by A. M. Manay
She followed the trickle of people braving the weather. Penn and Bluebell caught up to her. Penn began babbling about the cliffside dwelling they had moved into together. Bluebell said little and kept her eyes on Shiloh, who said even less.
The service was held near one of the more spectacular waterfalls. The mist had frozen in the night, turning the river frothy with slush. Shiloh had never seen such a thing.
Braziers had been set up among the benches, and Shiloh sighed happily when she took her place next to one of them. Welcome heat radiated from the brass stoves.
Three priests stood before the modest crowd, one of them a woman. Shiloh had never seen a woman lead worship before, and she smiled at the rebellious thrill it gave her. The hymns were mostly familiar, but the prayers were different. There were no fawning celebrations of the Patriarch or the queen, no proclamations of gratitude for their wisdom and majesty, no exhortations to loyalty or patriotism. Instead, they prayed for the downtrodden, the sick, the poor, the outcast Unclean. They read from scripture, and then the woman began to preach on the gift of freedom.
Shiloh’s anxiety gradually left her. It felt as though she were sitting in a warm bath, letting it wash away her cares.
They didn’t ruin this for me, she realized with relief. Not altogether. Maybe I can’t stand the old ways anymore, but they didn’t succeed in taking my Gods from me.
She smiled all the way home.
Shiloh sat in her front room darning a wool stocking. A fire roared in the hearth. Barefoot, she used her toes to hold the garment and yarn as she worked the needle with her hand to mend the hole. A blast of cold air pushed through the door as Silas entered from outside, shaking the snow from his boots.
“Are you sewing with your feet?” Silas asked once he had pulled the door closed against the cold, a smile on his face.
“How else would I do it?” Shiloh replied. She bent to bite off the thread. “I had to find a way. Somebody had to mend my Da’s socks.”
“Fair point. I never thought about it,” Silas admitted. “Did you do needlepoint with the ladies-in-waiting that way?”
Shiloh laughed. “Alas, no. Though that would have made for much more entertaining afternoons. Can you imagine the look on Zina’s face?”
“I can, indeed,” Silas answered with a laugh. “How was worship?”
“Fine. Different, which is probably good. It helped wash the taste of the Patriarch out of my mouth.”
“I thought you were going to wake me up to come with you,” he scolded.
“I was, but you were sleeping so peacefully. And you were up in the night with my bad dreams. I didn’t have the heart to wake you,” Shiloh explained. “Besides, you hate worship. It makes you itch.”
“True. I never did have the patience for it, even when my faith was stronger. At the monastery, when I was a kid, I got in so much trouble for sneaking in books to read,” Silas shared.
“That I believe.”
“Anybody go with you?” Silas asked.
“Penny and Bluebell.”
“Hana is still off religion?” Silas inquired.
Shiloh nodded. “I think it might be permanent. Like you.”
“How is Penn?”
“She loves Loor and caring for her, but this place is too wild for her, I think. She won’t admit it, but I can tell,” Shiloh replied.
“Would she rather be locked up at Fountain Bluff?”
“Of course not. I’m simply saying that when spring comes around, I expect that Penn and Lord and Lady Mosspeak may prefer to be elsewhere,” Shiloh concluded.
“Perhaps she needs to make some new friends,” Silas suggested. “Regardless, Lady Mosspeak will not be able to travel. She is expecting.”
“Really? How wonderful!”
“Mosspeak told me last night. I meant to pass it on, but it slipped my mind,” Silas apologized. “Anyway, I came in to fetch you. You brother’s hunting party is back. They’re down in the meadow.”
“Why are you so keen to tell me? Did something happen? Is Barr all right?” she asked, brow furrowing.
Silas held up his hands. “Everyone is fine.”
“Then what?”
“Let’s just say they brought back some interesting quarry.”
Shiloh looked at them, heart breaking: dozens of children, mostly boys, in gray robes. They looked around wide-eyed at the Feralfolk who surrounded them. There had been a downpour that morning, and all of them stood waterlogged and shivering.
