Old Broken Road

by Alexander, K. M.

  Hannah was nowhere.

  The mayor and the sheriff stumbled out from the Big House and met us gathering our crew for an expansive search. The two council members, Boden and Eustis, were also nowhere to be seen.

  “Trouble?” drawled the sheriff. His eyes moved over my company as they readied themselves for the expanded search.

  I looked at him silently for a moment before answering. “We’re missing someone. We’re going to find them.”

  “Who this time?”

  “Our scout. Hannah Clay.”

  The sheriff shook his head. “That pretty little human?”

  I nodded.

  “Damn. I am sorry, so sorry. She seemed like a firebrand.”

  “We’re going to find her.”

  He looked doubtful.

  “We are,” I repeated.

  “I have been there,” said the sheriff. He reached out and put a hand on each of my arms. His small dark eyes met mine. “Especially in the beginning, I had the same determination. Find my family, my friends. I marched all over the valley, searching. It’s always the same.” He shook his head. “Believe me.”

  “This time is different. We have to try!”

  “Don’t you get it? You’ve angered them! You took down the body of your roader yesterday. The dauger. They weren’t happy about that. This is their payback. You remove a body, they take another. It’s the way of things.”

  I started at him.

  “You’re not going to find her,” he said again, his voice sad. “Stay behind these walls. Before someone else goes missing. Please.”

  I wanted to hit him. Make him eat his words. Wensem noticed and stepped between us, putting a hand on my chest and pushing me back gently. I took a deep breath and turned away and started walking towards the town’s gate. As I marched I drew my weapon and checked the chambers before I returned it to its holster.

  I had someone to find.

  “Mister Bell,” said the mayor sleepily. “Please don’t. You’ll only risk making them angrier.” He reached out and grabbed the sleeve of my shirt as I passed.

  I shook him off and spoke as I walked. “We don’t leave our people behind and we don’t just let them go.”

  “Whatever you see outside our barricades, Mister Bell, don’t disturb it,” the sheriff called. “You’ll only bring more trouble. I’m trying to help you. Believe me.”

  I turned to my company. “Open the gates! We’ll explore the Forest first and if we can’t find Hannah there, we expand our search into the woods beyond. You find her, shoot into the air.”

  Everyone nodded, their faces uniformly determined.

  “Let’s go,” I said, moving towards the gate we had passed through just yesterday. I cradled Hannah’s rifle in the crook of my arm. I vowed to return it to its owner. Two Methow citizens scurried to open the gate and I gathered up what remained of my courage to face the forest of corpses once more.

  The doors swung open.

  Two loud shouts of anguish erupted from behind me.

  I blinked at first, unsure of what I was seeing. Then realization set in.

  Shaler. She hung dead, naked, and crucified on a simple pole. Her eyes were closed but her face was twisted in frozen anguish. Blood matted her blond hair and sat in dried clots around her nose and mouth. Bruises and ragged slashes covered her neck and arms. A large sign painted with blood-red letters covered her chest and hung down to just above her knees.

  Red words on a black background.

  “Wal…” Samantha gasped.

  Over my shoulder I heard someone vomit and I could feel my hands shaking. The world swam below me. Dizziness overwhelmed me. I felt like I was going to faint. The words on the sign burned into my skull like a red hot brand:

  GUARDIAN:

  I HAVE GIVEN

  YOU SIGNS

  NOW YOU WILL

  SEE WONDERS

  NINETEEN

  THE WORDS ON THE SIGN CAUSED ME TO STOP IN MY TRACKS and fall backwards on the hard packed dirt of the square. I stared at the words, not fully able to comprehend them. Guardian. The name triggered another flood of memories. The horrors I faced. The world before me became a swimming mass of gray.

  The words from the sign trailed after me as we searched the forest and the valley looking for Hannah, haunting me like an old ghost. They rattled around in my head as I numbly assisted Chase and Range with taking down Shaler’s body. Taking her down was an act of defiance that gave us only a day to prepare. I didn’t care, this was a finger at whatever was doing this, whatever had decided to communicate with me directly.

