by Bobby Adair
That was all man’s doing.
All these things were obvious to William now, but he couldn’t dare voice this knowledge to his mother or to Bray. They’d fear him if they knew what he knew, just like men always feared the demons. And so William kept quiet, listening to the subtle voices in the wind, knowing he was destined to join the beings that spoke to him.
He was a part of them. Not a part of Brighton, but a part of the wild.
A part of the demons.
Chapter 54: Oliver
Oliver stopped in front of Dunlow’s house and found a touch of fright. Uninvited knocking on doors after the sun went down was a social taboo; for what reason, Oliver didn’t know. Nevertheless, he’d come this far. He clenched his jaw tight, stepped up to the thick old wooden planks, puffed his chest out, and steeled his confidence with the memory of his triumph over the simple-minded guards. He knocked.
Immediately, the voices inside the house fell silent. No other sounds followed. Oliver wondered what that meant.
He waited a moment. He heard no footsteps from inside.
He knocked a second time. Three raps. He waited.
Soft footsteps grew a little louder as they came up to the other side of the door. A tiny wooden cover on the peephole opened, and Oliver saw half of an old man’s face through the opening.
“What are you doing on my porch at this hour, boy?”
Oliver’s instinct was to step back from the man’s anger, but he caught himself before he did so. “He held up his folded paper. I have a message—”
“A message?” Dunlow’s temper flared. “At night? From who?”
Feeling his confidence grow as he stood there, Oliver said, “I am Oliver, Father Winthrop’s novice and—”
Dunlow gulped and his tone changed. “Father Winthrop.” Dunlow sucked in an audible breath and said in a more civil tone. “Yes, I recognize you.”
“Yes,” Oliver said, copying Father Winthrop’s officious tone. “I have a message for your twin sons, Mister Dunlow.”
“From Father Winthrop?” Dunlow asked.
“I cannot say,” said Oliver, maintaining his tone. “I have been instructed to say nothing of the message’s source.”
“I see.” Dunlow’s face moved away from the tiny peep window. Oliver heard the sound of a wooden brace being taken off the other side of the door. A moment later, the door swung open and Dunlow waved Oliver in. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to be rude. I didn’t recognize you at first.”
That surprised Oliver so much that he couldn’t think of a response. Instead he walked past Dunlow and into a semicircle of his two sons, his daughters, and his wife, all looking at Oliver with some mixture of curiosity and trepidation.
Dunlow gently closed the door behind Oliver and pointed at his twin sons. “There they are.”
Oliver stepped up to the twins as they stood side by side. He said, “Is there a place where we can speak in private?”
“In private?” Timothy Dunlow asked.
Tommy Dunlow pointed at a room to their right. “In there.”
“What is this?” their mother asked.
Oliver looked at her, coming to the understanding that, for the moment, all of these adults were deferring to him as if Father Winthrop himself were standing there. “I apologize, Mrs. Dunlow. I am permitted to discuss this message in private with your two sons. That is all I can say on the matter.”
“Well, well,” said old Dunlow, leading Oliver and his sons toward the room to the right, a room that had no table to dine on, no beds to sleep in, only chairs for sitting and shelves for displaying more ancient artifacts than Oliver had ever seen in a private home. He tried to keep his awe to himself as he struggled to maintain his diminutive imitation of Father Winthrop.
Once Oliver and the two twins were inside, Old Dunlow closed the door behind them.
Tommy Dunlow motioned Oliver toward a chair covered with leather over some kind of cushion, and Oliver sat, going to great effort to hide his nervousness. The only padded chair he’d ever sat in was Father Winthrop’s when no one was around to catch him doing it. He’d heard stories of how the wealthy would sometimes sit in their comfortable padded chairs for hours, doing nothing but talking, or maybe watching the clouds through their windows.
What would it be like to have time to do simply nothing? No chores? No punishments? No one telling you what to do?
Both Tommy and Timmy took seats in identical chairs across from Oliver.
Tommy said, “May we have the message now?”
“Of course.” Oliver held it out toward them.
Timmy took it. “Can you tell us who it is from?”
Shaking his head, Oliver said, “No, I cannot. I apologize for that, but my instructions were explicit on this point.” Oliver wondered if he’d used that word, explicit, correctly. He’d only heard it used twice before, both times when Minister Beck was talking down to Father Winthrop.
Tommy unfolded the message and started to read. He grew very uncomfortable. When he finished, he nudged his brother and silently passed the note over. Timmy read it, and a similarly uncomfortable expression came over his silent face.
Oliver took a gamble to learn the message’s content. “Do you have any questions?”
“Yes,” Tommy said, irritation rising in his voice. “Who sent this?”
Trying to keep his confidence, Oliver said sternly, “I told you I can’t answer that question.”
Timmy turned to Tommy, shaking his head, “This is one of General Blackthorn’s machinations. He wants to have our tongues for his box.”
That confused Oliver. What Timmy Dunlow had just said made no sense. He reached into his overstuffed pocket and worked the fat coin purse out. The muted jingle of coins in the leather purse caught the twins’ attention. The noticeable sum in the heavy little pouch was enough to catch anyone’s eye.
