Flood

by Brennan McPherson

  But Lamech had more to worry about. At the least, they needed a leather satchel, a thin, tarred covering, enough food to last a week, water skins, a hatchet, flint, and two sets of heavier sandals before they fled. He found the marketplace soon enough, bought the necessary items, trading silver for copper for wood for goods, and returned heavy laden to find the window of their room open. He crossed to it, peered inside, found the room empty and the door open, and felt his pulse pound.

  He had locked the door, hadn’t he? Now the memory was clouded. But as he jumped through the window, he found the door had been forced.

  His breaths came sharp and deep. He gazed at the surroundings for signs of footprints, struggle. There was nothing—nothing but the door.

  It didn’t make sense. If their room had been attacked, there must have been a struggle. But there was no evidence of one. In fact, it seemed nearly as if Elina had . . .

  Of course! He pressed his palms into his eyes and sucked at the air. She was a man-hunter. The only reason he had been able to track her before was because she had wanted him to track her. If she truly had left, she would only want him to think she had been attacked to give her enough time to get away on her wounded ankle. And wherever she was, she had Noah.

  He wanted to throw his new hatchet into the throat of that old crone who had made him paranoid. It was her fault that—

  Wait. The old crone. If she really could see the future, perhaps she knew where Elina was.

  He vaulted the windowsill and sprinted toward the herbalist’s home, passing the potter who glared before returning to her work, and the empty hunters’ lodge. The rest became a blur until he arrived and took the steps three per stride, bursting through the door to startled workers.

  His chest heaved, and he swallowed and said, “The herbalist. Where is she?”

  The teenager who’d brought flowers earlier pointed toward the back room and backed away, expression pallid. Lamech took a deep breath, laid his hands across his face, and tried to still the shaking.

  The workers were staring, but he waved them away. “I’m fine. Thank you. You can go back to your duties. I just need to ask the herbalist something.”

  “She doesn’t like being interrupted,” the young girl said, tone suspicious.

  “That’s fine, I just need a moment.” He left them for the darkened room of candle-flame and herb scents, but instead of finding the old woman bent over her work, he nearly stumbled into a cloaked man stooping over a crumpled heap on the floor. The man turned, and two eyes shone momentarily in the dark before the figure dashed past him out the doorway.

  “Hey!” Lamech called. “Stop!” He tried to grab the man’s cloak and just missed as the man sprinted past. The workers saw him as a shadow flitting like a bat out of the shop. They looked again at Lamech.

  Lamech returned to the herbalist’s room, adjusted the bag of supplies on his shoulder, took a candle from a stand, and lowered it to illuminate the shape on the floor.

  Orange light flickered over short legs, a thick torso, then the bird-bright eyes of the herbalist.

  They were open—and motionless.

  He backed away and dropped the candle just as one of the male workers entered the room. The worker lowered a light and knelt beside the herbalist, touching her chest. He turned to Lamech with a red face. “Did you do this?”

  “No,” Lamech said. “It was . . .” He pointed at the exit, but the worker stood and clutched Lamech’s wrist.

  “It wasn’t me. I—” But the man was not listening, and Lamech didn’t have time. Each moment was another step away from Noah.

  He snatched a jar within reach and smashed it over the worker’s head. The man cried out and fell back, knocking down a stack of shelving.

  Lamech leapt through the doorway and out of the shop, sprinting back toward the inn and pulling the hatchet from his bag.

  He heard yelling back at the shop, but he was gone before anyone could think to follow. He tore through the village, passing huddles of merchants arguing over prices and stolen goods, and the rest of the homes and shops.

  Upon returning to the inn, he entered the dank interior, spotted the innkeeper behind the small table beside the hearth, and grabbed his garment by the fist. “The woman I was with. Did you see her?”

  “Of course,” he said, stuttering, eyes flittering toward the hatchet.

  “Where is she?”

  “I make it my business not to ask travelers where they’re going.”

  “What do you remember seeing?”

