, William urged, "Come on!"
He looked behind him again. Nothing. No Berta. No guard.
"Keep coming!" he called, spinning again to face the twisted men.
Inspired by the first demon, the second demon joined the first in the water, slogging through the current.
The creatures looked as if they were walking at half-speed as they dragged one leg through the water at a time. They had managed to get ten feet from the opposite shore, slightly closer to William, but not nearly close enough. They kept going, getting deeper. The water seemed to be swallowing the twisted men whole—passing their waists and getting higher. William could no longer see their legs. It seemed as if they'd been cut in half and were floating.
The demons snarled as they continued, as if they were racing toward a fresh carcass. The river foamed and spat around them, an angry god trying to bowl them over, or suck them down. The demons paused, looking from the water to William, sensing a tragic ending to what was likely a poor decision.
William waved his hands as he coaxed them over. They were his only hope.
"Come on!" he said again.
He needed to get them across. If he didn't, he'd—
"William!" yelled a man's voice.
William spun to see movement. Someone was coming, far back in the forest.
He turned back to the river, waving his hands frantically at the demons, which were struggling against the current, barely making headway. He wanted to charge into the water and pull them across. He wanted to make up for a foolish plan. He waded a foot into the water, holding his hands out to keep them coming. The demons watched his outstretched hands, as if he might reach out, grab them, and pull them to safety.
One of the demons fell.
It screeched as it went under, waving its wart-covered arms as it tried to recapture its lost footing, but the river had a firm hold, and it wasn't letting go. The river swept it downstream, kicking and splashing. The demon didn't know how to swim. Of course it didn't.
The other demon stopped, watching its brother carried away. The drowning demon resurfaced several times, gurgling and spitting, before going under for the last time. William swallowed back his fear.
"William!" the guard screamed again.
Crashes through the underbrush got closer. The guard and Berta were probably following his boot prints in the snow. Soon William would have to explain his way out of death. He couldn't get the screaming, gurgling Halifax man from his head, fighting against the sharp blades that were getting closer.
It would be him in that device, or in that spiked chair, if things didn't go well.
He needed to make another decision. Should he run? Or should he stay and avoid a worse punishment? Perhaps he could make up a story about the demons. Behind him, a flash of clothing in the forest become a full-fledged figure as the guard charged in his direction, anger on his face. He'd caught sight of William.
The guard's sword was drawn.
He was forty yards away, up the short slope of the riverbank, in the forest.
William spun to face the river.
Shock overcame him.
The second demon was almost at his shore. The river, which had almost been up to its chest, was getting lower. The demon screeched in triumph as it pulled its legs through the raging current, finding strength that it hadn't possessed moments earlier.
Something else was driving it.
It wanted blood.
The demon's eyes locked on the approaching soldier. William scurried out of the water just as the demon splashed ashore and ran past him, up the riverbank, screeching, and into the forest.
The guard crashed through the last layer of trees and wilted brush, probably expecting a scared boy, and instead finding a charging demon. He fell back in surprise as the demon knocked him from his feet and to the ground. Teeth gnashed. The demon buried its hands in the guard's soft belly, yowling in triumph as it found a warm meal, pulling out the man's insides and holding them up. William fought for breath as he realized he'd been saved.
More crashes in the forest delayed his relief.
He crouched on his haunches, scanning the trees for more soldiers. The demon—his demon—looked up from the soldier's stomach, its mouth full of innards. The person in the forest slowed down as they came upon the scene, mouth agape.
Berta.
She looked from the dead, eviscerated soldier, to the demon, to William. Fear passed through her eyes as she contemplated decisions.
"William, are you all right?"
"Stay where you are!" William screamed at Berta. "Don't move!"
Berta looked behind her, as if she might run. She was old, winded, and no match for a demon with a warm meal on its mind. They all knew it.
"Stay back, or I'll tell the demon to get you!" William screamed.
Berta looked as if she didn't understand. "I'm not sure what you—"
"Walk toward her!" he cried to the demon.
The twisted man obeyed William's command, creeping toward Berta, the soldier's innards dripping from its mouth.
"Stop!" William shouted.
The demon listened, shoulders heaving, clearly fighting its instincts as it kept from running toward her.
"What are you doing, William?" Berta asked, clearly in shock.
"Throw the keys to the building on the ground," William ordered. "I don't want to order him to hurt you."
**
William stood outside the entrance of the small, dark building that had been his home for too long. The demon hung next to him, scratching and fidgeting. He stared at Berta with a look that might have been sympathy, if he hadn't been left in the cold, hungry, and in the dark—if she hadn't betrayed him. He motioned toward the back wall of the building with the sword he'd taken from the soldier.
"Get all the way inside," he said.
"What are you doing, William?" she asked, not for the first time.
