Your Brother's Blood: The Walkin': Book 1 (The Walkin' Trilogy)

by David Towsey

  ‘With a couple of sheaves of hay and some soggy vegetables? Not bad.’

  She put it from her mind. Caleb’s business was his own.

  ‘Will you be open tomorrow?’ he said.

  Sarah glanced down Main. Caleb wasn’t just asking for himself, but for the whole town. And he’d tell them whatever she said. It would have to happen some time. Or she could pay someone else to do it. She could imagine what her father would have said about that, let alone people like Ma McDermott or the clucking mothers as they took their children to school. Her choice was leave or carry on. And there was washing to put away.

  ‘Yes, I’ll be open.’

  ‘Can you do something for me?’ Caleb said. ‘Will you come to my house one evening this week?’

  ‘What for?’ she said.

  ‘Company.’

  *

  It was raining. Luke’s blankets were soaked. The fire had been reduced to a wet mound of ash. It wasn’t heavy rain – the kind that might have woken them. Instead, it was a persistent drizzle that managed to seep right through clothes with surprising ease. He checked his copy of the Good Book. The cover was damp, but the pages had been spared. When they packed away their blankets, he hid the book as deep in his saddlebags as he could. Nobody said a word as they broke camp. The mood seemed as colourless as the day. The clouds that covered the sky were a uniform grey; none of the impressive or ominous black thunder-heads Luke associated with rain.

  The shaggies were equally as unhappy with the rain. Luke hadn’t thought it possible, but they seemed to amble even more slowly across the Redlands. He expected the ground to turn to mud or quagmire almost instantly; but it just drank the water. There was less dust, which was a blessing, though there were definitely more insects today. The Lord giveth …

  Samuel sauntered his shaggie alongside. ‘No raincoat?’

  Luke hadn’t noticed the others were all wearing oiled coats. His cassock was heavy. He could wring out the sleeves and fill a water-skin or two.

  ‘I didn’t think it rained in the Redlands,’ Luke said.

  ‘We’re getting near the mountains.’ Samuel nodded to the horizon, where rounded triangles edged towards the sky. From so far away they looked small, like a child’s toy. They were still a welcome sight. Luke had grown tired of the flat, barren, and seemingly endless Redlands. They had little to offer a man beyond solitude; and that was not an option. ‘You can have my coat.’

  The offer was kind. But it was Luke’s fault for not being prepared. For being hasty. He had packed a lot less food than the others. He was fortunate his Lent fasting had prepared him for meagre meals. And besides, he was already drenched.

  ‘Thank you, Samuel, but the Lord gives us rain. I will not deny Him.’

  Samuel suddenly looked uncomfortable in his coat.

  ‘You listen when I read from the Good Book,’ Luke said.

  ‘Of course. Ma makes sure I never miss a sermon.’

  Luke smiled. He had a congregation of one; it was a start. ‘I’m glad to have such a devout man by my side. You will be a great aid in the battle against the devil’s spawn.’

  ‘They are my family.’

  ‘Were,’ Luke said.

  ‘Were my family.’

  The Law-Man and the Gravekeeper rode in front of Luke. They were little more than twenty paces ahead, but he could barely see them. They were talking, most likely in hushed tones. They did that often, thinking Luke didn’t notice. But he did. He noticed a lot of things about those two. They schemed brazenly in front of him, Nathaniel whispering deceit and cowardice into Bellis’s bendable ear. But Luke was vigilant. He had to make sure Bellis would do the right thing, when the time came.

  He watched the rain drip from their hats. Luke’s own head was bare, his hair flattened. His glasses were almost unusable. He had to wipe at them constantly and peer between rivulets. His face was slick. Rain seemed to gather at the clumps of hair on his cheeks and jaw. He hated not being able to shave. An unmarried man should have an unmarried face. It itched. When he scratched, a small wave of water rushed down his wrist. It was cold. All for want of a hat.

  As well as mountains, the distance held a strangely joyous sight: grass. From so far away, it was simply a change in colour. From the parched ground that gave the Redlands its name to a washed-out, yellow-stained green. It was bone-grass. He didn’t relish the thought of a prolonged trek through the stuff. It stuck to everything.