  Sweat dripped into the innkeeper’s eye and he blinked hard and shook his head. “I’ve been busy caring for guests. I saw her leave with her two infants, and one of the men from the village.”

  Lamech’s grip tightened. “The boy is my son. Where was she going? Who was she with?”

  “One of the hunters, but I swear, she didn’t speak to me! I thought she was off to meet you.”

  Lamech thrust the innkeeper back, slipped the hatchet into his belt, and turned for the doorway just as two large men wearing leather protection entered, followed by one of the hunters, who pointed at Lamech. “That’s him.” The guards nodded and approached.

  Lamech’s stomach dropped as he realized Elina had not fled at all. She had been arrested. He threw a glance toward the windows but knew it was too late to run. He needed Noah, and he wouldn’t get Noah back by attempting to flee. Lamech said, “What’s going on?”

  The first guard clapped Lamech’s wrists and crossed them while the other tied them together.

  “What have I done, that you bind me?”

  “Quiet,” said the darker of the two. “We’ll see soon enough.”

  The hunter followed the guards who led Lamech outside. It only took a few moments for Lamech’s eyes to register another set of guards holding Elina, whose wrists were bound. Jade and Noah were gone.

  “Where are our children?” Lamech said, and began fighting the viselike hands on his shoulders.

  “They are safe, for now,” said the hunter, sneering.

  “I demand to know what my family is being accused of,” Lamech said.

  “Don’t, Lamech,” Elina said, eyes warning.

  The hunter laughed. “As if you don’t know.” He pointed. “The bag, check it and you will find the weapon, every bit of proof you need to know these are the ones.”

  One of the guards slipped Lamech’s bag off his shoulder and began rummaging through it as Lamech’s mind ran through the events of the past few minutes. The empty room, the cloaked man standing over the dead herbalist.

  Sweat matted the hunter’s hair and beaded across his skin.

  Lamech said, “You’re trying to accuse me of murdering the herbalist?”

  The hunter’s eyes flashed, and his smile widened. “I didn’t say anything about the herbalist, so how would you—”

  “Because I just found her dead in her shop at the feet of a man in a black cloak.”

  The hunter’s smile dulled. “Convenient story. Might I ask what were you doing there?”

  “Ask the workers,” Lamech said. “They saw the man flee just after I entered the herbalist’s room.” Perhaps it had been his workmate. The hunters’ lodge had been empty when he passed it to go to the herbalist’s.

  “Here it is,” said the guard rummaging through Lamech’s bag. He pulled his fist out of the bag and held up the dagger. “And the ring too.”

  “Give them here,” said the largest man, who seemed to be a soldier, for he wore a sword at his side.

  The guard offered the soldier the dagger and the jeweled ring, and the soldier held them up in the light, examining their make. “For once, Jamal,” the soldier said, “you speak truth.”

  The hunter smiled and shook his head. “When have I ever done otherwise, Kellin?”

  “Accusing innocents of murder is a serious crime,” Kellin said. “One we hope no one ever commits in this village. I had every reason to doubt you, but this—I must admit, it is significant.”

 
“And my money,” Jamal said. “I want back the money they stole.”

  Kellin held up his hand. “I have not heard back from my guard on whether the woman is dead. Even if she is, his presence at the herbalist’s home does not prove a crime. This knife bears no markings, no proof of being used.”

  “What does that matter?” Jamal asked. “It proves who they are. Would you trust known murderers over me?”

  Kellin circled Lamech, examining his clothing. “No blood on his bag. No freshly splattered clothing. If he murdered the herbalist moments ago, he’s the cleanest murderer I’ve encountered. And the infants bother me. What reasons could push a man and woman with young infants to murder an herbalist?”

  “Clearly the infants are meant to conceal their motives in moments like these,” Jamal said, and his expression darkened.

  Another guard came running, out of breath. “It’s true. The herbalist is dead. The workers found her just after this man here”—he indicated Lamech—“visited her in the back room. He fled moments after, and struck one of the workers unconscious.”

