Feeney took a ragged breath and his hands shook. For once he met my eyes. They were deep pits of terror.
“Enoch, would you mind putting on the kettle? My nerves…”
With a nod, Enoch Boden rose and tottered off, disappearing from the room and moving toward a kitchen somewhere inside the Big House.
“Sorry, I need to catch my breath,” said Feeney. “It’s not an easy thing to talk about.”
Samantha withdrew her hand from mine, placing her hand on the quivering old man’s. “I cannot imagine it’s very easy even up to this point. I am so sorry.”
“You shouldn’t have come here, it’s not safe,” said Feeney again. He looked brighter, more lucid. He was actually meeting our eyes with his own.
“Our choices were limited,” I said. “If I could take it back, start over, I would have never come down the Broken Road.”
“It used to be a safe place,” said Eustis. “Really it did.”
She patted down her wild hair with a hand while looking at the tabletop.
“Maybe it will be again,” I said.
“I should finish the story. So you can understand. You need to understand…” Feeney said and took a deep breath. “We set about doing a mass burial, a rescue party of a sort, all of us, the whole town: men, women, children, the young and old, the sick and healthy. There were about four hundred of us left. Not much, but more than the victims hung around the edge of the town. Enough to do the work. It took us only a few hours. We removed the bodies, gave them a proper funeral and cut up the stakes and buried them as well.”
He took a deep breath that seemed to catch in his throat. When he spoke, the words rolled out, dark and ominous. “Then the children began to go missing.”
The thought made me sick to my stomach. I glanced at Wensem. He was a new father, his own son a little over a year old, and I could tell the idea bothered him greatly. His chest moved slowly.
“Three disappeared the following night, two the next, one the night after that. All crucified or impaled next to exhumed corpses on fresh stakes. It was clear then… we had no power in this. Nothing we could do would make it stop. If we left we’d be taken and killed. If we pulled down the bodies we’d be taken and killed. Now they were taking and killing our children...”
“There’s bodies out there with three or four holes in them,” said the sheriff. “People we pulled down only to see them re-impaled. We only did what we thought was right. We only wanted to give our people a proper burial! Take care of our folk… our kin. Biggest mistake we could’ve made.”
“So we stopped,” said the mayor. “What else could we do? We pulled in, little by little, tearing down houses and fences to build barricades. Methow was never a big place, but we had enough empty buildings we worried could become refuges for our tormentors… so we burned others, hoping it would help us see whoever was coming from afar. It didn’t stop ’em. If anything, it gave them more clear land for their stakes.
“The nightmares never went away, the noise returns every now and then, and sometimes folks disappear. We no longer open our gates. We don’t give in to compassion anymore.”
The mayor stopped as Boden returned bearing a tray of cups. He seemed to drift off, his eyes getting glassy and his tone shifting back to that bizarre dream-like quality.
“Thank you, Enoch,” he croaked, taking a cup of tea and sipping with loud slurps. Finally he looked up at me, his dreamy expression returned. “You should not have come.”
I agreed with him. We should not have come.
We were trapped.
SEVENTEEN
SEVEN SETS OF EYES STARED BACK AT ME and I forced down a swallow. My throat was dry and my hands were clammy. I needed to break the news to my crew. Mechanically I recounted the information the council had shared as my head continued to swim. Even as the words came tumbling out I wasn’t sure exactly what to say.
One thought clanged around incessantly: we were trapped. Mayor Feeney was clear on that. Folks who tried to flee ended up in the Forest of the Dead. If we tried to leave now, would it only put my people further in harm’s way? We already pulled down Tin…
Trapped.
I hated that feeling. I needed my freedom as much as people need air to breathe. It’s common among roaders. There’s probably some psychological term for it, but I’m no clinician. I’m part drifter. I can’t be locked into a place for too long. Drives me crazy. Whatever it is, it’s rooted deep in my gut. It's what pushed me to escape that jail in Lovat. What sent me down that wild road that ended at the hooves of the Black Goat and those damn cultists.
“So we’re stuck,” said Hannah. She looked up at me with her jaw set, her bright eyes narrowed but sparkling with ferocious energy. “We have no place to go. If we leave we’ll be taken and killed.”
“Seems that way…” said Samantha. “When people tried to flee they were later found crucified or impaled.”
I sat on the back of the gearwain facing Methow’s Big House, my legs dangling. Samantha sat next to me and Wensem stood to my left, leaning against the side, his shotgun slung lazily over his wide shoulders. Behind us was what remained of the caravan’s laager.
We set up camp in the center of Methow. The laager, a fraction of its former size, with only four wains, was now more of a square and less of a circle. The gearwain sat at the north side, the remaining Shaler cargowain to the west. Taft’s chuckwain sat solidly in the south, her lone ox resting. Shaler’s plastic prairiewain filled out the eastern side. Extended tarpaulins huddled over the center around a hastily constructed fire that belched white smoke.
After our meeting with the town leaders I ordered all of my people inside its barricades. What remained of the Shaler caravan moved quickly, rolling to a stop as the heavy gate was swung shut behind. It was a false sense of security. People went missing with or without the gates and barricades, but it was better to look at the haphazard constructions than at the impaled bodies.
