Demon in the Whitelands

by Nikki Z. Richard

  When he came inside the jailhouse and went to the holding cell, the girl’s predator eyes were fixed on him. He straightened his collar once more. He was sure he looked as ridiculous as he felt. He got the green vial and the roll of gauze from the cabinet before walking inside the cell.

  “Hey,” he said nervously, holding out the supplies. “I’m going to check on the wound. If that’s okay.”

  The girl slid her arm back. She probably didn’t like men in uniform much. He tugged on the shirt’s fabric. “Oh. This? I got hired to be your caretaker. Officially, I’m a patrolman. But really, I’m just going to come here every day and take care of you. Do you understand?”

  Her muscles relaxed slightly as she slid out her legs and spread them far apart. She turned her head as he got down and re-dressed the wound. He sprinkled the ointment across her open flesh. The bite marks were beginning to scab nicely, and the areas around the wound were gaining back their color. He was in awe.

  “It’s amazing. You’re pretty much all healed up.”

  Samuel reapplied fresh gauze, then wiped his hands across his jeans, trying to rid them of the sticky ointment. The girl slowly pulled up her hand and pointed to the black dress hanging in between the metal bars.

  Samuel looked back.

  “Would you like to put your dress back on? I’m sure it’s not very warm. But it’s yours. And I’ll keep the firepit going.”

  The girl got up slowly, balancing herself on her good leg. She brushed her thick hair to the side as she coolly stripped off the shirt she was wearing. Samuel stared at the girl’s naked body for a moment before turning away to get the dress. Even with the scars and her missing arm, she was beautiful. He tossed her the ruffled dress and kept his head down. She wriggled her body into her clothes before sitting again. The shackles around her feet jingled as she doodled on the dirt floor with her index finger.

  He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do next. How do you gain someone’s trust? What did the mayor expect him to do with her? Perhaps he wanted to have her behave without the shackles.

  Samuel pushed his glasses against his nose.

  “I’m Samuel. I don’t know if you remember my name. What’s your name?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You can’t talk, can you? That’s okay. I’ll give you a name.”

  The girl looked at him blankly.

  “I mean, only if you want. I don’t want to call you demon. Or girl. I mean, I don’t know if you’re a girl. You were wearing a dress when you got here, and you look like a girl. I guess you’re not going to tell me what you are. Or your name. So, I guess I’m on my own here.”

  Samuel crouched lower, thinking awhile about what to name her. “Can I call you Atia? It was my mother’s name. She was pretty like you. She’s dead now.”

  The girl halted her drawings for a brief moment, but then continued with her dirt sketches, swirling her finger in large hoops, then accenting quick strokes. He didn’t want to talk anymore, so he got more wood to rekindle the firepit. The freckles on her cheeks seemed brighter in the firelight, her skin more milky, and her hair more red. We all deserve death. He recalled his father’s words, picturing the worry on his face. They were all prisoners, really. The girl, the sheriff, his father, him. It seemed like everyone had to answer to somebody. He wanted to tell her that, but he kept his mouth shut and decided instead to share the silence.

  By the end of the week, the infection in her leg had all but cleared. Large scabs blanketed every bit of the torn flesh, the brown flakes occasionally damp with pus. The swelling had dropped significantly, and the color of the skin had returned to one shade. There was no need to call on the doctor. Samuel knew that the girl and her leg would survive. He worked hard to make her as comfortable as possible. Every day he rekindled the firepit, gathered fresh pillows and blankets for her cot, emptied her bucket, and served her water and food. She wasn’t a big eater, but she liked red meat. She used the restroom like any creature, only she did so from one hole.

  In addition to buying fitted shirts for himself, Samuel bought Atia more clothes as well. The tailor eyed Samuel suspiciously for buying girls’ clothing alongside his patrolman uniform, but he didn’t ask any questions. He purchased several winter dresses, including another black one, but she always seemed partial to her original black dress.

