by Bobby Adair
Seeing the disappointment along with all the other emotions that crossed that face, Fitzgerald was confused. She’d always pictured Blackthorn as chiseled from emotionless stone, but now he almost seemed human.
“I’ve never sought understanding or approval for what I’ve done,” he said. “I accepted the responsibility of my place in this world, along with the limitations of my abilities.”
Fitz shook her head slowly. “I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps a smarter man would know how to keep order without the barbarity that I use. Perhaps a man with more charisma could have made people want to work the fields, march in the army, and suffer The Cleansing without the threat of pain and death. Sadly, I was not that man. I never was. I was born for the saddle. I was reared to be a fighting man. The rules I learned served me well when swords were raised, and the demons were gnashing their teeth.”
Fitz nodded, though she still didn’t accept any of what Blackthorn was saying. Surely there had to be other ways to rule the people.
Blackthorn adjusted his position in his chair as he changed the subject. “You’ve heard the tale of Lady and Bruce?”
“Yes,” said Fitz. “Every child knows it was those two who founded Brighton after the demons conquered the world and killed the Ancients.”
“There is an obscure part of the story that is not known by all,” said Blackthorn. “The clergy tell it among themselves. Some of the more learned men in town pass it down to their children. The simple folk tell the simple version.”
Fitz watched Blackthorn with the question on her face.
“It was after the town was established, right here within the circle wall. It was before the first fifty-seven lived here. There were more people then, seventy-eight I think. Lady, being a barren woman, had her authority challenged by a group of survivors, twenty-one of them. The story goes that with little more than the power of her fists, she cast those men out. Afterward, the first fifty-seven laid the foundations of Brighton and became the ancestors of all people alive today.”
Nodding, Fitz said, “I’ve heard that version of the story.”
Blackthorn half smiled. “People see Lady as a hero, correct?”
“Yes,” Fitz agreed.
“In her way, she was the mother of the first fifty-seven,” said Blackthorn. “The part about the story that never gets talked about, though, is the stark reality. Lady was a cruel murderess.”
Fitz gasped. To call Lady, a person as near to godly status as anyone in history had ever been, a murderess was the kind of blasphemy for which Winthrop would tie a person to the pyre pole.
“Is there another way to think of it?” Blackthorn asked. “Lady put those twenty-one outside the circle wall. Logic tells us they all died.”
Fitz wanted to disagree, but was afraid to voice it.
“I can see it in your face,” said Blackthorn. “You don’t believe that is the truth. You don’t want to accept that Lady was a murderess. Let me ask you this. In those days, Brighton consisted of fifty-seven people. Look what it has grown into—a large town with two smaller towns as sisters, along with twenty-seven named villages. If those twenty-one and their children had thrived, as we did, there would be another town, maybe several close by. We’d know of them. Logic leads us to the alternative outcome. They all died. Lady, upon evicting them, effectively murdered them.”
Fitz couldn’t argue.
“We don’t see her that way though,” said Blackthorn. “We choose to see what we want to see, even though the truth is right in front of us. In many ways, I see myself in the same predicament when I govern. I do things that must be done for the good of the community. Whether I like what I do is of no consequence. It doesn’t enter my decision-making. I do only that which is necessary for the good of all. That is the burden I carry. I don’t believe I will be remembered with the fondness that people have for Lady. People will remember me as the most bloodthirsty of tyrants.” Blackthorn drew a long breath, and his face turned sad.
Steeling her nerves, Fitz asked, “Why are you telling me these things?”
“I am a diseased old man,” he said. “I will die soon. Perhaps I only wish someone to know the truth of me. Perhaps your beauty has softened my heart with remembered infatuations for a woman that lived before you were born.”
“I don’t understand,” said Fitz, recalling how Blackthorn had watched her all the time he’d been in the temple that day, haranguing Winthrop.
“You no doubt have heard the stories of my first wife.”