“We rescued them from a pack of Gernish soldiers. They’ve been going from one monastery to the next, grabbing up the most gifted ones for Fenroh, marching them off to the Claw. We wouldn’t usually take in so many boys, but I thought it preferable to the alternative,” Barr explained softly.
“You mean enslavement to a maniac?” Shiloh replied.
“Uh-huh,” her brother said. “We gave them the option of running or coming with us after we killed the Gernishmen. Most all of them came with us. They’d heard stories about what he’s done with the ones he already has.”
“Where else were they to go?” Shiloh mused sadly.
“Pa isn’t going to like it. So I brought you to them first. Maybe by the time he gets here . . .”
Shiloh smiled. “Think I can sweet talk him, do you?”
“Maybe.” Barr grinned. “Might want to sweet talk them, too. The ones who aren’t furious are terrified.”
Shiloh heaved a sigh and climbed onto a tree stump. She pushed back her hood, revealing her hair, and watched realization wash over the children like a wave. She saw awe, fear, disgust.
“I think you already know that my name is Shiloh Hatch. I won’t let anyone hurt you,” she promised. “I hope that you are glad to have escaped Fenroh’s service. That fate is a curse I would not wish on anyone. Now let’s get you dry and warm and fed, all right? The rest we can figure out later.”
“Over here,” Barr pointed. “Let’s not take them to the camp proper just yet. There’s an old pavilion down that path, plenty sturdy enough to keep off the rain. I’ll get some fires going, some baskets of bread, and then go face the old man.”
Soon meat sizzled on hot stones and acorn cakes were being passed around. The boys and girls fell upon them ravenously. Shiloh went child by child, using a simple spell to dry their clothes and asking them their names.
“Did you really kill the Patriarch?” one boy whispered through missing teeth. He was the smallest of the group. He couldn’t have been more than six years old.
Shiloh nodded. “Yes.”
“You don’t seem bad,” he replied.
Shiloh smiled crookedly. “Thanks. What’s your name?”
“Boggan Vineborn,” he answered.
Shiloh smiled again. “I think that makes me your sister-in-law, Boggan.”
The boy snorted a laugh before growing serious again. “If you killed a God, what does that make you?”
She shook her head. “He wasn’t a God. He was just a man. And not a very good one. He hurt a lot of innocent people. I was just trying to save us all.”
Boggan smiled. “That doesn’t sound so terrible.”
“Good. Go get some food, Boggan.”
“Looks like you made a friend,” came Silas’s voice from behind her.
“Maybe. You heard what happened?” she asked.
“Your brother’s freeing of the slaves? I did. Everyone has by now, Keegan is yelling so loudly.”
Shiloh winced. “You don’t think he’ll kick them out?”
“He can’t now that they have broken bread on Feral ground. Old tradition. Once you eat of the acorn, there’s no going back. You notice they didn’t give us any until after the trial. Barr is pretty clever,” Silas said.
“That he is. Is there a plan? What’s to become of them?” she asked, pulling him aside lest the question or its answer alarm the children.
“I think they’ll be parceled out to the smaller families. That will help them integrate and spread the burden of carin
g for them.”
“Maybe we should offer to take Boggan,” Shiloh suggested. “He’s your half-brother.”
Surprise, pain, and alarm flashed across his eyes in quick succession. “I don’t know that I’m really cut out for that.”
She placed a hand on his forearm. “It was just a thought. He seems like a sweet lad.”
“With our bloodline, that’d be a miracle,” Silas muttered.
Shiloh snickered.
“I’m going to chat with the older ones. See what I can find out about what’s going on out there,” Silas proposed.
“Be nice,” Shiloh warned him.
He grinned. “I’m always nice.”
Shiloh’s laughter shook the roof.
Oh, Youth in a brothel, the little brat even looks like me. Silas watched Boggan break his cake in half and share it with the girl sitting next to him. And he has the same flair with the ladies.
