Julianne jumped, startled. “You noticed?”
“Of course, I bloody noticed. You were like a bull in a china shop.” Marcus slid a glance her way. “You’re not the only one giving me lessons, you know.”
A feather of jealousy tickled at Julianne’s mood. “Danil has more important things to do than muck around with that,” she said.
“Wasn’t Danil.” He shot her a beaming smile. “I bribed Artemis with one of Tessa’s cream pies. He somehow managed to ‘show’ me what to look for when someone was trying to break through my shields.”
Julianne bit back a sharp retort. Bloody Artemis, she seethed.
“Wait… you’re not mad, are you?” Marcus slowed a little.
Taking a moment to center herself, Julianne thought about it. Why did it bother her so much that he had learned from someone else?
“I guess I just liked having you all to myself,” she said at last. “It doesn’t matter.” She smiled to let him know she meant it. “I’ll just have to be a bit quieter next time.”
“I bet you bloody will,” Marcus chuckled. “I’m gonna have to be on my guard every moment, aren’t I?”
She batted innocent eyes at him. “Why is that? Something to hide?”
“Only the fact that—”
“Ssh!” Julianne held out a hand, cutting him off. She pulled her horse to a stop and looked around. “Someone is waiting for us… and they’re not friends.”
Chapter Seventeen
Francis saw Julianne and Marcus leave in the early light. He had been up all night, scratching plans onto paper, scribbling them out and starting over a dozen times at least.
It had been a long time since he had built anything with meaning, and although this wall Master Julianne wanted wouldn’t be pretty, it would be the best damn wall he could build. He moved from rough sketches to lists, line after line of the items he would need, with notes on who might have it and how much he would require.
“Old Jessop has an old hole digger; that’ll help,” he muttered. “And I can ask Mack for wire. If he doesn’t have it, he’ll know where I can get some.”
Francis snatched up his notes in a charcoal-stained hand and tucked it in his pocket. He had work to do.
The horses were still restless from Marcus and Julianne’s departure. He quickly saddled Moses, an old cart horse, and led him outside to hitch him to the only cart he had. By the time he was pounding on Jessop’s door, the sun had barely peaked.
“Pipe down, pipe down!” Jessop yanked the door open and stomped out onto his porch. “The missus is still sleeping, and she’ll have my balls if you wake her. I imagine you wouldn’t be making a ruckus if it weren’t important. What do you need?”
Tripping over his words, Francis quickly explained what had happened the night before. “Master Julianne has me in charge of the battlements.”
“Battlements? We’re in a village out at bumfuck nowhere, not a goddamn castle.” Jessop spat over the balcony, face curious.
Francis shrugged. “Still, I need to build a wall. Can you help?”
“If it means giving those mind fuckers a good kick to the balls, I’m in.” Jessop led Francis down the steps and off to a gate beside his house. “I reckon I got just what you need.”
Francis followed quietly behind. He had never been a man of many words and nowadays, he just didn’t see the point of idle chatter.
“Remember old Mavis’s barn?”
Francis grunted a yes, but his curiosity was suddenly piqued. Mavis, when she was alive, had lived in a rambling old country house beside the nicest barn on Irth. It was made of a material that was neither wood nor metal, but solid as rock and easy to clean. It was one of the few relics in town from before the time of madness.
It was built to house at least twenty horses, or perhaps some other kind of animal that lived before the madness. The high ceiling was the right size for the animals, though, with vents to let the fresh air circulate; and doors big enough to push a carriage through.
Jessop shoved the sliding door to his own red, weathered barn. The sun was a little higher now, and caught motes of dust swirling in the air.
“You kept it?” Francis asked.
The barn was crammed to bursting with crisp white panels stacked flat, and jammed in as best they would fit. A section to one side revealed the end caps of metal posts, square in shape with odd cross pieces jutting out and making the pile look haphazard.
“That I did. Her son told me to haul it off after she died. Never told me what to do with it.”