The citizens of the besieged town emerged from their ramshackle structures to stare at us with sunken eyes. They gazed out from under awnings, from cracked and dirty windows, from gaping doorways that reminded me of hungry mouths.
“The rumors are true. This route is cursed,” said Range absently. Neither of the two boys said much. They had picked their way carefully through the Forest, eyes glancing at each body, hoping they wouldn’t find Shaler’s corpse among the profane versions of trees.
“None of this makes any damned sense whatsoever,” said Taft, the big chuck crossing her arms across her chest. She was still looking a little green. Her eyes glanced over my shoulder toward the gate we had just come through. “It’s like a disturbed ghost story told around a campfire. We’re sharing dreams. Horrific noises thunder in the sky. People go missing and turn up impaled in a forest of bodies. It’s like some damn horror picture. It doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I agreed. “That doesn’t mean we don’t take precautions. Losing one person was tough, two was unbearable. We’re not going to see another one of our column go missing.”
“You can’t promise that, boss. How do we know we haven’t already angered whoever’s doing this? How do we know it’s not out there, waiting to snag another one of us?” asked Taft. Her normally smiling eyes looked vacant and sunken. She seemed nervous and on the verge of panic.
Had they all given up? Had I? I brushed the question away and tried to focus on the discussion at hand. Tried to remain strong.
“We don’t,” said Wensem. His voice was soft, but deadly serious. I turned and looked at my partner as he continued. “Truth is, we’re lost. Our backs are up against a wall. Is it dangerous? You bet it is. But we’ve been in tough spots in the past. We’ll figure out what to do. We have before, and we will again. Bell Caravans will emerge from this. Trust me on that.”
He sounded confident. More confident than I felt. Could we really emerge from this? Was there a caravansara at the end of this trail? I looked in Wensem’s blue-gray eyes and
tried to read the emotion in them. His words had more hope in them than I could begin to muster.
“So what do we do?” asked Range. The young man looked wild, his dirty hair splayed back and to the side, and he stood with his chest puffed out like a rooster. His fingers were clamped so tight around the stock of his rifle that his knuckles paled. Next to him stood Chance, head down, his pointed boots digging at the packed earth.
“I don’t rightly know,” I admitted. “I’m still working that out.”
“Our cousin could still be out there,” he said, his voice edged with concern.
I nodded.
“I don’t like being stuck here, boss,” admitted Hannah. The scout looked over at Range, then at Wensem, and back at me. “Hard to see an enemy coming when you’re cowering behind barricades and barbwire.”
“As Wensem said, we’ll figure this out,” I nodded. “I don’t like it either but we’re not cowering behind any barricades. We’re going to be proactive. We’re going to set up a watch. I want eyes on the outside at all times, I want to see who or what is coming before it gets here. We’ve spent too long huddled at laager and too little time watching the angles. Wensem will set up a watch schedule and we’ll speak with the leadership to get the locals involved.” I turned and looked at the figures milling around the edge of the small square. Could we trust them? Feeney seemed on the edge of losing his mind. The sheriff hadn't seemed willing to help. The two other council members seemed worthless. “We’re all on duty.”
The mayor and Councilwoman Eustis walked up. The sheriff, who had been at our side since we stormed the gate, was strangely absent. I introduced them to my company and then dismissed the column to finish setting up the laager.
“How many were you when you started out?” asked the councilwoman, her blue eyes watching my caravan return to their work. Only Wensem remained at my side.
“Sixteen.”
Seven remained. Seven. Less than half.
“Did the others get taken?” she asked.
“No. Most of the company left after the disappearance of our client, taking some of our security and the majority of our cargo. They felt a return to Meyer's Falls was safer than proceeding. We had another one turn around a few days before we came across Methow.”
“They were the smart ones,” mumbled the mayor.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “Yeah, they were.”
The mayor seemed to refocus on our laager. “How long will you remain here?”
“Good question,” said Wensem, looking at me with an eyebrow raised. It gave his crooked face a strangely comical expression.
“Way we see it, we’re as trapped here as your people are. No sense in trying to leave any time soon. I’d rather not see any more of my crew on those stakes.”
“We don’t have food—” the councilwoman began.
“We have plenty,” I interjected. “We plan on sharing as much as we can. Your barricades will give us some advantage, some protection. My duty is to protect my caravan. The way I figure it, the best way out of this is to put a stop to whatever is doing this. That way we can be sure to leave unmolested.”
The mayor snorted and then nodded, his mind as absent from the gesture as it was from my words.
“Where’s the sheriff?” I asked.
“Important business,” nodded the mayor. He hummed. “Yes, very important business.”
Wensem and I made eye contact. It was odd for the sheriff to be absent from this discussion, and I hadn’t spotted him along the edge of the camp. Was the sheriff involved in this somehow? It couldn’t be that easy, could it?
“Here’s the list of folks who volunteered for guard duty,” said the councilwoman, handing over a scrap of paper with about seven names printed in block Strutten. Wensem took the paper and nodded.