He turned his attention back to a young man of eleven, named Cazzoh. “You say the senior clergy at your monastery oppose Fenroh?”
The lad nodded. “Yes, sir. They whisper against him, but they don’t dare say anything aloud. They fear his spies. Worse even than they used to fear yours, if you pardon my saying so.”
“I’ll attempt to take that as a compliment to my superior temperament. Have you heard about other monasteries in the area? Does he have any support in the Southlands? The Range?”
Cazzoh shook his head. “I heard he’s got almost none anywhere. That’s why he’s taking us so young, so we don’t grow up to oppose him. He converts whom he can, and the rebellious ones . . .”
“The rebellious ones what?” Silas pressed.
“They say he had a girl hanged when she tried to run away. One boy he beat bloody for mocking Gerne. Another boy had one of those wire hooks with a pink ribbon.” Cazzoh blanched. “They say his head is on a pike outside the chapel at the Bastion.”
“That’s what he’s calling his new stronghold?” Silas asked.
“Aye. He took over the Hilltop Convent in the Claw. It’s up on a ridge, overlooking the towns.”
Silas nodded grimly. “I know it.” Taking it would be a nightmare.
“Sir, are we really safe here?” Cazzoh asked, glancing at the Feralfolk scattered about.
“I think so. They haven’t hurt me, and they truly hate me,” Silas assured him. “You’re under my wife’s protection. The Feral leader, Keegan, does not want to cross her.”
“You’re married to her, right? The one who . . .”
Silas nodded.
“Did she really bring down the Citadel and free the people inside?” Cazzoh asked.
“She really did. Healed the Deadlands, too.”
“That was an evil place,” Cazzoh spat.
“Yes,” Silas agreed. “But why do you say so?”
“They sent my mum there, when she fell pregnant by Lord Blackmine. She was a sister sworn, so they punished her for Blackmine’s crime. I was born in the Citadel.” Cazzoh was practically grinding his teeth as the words came firing out. “They took me from her, gave me to her brother and his wife to raise. They were good parents, but my mother was never right after that. They sent her back to her convent eventually, and I got to see her sometimes, on holidays and the like. Until she hanged herself.”
“Holy Mother,” Silas swore. “I’m sorry.”
“And then I had to go to the same monastery and pretend I felt anything but hate for the church that killed her,” Cazzoh said.
“Well, you’re free now. You want to take up arms against Fenroh’s priests in a few years, I suspect you’ll have your chance.”
“Good.” The boy bared his teeth.
“But maybe you should enjoy being a child for a while longer,” Silas proposed, a pang of guilt upon him for encouraging the boy’s rage. “I started in that business a little too young, I fear.”
Keegan, Gret, Silas, Barr, and Shiloh sat around the fire in Keegan’s study.
“There are rumblings about the child monks,” Keegan shared. Barr opened his mouth to defend his actions, but Keegan cut him off. “I’m not saying you judged wrongly to bring them here, son. I’m just saying that there are those who are not keen to take in any more subjects of the crown, even little ones. Not so soon after Shiloh’s friends.”
Shiloh sipped her tea, listening and watching.
“I parceled them out to trusted people,” Gret added. “And they seem to be doing well enough so far, though it’s only been a week. There are no complaints about their behavior.”
“Who is making noises?” Silas asked.
“Olin and his friends,” Keegan answered.
“As usual,” Gret said under her breath.
“He has been a problem before?” Silas asked, raising an eyebrow.
Keegan shot Gret an irritated look. “His father was my right hand for many years. Olin’s just a little excitable, but he’s a good boy.”
Barr shook his head but held his tongue.
Gret, on the other hand, had no hesitation about differing with her husband. “He’s been trouble since he was a lad, and one of these days, he’s going to take a shot at you,” she declared. “Nobody will even let their daughters contemplate marrying him despite the fact that he is the best of the hunters. You don’t wonder why that is?”
“Enough!” Keegan shot back.