  She was never shy about dressing in front of him. He would try really hard not to stare, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. When he would look, she would watch him watching her strip. That always made him feel guilty, and he would quickly turn away, pretending he wasn’t at all curious. Her skin was so badly scarred. What had happened to her?

  Every morning, when Samuel came in the cell, she never did anything to show his presence was appreciated. Then again, she didn’t seem bothered by him. His fear of her diminished with each passing day. He wasn’t stuttering as much when he talked to her. He wasn’t afraid to get close to her. He no longer bothered bringing his knife into the cell. It was becoming abundantly clear that she was no demon. And it was becoming harder to believe the mayor and the sheriff’s accusations of her being a murderer.

  He was almost certain she was a mute, because the only rumble he ever heard from her throat was the soft hum of breathing. Every time he asked if she could speak, she’d ignore the question. For a while, he thought he’d never be able to understand her. By his third week at the sheriff’s house, however, he got an idea. He could hardly sleep that night. When he arrived at the jailhouse that morning, she was sitting peacefully by the barred window and staring at the pine forests. It was almost as if she was looking for something. He set his stuffed backpack down by the door.

  “Hi.”

  The girl stretched out her leg, a gesture for him to begin his examination. Her toes curled slightly as he peeled away the gauze. He twiddled the green vial of medicine playfully.

  “Don’t think you’ll need this medicine anymore. Hey, Atia?”

  She turned, her lips pursed, as if the name he’d given her was unnatural. He fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. He had uniform shirts tailored to fit him, but they still felt strange. “Want to try and walk on it? The leg, I mean. Can you try to put some weight on it?”

  She slid her shackles farther back as she stood. Her dress swayed with the motion of her hips as she put more weight on her right leg. Her nose wrinkled a bit, and she leaned more on the opposite side, her muscles quivering. She gave a few reserved steps, but then glided down against the stone wall and sat.

  “That’s so great,” he said excitedly. “Before you know it, you’ll be walking around in no time.”

  She fingered the chains.

  Samuel reluctantly shook his head.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. That’s not my choice.” Samuel brushed his shaggy hair nervously, pushing his bangs away from his eyes. “I went shopping for more things. Would you like to see what I got you?”

  Samuel grabbed the backpack, lowering it onto his lap as he knelt. He slid down the zipper and reached inside. The truth was, he’d spent his first week’s pay entirely on her. He didn’t mind. It wasn’t like he’d lived with much before. She angled her neck slightly as he showed her the chartreuse strip of fabric. Her fingers cautiously reached out and took hold of it.

  “It’s a ribbon.”

  She rubbed the frayed ends.

  Samuel swallowed. “For your hair. It’s so long and pretty. I thought the green would look nice. Match your eyes.”

  She put the ribbon down, letting it fall from her fingers. He wasn’t sure if she liked it, but decided it was best to move on. The hair ribbon wasn’t the thing he was nervous about giving her. His palms sweated as he snatched out a plain leather notebook and a fresh pencil.

  She peered at the gift, her nose scrunching. Was she smelling them?

  “I’ve watched you,” Samuel said as he slid over the items. “You’re always doodling on the floor. You could use this to draw on. And. Maybe we could writ
e each other notes and things like that. If you want.”

  She held the pencil delicately as he placed it against her thumb and index finger.

  “If there’s anything you want me to get for you. Something you want to tell me. You can use it. And I can always get more supplies.”

  Atia gingerly crossed her legs as she bolstered the notebook, turning the blank pages until she settled for one near the middle. Samuel pushed his glasses farther up his nose. She might tell him where she’d come from or how old she was. Or maybe she could write what had happened that night with the bear trap and the patrolman. He watched, speechless, as what had seemed like random scribbles in the dirt transformed into detailed images. Graphite lines filled the page, and it took several minutes before he could make out the drawing.

