by Bobby Adair
“We understand so far,” Beck told him. “You are not talking to simpletons.”
“Yes, of course.” Evan looked around nervously again. “Suppose all of those twenty-five men were farmers. In that case, they could produce more food than was necessary. They could store food away to feed them during drought or blight. They would likely never go hungry. All available resources would be allocated to food production.”
Shaking his head, Tenbrook said, “In that hypothetical village, everyone would die.”
“Exactly,” said Evan.
“Why?” Beck asked, irritated he hadn’t already reached the conclusion.
“There’d be no one to fight the demons when they came,” said Tenbrook.
“Exactly,” Evan confirmed.
Nodding, Beck said, “Of course.”
“If, instead, all of those farmers were soldiers,” said Evan, “they could defend themselves from demons but they would all starve, because there’d be no one to grow the food and tend the pigs.”
“Of course,” said Beck.
“Indeed,” said Evan, “If they were all merchants, all scholars, or all clergymen, you get the same result. Is that as obvious to each of you as it is to me?”
“Yes,” said Beck. “Of course. You belabor your hypotheticals. Let us move on to the meat of your argument.”
“My argument is that a society functions—maybe not thrives, but functions—when you have a balance of farmers and soldiers, when you have enough farmers to feed and store, but also enough soldiers to defend the village.”
“That makes sense,” said Tenbrook. He pointed at the militiamen in the square. “Farmers can be both, though.”
“Of course,” said Evan. “But in our society, we also have men who are solely one or the other. In addition, we have merchants and clergy—people who add a benefit to our society, but don’t fill a role necessary to its survival. The point I’m trying to arrive at is this: for a given number of people, we must have a certain proportion of farmers. Farmers must support the needs of everyone and store away food for the future. If the proportion of farmers falls too low, famine will come. Farming is a long-term process. Fields must be cleared one year and planted the next. Animals must be allowed to have babies so that the herd grows with the population rather than shrinks. For too many years, the proportion of farmers has been too small and we have killed our animals too young. We have too many soldiers, too many merchants, and too many clergymen. That is the problem, Minister Beck and Captain Tenbrook.”
Beck had never thought of the situation in that light, but now it seemed completely obvious. Tenbrook nodded, admiration for Evan’s analysis clear on his face.
Beck said, “A sustainable proportion must be restored.”
“Yes,” Tenbrook agreed.
“Well,” said Evan, “As we’ve already discussed, that alone is not enough to avoid the famine. The famine is inevitable. With this early snow, it will come this winter. On that point, there is no doubt. The only question is the date of its arrival.”
Tenbrook said, “I’m certain of the question General Blackthorn will ask. How many people can we sustain?”
“I don’t understand,” said Evan.
Tenbrook looked sternly at Evan. “Given our current food stores and herd counts, if you could wave a magic wand and reduce the population size to a sustainable level, what would that number be?”
“Assuming we moved forward with an eye to maintaining the correct proportion of farmers?” Evan asked.
“Yes,” Tenbrook answered.
“The number would be thirty-one thousand.”
Tenbrook’s shoulder’s sagged. “Thirty-one thousand?”
“The situation is dire,” Beck confirmed.
“Nineteen thousand people would effectively have to disappear or stop eating for the rest of us to avoid a famine.”
Beck nodded. He knew this number already. “You and I both know the chaos that follows a famine. Only one in ten or twenty will survive. If we don’t find a solution at least forty-five out of fifty thousand people might die.”
Pursing his lips and scratching his head, Tenbrook said, “That makes a loss of nineteen thousand souls seem almost palatable.”
Chapter 17: Ella
After cresting the hill next to the waterfall, William cried out, “Over here!”
Ella ran to her son’s side, following a path of soft ground that had been worn through the grasses next to the stream. A log had fallen from one bank to another, creating a bridge. On the side closest to them were a slew of tracks. She traced an invisible line over the worn bark and to the other side, seeing imprints on the distant shore.
“Look over there. Blood,” Bray noticed, pointing at the middle of the log.
Ella studied the dark stain and swallowed the sick feeling in her throat. The air was thick with demon scent. She searched the rushing current but saw no evidence of anything, human or otherwise. If someone had been injured, they’d kept going. Either that or they’d been swept away by the rapids. She pictured the demon they’d seen further downstream, its body swollen, its lips blue. She shuddered.
She studied the turbid water. The thought of crossing made her dizzy. The river spit hungrily, ready to claim them. William was already mounting the log, prepared to make his way across.
“Be careful,” Bray warned. “The bark’s slippery.”
Ella sheathed her sword and leapt onto the log. She grabbed hold of her son’s shirt, steadying him. They made their way across. She kept her eyes glued to the battered, wet wood. Her legs shook at the prospect of falling, and she focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Soon, they reached the other side.
