Dead Willow

by Joe Sharp

  Then, there was the make-up.

  It was always appreciated when the Paladin concealed their clan nature in public. Some of them had more to hide than others, and Crystal had less to hide than most. She often went without a base and instead wore a high collar with a shawl to cover the sides and back of her neck. A tiny spot of blush and pair of gloves and she could easily be taken for a Bellwether. If only she had the hues to make it official.

  Crystal had imagined being a Bellwether as long as she could remember. It was a young girl’s fantasy, and Crystal was no longer young in years. But she sometimes imagined pilfering a blue bonnet off of a clothesline and squirreling it away in her home. She could sneak it out in the dead of night and for a few minutes she would be a Bellwether in front of her mirror.

  She had never done it, of course. It was a fantasy, not a death wish.

  Crystal would have to settle for being in the proximity of greatness. She could endure a little boot-licking if necessary. She straightened the frill of her bonnet to frame her face. Just a touch of blush, not too much. She looked like a scrubbed faced little girl, nothing that anyone could find threatening. Eunice had made the overture; now it was time to see which opera they were singing.

  This is your destiny.

  9:01 PM

  “How old are you, child?”

  Eunice had caught her by surprise. It wasn’t so much the boldness of her query as it was the vagueness. This was a question not often asked in polite society, as there were two answers, and one of them was a burden to some. Crystal was a young woman of twenty-two, and she had never wished it to be different. But, there were others …

  Perhaps Eunice could sense the wheels of doubt spinning in Crystal’s head, because she tried a different tack.

  “What I mean to say is, when did you come to us?”

  “Oh,” said Crystal. Seems it was the other question that Eunice was asking. “It was the summer of ‘57.”

  Eunice seemed genuinely surprised by that answer. “You’ve been with us so long?” She was crossing behind where Crystal was sitting and stopped. “You’ve been here that long and were never called? Astonishing!”

  Crystal let her tongue slip.

  “Never called for what, Madame?” she blurted. Her hand went to her mouth. “I’m sorry, Madame. I meant no disrespect.”

  She lowered her eyes as Eunice came around in front of her.

  “Nonsense, child,” Eunice assured her. “You have not been disrespectful; you have been infinitely patient.”

  Then Eunice reached for the other padded chair that sat in front of her desk and pulled it around to face Crystal. As she eased down into the chair, Crystal’s heart skipped a beat.

  This was it! The image in her head and the image before her eyes were coming together, like two pieces of a puzzle. Would the puzzle reveal what she had been waiting for her whole life? Would the floodgates open and pour answers on Crystal as she had prayed? Or, would it just bring more questions?

  She bit her lower lip as Eunice leaned in. Crystal could smell the woman’s soap, and wondered if she had rendered the tallow by hand. Eunice took in a deep breath.

  “Child …” Eunice caught herself. “I call you child, but you are not a child, are you?”

  “No, Madame,” said Crystal demurely.

  “Well,” said Eunice, patting her knee, “rightly or not, I still think of you as one, and when even the youngest of us is hurting, it injures the whole.”

  Crystal had no idea that Eunice thought of her at all.

  When even the youngest of us is hurting …

  “Do you mean me, Madame?”

  “No, child,” said Eunice sadly, shaking her head. “There is another. He is the youngest of us … and, he needs your help.”

  The youngest of us?

  “But … but I am the youngest … I have seen every marker in Weeping Gardens …”

  “The marker no longer exists … but, the infant still does.”

  Infant? There was a baby in Willow Tree?

  “But, how is that possible? Who is this child?”

  Eunice waved away the question.

  “Its name is of no importance.” Then, she looked deeply at Crystal. “What is important, is that this child cannot be.”

  The child had gone from being a he to being an it. The look in Crystal’s eyes was apparent; she was being filled with information, but with no frame of reference. A child, here, in Willow Tree, that could not be here in Willow Tree? Eunice was burdening Crystal with a great secret, but why? What was she to do with this knowledge?

  “But if the child cannot exist, then why has the tree sent it to us?”

  “The tree is testing us,” the woman answered, and then leaned back in her chair. “It is testing you.”

  “Me? But why me?” Crystal protested. “What have I done?”

  Eunice spread her hands. “We do not always know, but we always do. It is a sacred honor to which you have been called. What is your answer?”

  There it was. Her singular moment had come down to a single decision, born of a single word. She had wanted this all of her life, and now that it was here, she just wanted it taken back. She could go back to waiting; she was good at that. This … well, she didn’t even know what this was.

  “So, I am to raise this child? I would be its mother?” The word felt strange coming out of her mouth. How could she do it if she could barely say it?

  Eunice’s countenance fell, and Crystal feared she had said the wrong thing. She was right.

  “You have misunderstood, dear. This child cannot be raised. It will never grow beyond its tiny form, just as you will never grow beyond your youthful appearance. It is eternally an infant, and as such, an abomination.”

  Crystal knew the word from some long ago memory, but she had never heard it used in Willow Tree. It spoke of an evil of biblical proportions, but Eunice spoke of a child. How? How could the two be used in the same breath?

