Semper (New Eden)

by Dudley, Peter J

  After a minute I realize that Freda and Lupay are laughing, too. Maybe they're laughing at me, but I don't care. The feeling of freedom, of being back within the borders of Southshaw, of being outside—of having just escaped—well, laughing seems right.

  "Dane," says Lupay, "you're soaking wet."

  I look at her smile, and it warms me more than the sun. I nod and giggle just a little.

  Freda points at Lupay's feet. "Oh, Lupay. You've got no shoes. Don't your feet hurt?"

  "Not with grass under them," she says, and although we still smile, we share a glance full of understanding.

  Lupay and Freda hold their black mask-hats in their hands. I've dropped mine to the ground without realizing it. Tom still wears his, making his crouched form look like a short-haired black bear curled up and sleeping.

  I squish a few steps toward him. "Tom."

  At first he does not move, but when I repeat his name he tilts his head up and pulls his mask off. His white head, smooth and hairless, glares with perspiration. His pale lips are set firm, and in his eyes is a hard blankness.

  I put my hand out to him, not sure what to say. "Thank you."

  He softens momentarily and then gives a single, curt nod.

  "I'm sorry." It's all I can think to say, despite knowing what exile feels like.

  He shakes his head and stands. He seems smaller on this open hillside, narrower and shorter than I thought. "This isn't how I imagined it," he says with slow precision, "but I always knew I would leave Subterra and live outside one day." He turns slowly, gazing at each of the landscape's features in turn. The stony cliff wall from which we emerged. The higher peaks to the southwest still capped with snow, which wrap around the entire valley skirted with low, green foothills. To the east, meadows and flatlands reach like soft, green arms to embrace the sapphire lake beyond.

  "This is what every Subterran is taught to dream about from the moment we have the ability to imagine. I'm one of the few who's seen it. And now Fobrasse has robbed another generation of their dreams." He swallows hard and presses his palms to his eyes. "At least," he says after a short struggle, "they haven't seen it. They don't know what they're really missing."

  Freda approaches him and puts her arm around his shoulders. I know she's just sympathizing, but I can't help feeling that I don't much like her touching him. He does not react. Instead, his gaze remains fixed on the mountain peaks far away beyond the lake.

  Lupay says, "I was wrong about you. Sorry for trying to rip your head off back there."

  That gets a little laugh from Tom, and he turns to look at her. "No problem." He looks at me and slips away from Freda's arm. "I was sick of being that idiot's slave. He thinks he understands, but he's never been outside. He's never seen the real world." He kneels and opens up a bag I hadn't seen him carrying—it's my satchel from before we were captured.

  We stand in a tight semicircle around him. "Everyone in there, they're blinded by their faith in something that doesn't exist. They think that some day, they will be called to the surface and it will be a paradise. But their version of paradise is so... so..." He looks around at the mountains, the trees, the sky. "So colorless."

  Tom reaches into the satchel and pulls out four hunting knives. As he hands one to each of us, he says, "I'd rather live a week out here than suffocate a hundred years in there." He runs his finger along the sharp blade edge of the final knife, his thoughts silent for the moment.

  The heavy knife rests solid and comfortable in my hand. The handle is a little oddly curved, not what I'm used to, but it fits snug in my hand and would be as good for fighting as for hunting. Freda seemed reluctant to take one, and now she looks uncomfortable holding it. She looks like she wants to put it away but does not know where.

  "Tom," Freda says suddenly, staring at the knife's blade with curiosity, "Did you make these? I'm just wondering—Subterrans are a peaceful people, so they wouldn't make weapons like this. And only you and a few others ever come outside, so there's no real need for hunting tools."

  Lupay answers for him. "These came from Tawtrukk." She turns to Tom, and I can't tell if she's accusing him of something. "Didn't they?"

  He nods. "I stole them. From a shed. Up in the hills. Don't worry, Lupay. I didn't hurt anyone to get them. I don't enjoy stealing from others, but I'm very good at it. In fact, until you saw us at Emerald Bay, I don't think any Tawtrukker had ever seen me before."

