Beyond All War

by Eric Keller

  While she tried to keep everyone calm, she thought those sent to fight would have come to get them by now if they had won. When the impending daylight came, the Bankers would likely hunt through the woods, eagerly looking for the children and women who fled.

  In the growing light, she surveyed the remnants of the residents of Malden. Weary women, a handful of scared children and a battered Griff. The women tried to placate the hungry children with the scraps of food they had brought while scanning the woods like deer catching a strange scent on the wind. Many eyes landed on her face, but they apparently saw her worry and uncertainty because they all quickly diverted their gazes.

  Perhaps, if they marched back to Malden, they could surrender to the invaders and receive mercy but, remembering Kinma’s description of those waiting for them, Morreign easily discarded this idea. Fleeing deeper into the woods seemed like the logical choice even if this group could not move fast or far. She had started getting everyone on their feet when there was a sound. Branches breaking, something large moving in the brush.

  The sad group instantly huddled together around the children, clutching their pathetic tools turned to ad-hoc weapons. If she was not so afraid, Morreign would have laughed at the futile sight but, instead, she drew her own kitchen knife and joined the trembling mass.

  Breathing the only sound as everyone strained to hear without making a noise. They all jumped when one of the children, boisterous Adam, loudly barked out, “Marco!”

  Before they could react, Morreign heard deep laughter from the woods before a man called back, “Pollo!”

  Leo. He always played the silly game with the kids. Apparently, Adam’s young ears were more honed than those of the frightened adults, and he recognized Leo’s deep voice in the trees.

  Leo and Errol stepped through the shadow-filled pines. They looked worn out, and their clothes were bloodstained, but they both carried rifles which must have been taken off the attackers. Met with a barrage of eager questions, Leo lifted his hands above his head and, with his massive grin, bellowed, “Woa, woa, it’s ok. A few people got hurt, but I think everyone will be alright. Louisa’s trickery, those mushrooms, worked brilliantly. We took care of’em but we all need to go back right now ‘cause one of them, a huge guy, managed to get away and he’s got a gun. We’ve been looking for him, but he keeps eluding us -”

  Louisa blurted out, “And Jacob? Jake is with them?”

  Leo shook his head slightly. “No, he was not with them but-”

  An impossibly loud crack startled Morreign, freezing her as it took a second to recognize the immense sound of a nearby gunshot. Leo gasped out a curse before he crumpled to the grass as everyone else dove to the ground. A mountain of a man stumbled hurriedly out of the trees, a light-colored beard covering his face and long blonde hair falling over his shoulders. Errol managed to fire back but missed as the intruder calmly took aim and fired back, shooting the young man in the shoulder and dropping him before barking out, “You all stay on the damn ground.”

  Leveling the barrel at Morreign, as she was the only person still on her feet because her hip would not allow her to dive down, he ordered, “Throw them rifles over here. Try anything stupid, and I put holes in all your skulls.”

  Her mind racing, Morreign realized the monstrous man must be the one Leo said escaped, must have followed him and Errol. With no choice, she picked up Errol and Leo’s rifles and awkwardly flung them into the grass.

  The glaring beast moved forward, she could see vomit in his beard and glassiness in his eyes but, despite his shambling walk, pallor tone, and vacant eyes, he seemed to be ignoring the poisoning as he carefully surveyed the group, a predator sizing up prey as he circled. Finally, glowering down at Samantha as she cowered over her daughter, Paulina, he growled to himself, “This’ll work. This’ll work.”

  . . .

  At the impossibly loud banging, Louisa had instinctively fell to the ground. Even though she did not know exactly what was occurring, she knew it was far from good. She risked a glance up and managed to see a towering man’s face as he spun his rifle and slammed the butt into Samantha’s ribs before forcing her off her child with the thrust of a heavy boot.