Jessop latched his fingers on the edge of a panel. It was past his head in height, and he lifted himself onto his toes to reach. With a gentle tug, it came loose and slid to the ground with a whoosh, clanging when it landed on the hard dirt.
Francis reached out and, at Jessop’s nod, lifted a corner. The sheet weighed no more than thirty pounds at most. “What are you keeping it for?” Francis asked in wonder.
Jessop shrugged. “Something or other. Thought to build an extra room with it, but…” He faltered and Francis looked away.
A lot had been left undone once the New Dawn moved in. None of the townspeople blamed each other, but it didn’t stop them from blaming themselves every now and then.
“Well, I guess it’s good you took it,” Francis said. “How will we put it up, though? I seem to recall Mavis complaining she couldn’t hammer a nail through it to hang her blankets and tack.”
Jessop grinned, memories pushed back to the recesses of his mind. “Easy as pie. See those posts?” Francis nodded. “Just gotta sink them in the ground and these slip right in. I still have the pulley system I used to strip it down. All we need is a few men…”
“We could have it up in a few days,” Francis remarked. He rubbed a hand down the gleaming white panel, then snatched his notebook out. “How many panels would you say you have? Will the roofing panels work with the walls? And are they all the same size, or different?”
He rattled off questions as he scratched out notes in his book and jotted down what answers Jessop could give. Then, he clapped the other man on the shoulder. “Thank you, neighbor! Thank you!”
He barely spared a wave as he raced off, almost tripping over his own feet. He would need a bigger wagon to bring the panels to the town gates, and some people to help him assemble them.
Hopefully the support posts would be made of a different material, one he could drill into. If not, he supposed he could use clamps to string up some barbed fencing wire along the top.
The time saved in building the wall might allow him to work on some more elaborate defenses, but the barrier was his first priority. As he kicked his old horse and tucked his notebook safely back in his pocket, Francis smiled.
The feeling in his chest was one he had almost forgotten, one that had been absent since the day the New Dawn rolled into town. He held onto it, fanning it to life, letting it take on a shape of its own.
For the first time in a long time, Francis had hope.
Chapter Eighteen
Julianne’s eyes faded back to her normal color. “They’re incapacitated,” she told Marcus. “They’re over in that stand of trees. Should we just leave them?”
He sighed. “Never thought I’d see the day. Oh, Jules.”
“What?” Confusion wrinkled her brow.
“You. You, of all the many people I’ve known and trained with.” He paused dramatically. “You got soft, Julianne.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said primly. “I’m simply preventing an ugly situation.”
“You don’t think we could have beaten them? You are soft!” Marcus shook his head.
She didn’t seem moved. “Marcus, it’s one thing to fight in the middle of a battle. These men are probably starving, just trying to feed their families. If it came down to a fight, one or more of them might die. Over what, a few coppers?”
Marcus laughed. “They’re bandits, Jules. Nicking a few apples and a loaf of bread from the market is a far cry from highway robbery.”
Julianne scowled, then let her eyes go white. “Let’s see, then. The first one’s name is Joff… Oh.”
“Oh?” Marcus prodded her with a grin.
“Well, he’s not a very nice person. Neither is Ben.” She paused, then her white eyes widened and fury washed her face. “Oh, Larry, you son of a goat scrotum. You do not think that about a lady, especially not one who can kick your ass.”
As soon as Julianne moved, Marcus slid down from his saddle. “Here, tie the horses to this tree.”
Julianne did that, then pulled her walking staff out. A noise behind them made them both turn.
“Shit, Jules. You didn’t tell me they were awake.” Marcus yanked his magitech rifle free and turned back to face the approaching men. Two had axes and one carried a blacksmith’s hammer. He had the muscles to suit it, too.
Julianne eyed the weapon, disappointed. “Come on,” she teased. “If you use that big old boom stick, these men will think you’re overcompensating for something.”
Marcus narrowed his eyes. “Fine.” He dropped it and drew a short sword instead.
“Gentleman!” Julianne called.