When they were safe, Bray climbed after them. Unlike Ella, he kept his sword in hand. His pace was much faster, and within seconds, he’d leapt onto the bank with a grunt.
He pointed to several boot prints in front of them, filling in with a light coating of snow.
“See the way the boot prints turn? They were waiting for one another,” he noted. “It looks like they all made it.”
“I don’t see any more blood,” William affirmed.
They trekked on, until the roar of the river faded and the ground became hard again. They followed the faint traces in the leaves and bramble. Several times, Ella glanced over her shoulder, checking for demons scrabbling after them, but the smell of the monsters had dissipated.
The path was broken and easy to follow—evidence of animals and earlier travelers, according to Bray. “I don’t come this way often,” he said.
“How come?”
“Too dangerous. Demons often choose the way of least resistance. You’re more likely to encounter them here than deeper in the forest.”
“What about the tree bridge? Don’t you cross it to get to this side?”
“No. I would’ve crossed where the stream thins. There’s a place where you can step over the rocks, if you tread carefully.”
Ella nodded as she walked, asking questions between breaths. “Where do you think the survivors are going?”
“My guess is they don’t know the area well. They’re traveling like the demons or the soldiers would; their concern is to put distance between them and Davenport.” Bray stopped to examine a scuff on the ground. “I don’t blame them, but they’ll be easier to catch that way. If they were smart, they’d veer off into the forest.”
Ella stayed silent, contemplating the Warden’s words. The perils he described could just as easily happen to them. Blackthorn’s men would check the paths—not only for the survivors, but also for her.
They traveled for another hour, navigating the twists and turns of the narrow path, listening to the intermittent chirps and chatter of woodland animals. A few times, critters skirted through the trees, scared up by the travel
er’s footsteps or reacting to the sudden cold and snow. She thought of the deer they’d seen several days prior, wondering how many other strange animals lurked in the forest. They were days away from Brighton, miles away from Davenport, isolated from everything she knew.
As the path narrowed, so did the group, and soon they were traveling one behind the other, holding back branches and skirting overgrown thicket. They’d just rounded a large oak tree when William ducked into the forest.
“William! Where are you going?” Ella hissed.
“I see something,” he said, pointing through the thick foliage.
Ella didn’t see anything, but she followed after him. Branches snagged on her clothing and face. Bray followed. William was little more than a blur of movement, and she struggled to join him. Up ahead, past a swath of forest, several trees had uprooted and fallen between two large hills. Something jutted out from underneath them. She stared at the rusted, disintegrating object. It resembled a large box, but with rounded edges. The longer ends were as wide as several merchant stands; the shorter sides were the width of a few pushcarts. Whatever it was, it was large enough to fit several people inside.
It wasn’t a building, but it didn’t seem to be a part of nature, either. The object was lined with green moss and weeds, as if the Earth had wrapped it in a blanket; at the same time, she could tell it was man-made. It was too curved and precise to be born from the soil. William traced his hands over the rusted edges, momentarily forgetting his quest. He raced from one end to the other, his eyes round and amazed.
“Is it from the Ancients?” he asked Bray.
The Warden jabbed his sword in the dirt. He scraped at the moss and weeds that covered the object’s surface. His mouth fell open. It was the first time Ella had seen him speechless in the days they’d traveled together.
“Yes, it’s from the Ancients,” he said finally.
“What is it?” William asked.
Bray paused, and they waited patiently for him to answer.
“I can’t say for sure, but I can guess,” the Warden told Ella and William. “Many believe there used to be objects that carried men from one place to another over the land, faster than any human could ever walk. These objects once covered the earth, but most have disintegrated back into the soil. I’ve only seen one other like this, but it was in worse shape. It looks like this one survived the wear of the weather. Probably because of the natural barriers.”
He pointed to the fallen trees and the hills on either side, which created a canopy overhead. Ella noticed the snow was barely getting through. Bray scratched his chin. They studied the object for several moments, as if it would somehow come alive, carrying messages from its creators. It remained motionless and decrepit. After a minute, Bray walked and retrieved his sword from the dirt. William joined him.
They were about to leave when branches rustled and brush crackled in the forest nearby. Ella stared down the broken path they’d walked, seeing motion through the foliage. Hands parted branches. Twigs snapped. She saw hints of blue fabric, flashes of swords and skin. Her heart plummeted.
“Dammit!” Bray hissed. “Blue shirts!”
Ella leapt for her son, her only concern to protect him from the bloodied blades of Blackthorn’s soldiers. But the men hadn’t spotted them yet. She heard the murmur of calm, conversational voices, as if the soldiers were on a stroll, rather than carrying out a murderous mission.
Ella, Bray, and William skirted around the object they’d been observing. They ducked behind it, underneath the cover of the fallen trees, and sank to the ground on hands and knees. They spun so they could peer through the two-foot-wide holes on the side of the object of the Ancients.