  Her grimace has turned into a smile, and now she starts laughing quietly at some private thought.

  "What?" Tom wonders whether he should be offended.

  "No, no," says Lupay. "I remember when Graw Micktuk came down from his cabin and chased the Shiver twins around until he couldn't run any more. Said they'd stolen his fishing gear, his bow and arrows. And," she says, grinning at the blade in her hand, "his knives." She laughs, and the happy sound carries around our little hillside. "They denied it, but everyone figured it was them. Their dad whipped 'em pretty good that night."

  We're all laughing now, even though none of us knows a thing about the Shiver twins. It's Lupay's genuine laugh, and it catches us all, mixing with the sunshine and warmth and grass and trees and sky to bubble laughter up within us.

  Tom, his soft laugh fading, gazes at Lupay. "I know the boys. Rather, I know about them. I've followed them sometimes in the night. I can understand why everyone thought they'd stolen those things. I don't feel bad for them. They didn't steal these," he says as he holds the knife so it flashes in the sun, "but they surely deserved that beating for something."

  We all giggle for a few more seconds. Lupay, the first to start, is also the first to stop.

  "I wonder if they're still alive," she says, low and thoughtful. She turns and looks to the north, as if trying to see forty miles away, trying to see what's going on in Tawtrukk.

  Freda whispers, "I'm sure they are." Lupay does not respond. "Lupay. I'm sure those boys can take care of themselves."

  Lupay nods, her eyes still focused on something far away. "Yes. But what about all those others?" She turns to me, and it hurts in my soul to see anger and hatred in her eyes. "Southshawans snuck in and killed them. Fobrasse told me. A dozen, maybe more. Which ones? Who?" How quickly her gentle, infectious laughter turned to pain and anger.

  "I—Lupay, it's not..." I fail to come up with words.

  Freda finds them for me. "Don't be mad at Dane." She speaks softly, gently. With a quick glance at me, she says, "He would have stopped Darius if he could have. So would I. But we couldn't." She contemplates the knife, resting limp in her hands. "Not then."

  Her slender fingers curl slowly around its thick handle with determination. "But we can now," she whispers.

  Lupay frowns. "So you'll come with me?"

  "What?"

  "To Tawtrukk. To correct the wrong your people have done. To stop them from doing worse."

  "No. No, that's not what I meant."

  "What then? Are you going to pray about it? Great! Standing here, asking God to make it all OK won't do shit. Those men are on their way to my house right now. They're going to kill my parents. My friends. That's what they're going to do. Standing around here won't change that." She looks north again, this time her expression hard and determined.

  "Tom," Lupay says, "what else you got in there? Any extra shoes? Some food or something?"

  Tom lifts the bag and dumps it onto the soft ground, but Freda has stepped in front of Lupay and puts her hands on her shoulders.

  "Wait, Lupay. Let's think about this for a minute."

  "You think. I'm going."

  "You'll never get there."

  "Oh yes I will." Lupay strikes Freda's arms away and kneels to rummage through the small pile of things.

  She flops back onto her butt and pulls on one soft, black boot and then the other.

  "No, you won't," I cut in. "Look, Lupay, I understand what you want to do. And why you want to do it. Don't forget that my father's already been murdered by the same man who wants to destroy
Tawtrukk."

  Her expression doesn't soften, but I have her attention.

  "Be realistic. You don't know Southshaw. We're at the southern end. You'll have to pass dozens of farms, go around the village... and how do you think the average Southshawan is going to react if they see a Tawtrukk girl sneaking around? They all think you started this whole thing. They see you, you'll be hunted down before you get halfway to Tawtrukk."

  She's not happy to hear this, but I can see in her frown that she knows it's true.

  Freda says, "Come with us. There are a lot of Southshawans that hate what Darius is doing. My parents, for two. And they have friends. We can build a resistance from inside Southshaw."

  "Those are your people," Lupay says, but she sounds unconvinced of her own words. "I need to get home."

  "We'll get you there," I say. "I promise. But first, we need your help. Fobrasse said Darius had gathered an army and was taking them north. This means that Southshaw will be undefended."