One, a balding man with wisps of reddish blonde hair sticking out over his eyes, gave her a slimy grin. Julianne would have guessed it was Larry, even if she hadn’t already recognized him.
Redhead’s mine, she sent to Marcus. He gave a slight nod to acknowledge her claim.
“Hello, lovely,” Larry said. “Why don’t you put that twig down and see what a real big stick can do.” He grabbed his crotch and yanked it.
The guy’s gapped teeth and filthy skin was enough to make Julianne gag. She didn’t show any reaction, though.
“Now, Larry. I know you talk big, but I’ve seen inside your head. You know you have a tiny, limp cock. I suppose that’s why you’re so angry all the time.”
She hit her mark. Larry didn’t even bother to ask how she even knew his name. He lunged. His friends dove in a second after, towards who they saw as the greater threat—Marcus.
Julianne whipped up her staff, catching the tip of his axe and yanking it. She didn’t dislodge his grip, but it unbalanced him and his body turned a little to follow the momentum.
She flung the staff out, slapping it on his ass hard enough that she would have bet the bruise already showed.
Larry stumbled back, right into an elbow thrust at his kidney. He cried out, spinning around to fling his short blade at Julianne’s head.
The weapon whistled through empty air. She kicked, connecting with his kneecap with a solid crunch. The staff came up, smashing into his jaw.
Larry dropped his stance to favor his good leg. He spat, a bloodied tooth flying at Julianne and spattering her robe with red droplets. “I’ll knock you down, slut, and fuck you while your boyfriend watches.”
He jabbed an uppercut with the axe, which Julianne easily knocked away. He had been expecting that, and his other hand punched into her gut.
Julianne gasped out a breath, falling back into a defensive posture. “I know what you’ve done. You’re a monster and you know it. Rapist, murderer, abuser.” She snorted a wry laugh. “All because of your tiny prick.”
She slammed her staff up, catching him between the legs. His eyes crossed and he collapsed, hands again grabbing his crotch. This time, there was nothing salacious about it.
Julianne finished him off with a roundhouse swipe to the head, again splattering her robe with bits of flesh and a spray of blood.
The sound of fighting behind her caught her attention. “Haven’t you finished with them yet, Marcus?" she called out.
One of the men spun and whipped his large hammer. She easily slid under it and sidestepped in to Marcus’s side.
“I figured you wouldn’t want me to have all the fun,” Marcus said behind her.
“Hi, Joff. I’m Julianne. Would you like to surrender now, or after I cut your dick off and shove it down your throat?”
Joff snarled and swung his hammer in another clumsy move.
Julianne slammed her staff down onto the blacksmith’s fingers. He snatched one hand off his weapon, but quickly grabbed it again. He swung it wide, the clumsy weapon too slow for Julianne’s quick dodge.
“I appreciate it,” she said as she slapped her weapon at Blacksmith’s side. He caught it easily. Julianne used his support as leverage, launching herself into a kick that connected her foot with his windpipe. “That Larry was a real piece of work.”
“Not just an innocent man trying to feed his family?” Marcus, his attacker already on the ground, stood back to watch Blacksmith slowly turn purple. The big man dropped to his knees, hands at his throat.
Julianne sighed. “God help any one of his victims that ended up with his child.” The thought made her sick.
Ignoring the suffocating man at her feet, she nodded at Marcus’s opponent. “Cormorant strike?" she asked. It was a finishing move Marcus had taught her during the revolution.
He grinned. “I’ve tweaked it a little. I’ll show you, if you want?”
Blacksmith’s eyes bulged as he gargled a thin wisp of moist air. Then, he fell to the ground, silent.
“Should we check the body?” Marcus gingerly nudged the fallen man with his boot.
“He’s definitely dead,” Julianne said flatly.
Marcus gave her a concerned look. It was unlike Julianne to be this matter of fact about taking a life. “He was that bad, huh?”
Finally, a glimmer of emotion showed on her face. She turned tortured eyes to him. “I don’t give a damn if I’ve just sent that man to hell, Marcus. I just wish I could fix some of the lives he’s destroyed.”