  Eight-year-old Paulina screamed and kicked, but she may as well have been an insect complaining about a thunderstorm as the beast plucked her up and tucked the struggling child under his arm like a loaf of bread. Samantha managed to get up on her feet. “Wait, wait. Leave her be. I’ll go, it’ll be easier with me.”

  Holding the rifle on the group with one hand, the bear of a man looked Samantha up and down with a penetrating gaze that made Louisa’s stomach clench. Eventually, he tossed Paulina to the trampled dirt and waved the weapon at Samantha, snarling out, “Clothes off and no sounds or you die, die an ugly death before I switch my attentions back to the girl.”

  Samantha began to awkwardly undress at gunpoint, but before she could get her pants unbuttoned, Louisa watched the massive man throw her aside with a huge arm as he casually fired the rifle one-handed.

  Louisa spun back to see that Griff had gotten up from the grass, his short-handled yellow axe held over his head. The beast had apparently seen this too as he expertly fired one round into the middle of the thin chest of her friend. A grimace of pain filled Griff’s face, but he still managed to rear back and spin the axe from his hands. It flew fast, rotating exactly two times before burying itself where the gunman’s shoulder met his neck, making a sickening, wet thud.

  The rifle muzzle flew up as their attacker grabbed at his neck where blood now poured around the metal wedge buried in his flesh. Worried he would shoot aimlessly into the group, Louisa lifted and started to move at him, but before she could reach him, Morreign dove across the grass, throwing herself at the man’s knees. Morreign let out a pained screamed and seemed to bounce off him as if he were a stone wall, but his leg did bend causing the beast to stumble over as he fired rounds harmlessly into the air before he toppled.

  Instinctively knowing that hesitation could be fatal, Louisa scrambled over Morreign, plucking up her knife as she crashed down on the fallen man. The small blade seemed feeble but, when she used all her might to bury it in his huge chest, it slid in shockingly easily, finding its way between bone and his movement stopped completely.

  Freed from the threatening gunman, the others scurried to their feet, rushing to help the wounded. Louisa managed to roll Griff on to his back, pleading with him to speak. He stared up at her with unblinking, cold eyes. Frantic, she tore open his coat and shirt, abruptly stopping when she saw the perfect hole right in the middle of his narrow chest. No one could survive such an injury, Griff was gone.

  . . .

  Kinma’s arm throbbed horribly, but she did not think the damage would be permanent. The bullet went cleanly through her forearm, and a young woman named Emmanuelle did an excellent job of cleaning and bandaging the wound. Lucky. Luck seemed to have been on their side all night.

  Two other villagers, Ram and Hurley, were also hit, one in the calf and one was grazed in the thigh, but they were able to staunch the bleeding and both would survive so long as infection could be avoided. Sam received the nastiest injury, the Viking’s rifle butt to the head leaving him with the symptoms of a severe concussion. Still, only four injured, she would not have even dared to wish for a more lopsided victory.

  The Viking, however, remained on the loose. While she cursed herself for not considering his existence in their planning, Kinma figured he likely cut his losses and was headed for the hills, never to be seen again.

  Before he left with most of the men to hunt down the Viking, Paul ordered everyone else to remove the corpses from the lodge so none of the others would need to see the carnage left from the bloody night. Now, sitting on one of the cabin porches, under medical order
s to rest, Kinma watched as the massive heap of Bankers’ bodies they had piled in the middle of the clearing was put to the torch. She supposed she should feel some revulsion or at least a hint of sadness at her former companions meeting such a gruesome end but instead she merely felt a peaceful numbness.

  As putrid, greasy, black smoke billowed from the heap of corpses, Paul reappeared through the trees and came over. “How’s the arm?”

  “Hurts but I’ll live. No luck finding the Viking?”

  “Nah. If Sam was on his feet, we might have had a chance, but with no moonlight, his tracks disappeared.”

  Paul looked around, becoming concerned as he asked, “Leo and Errol aren’t back with Morreign and the others yet?”

  “No. Not yet”

  Paul pondered this for a moment before saying, “Guess it’s for the best, they’re still finishing the cleanup. And we have one other matter to deal with.”