  “Hah! You see?” Jamal said.

  Kellin addressed the newcomer. “Mahalel, how long ago did they say this man fled?”

  “Only moments before I arrived at the herbalist’s shop. He had only just made it out of sight, otherwise I would have pursued him.”

  Kellin stared at Mahalel. “Did you touch her body?”

  “What?”

  “Did you feel the dead woman’s skin?”

  “Well, yes. I had to make sure she had not merely fainted.”

  “And?”

  “I am absolutely certain she was dead.”

  “How did you know?”

  “She was cold!”

  Kellin grew quiet and after a moment’s thought said, “Mahalel,” and pointed at the hunter.

  Mahalel drew his eyebrows together and cocked his head. “You are sure?”

  “No,” Kellin said. “And that is precisely why we must.”

  Mahalel nodded and grabbed Jamal, twisting his wrists as a second guard approached with rope to bind him.

  “Wait,” Jamal said. “What are you doing?”

  “None of this is to my liking,” Kellin said, “but do you not think it strange that the herbalist’s body was cold? This supposed murderer’s garb and weapon are clean, and yet he only just visited the herbalist’s home.”

  “He killed her hours ago!” Jamal said, his face reddening.

  “The workers only just found her body moments ago. You knew of the murder earlier,” Kellin continued. “Why? What reason did you have to be at the herbalist’s home?”

  Lamech recalled the image of the man in black and realized he had not seen a weapon. Perhaps the man had killed her at some more convenient time and dragged her body through a back entrance to where it might have been found at the opportune time. But whoever had done it had lingered too long, and Lamech had found him.

  “I can’t believe you’d trust assassins over me!”

  “I don’t,” Kellin said. “But I will find out who is responsible—of that you can be certain. I may have been sent only a few months ago to help protect this village from the expansion of the war, but I have not spent my days with eyes closed and ears stopped.”

  Jamal’s face seemed ready to melt, or tear.

  Piercing screams echoed across the village, reverberating off the mud-brick buildings, whipping everyone’s heads. People yelled, and iron clanged against iron.

  “What is it now?” Kellin said, but as the words leapt from his mouth, a woman screamed, “The devils! They’ve come for us!”

  All the color drained from Kellin’s face, and his mouth twitched. He tossed Elina’s ring and dagger and said, “Forget the prisoners. We fight or die. Mahalel, gather everyone you can find capable of holding a weapon and join me. Enosh, make sure the innocents are barricaded in the safest of places. Go!”

  The guards scattered, and as Elina’s support disappeared and she was forced to put weight on her wounded ankle, she crumpled to the ground. Jamal’s eyes locked on Elina, and as the guards disappeared, Jamal made for her. Lamech loped after, attempting to stop him, but Jamal reached Elina first.

  Lamech nearly cried out to warn her, but like a bolt of lightning, Elina twisted around and thrust her good heel into Jamal’s nose. Before Lamech fully realized what was happening, Jamal clutched at his face with bound hands. Elina delivered a final blow into the center of his chest, and he crumpled in an unconscious heap, blood trickling from his nostrils.

  It took a moment for Lamech’s shock to wane as Elina grabbed her knife from the ground and awkwardly sawed off her bindings.

  Then he remembered. “Noah and Jade. Where are they?”

  “The potter is caring for them.” Elina’s voice was cold and precise, and Lamech was happier than ever to know they fought for the same goal. She motioned for him to lower his hands, and she cut his bindings. “If we don’t go soon, they’ll likely barricade themselves beyond our reach. I can’t believe the devils are actually here.”

  Lamech grabbed his bag, swung it around his neck, and draped one of Elina’s arms around his shoulders. He felt a sickening weight in his gut at the thought that the herbalist’s oracle had been true, that she had died as a result of her own vision.

  Is that why she had been so afraid? Had she known she would die?

  “Is your walking stick there?”

  “No,” Elina said.