  It was a map of the three states. On the bottom part of the boot-shaped land, she drew the redlands, the southernmost region with a desertlike environment that harbored the military class and safeguarded the old sciences. She added detailed light shading to make the gritty impressions of the sand deserts. In the middle were the greenlands, the centermost region of the continent, which housed the majority of the states’ citizens due to its vast size, comfortable temperatures, good soil, and bountiful crops. She filled the section with heavy shading and bunched circles, a representation of the diverse land with its various forests, plains, and mountains. At the top of the map, she drew the whitelands, the largest but least populated of the three states, which harbored the largest resources of lumber and coal.

  The girl flipped the page around and pointed to an area on the upper left-hand corner.

  “It’s beautiful,” Samuel said. “You’re really good.”

  She tapped the area once again.

  “Oh, uhm, I’m not sure where that is. I don’t know geography all that well, but I’m guessing that’s near Haid. We’re in the mid-eastern region of the whitelands, about three hundred miles from the coast. From what I’ve been told. I’ve never stepped foot outside of this town and the eastern woods.”

  She swiped at her chopped bangs before filling in more lines, adding more details to the page.

  “How did you get so good at drawing?”

  Before he could say anything else, she tore the page from the notebook and laid the paper down beside her.

  The copper bell above the door dinged as Samuel shuffled into the butcher’s shop, his hands plunged deep into his pockets. Rows of beef were on display behind a glass counter with tiny white labels describing each cut: tongue, neck, brisket, rib, flank, chuck, tenderloin, round, shank. All imported from the south, of course. Greenland cows weren’t exactly fit for northern weather. There were other selections of meat as well. Pork, chicken, venison, quail, goat, turkey, rabbit, and bison. Half of the meat was merely for show. The mayor was the only one who could afford bison meat and other premium cuts.

  Breathing in the smell of blood brought Samuel back into the woods with his father, back to their simple hunting traps and his father’s lessons about Azhuel gifting mankind with the mind to overcome beasts.

  The butcher’s granddaughter, Claudette, sprinted out from the back room to the bloodstained counter. She smiled a bit when she saw him and wiped her hands on her filthy apron.

  Samuel tried smoothing the wrinkles out of his uniform shirt.

  “I heard that you were a patrolman now.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Can I help you?”

  He scratched his elbow.

  “I’ve been busy. With my job and all. I don’t have the time to catch my own game. And I was thinking I could try something different.”

  He dug back into his pockets and dumped loose coins on the table. He’d gotten his second week’s pay, and this time he swore to himself he was going to save as much as possible. He’d already bought Atia more or less everything she needed for now. But still, he wanted to get her this one thing. And there was one other thing he was going to buy for himself, something other than a uniform.

  “Have you tried the goat?”

  “Goat?”

  “Yeah.” She bent down and pointed, her finger tapping the glass. “It’s a different texture and taste, and not as expensive as some of the other meats.”

  Claudette packaged him up about two pounds, wrapping the red chops in white paper. It cost about six coins, which wasn’t a bad price, considering his wages.

  Before he left, Claudette asked him if he planned on attending the summer festival. It was a strange question because it had never been an option before. He told her yes, thanked her, and left. The sun was fading quickly, and he didn’t know how long the blacksmith’s shop stayed open.

  Samuel paced back from the pine tree and flung the knife directly into the carved X. And then another, and another, each one close to the target. The daylight had nearly gone, the clouded sky spilling over with red and orange. It didn’t stop him from continuing. The first half hour had been shaky, but his accuracy had increased dramatically in no time. His poor vision was hardly a factor anymore.

  “Throwing precision is what these things are made for,” the blacksmith had told him as he pulled back his goggles and motioned to the set of three silver throwing knives that were mounted to the wall display. Samuel touched them gently, the cold metal kissing his fingertips. The knives were simple in design, made entirely of steel, including the handle, and less than half the size of his hunting knife.

  He twirled the last knife between his fingertips. It was so light, the small blade perfectly designed for flight.