  He had a sudden flash of memory – a woollie with bone-grass in its mouth. The single blade was broken, just below the head. He couldn’t remember where he’d seen the woollie, but it was so vivid. He should have been able to recall the touch of its fluffy coat or the sound of its soft bleating. Instead, he could only picture the bone-grass. He was no farmer – when had he been close enough to a woollie to touch it?

  They still had a handful of miles to cover before they’d be out of the Redlands proper. Luke wouldn’t miss the clinging dust, or the hard ground when it came to sleeping. He wouldn’t miss the cold night wind or the wide open views that made a man feel worthless. The humility was important, but it sapped a soul of purpose. He had the Good Lord’s work to do. All the things he wouldn’t miss he would be reacquainted with on the return journey. There was that to look forward to.

  The rain continued throughout the afternoon. Even if they had a mind to talk the downpour discouraged it. There was a church’s distance between each of them.

  Bellis’s shaggie reared up.

  He was riding through a small gully, a few feet below the rest of them. He fell from the saddle. The shaggie whinnied – a shrill, metallic sound. There was a deep growling bark that juddered like a chair scraping across a wooden floor. Luke couldn’t see Bellis. He tried to steer his mount that way, but the shaggie’s ears were flat and it was determined on the other direction. The others were similarly struggling. They dismounted and ran to the gully.

  3 : 9

  Bellis was on his back. A red-wink crouched, just striking distance away. It was big. Its shoulders were bunched, its muzzle lowered and snarling. Teeth flashed – they were large enough for rain to drip from them. Or maybe it was spittle. The animal was a mix of greys and browns, its thick fur flattened in the rain. Luke touched his own hair. The red-wink barked. Luke flinched.

  ‘Don’t shoot it,’ Bellis yelled. Luke glanced over, noticing Nathaniel’s rifle for the first time. The Gravekeeper had the stock braced against his shoulder. He lowered it, but looked ready to whip it back into place and fire in the same motion. Bellis edged sideways. The red-wink lunged, snapping at his foot but missing. Bellis stayed still. There was another sound – a yapping. It came from behind Bellis.

  ‘Fire, Nathaniel,’ Luke said.

  ‘But, what if—’

  ‘No!’ Bellis said.

  ‘Shoot.’

  The Gravekeeper hesitated.

  Luke took the rifle. Nathaniel offered no resistance, too surprised. Luke fired. He didn’t think. He barely breathed as he aimed and pulled the trigger. The red-wink yelped and staggered. He had hit it high on the shoulder. It tried to stand, shuffling unevenly, until it fell to the ground. Its last breath was like a sigh, loud enough to be heard over the rain.

  Bellis stood awkwardly. When he reached the group he snatched the rifle from Luke. It was so heavy in his hands, Luke almost dropped it at the Law-Man’s feet.

  ‘It was just protecting its young,’ Bellis said, handing the rifle back to Nathaniel.

  Luke started to shake. He had never fired a gun before. The feeling of it ghosted from his hands all along his arms. He might have missed, or worse. He could have killed Bellis. Luke had no idea why he had taken the rifle. It was a compulsion. The Good Lord moved through him – guiding his hands and his aim. There was nothing else to account for it. His shot was miraculous. He was truly an agent of the Good Lord.

  The Law-Man rubbed his back. He was stooping badly.

  ‘Can you ride?’ Nathaniel said.

  ‘I’ll have
to.’

  ‘You look hurt, Bellis. We can’t carry on with you like that.’

  ‘We must,’ Luke said. ‘The Good Lord wills it.’

  Bellis grimaced. ‘We’re getting closer. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Then we should at least rest for a while.’

  ‘And let them get away? Is that it, Nathaniel?’ Luke said.

  Bellis shook his head.

  Nathaniel and Samuel dragged the red-wink away from the gully. The shaggies didn’t like it, but eventually the carcass was hauled up and secured. They wouldn’t waste fresh meat, Bellis assured Luke. But he wouldn’t eat the red-wink. He might not eat for the rest of his life, safe in the knowledge the Good Lord watched over him.

  ‘I always figured red-winks were red,’ Samuel said.