“Thank you. Tonight we’ll set up a ring of torches around the town. Light up the Forest like a Bresh holiday party. We’ll be able to spot anyone coming.”
“You think it’ll help?” asked Eustis. The councilwoman scratched behind one of the horns that sprouted from her scalp with an index finger. The horn was sharp and black. “We have never seen the kidnappers. They arrive. They take. They disappear.”
Wensem grunted but said nothing more.
“It can’t hurt,” I said. “It’ll help our guards feel more at ease.”
“And if they see this… kidnapper?” asked the mayor. “What then?”
“Then we kill them,” I said.
A short while later I found Taft by the chuckwain preparing dinner for the caravan. Trail food: rice with onions, peppers, and strips of dried beef in brown gravy. There was a tinge of dimanian spices and the whole mixture smelled delicious. My stomach rumbled.
“See what you can do to feed these people,” I said. “We should have plenty.”
Taft paused and looked at me without saying anything, her hands on her expansive hips. I half expected a protest, but she just turned and looked at the people milling around the edge of the square. Finally she nodded. “I’ll start some potatoes boiling and see what I can do to extend this meal. How long you plan on feeding the town?”
“Long as we can,” I said. I wished we still had a few cargowains of Shaler’s produce. It would have really helped. “It’s the least we can do. They’re giving us shelter.”
“And we’re sorting out their problem,” mumbled the chuck.
“That’s the way of it,” I said, taking another quick whiff. It was a much more pleasant odor than anything else in recent memory.
“We can hold out for a while,” said Taft. “I did prepare to feed seventeen of us for more than a few months on the trail. It won’t last forever though. Notice how they stare at our animals like they’re walking banquets?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I also noticed there’s no animals here. You’d expect to see dogs and cats in a place like this… but, shit, I haven’t even seen a rat. A place this filthy should be crawling with them.”
Taft nodded.
“Well, let’s get some food into them and maybe it’ll keep them from our oxen.”
Taft wagged a heavy chef’s knife at me. “If one of those dirty buggers even thinks of touchin’ Bart I’ll shoot ’em well before any mountain monster can get to them. You know I will!”
I chuckled, it felt nice.
Samantha walked up, arms clutching her elbows.
“You have a minute, Wal?”
“Sure,” I said.
We moved away from the chuckwain to a corner of the town devoid of people or prying ears.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Samantha met my eyes and then looked away. “I feel like I am missing something.”
I blinked.
Samantha continued. “I think Taft was wrong when she said none of this was making any sense. I think it does make sense. There is some connection here. Some connection to… something.”
“Someone, you mean?” I asked.
Samantha shook her head. “No, I mean something. I think we’re dealing with another one of the Firsts. Like the tunnel. Like Peter Black.”
The words hit me like a thunderbolt. I blinked again, and felt a shiver rush down my spine dropping a sour feeling into my stomach. A First.
Samantha had been dancing around the name, but now it echoed in my head. Cybill. The monster Peter Black had tried to resurrect in the tunnels below Lovat. I tried to speak, but couldn’t. Cybill had died as the tunnel collapsed on her, hadn’t she?
“I should have recognized the signs immediately. The dreams…” her voice trailed off.
“The dreams?” I asked. “What about the dreams?”
“In the legends, the pre-Aligning manuscripts. There are stories that speak of the Firsts communicating through dreams. Remember when I talked about my research into the Nameless?”
I nodded.
“Well, I remember reading stories of sleeping Firsts communicating through dreams. Usually instructions... sometimes warnings. Instructions for people to mar their fl
esh. To go into woods and perform rituals.”
“So, what do our dreams mean?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s too similar not to mention. Keziah Mason herself says the founders impregnated her wits at chimera. In less crazy speak: the Firsts talked to her when she was sleeping.”
Samantha looked at me, her large dark brown eyes searching. Her brow was furrowed, and her hands were clasped tightly together.
Firsts.
I didn’t know what to say so I took her hand, tried my best to comfort her without revealing my own worries. Samantha was strong and likely the smartest among us. She had saved me once before. If she was worried, I knew I should be terrified.
“Damn it, I wish I had more of my books. Keziah is worthless beyond speculation. I’d take anything right now. Something to track down a lead on this thing. Maybe find out who or what it really is and kill it.”
I released her hand and rubbed my face, feeling the dirt and grime that had collected on my skin. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came.
“I’m just worried about it, that’s all. I needed to tell someone—I wanted to tell you.”
She blinked at me. Our heads drifted closer together, almost touching. I could smell her. The sharp scent of ritual incense, fresh flowers coupled with the familiar smell of road dust. It lifted me. That old burning desire I felt when we first met flooded into me. Our eyes met. Her large dark brown eyes, my narrow ones the color of dust.
Flames... in the darkness. Cybill. A First.
The thought of another monster out there drove out everything warm. I stood upright.
“I…” I began, my words still a struggle.
I looked at Samantha, courage bubbling up. “Have you mentioned this to anyone else?”
She shook her head.
“For now let’s keep it that way. We have enough to worry about without our people thinking a First is wandering the mountains.”
“What about Wensem?”
“Even Wensem,” I said. I felt guilty saying it.
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