  He was going through the motions, but his mind was on Claudette. She’d talked to him as if he weren’t an abomination. And she was pretty. A heat rose to his cheeks. For the first time in his life, he could dare to imagine a life outside of the roots. A life where he could be a normal citizen, not one bound to the faith. Perhaps one day he could marry a girl.

  As he retrieved the knives to make another throw, headlights from an approaching jeep flooded over the line of pine trees. Samuel covered his eyes with his elbow as the vehicle parked and the sheriff rolled down the window.

  “Don’t you have a job to do?” the sheriff called out from the driver’s side window. “How do you think the mayor’s going to feel when he hears about you messing up good lumber?”

  Samuel walked to the vehicle, his shoulders hunched.

  “This isn’t where they cut lumber. I thought—”

  The sheriff snorted as he sipped from his flask.

  “A joke, kid. Like we don’t have enough pine around here to bury this whole state in. Where’d you learn to throw like that? Ain’t half bad.”

  “My father taught me. Not much else to do … that and read the scriptures.”

  “Both of those things make me want to puke.” The sheriff lowered an arm out from the open window. “Looks like the mayor was wrong about the estate thief.”

  “Huh?”

  The sheriff licked stray drops of liquor from his mustache. “Just got back from the mayor’s place. He was packing up for his trip to who knows where, and looks like some more money went missing from his personal safe. Walked in on him beating the shit out of that brat of his when I got there. Kid was wailing like a newborn. He was cowering in the corner like a whipped pup, swearing he didn’t take anything. Pretty pathetic.”

  Beat him? Samuel fiddled with the knife.

  “Do you think he did it?”

  “No,” the sheriff said with a drawl. “Take one look at the kid and you see he’s all bark. Besides. Why steal his daddy’s money? Entitled little shit already gets more than he needs.”

  Samuel felt nauseous. “If he didn’t do it, why is he in trouble, then?”

  The sheriff shrugged. “I mind my own business. So should you.”

  “But, if the thief is still out there, then that means the girl didn’t steal anything.”

  The sheriff snorted. “Maybe. Maybe not. Like that makes a difference now. If it’s not a t
hief, then it’s just a cold-blooded murderer. What’s the mayor hope to gain from keeping that thing around? I couldn’t guess. But me, you, the cleric, and the little mayor, we’re all just along for the ride. Quicker you learn that, the easier it gets.”

  “What gets easier?”

  “Everything.”

  “It’s a bit warmer today.”

  Atia was lying down on her back, her glazed green eyes fixed on the ceiling. She turned to face him, but then turned back. He tried to take her dismissal of him as a good thing. She was comfortable around him. At least he thought so. The floral-patterned dress she was wearing was covered in dirt and filth from the day before. Her red hair was caked to the sides of her neck and cheeks, and visible knots were forming near the ends.

  “I’ve got a hairbrush for you, if you want it. Would you like to bathe? I’m sure it’s been a while. I think I can get the hose through the window, if you’d like.”

  Atia got to her feet and stood by the window.

  The sun was beaming through the tiny bars, illuminating the prison cell. Samuel tossed her a towel before resealing the gate. He went through the hall and outside the front door. He looked around for the sheriff’s jeep but couldn’t find it. The mayor had ordered the sheriff to stay by the prison as much as possible, but since he was out of town, the sheriff didn’t bother doing more than give Samuel a ride to the prison. Some days the sheriff would come back after a few hours, but other times he wouldn’t return at all, and Samuel would have to walk back to town in the dark. He was fortunate that summer was approaching. His boots crunched the snow as he went behind the prison and found the tiny utility shed. He got the hose and connected it to the outside water valve, running the water over his bare fingers. It was so cold. Perhaps this wasn’t such a great idea.

  He rounded the corner and found the window. Getting on his tiptoes, he guided the hose between the bars. He could hear the water splashing against the cell’s dirt floor.