“Of course,” said Fitz. “Everyone in Brighton knows those stories.”
“She looked like you,” said Blackthorn. “When I first saw you, I believed you were her ghost.”
“I’m real,” she assured him.
“I know.” Blackthorn sighed and sounded like a man tired from carrying his burdens for too many years. “I loved her. I’d say that I loved her more than any man ever loved a woman, but I’m sure every man who loves thinks the same thing. I still think of her nearly every day. It hurts my heart, though I never show it, and I never talk about it.”
“Yet she burned,” said Fitz, purposefully avoiding saying that it was Blackthorn himself who dragged her to the pyre pole.
He looked down at his lap. “A cruel choice I made, not for me, certainly not for her. I needed an heir, a boy to take over when I died. I needed a man who could keep the town orderly and protect our kind from the demons. I thought she was barren, and I couldn’t bear the jealousy of her being in The House of Barren Women. I’m not a strong enough man for that. That is why I killed her on the pyre.”
Seeing all the pain tied up in knots under the skin of Blackthorn’s face, Fitz thought she might cry.
“That was a choice I made for Brighton and the three townships.” Blackthorn’s own eyes seemed to glaze with the faintest of tears. “It is hard to look back as an old man and see the cost of your mistakes. I married twice more and still have no heir. It was Emma that burned on the pyre that day, but it was also a lifetime of my happiness that burned with her.”
Blackthorn’s face turned into a hard piece of stone again, and Fitz started to fear that he was changing back into that brute that threw her out as a scrap for Tenbrook’s brutality.
“Now, I’ve taken the only choice that is available to me,” said Blackthorn. “I fear for what will come in the days ahead for the people that survive the coming war.”
“What is that?” Fitz asked.
“Tenbrook will take my place when I go.”
Fitz cried.
Chapter 59: Ivory
“I should warn you, there have been more demons in the city lately, mostly in the outskirts,” Jingo said.
“Why do you think that is?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve been keeping watch,” Jingo furrowed his brow. “We’ll have to stay alert.”
“Okay.”
Soon, they were creeping onto the street outside, surrounded by the remarkable rubble and ruin of the Ancients. No matter how many times Ivory saw the city, he was always impressed. Several tall towers flanked the one in which Jingo made his home. A few others were across the worn street, sporting decaying trees and bushes on rooftops. Cracks in the buildings’ exteriors gave way to browning foliage. The fusion of plant and stone always amazed Ivory. He had trouble imagining when the buildings were completely solid, repelling the hands of nature, and housing mystical people he’d never know. What had the Ancients done in those buildings? With all the Tech Magic they possessed, he couldn’t imagine they worried about anything.
But Jingo had taught him better. He still couldn’t digest that his teacher was one of the Ancients.
They hung close to the buildings as they walked, keeping an eye out for demons. Ivory kept his bow in his hand. Despite the placid nature of the streets, he knew that danger
could spring from anywhere. In several places, snow clung to the ground, but for the most part, nature had melted it.
“You knew the snows were coming,” Ivory said.
“After so many years, you get a sense for these things,” Jingo answered. “You look for changes in the sky or the animals. Like the blue northern I mentioned last time you were here.”
“I think the farmers in Brighton are worried,” Ivory noted. “They were trying to salvage their crops when I left. Some of them were destroyed.”
“The leaders in Brighton don’t think about food until they have to.” Jingo shook his head sadly. “They’re too far removed. That’s the way of things.”
Recalling his conversation with Beck, Ivory said, “I had a visit from one of the Elders. I didn’t tell you before, but he was the one who told me about Muldoon.”
“Oh?” Jingo seemed concerned.
“Minister Beck. He was at my house.” Ivory paused, watching Jingo while he spoke. “He knows I can read. He found some of the books I had.”
“So that’s why you’re here. You’re running?”