Silently, Oliver held the purse out.
Both Timmy and Tommy stared at it.
“Take it,” said Oliver. “The sender offered it as a token of his sincerity. It is yours, whether you toss that message into the fire and take no further action, or if you send a return message. If you burn that one and tell me to go, this is the last we will communicate on this subject. The sender also told me to say exactly this: He understands your antipathy for the person to whom the message refers. He trusts that your antipathy, plus these coins, will be sufficient to earn your silence on this matter, should you choose not to pursue it further.”
“The coins are ours?” asked Timmy.
Nodding, Oliver said, “Those are my instructions.”
Tommy asked, “Does the sender understand what will happen to all of us if Blackthorn finds out about this little conspiracy?”
Conspiracy? That was a clue to Oliver about what the message said. “The sender understands more than you can imagine.” That wasn’t a lie, not at all. Oliver had no doubt that Scholar Evan was one of the smartest people in the three towns.
Tommy said, “We need time to think this over.”
“The sender told me there is urgency in this matter. When can I expect your answer?”
Tommy looked at his brother for some kind of consensus. He looked back at Oliver. “Can you come here again tomorrow night?”
Oliver nodded but said, “The sender would like an answer sooner. I can come here early in the morning before you leave for your drill. I will only be here for a moment. At that time, give me a written message to return to my sender, or ask me to leave you alone.”
Timmy said, “That is enough time.”
Tommy stood up. “Oliver, you should go.” He looked at the paper, took it back from Timmy and walked over to the fire. He tossed the paper in. “This is not our answer, but just the same, it is not good to have such messages lying about. We
’ll see you in the morning.”
Chapter 55: Jeremiah
The sun wasn’t quite up yet, but the glow in the east provided plenty of light for Jeremiah to see Ivory heading out through the east gate, leaving fresh tracks on the wet ground.
Jeremiah hunkered down in the shrubs behind which he’d chosen to hide and stopped cursing Beck, as he’d been doing for the past few hours. Beck had insisted that Ivory would leave town the next morning. That didn’t make any sense to Jeremiah, given that Beck also said Ivory had just arrived in Brighton. But there Ivory was, cloaked against the cold, bow in his hand, pack on his back. He wasn’t going out for a morning hunt. Ivory was going somewhere else. And thanks to the conversation Jeremiah had had with Mendoza, Jeremiah had a general idea of where.
Jeremiah stepped out from the shrubs and began to follow, grumbling at the cold that had made his knees feel stiff.
Before he’d taken a dozen steps, he noticed that Ivory had passed through a pasture and into the trees. Jeremiah realized that Ivory’s legs were already warm and he’d already found a comfortable traveling pace. Jeremiah blew a gob of snot out of his nose and cursed. “Fast boys on young legs.”
At least Jeremiah had the wet ground and patches of snow in his favor. Ivory’s trail would be easy enough to follow that staying close wouldn’t be necessary at all.
Chapter 56: Bray
The acrid smell of smoke licked Bray’s nostrils as he stared into the gray morning. The smell of fire was never a good thing, unless it was warming your bones or cooking your meal. He knew that better than anyone. He stared at the sleeping forms on the ground. Ella and William hadn’t moved.
He needed to wake them.
He knelt down beside Ella, shaking her arm until she sprang upright. She reached for her sword, her eyes frantic and alert.
“Demons?” she asked, panic rising in her voice.
“Fire,” he said. “Wake William. We have to go.”
Bray stared in all directions while Ella roused William. He tried to pinpoint the source of the smell. Judging by the wind, the fire was burning somewhere to the east. His first thought was that they’d camped near the soldiers. If that were the case, they’d need to get away, and fast.
“No talking,” he whispered. “Follow me and stay close.”
They snuck down the hill, Bray steadying his sword. It was barely dawn, and neither the sun nor the moon had reached up to claim the day. A smoky fog crept through the forest, encircling the trees and obscuring Bray’s view beyond twenty feet. He headed in the opposite direction of the smoke, weaving through thick tree trunks on the bottom of the hill, listening for sounds of danger. He expected the chatter of men or the ghastly shrieks of demons, but encountered neither.
Maybe it was a forest fire.
He’d seen several over the years. Occasionally, the soldiers would snuff out their fires poorly, leaving behind burning embers. If they were small and no one was nearby, Bray would put the fires out. If they were larger, he’d flee. Later on, he’d survey the damage, looking for fresh animal carcasses he could salvage.
Not today. Not with blue shirts in the area.
Bray moved in the opposite direction, deftly avoiding branches and leaves, anything that’d make noise. Ella and William ran behind him. The fog thickened the farther they went. Tendrils wove their way around the tree trunks, enveloping the forest like a low-hanging cloud. His heart skipped beats in his chest, propelling him faster. Bray wasn’t afraid of bad weather. But the lack of visibility was unnerving.
Abruptly, the footfalls behind him stopped. He spun around to see empty forest.