William didn't answer. As soon as Berta was far enough away from the door that he could close it, he shut the entrance and locked it. He'd left her with the scraps of food leftover from his meal. It was enough to keep her going, for a while.
He left the miserable building behind.
Chapter 58: Deacon
Deacon's eyes burned with anger as he surveyed the lone weapon on his desk. He looked back up at Bartholomew. "Jonas. Kirby. Heinrich. Ruben. Probably all dead, the way things sound. Without guns, we are in a position I do not like. But war is coming. We will not fall to the people of Halifax. We will defend our land, as we always have."
"Such is our duty," Bartholomew answered instinctively.
"We will enact our plan for war."
Bartholomew nodded. He knew what that entailed. Everyone on the islands did.
"Double the numbers of soldiers at the bridge. Our soldiers can take shifts resting in their houses. The peasants, hunters, and farmers that live farthest from the bridge should occupy the tradesmen's houses."
"I will inform everyone at the marketplace."
"Tell the people that we must be prepared to fight. All of them should sleep with their weapons at their sides. All should be ready."
"Yes, sir. I will have my men coordinate with the islanders. We will move some of the islanders to the tradesmen's. I will have the children gathered, so they can come here to the second island, as we have planned. If I hear anything, I will report it to you."
"There is no need," Deacon said, standing from his desk and retrieving the gun, slinging it over h
is shoulder. "After I instruct the soldiers to look after The Important Ones and the children, I will be joining you. As of tonight, I will be keeping watch near the bridge with the others."
Chapter 59: William
William crept away through the trees, looking in all directions as he clutched the sword. The demon snuck next to him, licking some of the soldier's gore from its fingers. William had left his demons behind, and yet here he was, with another of his brothers. He didn't have time to second-guess his decision.
He'd saved himself. He'd done what he had to.
He stopped to listen. He had heard nothing since the tortured cries of the gutted soldier, but eventually, someone would check the building, and find him missing. Or they'd miss Berta.
He needed to figure out what to do.
The bridge might as well be a route to suicide. One demon would never be enough to get him over the wooden bridge, past the soldiers, and through an entire island. And that wasn't even counting an escape over the main bridge. He might get lost in the woods and stave off death for a while, but they would hunt him. They would follow his tracks in the snow. He was one of the strangers. He'd never blend in.
Pushing away panic, William headed through the trees and toward the river. There was no escape from death in the middle of the island. His only thought was to head for the water. Maybe he could find some way off. He made his way through the trees, the demon behind, until he came to a section of the riverbank covered in tree roots. The demon hissed as it looked out over the water.
The twisted man didn't like the river. Neither did William.
He thought about crossing it. But he couldn't get the image of the first, drowning demon from his mind, kicking and fighting as the current took it. William could barely swim. And he wasn't nearly as tall as the demon next to him. Only fate had prevented the twisted man from suffering the same end as its brother. For a split second, he considered riding on the demon's shoulders, but that was likely to topple both of them over, and they'd both drown. He didn't even know if the demon would comply. He'd ordered them to do things, but he couldn't envision a scenario in which he climbed atop one.
Escaping in the river didn't seem feasible.
But was anything worse than staying here on this island, waiting to get caught?
William might as well have stabbed Deacon with the sword he held. He'd killed a guard, and imprisoned Berta. He might as well have locked himself inside that room with the screaming, impaled soldier and the other one, waiting for death.
There was no going back from what he'd done. Unless he could convince Berta to keep his secret, but he doubted it. A guard was dead. There would be questions. William swallowed.
He'd made his choice. He needed to find a way off the island.
Following the riverbank, he traveled south, stepping over roots and rocks, searching for another way off, holding the soldier's sword. Perhaps there was something else on the island—another building, a clue to a way off. Thick trees bordered the riverbank as he traveled the island's perimeter, curving with the land and reaching the southernmost point. He kept going. On top of a fallen log, he found a length of long, thin rope, and a place where a man might've sat. In another area, as the island curved and headed north, he found a ripped article of clothing, or a blanket, tied around a branch hanging over the river, but in none of those places did he find a building, or anything else.
The longer he traveled, the more he feared he'd made a fatal decision.
Soon, he had traveled nearly the entire length of the island. William stopped short as he saw the distant buildings—the one housing The Important Ones, and the one where he'd seen the man tortured. He didn't realize how close he'd gotten. His heart jumped as he surveyed the horizon. His demon stopped next to him, watching handfuls of people walking in the distance. The lone horse was bent over, looking as if it was feeding. He only had a second to look at it before a man walked over to it, bringing something and placing it nearby. Water, perhaps. The soldier looked around. William ducked.
The soldiers would hunt for him soon.
With no other choice but to turn around, he retreated back into the forest.
Chapter 60: Deacon
Deacon strode down the main road of the first island, a group of soldiers close behind him under the afternoon sun. All walked with arms at their sides, silent, ready to obey. They were his Trusted soldiers. His men.