“Not exactly. He offered me a position as a Scholar. In exchange, he wants me to bring back books for the Academy. I told him my uncle gave the books to me, but he didn’t believe me. He said I should think about it. He let me go.”
Jingo looked pensive. “I wonder if there is any connection to the man following you.”
Ivory stopped dead in the street. He looked over his shoulder. He hadn’t put the two things together. “Do you think Beck had me followed?”
“Men in pursuit of wealth will do anything.”
Ivory’s heart sank as he thought about the situation. If he’d put himself in danger, if he’d endangered Jingo…
“I’m sorry,” Ivory said, and his apology was sincere. “I’m sorry he knows where the books came from. I didn’t mean to put you in jeopardy.”
“Peace only lasts so long.” Jingo sighed. “Eventually, man’s thirst for coin outweighs his fear. It’s been a while since I was disturbed here. I’ll hide, as I always do.”
“Do you think we should go back to the tower? What if the bear-man is nearby?”
Jingo shook his head. “We should be fine. The surprise I want to show you is only a dozen blocks away.”
“Blocks?”
Jingo couldn’t suppress his grin. “Another system used by the Ancients. It doesn’t matter anymore. Follow me.”
Chapter 60: Fitzgerald
Through her crying, Blackthorn assured Fitzgerald that she was safe.
“Why?” Fitz asked. “How can you assure me of that? You are leaving with the army.”
“Tomorrow,” he said.
“I’ll be here with Tenbrook.”
“Will you be well enough to leave this house?” Blackthorn asked. “If not, I can have you carried back to the temple.”
Fitz thought about how she felt. “I’ll be able.”
Blackthorn nodded. “As far as Tenbrook goes, he’ll forget you if you’re not here in this house. His habit, or so I have learned through the rumors, is to ravage a woman with his perversions, then forget her. Once he has conquered a woman, all his interest in her disappears.”
“Why are you leaving him in your place?”
“Despite his flaws,” said Blackthorn, “I believe he is the only man who can stand in my stead and protect Brighton from itself.”
Fitz wanted to argue, but knew before she uttered even a single syllable that she didn’t have the first clue as to what it took to govern.
“For all you have suffered,” said Blackthorn, “I feel as though I should at least ask you what favor it was you sought when you came to me.”
Fitz found herself afraid to speak it.
“Don’t fear,” said Blackthorn. “I have little doubt I could grant whatever you ask. And I will, if I don’t believe it will harm this city.”
“The day you came to the temple,” said Fitz. “You seemed indecisive as to whether to take Father Winthrop along.”
Nodding, Blackthorn said, “The man is falling apart. His presence would do the army no good.”
“I won’t say that he is as cruel as Tenbrook,” said Fitz, “but in his way he is. What he does to his Novices is shameful.”
“He is a coward and a bully,” said Blackthorn. “I’ll grant you that.”
“Will you take him out of Brighton with you when you go?”
“You know that he would install Franklin as temporary leader of the church during his absence?”
Fitz nodded and tried to cover her smile.
“That is what you hoped,” Blackthorn guessed.
“Yes,” Fitz admitted.
“Are you and Franklin lovers?”
Fitz nodded.
“I understand,” said Blackthorn. “Franklin seems like a bright young man. He seems to have a level head. Does he indulge in the cruelties that so many men in this town seem to love?”
Fitz shook her head and told herself that Franklin’s beating of Oliver was a fluke, something done by Winthrop through his goading.
“I will do what you ask. I will take Winthrop with me,” said Blackthorn. He stood up, towering over the bed. “Take care of your young man. He’ll find himself on the council with Tenbrook. He’ll need all the help he can get.”
Chapter 61: Ivory
Ivory followed Jingo down several more debris-ridden streets, dodging gaping cracks in the Ancient stone. Jagged, upheaved pieces of buildings blocked their way. Brown, wilted brush ran in all directions. Ivory hadn’t been this way before. As always, Jingo seemed to know the best route. He let his teacher lead him.