  Crystal’s chin quivered as a tremor rippled through her. The fine hairs on her arms rose up and her eyes began to mist. She saw the dark cloud looming in the distance.

  This is your destiny.

  “Madame … what am I to do?” she asked, knowing now that only the answer could save her.

  “When the youngest of us is hurting, it injures the whole.” said Eunice again, and this time, she spoke the rest.

  “You have to give it back to the tree.”

  11:14 PM

  The worms were on the move.

  Crystal followed them through the dark dirt. She stepped off of the cobblestone walkway and traced the worms path between the gravestones with her lantern. They glistened like starlight on a rippling pond. She had never seen them this active, wriggling in and out of the soil, stopping at each marker to sniff and poke. They seemed to know that there was nothing dead in this cemetery.

  Eunice had stayed behind with the Hatchet watchman. There was some contention about who was ultimately in charge of this expedition, so Crystal was given a lantern and sent on ahead.

  It was like walking through a black sky.

  She could feel the dark loam squish between her toes with each step. Barefoot was the only way the tree would allow her to pass, the only way it could recognize one of its own children. It also served to remind them of their origins. The worms were like family.

  They corkscrewed through the topsoil, drawn by the scent of new life. Crystal shined her lantern straight ahead along their path, passed the last few headstones, until she saw the small, lonely bump in the dirt.

  Beauregard.

  Crystal had asked again and Eunice had relented. She didn’t know why it was so important to her to know the name of this child. Perhaps she felt that no one should have to leave this life without a name. She had a bit of memory of things being said as a person was laid in the soil, and their name was spoken. That responsibility might fall to her. Or, maybe she knew that in the dark nights ahead she would remember this child. She might be the only perso
n on earth who did, and his name would be a touchstone.

  His name.

  Crystal’s thought processes were undergoing some kind of evolution. Thinking of this child as a child was obviously not encouraged. Eunice had been reluctant to even name him, and refused to give Crystal any background about the child. Who were his parents? Did they reside in Willow Tree? Why was he interred here?

  Eunice said that knowing too much would make it harder for Crystal to do what was necessary. That made a lot of sense, but Crystal still wanted to know.

  As she approached the bump, she could see it turn in the soil, turned by the roots to which it was attached. The main umbilical root entered at the base of the skull and served as a lifeline for what was grown. All the nutrients from the tree and the soil flowed through this conduit, and it grew with the organism until it was mature.

  But, according to Eunice, this organism would never mature. It would be an eternal drain on Willow Tree society. Food and resources and personnel would be expended just to keep this child in existence, with no expectation of a return for those efforts. But that wasn’t the worst part.

  If the child were seen, it could attract unwanted attention from those agencies obsessed with child welfare. Once the government was involved the child would be watched carefully, and in no time they would realize that Baby Beau was not developing. They would get their hands on him and try to force growth through vitamins and minerals and other chemicals. When he showed no growth in the months under their care, fear would start to descend, and scared scientists were dangerous scientists. Willow Tree could find itself under a microscope, and what would be seen would not be understood.

  For Willow Tree, privacy was sacred, and this was a necessary evil.

  For some reason, this did not make Crystal feel better. She stepped lightly through the soil until she was standing over the mound in the dirt. She looked at the child and he was perfectly formed. His eyes were open and he looked up at her curiously, his little hands clapping together and grabbing at the dirt around him. He turned his head to the side for a moment and Crystal could see the main root was starting to detach, its edges black and decaying. Crystal had seen this many times before on her already mature friends and neighbors during the harvest cycle. She had only to sever the root from their heads, and they would begin to breath on their own. She had never had to sever one so young.

  As she bent down to pick him out of the soil, the child made a sound. It was a soft gurgling sound, and the child smiled when he did it.

  Crystal felt something in her chest give way.

  Suddenly, she wanted very much to be holding this infant in her arms. She scooped her hand under the back of his head and pulled the root free. The end crumbled to dust and the root curled back into the dirt. She drew the child into her arms, snapping off the tiny shoots that had attached themselves to his arms and legs. Brushing away the soil, she felt the tears come, and the fear came with them.

  Crystal looked over her shoulder at the tiny silhouettes of Eunice and the Hatchet standing at the edge of the cemetery. They could not know of this, she thought. They would never understand. Crystal did not understand these feelings, and she was at the center of it.

  She brought a hand to her eyes and wiped them dry. She could not let Eunice see her crying, and the Hatchet were everywhere. Weeping Gardens was Hatchet domain, and they roamed the cemetery like angry ghosts. Suddenly she felt eyes on her from every shadow.

  Crystal made her way slowly back to where Eunice stood waiting. Her eyes darted in every direction, but she knew she would never see the Hatchet if they did not wish to be seen. Not until it was too late. She stopped before Eunice and put on her most impersonal face. The woman studied her curiously.

  “Was there trouble, child?”

  “No, Madame,” she answered, trying not to look at the little thing in her arms. She knew that to look would betray her.

  Eunice nodded and turned to the Hatchet guide. “Lead on, Marshall.”