  The painted words rose up, swelling like a wave as I helped dig the grave. They played over and over in my head. Signs. Wonders. They would stutter to a stop at one word in particular, the name: Guardian.

  Peter Black, the satyr and self-proclaimed demigod, had christened me Guardian a year earlier. A glorious title given for a repellant task. He had hired Bell Caravans to deliver a large crate from Syringa, tricking me into unknowingly guarding the mummified corpse of a First. This simple action, unbeknownst to me, awarded me the title.

  Along with the title came instructions. According to some ritual laid down in tomes written by madmen from eons past, anyone connected to the Guardian—friends, family, acquaintances—was fair game for the sacrificial slaughter needed to bring Cybill to life.

  It lead to the death of many of my friends and very nearly took the life of Samantha’s brother Hagen, Wensem, and his newborn son.

  Black had been stopped and I was the one to stop him. Peter Black—Pan—was dead. Very dead. I had seen him killed as an ancient tunneling machine smashed him into a tunnel wall. There was no way he could have come back from that. His ritual failed. Cybill, the writhing, twisting mound of eyes and fleshy tentacles had been lost beneath the city. Hadn’t she?

  I had seen the tunnel come down on her as it collapsed. I nearly drowned in the process. It had been the road priest who shook those memories loose, and now this sign cemented everything for me.

  Guardian, a mocking title. Only a few people in the Territories would know that name. While Black couldn’t be doing these atrocities, one of his followers could be. His cult—the Children—also knew me by that title. Many were killed when the tunnels collapsed but some had to have escaped. Were the gargoyles actually the Children of Pan?

  Black hoods and robes weren’t really their style, though. They fancied colors of blood red and forwent hoods. Their leader was dead. Were they in mourning? Or were they plotting?

  Still, the Children were just people: humans, dimanians, kresh, maero. Simple, ordinary, a bit crazy, sure, but still just people. How could simple folk pump dreams into our brains? How could they create the devastating racket that plagued us from the sky?

  The six remaining members of my company buried Shaler next to Ivari Tin. His grave was undisturbed. I was grateful for that. If Methow’s tormenter was keen on taking back the bodies of the dead, at least it hadn’t gotten around to my people yet.

  The ceremony was simple. Reunified. Traditional. Led by Samantha. I didn’t pay much attention. My mind was caught up racing through all we knew and worrying about Hannah. A numbness seemed to sink into me. A familiar feeling and one I didn’t like much. I mechanically repeated the chants and followed along with the small service as best I could; out of respect for the dead more than any personal belief.

  As Samantha finished the prayers and we each paid our respects I tarried over the fresh mound along the Broken Road. Margaret Shaler had been too young, much too young. Hannah was even younger. I looked at the forest, the real forest of scattered lodgepole pines and the occasional copse of hemlock. Hannah was out there, somewhere. I hoped she was okay.

  The words from the sign flashed again in my memory. That single word burned: Guardian.

  Service finished, we made our way back to the town. Range walked next to me. His cheeks were stained by trails of fresh tears. His eyes red, mood sullen and despondent.

  I dreaded s
ending word to her family. I tried not to think about the consequences.

  I reached out and placed a hand on the back of Range’s neck. It was something my uncles did to me when I was growing up. He turned and looked at me with angry eyes, but said nothing. I nodded, trying to intimate that I understood. That it was okay to get angry. We needed to get angry.

  Up until now we had been tormented at every turn and our best defense was rolling over and exposing our belly. We sought out and took shelter in the very town these tormenters placed under siege for nearly a year.

  I was tired. I was tired of the torment. I was tired of being the victim. That single word burned hot, only instead of inside my head, it burned inside my chest.

  Guardian.

  I’d make it true.

  I’d step into the light and find out who was doing this.

  And then I would kill them.

  As the sheriff predicted, our first search turned up nothing. As did the second. When we returned to town I gathered my people and sent them out on a third search of the Forest of the Dead looking for Hannah. It also came up nil.