A gusty wind blew from the east, and Ivory found himself thinking it was getting colder the farther they walked. He shivered.
“The ocean is that way,” Jingo said, as if answering Ivory’s unspoken question.
Feeling unresolved about their previous conversation, Ivory said, “I’m not sure what to do about Beck’s offer. I don’t trust him. But at the same time, the offer is tempting.”
“If he’s sincere, it might be worth exploring. The life of a Scholar is one of the better ones a man can have in Brighton.”
“He did say I could go back and forth between here and there. I know I have a lot to learn from you. But I’m not sure I want to settle in town, to make my home among the rest of them.”
“That’s a decision only you can make. I won’t sway you one way or the other.” Jingo’s face betrayed no emotion.
Despite Jingo’s words, Ivory couldn’t help but feel he was being tested. He recalled the hundreds of other pupils Jingo had told him about. What path had they chosen? Obviously they’d disappointed Jingo, according to what he’d told Ivory last time. Jingo had said he wanted them to bring his knowledge back to Brighton, but for what?
Before he could question Jingo further, a screech echoed from the bowels of a nearby building. Ivory prepared his bow, his thoughts ripped back to his surroundings. He watched the streets with concern.
“Keep going,” Jingo whispered, pulling him toward a smaller, intersecting street.
They hurried forward. Ivory followed, watching the direction from which he’d heard the noise. Another shriek echoed from somewhere in front of them. This time Jingo stopped. His misshaped head cocked sideways as he listened. Ivory noticed he’d produced a knife.
It wasn’t often that his teacher did that.
Ivory spun in all directions. The fact that Jingo was nervous made him nervous, too. He prepared his bow with an arrow. He waited. He watched.
A beast burst from the interior of a building next to them, wart-covered arms flapping. Its mouth hung agape, revealing a mouthful of rotten teeth. Ivory swiveled, pulled back his bow, and aimed. His arms wobbled as he adjusted to the
reduced force needed. He fired. The arrow struck the creature in the head, sending it tumbling backward.
Another ran out from a neighboring building. Faster than the last one.
Ivory nocked another arrow. His hands shook as he battled the discomfort of a new weapon. The arrow slipped off the cable. Ivory cursed. The beast wailed as it closed the gap, sensing weakness. If Ivory couldn’t load the weapon in time…
Jingo took a step in front of Ivory, protecting him. The creature’s massive, cauliflower head wagged as it ran toward them. Its eyes stared right past Jingo and at Ivory.
“Stay back!” Jingo yelled. His words were loud, authoritative, unlike Ivory had ever heard him speak.
To Ivory’s shock, the creature halted, confused. It stared at Jingo, then at Ivory. For a second, the creature’s eyes sparked recognition, and it opened its mouth, as if it wanted to speak. It belched instead.
Ivory situated the arrow. He drew. He shot.
The tip of the arrow silenced the demon as it thudded through the creature’s mouth and out the back of its head, sending it reeling to the ground. The demon didn’t get up. Somewhere far in the distance, a monster groaned, as if mourning the death of its brethren.
Ivory looked at Jingo, his heart ramming in his chest. Jingo lowered his knife. The buildings around them were lifeless. The attack seemed over.
“What was that?” Ivory asked, beckoning to the creature.
“What do you mean?”
“It listened to you. I saw it stop, right before I killed it.”
Jingo shrugged. “Most of the time they ignore me. Occasionally, they listen.”
“What do you mean?”
“I haven’t tested it much. I prefer to keep far away from my kind.” Jingo watched the thing with curiosity. “Especially with you around. It’s not safe to be near them.”
Ivory frowned as he thought about what Jingo had said. Even though his teacher was one of the demons, Ivory rarely saw him as such. He tried to pinpoint the reason. Clearly Jingo didn’t have the violent, bloodthirsty intentions of the demons. Clearly his intellect was higher. But why?