  “Right.”

  “I could use your help since you know him. Are you strong enough to come with me?”

  Her arm ached but the thought of getting to interrogate a beaten and tied Harrison was impossible to resist so Kinma nodded, and they hurried off the porch.

  . . .

  Someone roughly grabbed the gag from Harrison’s mouth. His head throbbed, and his stomach continued to cramp as intense chills and retching racked his body. His arms were numb from having his shoulders harshly wrapped around a tree trunk, ropes holding him tight.

  He forced his eyes open. His tormentors stood above him, but his bindings would not allow him to look up enough to see anything but shins and boots. An unseen someone asked, “Where’s Jacob?”

  Confusion filled Harrison’s rattled mind. His mouth tasted foul, slimy with bile and coppery with his own blood but he managed to whisper, “Who?”

  “My son. Jacob. You were following him.”

  The kid. They were asking about the damn kid. He was a two-days-walk downriver by now, thinking he was leading the danger away. Or his illness did him in. Either way, he decided the unpleasant topic was not something he should discuss at this point in time, so Harrison stayed silent.

  A woman squatted down before him, her face right in front of his. Kinma. Goddamn Kinma. What the hell was she doing here? That idiot Clarence let her go. Her presence explained the poison. The sheep knew they were coming and set their trap perfectly.

  “Good to see you again, Harrison, especially under these circumstances.”

  Her haughty voice made fury rush in through his agony but Harrison forced it down, knowing escape required him to be calm and collected. He said, “Hello Kinma.”

  She merely said, “Tell us where Jacob is, and you can go free.”

  Despite the pain, he let out a tiny scoff as he knew this was an obvious ploy, they would not be letting him go any time soon.

  She continued, “Your asshole followers are all dead, you have no one left to lead. We can let you go, you’re too pathetic now to be a threat to anyone. Frankly, the idea of you wandering around in the woods all alone, waiting to be killed by weather or hunger or a bear, appeals to me.”

  He did not doubt that the Bankers were all dead. They ate and drank even more of what he ate and drank. The sheep’s cowardly trick worked and now, seeing Kinma, he understood how they knew they were coming. That fool Clarence could not keep Kinma even for a minute, and she rushed out here like Paul Revere. However, he knew her and knew she was not entirely evil. Maybe she was telling the truth. If they did let him go, he could possibly survive. Harrison said, “Jacob is out there.”

  A man’s voice eagerly asked from above, “Where? Where did you last see him?”

  Enjoying the desperation-filled tone, Harrison shook his head and calmly said, “First I need water. Call it a sign of goodwill.”

  Kinma and the men untied him from the tree and marched him back to the clearing on his numb legs. He could not look away from the smoldering heap, the remains of his invasion force, the remains of his command. He knew he should feel remorse and regret, but now he was only concerned with saving his future.

  They walked him toward the main building and, off to the side, he saw Milo and Taco watching the flames licking up through the greasy smoke. Noticing him, they both gave a smile followed by a mocking salute. Another indignity added to his growing rage which he struggled to keep pushed down as they took him up the steps.

  The smell of vomit and blood and gunpowder filled the air. Boots, coats, belts, blades and other items once cherished by his men were piled in one corner while the red stains covering most of the floorboards declared their violent ends. His well-trained, overpowering force made too weak to even make it outside and put up a fight. Remnants of the tainted food remained on the table. He cursed internally, unable to believe they were so easily fooled once they came so far and got so close.

  After a whispered conversation, Harrison could not hear, they pushed him into a narrow side room. No window. A narrow shelf along one wall. An old wood stove in the corner. The men pressed him into the corner, sat him on the floor and handed him a plastic bottle of water. His arms trembled under the minor weight as he lifted it with weak hands. He drank. His tortured guts clenched for a moment, wanting to expel even water but he managed to keep it down and drank again. A couple of deep breaths and his head cleared slightly. One more drink and he looked up at his captors.