  "Not exactly," Tom says. "They've locked away quite a few of the people you want to get to. There are guards."

  "All the more reason we need you, Lupay." Visions of the village burst through my mind as I think about who might have stayed behind, how the guards are deployed. "Help us free them. If you want Darius stopped—and we all do—then freeing those who are against him will also show them that Tawtrukkers can be trusted. I need you to be there. You need to be there."

  Lupay turns and stomps off a way. I hesitate, but just as I'm thinking I should follow her, she stops abruptly and spins. "After, then you help me get home?"

  "Yes. Promise." Relief pours over me like the breeze coming down the mountainside.

  "A horse, yes?"

  "Yes, of course."

  She stomps back to stand directly in front of me. Her black eyes have that passionate intensity I saw when I first met her. I know that Freda is watching me. I can feel Freda watching me. I swallow the sour spit gathering in my mouth and take one deep breath. I fight to keep my hands from twitching.

  "All right. Let's go." She's so close, and I want so much to hold her hands, to wrap her arms around me, to pull her close. "Which way?"

  Tom stands. "Best to attack after dark." Lupay allows her eyes to stay locked with mine for a moment, then turns to Tom. He points off to the northeast. "That way."

  As Lupay turns to stalk off the way Tom points, Freda calls to her. "But it's too early. If we start now, we'll get there before sunset. Or just at." Freda squints up at the sky. I didn't know she'd ever even been this far south, but she's exactly right.

  Lupay returns, and we fall to planning for the next two hours as the sun moves through its zenith and my clothes dry. Lupay thinks we should slip in when they're asleep and slit all their throats. Tom wants to free the prisoners, then capture the others one by one and lock them up. Freda wants to gather support from her father's friends, then march into the village as a group. They each argue their point, frustration rising in their disagreement.

  "Stop." The three of them leave off their argument and look at me, like cats turning their heads in unison at an unexpected sound. "I am the rightful Semper of Southshaw. It's my decision to make." This proclamation seems to require to be said from a position other than lying on my back on the grass, looking at the sky. So I pop up and stand over them. Their curious expressions make me nervous, so I put my hands on my hips. I mean to look authoritative, but I think it probably just comes off as childish.

  "Fair enough," Lupay says with a nonchalant shake of her head. She reclines onto the warm grass and looks at me, impassive.

  "Okay then," I say. I wasn't sure what I was going to say when I stood up. I mostly just wanted them to stop bickering. We are on the verge of fighting people we've grown up with, people I've known since I was born, people with whom I've eaten dinner, shared stories in front of a winter fire. We might even end up killing some of them.

  "I hope so," Lupay muses with her eyes closed. "I'm counting on it."

  I hadn't realized that my thoughts had been pouring from my mouth. But now that they've started, I let them flow.

  "Our biggest problem," I say, "is that we really don't know who stayed behind, or how they're guarding the town, or even where they are. They probably aren't expecting us to return. I'm guessing they're more worried about my father's friends than about anyone from outside attacking. And they've had... what, two days to gather them up.

  "There won't be much resistance. And, Freda, I don't think there will be anyone to find that will support us. Lupay and I got to know Baddock's thugs pretty well—"

  "I can't wait to see them again," Lupay interjects.

  "They're mean. They've already gotten orders from Darius to lock everyone up. We'll be lucky if our friends are still alive, Freda." I share a look with her that includes both worry and hope. "But we don't have time to spend a night looking around, so we'll just have to figure it out as we go along."

  They're all attentive now, sitting up straight and squinting at me. I realize the sun has moved across the sky so it's just above and behind my head. As I talk, I gesture at nothing, at the hills and trees, as I pace around to the other side so I'm the one looking into the sun. I force myself not to squint.

  "Tom's approach is best. Most of the thugs will be asleep. The biggest question is whether Baddock or Darius stayed behind—"

  "I don't know Baddock, but reports say Darius is on his way to Tawtrukk," Tom says.

  "Okay. I would expect Darius to want Baddock close by. But... no, I don't know. I hope Baddock isn't still in Southshaw, but something tells me he is. I don't think the thugs could have cleaned things up without him." In fact, as I say it out loud, I know it to be true. The thugs would get confused, separated. They'd be overconfident. Freda's parents would organize against them.