“Ella! William!” he hissed.
Where had they gone?
He heard a thin voice in the distance, but couldn’t pinpoint the location.
He scanned the forest, his heart galloping, but all he made out were the vapor-encircled tree trunks. Ella and William had vanished. He had the sudden, sinking thought that someone had snatched them and slit their throats. He’d seen it happen before. Some of the settlers could be ruthless, especially when they were desperate and hungry. He’d gone a few more feet when he noticed a figure standing on the opposite side of a tree.
He crept around the bark and raised his sword, prepared to lash out at whoever lurked there. It was Ella.
Her eyes were wide and frantic; her lips quivered in fear.
“William’s run off!” she hissed.
“Where did you last see him?” Bray asked.
She pointed. “That way.”
Bray scanned the forest, but couldn’t see more than ten feet. The fog was so thick it felt like nature was pulling them into the wild. They hurried in the direction William had disappeared, whispering urgently for him. The smell of fire intensified. Bray scoured in all directions. If the boy had wandered too close to the fire, if the people who’d made it were still there…
Shouts erupted in the distance. Shit. They’d found William.
Ella burst forward, taking the lead. “William!” she shouted in panic.
Bray tried to silence her, but he was too late. He heard an answer in the distance, but he couldn’t decipher the words. He cursed under his breath and ran faster. There was a chance they would’ve traveled undetected, but not now.
What if William is dead already?
Bray cut through the trees, tempering haste with caution. He kept his sword raised, ready to strike anything that might spring out at them. He’d been in enough situations to suspect a trap. What if someone was using William as bait?
“Stay behind me!” he told Ella.
She complied, following closely. Their footfalls felt obnoxiously loud, despite their trying to quiet them. Given the lack of visibility, Bray might as well have been in some unexplored region, making his way for the first time.
The only thing he knew for certain was that they were heading for the fire.
The shouts grew louder. Bray didn’t recognize the voices, but he recognized the tone. Soldiers. Bray thundered on, using the cover of men’s voices to increase his speed. He rounded one tree, then another, barely avoiding the probing hands of nature. The forest revealed itself in pieces.
It wasn’t until he saw fire that he slowed down. He hid behind the fog, watching yellow and orange flames spit into the sky.
Three soldiers shouted and laughed as they circled a burning house. They poked their swords through the thin branches that formed its walls, searching for occupants. Two others mingled near the nearby trees. Their blue shirts were backlit by raging flames.
“Are they still in there?”
“I think so!”
“Wait! There’s one of them, running!” one of the soldiers cried.
A boy darted off into the woods. Was it William? The soldier dashed off in pursuit.
Bray’s anger boiled. He pictured Harriet, Henry, and Tabatha; the burnt dwelling they’d stayed in, the charred skeletons that the soldiers had left behind. Then he pictured William, running for his life. Even if the boy had to die eventually, he didn’t have to die now.
Cowards. That’s what these men were.
With a roar, Bray leapt from the fog.
Chapter 57: Oliver
“Franklin,” said Oliver. “I need to use the latrine.”
“You went before we left,” said Franklin.
Oliver handed him the basket with the day’s groceries in it. “I can’t wait.”
Franklin took the basket and Oliver took off at a run through the market, making a show of his urgent need. When he turned off Market Street, his run was no longer for show but to buy him more time. He rounded another corner, passing by a few ruined, ancient houses, and then leapt through the door of the third. Sure enough, Scholar Evan stood in the corner, just as promised, half a smile on his lips. He said, “Good morning, Oliver.”
&
nbsp; “Morning,” Oliver replied, as he gasped for his breath.
Oliver reached into his pocket, but Evan halted him with a raised palm. Evan stepped over to the rectangular hole in the wall where a door had been some hundreds of years prior. Evan looked up and down the street before coming back in. “They gave you a reply?”
“A message,” said Oliver. He pulled the folded paper out and handed it to Evan. “I snuck out of the temple early this morning.”
“Were you seen?” Evan asked, his voice full of concern.
Oliver shook his head. “Father Winthrop had a barren woman late last night. Both he and Franklin slept later than usual.”
Evan nodded, showing his understanding. “Discretion is paramount.”
“No one saw me go or come back in,” said Oliver. “I ran all the way to Dunlow’s house. Tommy was outside, waiting with that message. I took it and ran back.”
Evan unfolded the paper and read it quickly. “You’ve done a good job. An excellent job. Find a way to come back here this afternoon. I know it will be difficult, but I’ll have more messages for you.”
“This would be much easier if I were allowed to tell Franklin.”
“No,” Evan said, firmly, but not unkindly. “Novice Franklin is a good young man. I have no doubt he is our friend, but the fewer people who know about this for now, the better it is for all of us. You must promise me not to tell him.”
Reluctantly nodding, Oliver said, “Okay.”
“This afternoon?” Evan asked.
“I’ll find a way.”
Evan gave Oliver a nod and a smile, and then slipped out into the road.
Oliver went back to the market and found Franklin.