  Marshall led them along the edge of the cemetery to the side opposite the rusty gate. Crystal saw other Hatchet on the grave side of the wrought iron fence, lingering and watching accusingly. How many had seen her cry, and what would they do to her? The baby cooed and wriggled in her arms as if he were making a home for himself, and Crystal wanted that as well. Somewhere along the path, she had accepted what was happening to her heart. She would not let the child go.

  But, what was the plan here? Would she run? Flee back down the path with the child in her arms? And go where? Home? To wait for them to hunt her down and rip the child from her dead hands?

  Or, would they leave Willow Tree? How could they? Crystal was not even Bellwether; she wouldn’t last a day past the next cycle. She didn’t even know what clan Beau sprang from, but she knew she would be condemning them both to death. That really was the choice, wasn’t it? A slow agonizing death or a mercifully quick one.

  This is your destiny.

  The smell of the reclamation center crept into her nostrils and she clutched the baby closer. Crystal trembled with indecision and she was crying again and she didn’t care who saw it. She felt the presence of more Hatchet behind her and she knew they were passed the point of no return.

  Beau’s tiny hands grabbed at the air playfully, and Crystal placed her finger in them. The child pulled the finger into his toothless mouth and nibbled on it. Eunice watched the exchange with a stone face. She seemed to be expecting this, or perhaps, counting on it. Crystal wouldn’t have time to ruminate on this, as they had reached the gate to the reclamation facility and were being ushered in. When the iron gate clanged shut, the Hatchet soldiers backed away, fading into the shadows again. Time for the Paladin to take control.

  “And what have you brought us this night?”

  The voice was welcoming and amiable, like a preacher at a Sunday social, and Crystal wanted to tear his eyes out. What had she brought them? She had brought them a living, breathing person so they could grind him up like so much fertilizer!

  The Paladin soldiers surrounded her as the voice stepped out of the shadow of the doorway. It was a voice she had heard many times before.

  “Colonel Davis, why are you doing this?”

  Her plea was to a fellow Paladin in the hope that some mercy would be granted. It was a dim hope; Colonel Davis was well-known for his support of Eunice Pembry.

  She saw the two of them share a glance. It was decided. It had been decided long before Crystal. That’s why they called it destiny.

  Colonel Davis gave her his best fatherly expression. His eyes had always seemed so kind, so full of compassion. He had always supported the Paladin over the other clans. Where was that man now?

  “I do this for the child as much as for the community,” he finally said, laying a hand gently on the baby, stroking his cheek. “A part of a life is no life.”

  “But I could care for him! I want to!” she pleaded.

  “In the years to come, he would grow to hate you. Hate you for the life that has been denied him.”

  “But, he’s just a child! He’ll never know!”

  Davis seemed to speak from experience. “We always know what is just around the corner.”

  They had been slowly inching into the main hall of the facility. Crystal felt the hands of two Paladin soldiers gently but firmly take her arms and guide her down the first passage to their left.

  This was wrong.

  Crystal had been to the reclamation center before, and the passage to the right led to the recycler, what others crudely called ‘the grinder’. This passage was leading them to … where?

  “This isn’t the way to the reclamation chamber. Where are you taking us?”

  The turn up ahead concealed their view, but that next hallway flickered with an orange glow. Crystal could feel the heat on her skin, and it ignited a panic response. She jerked back against her Paladin escorts, but they held firmly, dragging her down the hall in this fiery funeral procession.

  “Why? Why a
re you doing this? He’s just a child!”

  The baby in her arms felt the fear and panic she radiated, and his little chin began to quiver.

  “Shh … shh …” she whispered as soothingly as she could, bouncing him gently in her arms. “It’s okay … everything’s okay …”

  But things were not okay.

  Eunice and Colonel Davis reached the hallway first. Orange light flickered off of their faces as they looked down the passage to whatever awaited. Eunice looked back at Crystal, and for a moment, she thought she saw the woman’s eyes glisten with tears. Then, it was gone, and a fire blazed from them that was not a reflection of the flames.

  “Miss Ambrose … I am tasked with protecting the welfare of this community. I do not expect you to understand this, but I do expect you to abide by it.”

  Crystal was brought into the passageway by the Paladin soldiers, her will to move forward long since exhausted. When she was turned to face the end of the hall, what she saw made her shrink back into their arms.

  The two massive iron doors grinned at her like evil jack-o-lanterns, and one of them had more than a candle inside. The heat from the blast furnace prickled the skin on her cheeks. Crystal put a hand over Beau’s tender face to block the searing wave. It was a meaningless gesture, and her rage rivaled the fiery blast. She glared at Eunice and Davis.

  “What kind of people are you? How can you even think of this? At least ‘the grinder’ would be quick!”

  Eunice flinched at the word. She nodded to one of the Hatchet, who walked to the blazing furnace and twisted a large valve. The licks of flame dwindled to nothing, as did the melting heat on their faces. Crystal would never know whether Eunice had turned down the heat for her own comfort, or that of the baby.

  “The child cannot be allowed to bleed anywhere in the cemetery,” explained Eunice as they approached the furnace doors. “Some things cannot be returned to the soil.”

  A Paladin soldier unlatched the cold, rusted door of the other furnace and opened it for Crystal, just like a gentleman would. He rolled out the grated iron table and stepped back.