  A third member of my crew was missing. Two were now dead. Why us? Was this meant to scare us? Scare me? Was this a warning? We kept rolling even after our company split. Had I listened, maybe Hannah would be all right. Maybe Tin would have been released. Maybe Shaler would still be alive. Maybe Hannah and I would be sharing drinks in Syringa watching the monochrome and waiting for the Big Ninety to reopen.

  You can’t live in a world of maybes.

  I hadn’t listened. I hadn’t seen the warning. I came to Methow anyway, and broke one of the tormenter’s rules. I removed the body of Tin.

  This… thing, in all its madness, followed some code. By pulling down Shaler we violated it yet again. If history was our guide, that left us only a few days to find Hannah before she would turn up as another corpse, crucified or impaled, another twisted tree in the Forest of the Dead.

  I didn’t intend to give it a few days.

  The decision to remove and bury Shaler was intentional. It would force the tormenter to act again. They’d come back into town, tonight most likely. As the mayor and the sheriff told us, disturbing the forest brought reprisal.

  We only had a little time.

  After our fourth search Wensem, Samantha, Taft, and myself sat in the same room in the Big House where the previous day the mayor had spun the town’s story. I was starting to realize whoever or whatever was doing this was also watching us. I had sent the Shaler boys on a fourth reconnaissance mission. Partly to get them out of their own heads, and partly to keep the kidnappers guessing.

  Across from us sat the Methow leadership, their backs to the boarded up windows and minus the sheriff who was again absent. As we talked, a clock missing its glass face ticked away the time on the wall above.

  We discussed the events of the day, the sudden rush of sleep that had befallen the first watch, our missing scout, the body of Shaler, and the plan going forward.

  “We all fell asleep around the same time,” Wensem said. “The guards along the barricades confirmed it, by the Firsts, Wal found Range face-down, sleeping in the center of the square.”

  “It moved fast,” I nodded.

  “What could be causing that?” asked Samantha, rubbing one of the small black spurs that jutted from her chin with a thumb and looking at me. A long sigh drifted out from between those perfect lips. “There were legends of an old demigod who could put people to sleep: Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams. He wasn’t malevolent, though. But he had many brothers, and they all had various dream-like abilities.”

  “You think this is another demigod? Like Peter Black?” Wensem asked.

  Samantha shrugged. “It’d make sense…”

  “Who is Peter Black?” asked Boden.

  “Long story. Troublesome bastard. He claimed to be a demigod, a husband of a First. He’s dead now.”

  Boden hemmed and frowned but didn’t press the matter further.

  “Dreams, sounds, and now instantaneous sleep,” Taft said loudly, lost in thought. She sipped from a flask. She started carrying it with her after we found Shaler. I noticed her hands quaver.

  “Maybe poison put us all to sleep. Something similar to a chloroform? We have long thought the town’s water was poisoned and that poison brought the nightmares. We even tried to filter it, but never could figure out if that was the cause,” said Boden. I hadn’t seen him since the previous day as he spent most of his time lurking around the Big House. He looked livelier than before, though he still wore his hood.

  “Has anything like this ever happened before?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “As the town drew in on itself we always had night guards. They, like anyone, eventually fell asleep, but none ever reported anything like this.”

  “Did you have a watch schedule?” I asked.

  “No, just a few guards who would trade off,” admitted Boden. “They’d check the barricades. The gate.” He waved a gloved hand.

  “I think it’s magic,” said Eustis earnestly.

  I could see Boden’s eyes roll in the shadows beneath his hood. If I wasn’t looking directly at the councilwoman my own eyes would have rolled as well.

  “What we’re describing is supernatural. Think about it. All of us dreaming the same dream? Not similar dreams, mind you, but the same dream.” She looked around at all of us. “That is impossible! Then the noise! Louder than the trumpets at judgement and so particular. Now this mass lethargy! Surely some spiritist or a group of them is conjuring all of this—feeding off our fear!”