“Is there some way to placate them?” Barr asked.
“I don’t know,” Keegan began. “Perhaps—”
He was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Enter!” Keegan called.
Penn pushed open the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt. Five of the newly arrived children have come down with a cough and fever.”
Shiloh shot to her feet. “With spots?”
Penn nodded. “Four of them have the rash.”
“Red Fever,” Gret breathed.
“I’ll alert Jonn and Riah,” Silas said.
“We have to quarantine all the families who took them in, and burn whatever they were wearing or carrying when they arrived,” Shiloh added. “Gret, can you gather volunteers who have survived previous infection? We’re going to need help if we’re to snuff this out.”
“Damn it all. This is only going to make the complaints even louder,” Keegan groused.
“Perhaps it was a mistake to bring them.” Barr bit his lip. “None of them showed any sign, I swear.”
Keegan began to reply, but his words died in a fit of coughing. Everyone turned toward him in silent trepidation.
“Please tell me you’ve had Red Fever before,” Shiloh pleaded.
Keegan just shook his head.
Soup
“You have to swallow the medicine, Shiloh,” Edmun pleaded. “For the Gods’ sakes, you’ll die without it.”
“Maybe that would be for the best,” the ten-year-old whispered.
Edmun looked fit to burst into tears. “Please, poppet. Please don’t say that.”
She gave the potion another go and managed to get it down, though she came up coughing so hard she feared she would break a rib.
Finally, she was able to catch enough breath to say, “I’m so tired, master.”
“I know, poppet,” Edmun admitted. He sat down on the edge of her bed and stroked her shorn hair. He placed another cold washcloth on her chest. “I know. But your father and I couldn’t bear it if you left us. Please don’t give up.”
“I’ll try. I’ll try,” she whispered.
“That’s my brave girl. You’ll get through this. You always do. This is just Red Fever. What’s that compared to all the dark magic you have vanquished?”
“You have to go tend to the others, master,” she reminded him.
“They can wait until your da gets back with the firewood,” he countered. “I’m not leaving you alone with a fever this high.”
“But the others,” she pressed. “They could die.”
“I don’t love the others.”
“Where are we?” Gret asked,
swaying on her feet.
“Thirty-seven sick. Twelve of the child monks, Princess Loor, and twenty-four of your people. Ten in immediate mortal danger, including your husband and the princess. No new patients in the last twenty-four hours, which is the good news,” Silas reported.
“Let’s hope that holds. Shiloh’s experience with the last outbreak in the Frontier has been invaluable.” Silas handed her a mug of tea. “You should sleep.”
Gret shook her head. “I need to go back to sit with Keegan.”
“Shiloh is with him now, then Barr will take a turn. They’ll come get you if anything changes,” Silas assured her. “It will do him no good if you drive yourself so hard you take ill.”
“If he dies, I can’t guarantee your safety here,” Gret warned.
“I already figured that out. But Shiloh won’t leave while there are still sick folk to help. She has a lot of knowledge about managing Red Fever. With a little luck, you’ll get through this with no fatalities, and she’ll have proved her worth to your people.”
“Are you a praying man, Silas Hatch?”
“No, ma’am,” he confessed.
“Maybe you should learn.”
Shiloh stood watch over the sickest of the victims. They had taken over Keegan’s large apartment for those patients in the most danger. The rooms were filled with cots, and Shiloh and her crew of the already immune watched them day and night.
Penn, thankfully immune since childhood, cradled Loor in her arms, tilting her upright to help the toddler breathe.
“She sounds better to me,” Penn told Shiloh, though it sounded like more of a wish than a declaration of fact.
Shiloh knelt and put her ear to the girl’s chest, then felt her forehead. A grin of relief brightened her face. “Fever’s broken,” she said. “Her heart rate is better. Bring her to the steam kettle. Let’s loosen that gunk in her chest so she can cough it out. If she wakes up, let me know. She needs broth and medicine, but I think the worst is over.”