  ‘The Redlands,’ Nathaniel replied, his arms wide in a circle. ‘A harsh place.’ He cast a wary glance at Luke.

  They rode off to the sound of young throats keening for their mother.

  *

  Sarah left the shop, stopping on the board-walk to look up at the stars. The sky was clear and cold. She pulled her wool hat over her ears and hugged her coat closer. The walk to Caleb’s would warm her, get her blood flowing. She left behind the lamps and candles of Main and headed out of town.

  She wondered if Mary was warm tonight. Sarah focused on her feet, making sure she didn’t trip on the rough track. The sky had clouded over by the time she arrived at Caleb’s. The big house stood watchful, presiding over the fields. The wind washed through the bone-grass. The clouds promised rain.

  She knocked on the door. Caleb lived with his wife, Susanna, but no children. It was a shame, but the way of things. They accepted this absence in their lives and the majority of the town followed their example. They lived solely on the ground floor, which had two spare bedrooms. Susanna kept the whole place clean and tidy. Behind the house were Caleb’s stables. He hired help for the farming.

  Susanna opened the door.

  ‘Sarah, so nice to see you,’ she said. She was a heavy-set woman, but not unpleasantly so, and her smile was warm and sincere. She was taller than Sarah and Caleb.

  ‘Mrs Williams.’ She took off her hat and wiped her feet.

  Susanna’s shoes clacked against the polished wood floor. ‘You’ll forgive the mess,’ she said, smiling back at Sarah. The hallway was immaculate. Two coats hung on a stand. A walking stick leant against the wall. A large mirror was the only item on the dresser. She didn’t look in it.

  Susanna reached the big stairs and stopped. ‘He’s upstairs, on the back balcony.’

  Sarah hesitated.

  ‘Upstairs?’

  ‘He’s taken to the view. Are you hungry?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’m just fine.’

  ‘Well, he’s got some bits to chew on. Though I don’t approve of the wine,’ Susanna said.

  ‘Wine?’

  ‘It’s a right on the landing, down the corridor, second bedroom on the left. It’s a double, with big doors. They’ll be open.’

  Sarah climbed the stairs. In all the years she had known Caleb, she couldn’t recall ever going upstairs. Long rugs covered the landing and corridor. They were soft with strange swirling patterns. If that weren’t shocking enough, there were paintings on the walls. Paintings. Men and women posing in foreign-looking landscapes. The surfaces were rough, the paint obscenely bulging off the paper.

  There was a naked woman. Sarah looked away, but was drawn back to the picture. This woman was sprawled on a luxurious chair, every bit of her on display. She looked out with an expression of utter contempt. Her black hair spiralled ridiculously straight up. Somehow, she was judging Sarah. She hurried past.

  Caleb was sitting in a rocking chair, his large frame at ease. A low table and another chair were beside him.

  ‘You could be in big trouble, Caleb.’

  ‘We’re all in trouble, Sarah. Stop preaching and sit down.’

  On the table was a board with cheese and biscuits, and a plain bottle of dark red liquid. She’d thought Susanna was making fun of her.

  ‘Paintings, Caleb? Paintings? How? Why?’

  ‘Why not?’ The farmer poured her a glass of wine before she could say no.

  ‘Because they’re forbidden.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you’d brought your braids, dear girl,’ Caleb said.

  ‘What if the Elder found out?’

  ‘He knows. Christ, he has more than I do.’

  Sarah stared in disbelief. She drank some wine. It burnt, stung, and soothed all at the same time. She felt a little dizzy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had wine – possibly at her wedding. Caleb rocked gently back and forth. The balcony looked out over the stables and onto the fields that rose up behind the house. The smell of shaggies was thick and sweet. It was dark, the clouds blocking the night sky. Sarah wrapped her coat tighter.

  ‘I picked them up from the river traders over the years,’ Caleb said.

  ‘What about the Pastor?’ She sounded like a child, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t believe her friend.

  ‘That zealot? Of course he doesn’t know.’

  ‘He might find out.’

  ‘His nose is so jammed in the Good Book he can’t see past the cover,’ Caleb said.

  ‘He sees more than you think. Why risk it?’