The men hacked at the underbrush, their attention divided between the forest and their conversation. One was older and bearded, the other younger and falling behind. Both of their outfits were stained with blood. At the moment, they were a few hundred feet away. Ella stared inside the crumpled interior of the Ancient’s machine, wishing it could do its Tech Magic, that it would whisk her and her son away. If she were one of the Ancients, she wouldn’t have to worry about these men and their cruel orders.
The soldiers approached within a hundred feet. Ella crouched lower. She scanned over her shoulder, noting the thick tangles of underbrush. The men were too close to attempt an escape. If Ella, William and Bray fled, they’d be heard.
Ella held her breath and waited.
The men’s conversation filled the air. The bearded man dragged his sword next to him, kicking up leaves as he walked.
“They won’t get far,” he told his comrade.
“How do you know?”
“Villagers don’t survive in the wild. If they don’t die at the hands of the demons, they die of starvation.”
The younger soldier scratched his neck. “How many hunts have you been on?”
“Enough to know the outcome.”
“I’ve heard there are people who live outside the towns and villages. Is that true?”
The bearded man laughed. “Traitors. If we find them, we have orders to kill them on sight. Most end up turning into demons, anyway.”
The soldiers halted next to a cluster of trees, staring at the ground. They were far enough away from the moss-covered object that they hadn’t noticed it yet.
“What else have you heard from the other soldiers in town?” the bearded man asked, clearly amused.
“I’ve heard…things,” the younger soldier said, inspecting a broken branch.
“Like what?”
“I’ve heard there are men in the wild—men who feast on the flesh of demons. They say that men who eat demon flesh can live forever.”
The bearded man laughed. “Where’d you hear that?”
“It was rumored by the younger soldiers in town.”
“Nonsense.” The bearded man shook his head, still smirking. “Those are tales told by naïve boys. Anything out here can be killed.”
The soldiers grew closer—close enough that Ella could make out their dirt-stained faces and the whites of their eyes. The younger soldier speared the ground.
“Go that way,” the bearded soldier said. “I’ll head this way. I thought I saw a few broken branches off the main path. If we don’t find anything, we’ll circle back.” The bearded man waved the younger one toward Ella’s hiding place, then traipsed off in the other direction.
The younger soldier proceeded onward, casting nervous glances around him. Without his comrade, his little confidence seemed to have disappeared. He approached the gulley where they were hiding. Ella ducked lower, pressing her arms against the ground. The side of the ancient object was riddled with holes. She peered through a crack, positioning herself so she could see through one side and out the other.
Although she was terrified of being spotted, she was even more afraid to lose sight of what was coming.
The soldier advanced. After several feet, he stopped and stared at the ancient object. His mouth hung open. No. Keep going. But it was too late. The soldier’s curiosity had been piqued by the spectacle, much as theirs had been some moments before.
Beside her, Bray tensed.
The soldier’s sword hung at his side as he surveyed the wreckage. His brow furrowed. In the distance, Ella heard the crackle of foliage—the bearded man and others who were further away. She silently repositioned, readying her sword, waiting for the shout that would signal the others.
A realization hit her.
She recognized this young man. Although his face was stained with grime, although he looked older than she remembered, she knew him. The soldier was Theodore Marks, a son of one of the farmer’s in town. She’d sold him roots at the market. She’d watched him join Blackthorn’s ranks last spring. He’d grown up a lot since then. He’d been spending time with a girl in Coventry,
and he hadn’t been back to Brighton in a while. It’d been months since she’d seen him.
She recalled Theodore running through town as a child, wreaking harmless havoc in the back alleys of New Town. He’d been a precocious child, much like William, but he’d always been kind.
He looked much different now.
His face was specked with blood, his eyes reflective of the things he’d seen. His hands were stained with the blood of Davenport’s residents. He’d killed them.
Maybe he even killed Aunt Jean and Uncle Frederick.
Ella’s breath caught in her throat. Theodore moved closer to the ancient object, sticking one arm in front of him. It looked as though he was walking toward a ledge, trying to maintain balance. When he got a few feet closer, he stopped and peered through one of the large openings in the object.
His eyes met Ella’s.
Ella’s heart rammed so loudly she was convinced the world could hear it. She prepared for Theodore’s shout. The soldiers would come running. He’d give them up, kill them, or do worse. Past ties meant nothing when one was guided by Blackthorn’s hand.
Theodore remained frozen, as if the sight of her was as surprising to him as it was to her.
Before she could speak, Bray leapt to his feet and raised his sword.
Theodore backed up. “Wait,” he whispered. He looked confused.
“Bray, stop!” Ella said.
Theodore’s face was twisted with emotion, his sword raised. He glanced from Ella and Bray to the woods behind him. Somewhere in the distance, a soldier hollered his name.
“Marks? Where are you?”
The forest crackled with the weight of someone approaching. Theodore looked back, beads of sweat dotting his brow. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t formulate any words.