Mystics held only the highest regard for human life, treating it as a sacred gift and only killing in the direst of circumstances. These men, however, had spent a lifetime destroying lives.
The brief glimpse Julianne had into his mind sickened her, made worse because she had almost left him alive, none the wiser to the evil he had spread across the land. He was a power-hungry monster, lacking in real authority.
He took it out on those around him to build himself up. Bullying men and women, forcing himself on those he wanted and was not above killing someone who sparked his ever present rage.
The only solace Julianne had from the muck that now felt etched onto her brain was the knowledge that he would never hurt anyone again.
“I suppose you want me to clean up this mess?” Marcus asked dryly.
Julianne shrugged. “I’m just a weak little girl. I couldn't possibly lift those big, heavy bodies.” She dusted off her robes, then set to work trying to scrub out the blood with a cloth and some water from her flask.
Marcus snorted. He knew Julianne was stronger than most women and many men he knew. Despite his earlier teasing, if anyone had grown soft, it was him. His pants were just a little tighter than when they had arrived in Tahn, thanks to the villagers’ generosity to their saviors.
Julianne, always rushing about from one job to the next, usually waved off the jams and cookies the residents baked for her. She helped with physical labor as much as the organization of the recovering town, and with the extra responsibility that went with being leader of the mystics.
He picked up the first body and dumped it in the bushes. There would be no ceremony for these men, and Marcus didn't really care if they were discovered by local soldiers.
Marcus hoisted the second body over his shoulder. Julianne tucked her now-stained handkerchief away and grabbed the foot of the final man, dragging the corpse over to the bushes.
“You'll get blood all over you,” she said, wrinkling her nose as Marcus dumped the second body.
“It’s ok, I won’t ask you to wash my shirt.” He gave her a cheeky grin.
Julianne raised a cool eyebrow. “I should hope not,” she said, a warning in her voice.
“I seem to remember doing quite a lot of washing clothes just a few weeks ago,” he said, sliding a glance her way.
He had taken on a lot of the mor
e menial duties for their group as Julianne and the other mystics grappled with the effects of the brainwashing by the New Dawn.
“I don’t recall ever asking you to,” Julianne reminded him.
“No, that’s true.” Marcus wasn’t brave enough to push the matter further.
Garrett had, once. Raised in a patriarchal society, he was used to letting women do the cooking, cleaning and sewing, even though he had the skills to do it himself when on the road.
Julianne had caught wind of him asking Annie to wash a shirt for him. He had walked around with an itch in his ass for the next two days, inflicted by Julianne and only relieved when he begged Annie’s forgiveness for—in his words—‘being a lazy hog scrotum’.
As soon as he had apologized—properly, not like his first attempt made through clenched teeth and full of half-cocked excuses—the itch had disappeared. It left him in a foul enough mood that no one mentioned it to his face, but the entire village had talked of nothing but that for a week after.
“It’s ok,” Julianne said. “I’m not going to inflict you with imaginary worms.”
Marcus almost fell out of the saddle. “Shit. You got past my shields? I didn’t even notice you trying.”
Julianne burst into giggles. “No. The look of terror on your face was enough to tip me off. You were thinking of Garrett, weren’t you?”
Wincing at the memory, Marcus nodded. “I wouldn’t wish that on any of my friends, but I guess he deserved it.”
“He didn’t tell you the whole story,” Julianne said. “You know how I found out he’d tried to dump his washing on Annie?”
Marcus shook his head. He assumed she had seen it in Garrett’s mind, or Annie's.
“Bette.”
“You saw it in her mind?” Marcus asked. When Julianne gestured a no, he frowned. “I can see her unleashing her own wrath on him, but I wouldn’t pick her to tattle on another rearick.”
“She didn’t have to.” Julianne started to laugh again and slowed her horse, afraid she would lose her balance. “I heard her screaming at him from upstairs. When Annie told him to get stuffed, he went and asked Bette to do it!”
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