  ‘Are you going to talk about paintings all night? What pleasures do we have, Sarah? Our wives or husbands? Our work? I’ll take a little extra to that; to hell with the consequences.’

  ‘To hell,’ Sarah said.

  Caleb sipped his wine.

  ‘You’re one to be righteous,’ he said quietly.

  Sarah didn’t answer.

  ‘They say your sight goes when you get to my age. But a young woman like you? I expect you can see in the dark better than under-mutton. Even if frightened.’

  Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. She picked up her glass and drained it.

  ‘He was the best farm hand I ever had, that Thomas.’

  Sarah filled her glass.

  ‘Though I doubt he’d manage the traps these days. Death makes the fingers stiff.’

  ‘Enough!’

  The chirp of grinders seemed to pulse, coming in waves. Tears were gathering at the edge of her eyes.

  ‘I knew it was Thomas that took Mary, from that very first day. It was all over you. It still is,’ Caleb said.

  ‘What was I supposed to do?’

  ‘Some would say the same as the Peekmans. But not me. I like my paintings.’ Caleb raised his glass in his fat fingers. ‘You see, we’re all in trouble.’

  She had known she couldn’t fool everyone. But enough people believed her – most likely because they didn’t want to think of another Barkley boy as a Walkin’. Both of them were quiet for a while.

  ‘The Pastor is making noises about where Mary should be buried – if she’s found,’ Caleb said. ‘The McDermott plot or your family’s? I can try to help.’

  Sarah didn’t answer for a long time. Caleb was asking her to think on things she had been avoiding. But what did it matter? Thomas would keep Mary safe. This was just another part of the lie. ‘McDermott,’ she said.

  ‘Her Pa ain’t there.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I reckon there’s no reason she should be.’

  ‘She’s not dead,’ she snapped.

  Caleb looked at her. ‘No, they’re not.’

  *

  Sarah thudded her way down the stairs. Her head felt fuzzy. The wine scorched through her veins, burning a trail across her forehead. She clutched the banister. Susanna was waiting at the bottom.

  ‘Are you all right, Sarah?’

  ‘Fine, thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Was Caleb … all right? He’s been spending a lot of time up there. Thinking, he says.’

  ‘Oh, yes, he’s been thinking.’

  ‘I’m worried about him,’ Susanna said.

  ‘So am I.’ That was the wrong answer; Susanna frowned. ‘
He’ll be fine,’ Sarah added lamely.

  Bidding Susanna farewell, she stepped out into the night. She felt the light pat of rain on her back. The further she went the heavier it got.

  She trudged down the tracks, stumbling in and out of puddles. Caleb had changed. He never used to think things over; he’d joke and smile instead. Caleb would keep her secret, as she would keep Caleb’s. And learning that the Elder had paintings. It had been a strange evening.

  She came to the graveyard. The small patch of ground Nathaniel Courie tended, earning him reverence from all those who couldn’t face the job.

  ‘Gravekeeper Courie,’ she said, spreading her arms in a grand gesture. He was somewhere out there now. Looking for Mary. Wanting to bring her back here to bury. She lurched between the headstones, from one family plot to another.

  She stood at Thomas’s headstone. Tears mixed with the rain; warm with the cold. She sniffed hard.

  ‘Hello, Thomas,’ she said. She stamped the ground with her foot. ‘Empty, see?’

  She craned her head back.

  ‘So where are you?’

  The rain washed down her face.

  3 : 10

  Tell the righteous it will be well with them, for they will enjoy the fruit of their deeds.

  Isaiah

  BOOK 4

  4 : 1

  Ahead of Luke the ground rose into a set of craggy hills. Their tips were sharp and looked rusty. The Redlands seemed to flow smoothly towards the hills and then suddenly crumple. It was an angry part of the landscape, like the crusted lines that crossed his palms.

  Bellis and Nathaniel rode close together. They were talking; Bellis gestured at the hills. This part of the Redlands seemed an ideal place for an evil creature to hide; without the honesty of a wide open space. Was the Gravekeeper trying to divert them? Suggesting they skirt around the hills? He would waste their time and let the creatures escape. Luke urged his shaggie forward.

  ‘What is it?’ he said.

  ‘You can’t see?’ Bellis replied.

  ‘See what?’