  The leader looked haggard with a scruffy beard and curly hair, the arms of his coat stained brownish red with the blood of Harrison’s former army. Strong family resemblance to the kid, likely his father. Kinma was thinner than when he last saw her, having endured the same difficult trip from Thule as him and a thick bandage covered her forearm, but her intense glare seemed formidable all the same.

  Seeing no reason to lie, Harrison spoke, “We left Jacob downriver, about a half day’s hike. I think he realized we were behind him and he wanted to lead us away, but we spotted the village anyway because he stopped to take one last look and my scout saw smoke above the trees. My guess is he’s still stumbling along, thinking we’re following behind him.”

  The father merely nodded and said, “Ok.”

  Kinma leaned in and said, “You best not be lying.”

  Harrison grinned and answered, “Scout’s honor.”

  When they picked up a rusty chain, clearly intending to bind him to the wood stove, Harrison asked, “I thought you said I could go?”

  The father muttered, “Not yet.”

  After carefully chaining his leg to the stove with a hearty padlock and retying his hands with a cord, they hurried out of the room. Sitting there, sick, beaten and alone, most men would have wasted their energy despairing about their situation and bemoaning their bad fortunes. Harrison, however, knew being alive meant he had a chance.

  The soft fools had tied his hands in front of him, not seeing the battered man as much of a threat. He began searching his makeshift cell for anything useful, telling himself to remain confident he would find a way out in fairly short order.

  . . .

  With her hand on his wide chest, Morreign, her ruined hip screaming in pain after slamming into the gunman’s knees, could feel Leo’s heartbeat weakening as she looked down into the once strong man’s eyes which were slowly closing, then flashing open for an instant before slowly closing again. A gurgling, rattling noise came from his slightly opened mouth, and tears rushed forward when Morreign realized where she recognized the strange sound from, in the last minutes of his life, little Huck made a softer version of that distinct noise.

  With a trembling voice, Morreign said, “We’re ok now, Leo. Griff and Louisa got the guy. We’re ok. We’ll get you back, everything’ll be fine.”

 
She stopped talking as the rattle stopped and she figured it was over, her brother-in-law gone but then he gave a weak cough as his eyes fluttered open again. He whispered, “Errol? Errol ok?”

  She glanced over. Errol had been hit in the shoulder, he was conscious and talking. Impossible to tell but it did not seem fatal.

  Morreign said, “He’s ok. Flesh wound.”

  Letting his eyes close again, Leo nodded as he mumbled, “Good. Good. We screwed up coming here. Should’ve have known the prick could’ve circled back on us like that, probably walked right on our damn tracks and followed us straight to you. I’m glad Errol’ll make it at least.”

  “You’ll make it too, Leo. Rest easy, we’ll get you back to the Lodge and get you fixed up.”

  A tiny grin lifted the corner of his lips as another rattle came out. When it passed, he whispered, “Sure, Morreign, sure, sure…”

  Morreign realized that before the Longest Night, before they fled, Leo, like most friends, always called her Mo but soon after they arrived at Malden he only called her Morreign, actually only Paul ever called her Mo anymore. An odd thought to cross her mind as she watched one of her oldest friend’s life slip away. She said, “Listen to me, I’m always right, you know that. Magical instincts and all that.”

  “’Fraid not this time. Tell my girls I love ’em, and I’m proud of ‘em, ok?”

  Choking back a sob, Morreign tried to sound strong as she said, “No, you’ll tell them yourself.”

  With the hint of humor completely gone, he whispered, “Tell them for me.”

  Giving up the pointless ruse, she let the tears come and said, “Ok, I will.”

  With that, the awful rattle came back for an awful minute before the soft heartbeat stopped and Leo went entirely silent.

  . . .

  Jacob tripped. He did not know what he tripped over, it could have been nothing given how tired and wobbly his legs felt. Forget taking in water or food, all night his burning, swollen throat made it hard to even breathe in air.