  “We’ll find something for you.”

  “Is that why you stole my ring?”

  He nodded.

  She did not respond, but he knew by the temperature of her silence that she understood and appreciated what he had done.

  In that moment, he determined never to tell her about his dreams, or the potential prophecy that hung over Noah. He could not admit that staying with Elina could endanger her. And yet, if what he’d been told about Noah was true, it very likely would.

  From behind came startled yells and the sickening sounds of battle. Even still, as they made their way to the potter’s house, Lamech couldn’t stop himself from thinking of Elina’s arm draped over his shoulder, and her slender hands, strong when pressed, yet in appearance, so lovely.

  Excitement stabbed his chest, but when he saw her unyielding expression, the excitement gave way to shame. How could he think of such things when Noah lay in the arms of another?

  My boy. I’m coming for you!

  Rounding a corner, they saw the open doorway of the potter’s home, but as they entered, it was silent. They checked every room, but the home was empty.

  Panic struck as they exited and checked the next home, finding that empty too.

  The guards had done their job, and the women and children had responded faster than Lamech thought possible. Then again, these people had lived on the edge of fear, even receiving soldiers to help prepare for war.

  As Lamech helped Elina hobble to the third home, the potter peered out from behind a slatted window and motioned them inside.

  “Quick, you fools!” she said.

  A door opened and Lamech helped Elina inside.

  The potter closed the slats over the window and shut the door behind them, blocking most of the daylight. Lamech noticed myriad shapes moving through the shadows. A huddle of woman gathered, their bodies blocking the light from candles around the room. A few children stared wide-eyed at the strangers, and as his eyes adjusted, he saw the potter approach, holding Jade.

  She offered the girl to Lamech, but he shook his head and said, “Jade is Elina’s daughter. Please, where is my son? Where is Noah?”

  “Noah? A strange name for times such as these,” the potter said, her eyes every bit as shrewd as they had been when they first met. “It means ‘relief from the struggle,’ yes?”

  Lamech nodded.

  “My cousin is feeding him in the other room,” she said.

  Lamech closed his eyes and felt relief flood his throat. “Thank you,” he said. “And thank her too.�
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  “As soon as she is done feeding the boy, you will leave,” the potter said. “Immediately. I do not care where you go, or whether you are wounded.” She glared at Elina. “I knew when you first came that you would bring the Others upon us.”

  Lamech thought of the dreams and the herbalist’s prophetic words. “We will go. We never intended harm. But for our children, we would stay and fight with you.”

  The potter nodded, though her expression remained hard. “But you are not childless.”

  “No,” Elina said. “We are not.”

  Elina reached for Jade with her free arm, and the potter passed her. She sat on Elina’s forearm and clung to her neck with red, puffy eyes.

  Lamech wrung his hands, trying to keep from entering the next room to snatch Noah and hold him close. It didn’t matter if she had treated him with more tenderness than he had yet been shown. All he could think of was his son in the hands of a stranger, and he vowed to never let it happen again.

  Even as he knew he ever failed to keep his vows.

  Chapter 31

  The God-King bent forward on hands and knees just outside the village Noah and Lamech had stayed in, his mind split between waking reality and the ever-flowing Waters of Time. He could sense Noah in that spiritual plane, a massive weight lifting the Waters like a fallen moon.

  As his soldiers entered the village, the pressure lessened. He closed his eyes, wiped away the half-images, and sighed. The family was fleeing, just as he needed them to.

  As soon as he felt the boy’s father connect with that old herbalist, the strands of the Light Bringer’s glorious future immediately had begun to unravel.

  How could he have known the woman was a follower of the Old Way?

  Now he would need to double his search for the faithful, because if any of them were allowed too much time with the boy, everything would collapse. He would kill them all. He would slaughter them and drip their blood upon the walls of every home.

  But for the time being, his plan had succeeded. All that was left was to keep the strange little family moving. Keep the fear of death always in their minds, so that they would never become moored in true community.