  "Baddock is definitely running things," I say with finality, and I kneel between Tom and Lupay. Glancing around, I find a small but sturdy stick, and I start drawing in the soil. "This is the Semper's house, and here's the chapel," I start, scratching out rough rectangles. "Baddock will station his thugs here and here, and if he sleeps, he will want to be in a place where he can be roused quickly, where he can direct things."

  Baddock's training was thorough and rich. As I speak, the others listen and nod occasionally. Only a few times do they comment or question as the plan grows before us. Thank you, teacher. You have prepared me perfectly for the task at hand. I could not have asked for a more appropriate opponent.

  The plan takes only a half hour to come together, and we spend the next hour resting in the failing sunlight and nibbling dried Subterran mushrooms. At twilight we set off. I'm certain my plan is a good one. The only question is whether Baddock expects our return.

  CHAPTER 21

  Lupay snorts. "I can't stand this stupid thing. It's shoving hairs up my nose. I can barely breathe."

  "Just leave it on," I command. She falls silent. In the light of the waning full moon, Baddock would see us long before we get to the chapel without our black masks.

  Freda takes my hand, and I wish our gloves didn't separate our skin. "Dane, can I... walk with me for a moment. I have some questions about the plan."

  Two pairs of eyes floating in blackness follow us as we walk a little way into the deeper shadows. Her hand grips mine tight. I wonder what a kiss will feel like with these masks on, with only our lips touching and warm wool scratching our noses and chins. She stops and faces me, and I wait for her to pull me close.

  "I know why you've done it, Dane, and I appreciate that. It's sweet. And foolish. You need me to go with Tom."

  "Tom is smart. I showed them the layout. He recited it with his eyes closed. There's nothing to worry about." After the way I treated Freda in the bowels of the mountain, I can't split her off while I run into the woods with Lupay.

  "Dane. Come on. You know I should be there when the jail's door is opened." Her head tilts down so all I see is smooth, black fabric covering her hair. "And you know... you need
Lupay." She lifts her eyes to mine again, but without her brows, cheeks, nose, lips—without all the rest, I can't tell what she's feeling. "I'll only be a burden."

  "That's not—"

  "You know it's true."

  She's right. When the four of us split into pairs for our assault, Freda will slow me down. Worse, if it comes to fighting—and it will—this seamstress will probably get us both killed. I can't take Tom because killing may become necessary, and I don't think he'd do it. And, if I'm totally honest with myself, I don't know if I can trust Lupay out of my sight. She did well in our escape from Subterra, but that was her escape also. If she's going to kill Southshawans, better that she kill Baddock's thugs and not our friends locked up in the jail.

  "Of course you're right," I sigh. I squeeze her hands to reassure her, and to thank her.

  "The burdens of being First Wife are indeed difficult to bear," she says softly, finishing with a wry smile.

  "Some burdens, I hope, are somewhat less difficult," I whisper and then lean in and kiss her solid and hard. She seems surprised but kisses back. We linger only a moment before emerging from the shadows and coming back to the others.

  "Change of plan," I say softly, and I catch the shared glance between Tom and Lupay. "Freda will lead Tom to the jail. Lupay, you'll come with me."

  Both of the black-encased heads give a short, approving nod. Lupay stares at Freda. Again, without seeing her whole face, I can't tell what's in her mind. But she seems to regard Freda with a kind of respect.

  Tom says, "Time to go."

  My heart flutters with the familiar excitement of Baddock's training. He used to start all our survival and hunting games with those exact words. A hundred times over the years he said them, and a hundred times he got the better of me. Trapping me in a snare, catching me off guard, getting me to do myself in. Each time he defeated me in some new and clever way. I remember every defeat. Some even left scars on my body. Reminders of the lessons.

  We slink along a deer track, covering the half mile from our hiding place to the edge of the village in fifteen minutes. We pause within sight of the stables that connect the chapel to the Semper's house. "My house," I breathe. All the windows are dark, and silence covers the whole town.