It was a miserable night. I was never going to complain about sleeping on a nice, level floor inside a secure building again. It seemed like there was always one more stick or rock under me, however many I removed. Even wrapped in my cloak, the side of my body facing the fire baked while the other side froze.
And those eyes had watched us all through the night.
Had it been this bad when I had come west two years ago? Objectively, surely it had. I had been younger, smaller, weaker, more vulnerable by any realistic measure. My life with my family had been considerably more comfortable than life on the Flow, so the comparison should have seemed even worse.
Maybe it was that now I felt a need to do the job I had taken and protect Prophetess, which meant not heading up the nearest tree when a wolf got too close. I had done that before. Or maybe Prophetess’ fear of the Darkness was rubbing off on me. Maybe I was intimidated by the thought that we were going straight into danger, returning to face Yoshana, whose abstract threat I had fled before.
Maybe it was just that as you grow older, you lose the idiotic sense of invulnerability that comes with being young.
There were paw prints in the soft earth no more than thirty feet from the fire. From the size, they looked like wolf tracks. I didn’t share that with Prophetess.
Wolves weren’t the worst possibility. There were bigger things out here. And some of those climbed trees.
In the cool light of dawn the forest looked harmless enough. There was cover, shade, water, food. Still, I found myself tracking the sun’s progress through the branches as we made our way northeast.
Sometimes we could make out the ruins of buildings through the trees. We didn’t approach them. They might have held useful supplies… or they might have held other things.
Around noon I said, “I think we should be clear of any fighting by now. I have to admit I’d like to start looking for somewhere to spend the night out of these woods.”
Prophetess let loose a nervous peal of laughter. “And I have to admit if you’d wanted to spend another night in these woods I was going to take off on my own.”
As best I had been able to tell, the forest stretched out in a line pointing northeast, roughly parallel to the road. Logic suggested that if we headed north, we would eventually come to the road if the woods didn’t give out before then. With the sun directly overhead, I went by what little sense of direction was left to me, checking myself against which sides of the trees seemed to have the most moss on them.
At least an hour later, Prophetess had a look on her face I was interpreting as, “Are these woods ever going to end?” Although it could also have been, “Do you have any sense of direction at all?”
Another hour after that we finally began to see gaps in the trees and stumbled out into an endless sea of waving grass. The open space with its infinite sight lines had seemed like such a threat only a day before, but now we grinned as if we’d found salvation.
I shaded my eyes with my hand and stared to the northeast. “I think I see something up there. Farmhouse, maybe.”
We didn’t have much left to barter with, but there was generally plenty of work to do on a farm in exchange for food and a roof. We started off eagerly, a new spring in our step.
The prairie grass was so high, the building remained little more than a black shape until we hit the cleared stubble of the fields around it.
That was when we realized there would not be much shelter to be had.
Although it was still nearly half a mile away, I could make out the blackened timbers and gaping holes where there had been a door and windows.
“You stay here,” I said to Prophetess. “Keep your head down below the grass.”
She sank down without a word.
I approached in a crouching lope, popping up occasionally to scan the horizon.
I needn't have worried. The fires were long since burned out, and the crows and flies were at work. This had happened days ago. The death was old enough that I didn’t even have much trouble keeping my gorge down, although I was flushed with more than exertion when I got back to Prophetess.
“Was it soldiers?” she asked.
“Not impossible, but… no. I don’t think so. They would have left more.”
“What do you mean?”
“The bodies aren’t… whole, Tess. And I don’t think it was wolves that were at them.”
She just stared at me.
“The paleos aren’t above cannibalism when they’re hungry.”
She shook her head, angry and disgusted. “That doesn’t make any sense, Minos. I know you hate the paleos, but why all of a sudden, right now? It seems a lot more likely…” She stared out at the burned farmstead. “It seems a lot more likely the Hawks killed these people, then animals got at the bodies.”
“The paleos are hunter-gatherers. By definition. They live hand to mouth. The Hawks could have pushed them out of their hunting grounds on their way through. Made ’em angry, made ’em hungry.” I almost spat, but wasn’t sure what would come up. “It doesn’t matter. This is no place for us to stop.”
Prophetess shook her head again. “Something needs to be done for those people there.”
“There’s nothing left to do for them.”
“They need burying. There are things that need to be said.”
“You don’t want to go over there, Tess.”
The look on her face screamed “idiot” more loudly than if she’d shouted it in my face. “Of course I don’t.”
But she went anyway.
I suppose she prayed for them. It wasn’t until I heard the sound of a shovel breaking ground that I joined her behind the remains of the house. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she was making good progress. I found another shovel in a shed, only a little darkened by smoke, and joined her.
I think, left to myself, I would have rolled the bodies into the shallow graves with the shovel. But Tess lifted the smallest one up and set it gently in the hole, oblivious to the not-quite-dry blood that smeared her tunic. I couldn’t do any less.
After we covered the graves with earth she said some words. I could have made a comment about a God that let things like that happen. But for a wonder, I actually kept my stupid mouth shut.