All around them, islanders filed from the paths, coming from peasant's homes, farmers, and hunter's homes to the center of the island, carrying belongings on their backs and swords at their sides, headed for the soldier's houses and tradesman's shops. Some wore bows over their shoulders. Others had knives, as well. They hurried faster as they spotted Deacon and his men, afraid to be caught idling instead of moving. A mother prompted her two young children faster as she led them toward the large group of children gathered in the road.
Soldiers barked orders at the crowding children, who would be taken to the second island.
The youngest of those children, not old enough to understand the reason behind the commotion, cried as they reached out for parents who had already left them behind.
The Important Ones would take care of the children. Only a few soldiers would remain. The second island was only a fleeting concern. By the time a war at the bridge made it to that island, Deacon knew, it would already be over. There was no hope for the old and frail, or the young, if things got that bad.
The crux of any battle would be fought at the main bridge. Deacon's most Trusted men, and the relocated islanders, would be his line of defense. His people had been trained for readiness. They were prepared to fight. Hopefully, a battle wouldn't make it farther than the front of the bridge.
Still, he was worried. His people had the numbers, but these men had guns. He couldn't stop picturing the slaughtered settlement party, their bodies filled with wounds that resembled the hole in the soldier's leg.
Approaching a group of soldiers, he addressed a tall, dark-haired man.
"How are the preparations coming?"
"The tradesmen are clearing out their shops so they can fit more people. We should be able to house many of the islanders here, but it will be tight."
"As expected."
Deacon looked past the soldier at a woodworker's shop, where several workingmen moved a table from one end of a room to another, making room for a young couple, who unslung their bags onto the open floor and situated themselves. Past that building, one of the blacksmiths held his doors open, airing out the room.
"Have all of our hunters returned?"
"We have several parties out in the wild, but they are expected soon. Bartholomew is keeping them here as they return. No other parties will be sent out, for the moment."
"As ordered," Deacon said. "Is Bartholomew back at the bridge?"
"Yes, sir, he is waiting."
"And Jonathan?"
"Jonathan?" the soldier looked confused before he processed something. "Jonathan is in the care of the healers. I fear he has an infection from his severed limb. I do not think he will live."
Deacon nodded. "We will have to fight with one less man. A shame."
The dark-haired soldier nodded his agreement. He looked like he had something else to say.
"What is it?" Deacon asked.
"Do you think the Halifax men will arrive tonight, sir?"
"Whether it is tonight, tomorrow, or later, it is no matter. We will be ready," Deacon said simply.
Striding away from the soldier, he and his men marched down the road, heading for the bridge.
Chapter 61: Bray
Bray and Kirby rode their horses next to Enoch and Samron, who walked in front of a line of three hundred soldiers marching in rows through the forest under the afternoon sun, crushing the snow, carrying guns, ammunition, swords, knives, and bows. All kept Enoch and Samron's brisk pace. All felt the inspiration of Enoch's words, projected in brave stares and proud conversation. A few brave women marched among the men
, determined expressions on their faces, with the same strange markings on their foreheads. Bray glanced behind him, finding Flora several rows back, walking next to a group of men, her hands unbound.
Bray rode his horse at a comfortable trot, unable to believe that he was riding it again, and that Kirby was riding next to him. He thought he caught a thin smile on her face as she directed her steed. Behind them, the Halifax people talked in animated tones.
"The soldiers speak of past battles," Enoch explained. "We have fought many wars in the forests, or wars close to our home."
"So have my people." Bray paused after he said the words. It had been a while since he'd left Brighton, and his people seemed less like his people, and the townships from where he'd come seemed less and less like home. Thinking about it more, he added, "The people in Brighton fought wars with demons, mostly. I don't believe they ever encountered a formidable group of men as those we are marching to fight."
"We have fought vicious tribes as well as Savages, but none as cruel, or as harsh, as our enemies at The Arches." Bray thought he saw some trepidation behind Enoch's bravery.
They were entering a war much larger than he'd fought before.
Bray didn't need to hear the stories to know it.
"When we get closer to the islands, we will divide into the groups we talked about," Enoch said. "I will ensure that we have experienced men and women among each group. You will get your fifteen men, Kirby, to sneak into the woods and cover you and Flora."
"I think it is a good plan," Kirby agreed.
"The lessons you gave us with the guns will help us," Enoch said, "though many of my men are still learning."
"Lessons will not make up for skill," Kirby said. "But hopefully I have showed them some easier ways to get the magazines in and out of the weapons, at a faster pace. They will only be able to use the guns a number of times. And those bullets will go fast once we start fighting."
"They have seen the results of that, in some of the skirmishes we've had in the forest," Enoch said. "But not to the degree we will see at The Arches."
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