  “It’s not magic,” Taft said gruffly without looking up, taking another pull from her flask. She slowly pinched one of her cheeks with her thumb and stared at the table.

  “I…” I began, then closed my mouth. I glanced over at Samantha, who was looking at me. I remembered what she had said the day before. She believed this to be a First. They did exist. This much I knew. And they seemed to operate outside the laws of our reality. Magic might not be the right word, but there was... something... happening.

  Eustis, obviously outnumbered, huffed and folded her arms across her chest. A silence fell. Eventually it was Boden who broke it. “What did the message mean?”

  “Guardian,” said Eustis, and I shivered. “I have given you signs. Now you will see wonders,” she repeated from memory. “See, more proof of my magic theory.”

  “Who is the Guardian?” asked Boden.

  Samantha and Wensem looked at me. Their faces were drawn but I gave a small shake of the head. It wasn’t the time. I didn’t want to have to explain the situation in Lovat to the council. The less we told them about the past, the better.

  When I looked at the council all three of them were watching me. Expressions placid. Waiting. I shrugged and lied. “Not sure, a reference to the sheriff maybe? He’s the sworn town protector.”

  And what a great job he has done so far.

  “Ahh… signs and wonders,” said the mayor in his sleepy tone.

  “That, I recognize,” said Samantha.

  “A threat?” I asked, trying to move the conversation past my unwanted title.

  Boden was watching me carefully and it made me uneasy. Did he know?

  “No, it’s from The Second Law. One of our scriptures. It’s tied to an old legend about God leading his people from a foreign land. Obviously it’s being used with different meaning here.”

  “Gibberish is what it is!” Boden said. “Flowery words meant to scare us.”

  You have no idea, I thought. I had a pang of envy for the old man’s ignorance.

  Boden threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “More bodies, a sign with nothing but threats. We have no answers, just as before, and you removed the latest victim. That means they’ll come again! They’ll come again and take who they want.”

  Taft made a noise. I turned and looked at her. She was still staring at a blank spot on the table but she was shaking her head.

  “Something o
n your mind?” I asked.

  She looked up, snapping out of her trance. “Yeah, actually… you’re wrong, Mr. Boden.”

  The old councilman huffed at her impertinence. Taft ignored him and continued. “I think we have an answer. I think it’s been with us for a while now. I should’ve seen it sooner. It was right there. It was always right there. It just took us being backed into a corner for me to see it.”

  “Explain,” said Wensem in that soft tone. His shoulders arched forward slightly as he leaned into his words. It was only obvious to me—after years of working the roads with him—that his usual relaxed posture was tightened.

  “We’re being gassed.”

  Wensem straightened further. I blinked. Gassed? Chemicals? I remembered Taft’s story about Bowles’ Folly. The tale told over the fire. The Syringan plan to gas the Victory soldiers as they slept in their bunks. If they succeeded in knocking them out they’d have been able to walk into Crowsnest without a fight. It was eerily similar to our own recent experience, only—unlike Victory—we didn’t have masks to filter the air.

  “Think about it,” Taft leaned forward. Her massive chest pressed against the table. “It all makes sense. At least the physical portions. Whatever is doing this is gassing the populace. Until now Methow hasn’t really had any sort of watch in place, and those they did have would fall asleep and that was that. Those asleep when the gas hit just fell into a deeper sleep. I bet if everyone really started talking they’d discover they all felt like two shades of shit when they woke up the next morning and all dozed off at a very particular time.”

  “Just like we have,” said Samantha. “Ever since…”

  Taft nodded, finishing the sentence. “…ever since the noises started.”

  “We just didn’t realize,” said Samantha, a bit of awe slipping into her voice. “We all turned in for the night and slept pretty deeply. All that was on our minds were the dreams.”

  We’ll find you yet, Hannah.

  “I have some experience with chemicals,” Taft explained to the Methow leadership. “Spent years in the Syringan militia. Trust me when I say: this has all the signs. This town, our caravan, we’re all being gassed. I’m sure.”