We walked away without looking back and without another word, although Prophetess cried softly for a long time.
6. Driven Out
We didn’t go back to the woods, even with the danger of the plains so clear to us. While Prophetess might think the Hawks were responsible for the massacre, I was convinced it had been paleos, and they would be very much at home in the forest.
We walked along with the trees to our right, but saw nothing else in that sea of grass until the sun went down. When it did, we sank down into the concealing stalks and ate dried fruit and smoked meat. We didn’t talk at all. Prophetess went a distance away to pray, but when she returned she lay down very close to me, facing the other way. It was cold, and dark, and somehow it seemed like the right thing to do to put my arm around her and cover us both with my cloak.
She didn’t pull away, and we fell asleep like that.
The next morning I woke up stiff, sore, cold, and damp. Dew had accumulated on us during the night, and while the ground looked smooth as a tabletop from a distance, it was thoroughly lumpy once you got to know it up close. We decided to continue north until we came to the road. We would be obvious on it, but the idea of another night in the woods or huddled in the weeds had no appeal, and somewhere along that roadway there would be a settlement.
As it happened, we found the settlement before we found the road.
The first thing I saw was a drift of smoke on the wind. That could be good or bad. Smoke could mean a town, or the cook fires of soldiers… or the dead remnants of a farmstead slowly returning to ash and dust.
Prophetess and I exchanged looks. She shrugged and, without speaking a word, we headed in that direction. As we got nearer, we began to make out the tops of short trees. Sti
ll I was surprised when we emerged from the grass to find ourselves suddenly at the edge of a huge expanse of cleared fields, rows of apple trees separating them into pie slices.
It was a strange shape for farmland, round rather than square, which would make it harder to plow. I suspected the reason was the same as for the tall palisade of sharpened stakes we could now see at the center of the pie - it was not safe here, and the circle of cropland marked the farthest distance anyone was willing to stray from the protection of the walls.
The smoke was rising over the palisade. A lot of smoke. That wasn’t the scattered wisps to be expected from some cooking fires and a smithy. It was a thick, black column.
“That doesn’t look normal,” I said. “I think we should go around.”
“They may need help.”
“Anyone who can torch a town that size is more than we can help with.” The stakes in the palisade must have been twenty feet high, and the wall looked to be at least a half mile in circumference. Unlike the bandit village we had visited in Rockwall, there were no buildings visible outside - no one here had been willing to forego the wall’s protection. How much protection it actually offered was debatable at this point, of course.
Prophetess was already walking through the harvested field.
“Aw, for the love of…” I sputtered. “At least keep to the trees so we don’t stick out so much.”
So we approached among the apple trees, which grew in double lines with a grassy space between. The oddly shaped orchard gave out well before reaching the wall, and then we had to work our way around the cleared space toward the north, as there were no doors on our side. I could see a spur of the road coming in from the northwest, and that must lead to the gate.
There was no real cover, other than to move from one row of apple trees to the next. At this distance from the wall, a hundred yards or so separated each row. We jogged from one to the other. I kept my slingshot out and a stone in the pouch.
Our fourth such move brought us within sight of the gate. It was open, but a guard with a crossbow stood to either side. There was no sign of battle.
The guards hadn’t noticed us yet, and I put the slingshot away. It was no match for a crossbow, and I didn’t want to give anyone an excuse to put a bolt into me.
“Well?” Prophetess asked.
Well what? This was her idea. “Those guys look like they belong here. People sacking a town don’t generally post sentries like that. I have no idea what’s going on with the fire, though.” The column of smoke continued to rise unabated.
“Let’s find out.” She started toward the gate.
“Let’s not,” I muttered, but it was too late. “Here we go again.” It was a wonder she had lived this long.
The guards were alert enough to spot us at a good distance - not difficult as we approached across the open field. They didn’t raise their crossbows, which was a good sign. But the one nearest to us waved his hand in a shooing motion.
“Ah, get along. The last thing we need now is more gawkers. That worthless excuse for a storyteller is bad enough.”
Prophetess and I both stopped and stared at him.
“Go on,” he snapped. “Beat it.”
I was just about to take Prophetess’ arm and turn around. One thing Select learn quickly is if someone tells you you’re not welcome, it’s a good idea to listen.
But of course Prophetess was talking instead. “We don’t mean to be any trouble. We’ve just come up from Rockwall. We had to spend a night in the woods and yesterday we found a farm where everyone had been killed. We’re tired and scared and we’re just looking for a place to stop.”
The other guard spoke up. “Ah, Frek, I don’t think they’re here to snoop like that Dee guy. And the Darkness is out there. We should let the girl in at least. You don’t want her on your conscience.”
Oh, sure. Let the girl in. Let the Select get taken by the Darkness.
“You want to let them in, you go tell the sheriff,” Frek growled.
“Fine.” The second guard stomped off. Fortunately at the last second he resisted the temptation to throw down his crossbow in disgust. The weapon was spanned, and with my luck it would have gone off and shot me in the face.
Frek glowered at us in silence. I suppose that no more than five minutes passed before the other guard returned, but it was long enough for the suggestion that we just walk on to die stillborn on my lips at least a dozen times.
The sheriff proved to be a block of a man in a leather jerkin with a shortsword at his side. An inch shorter than me, he probably outweighed me by fifty pounds, and it didn’t look like fat. He looked from Prophetess to me warily but without outright hostility.
“I don’t mean to be inhospitable, but Brambledge isn’t receiving visitors,” he said, his voice low and rough. “You see that?” He pointed at the column of smoke. “We’re burning the miller’s daughter today.”
“What?” Prophetess’ voice was an octave higher than usual.
“The Darkness took her. There’s nothing else for it. She nearly killed Quilla Farr. Quilla’s lucky she didn’t lose her left eye, and she’ll never be a pretty girl again.”
I wouldn’t normally be the one to interject here, but few things got farther up my nose than a bunch of ignorant peasants burning someone because they mistook a quarrel for demonic possession.
“No disrespect here, sheriff, but can I guess the girls were, uh, romantic rivals?”
He gave me that look the Select sometimes get, as if I were some kind of talking dog. But he answered evenly enough. “Sure. Wennit, that’s the miller’s girl, she’s always wanted what Quilla had. That’s Reeve Hansen, you know.”
“So, again no disrespect, that doesn’t necessarily sound like possession by the Darkness if one of them scratched the other’s face.”
The sheriff blew out his cheeks. “Yeah, you’d think that, wouldn’t you?” He began to unwind a wrapping on his left biceps.
The four parallel gouges in the flesh were each half an inch wide and at least half that deep.
“That look like a scratch to you? Damnedest thing is it hardly bled at all. Hurts plenty, though.”
No human could carve out chunks of muscle like that with her bare hands.
“That Dee fellow says the Darkness wouldn’t have infected me through the wound, says that’s not how it works. Can’t say I’m not a little worried, though.”
I shrugged. “As far as I know he’s right there. It can penetrate intact skin just fine. If it wanted to infect you, it wouldn’t need to go through the wound.”
“Still think it’s not the Darkness?”
I shook my head.
“But to burn her…” Prophetess said.
“You think anyone wants to do that? Everyone in this town has known her since she was born. There’s no other way to get it out.”
And that was true. Once the Darkness took a host, it wouldn’t leave until that host was dead. The Darkness feared fire, and would avoid open flame. But experience had shown it couldn’t be bluffed out. It would dig into the host, going deeper to avoid the fire, until the body was lifeless. Only then would it try to flee.
“With God all things are possible,” Prophetess said.
Frek snorted loudly. “Is God going to walk into town and cast it out?”
“No,” said Prophetess. “I am.”
“You’ve done this before, have you?” I murmured as Sheriff Rolf led us to the town’s tiny jail.
“The Second Book of the Fall describes exorcism,” Prophetess replied.
“But have you done it yourself?”
She was silent. “Always a first time for everything,” I muttered. “Including being torn to shreds or possessed by the Darkness.”
We passed the town square, where helpful citizens continued to pile more wood onto the bonfire. The stack of logs was four feet high and the flames leapt a dozen feet above that. We came no closer than ten yards, but the heat poured off in waves even at that distance
.
“It’s the damnedest thing,” the sheriff said. “This was finally a year when everything was going right. Not too much rain, not too little, no hail. Good harvest. Guess it was all just too good to last.” He gestured at the blaze. “We’re going to, uh, do it, just at noon. Figured that was our best chance to keep it from getting away after. We’ve been building up the fire since dawn. Getting it as hot as we can. No one wants her to suffer.”
Not that there’s a pleasant way of burning to death. The scorching air radiating from the bonfire made it all too easy to imagine flesh charring.
“Say there,” a voice came behind us.
A scarecrow of a man was hurrying toward us, arms, legs, and tunic flapping like a man-shaped bundle of loosely jointed rags.
“Are you the ones who are going to cast the Darkness out of the miller’s daughter?”
Prophetess nodded. I kept quiet. I wasn't going to be casting anything out of anyone.
“I’m Doctor John Dee. Master of the occult sciences.”
Frek’s comment about “that worthless excuse for a storyteller” made more sense now.
“Doctor… John… Dee.” I drew it out. If my eyebrows had gone any higher they would have been lost in my hairline. “That’s a bold name. Most people would think it’s bad enough to use a given name from before the Fall without claiming that particular one. If memory serves, John Dee was one of the greatest charlatans of his age.”
The man smiled. “Truly they say the Select are learned…” his smile broadened, “But have not learned quite enough to find wisdom. My namesake was a master of philosophy, of the intersection between science and witchcraft. I have devoted my life to the study of the Darkness, which lies at just that intersection.”
I was still searching for a reply to that when Prophetess said, “We’re wasting time. I have a task to do.”
As she started off again, I was displeased - though not surprised - to find that Dee was tagging along.
Passing Through Darkness- The Complete Cycle Page 9