by Bobby Adair
Chapter 7: Oliver
“It’s god-speak.”
Oliver looked and listened.
A scrawny old militiaman to Oliver’s right looked at the big, meaty soldier who’d spoken. “How would you know that?”
It was a good question, and Oliver wanted to know the answer as well.
The meaty man looked over at Father Winthrop, who was sitting on a log, much too close to the fire, staring at the flames as they swayed and crawled into the air. He looked back at the skinny man. “You understand what he’s saying?”
“No,” the skinny man answered.
“That’s how you know it’s god-speak. Gods talk in a golden tongue that mortal men don’t understand.”
“How do you know that?”
The big man turned toward the skinny man, his brow furrowed. “I listened to my elders when I was a boy. They didn’t live in a shack with their pigs like your ignorant parents did. They were educated. They knew things.” The tall man puffed himself up. “My grandpop could read. He even showed me a word or two.”
The skinny man laughed. “You can’t read.”
“Didn’t say I could read. I said a word or two. But that’s neither here nor there.” The meaty militiaman pointed at Winthrop. “I know god-speak when I hear it.”
“What’s he saying then?”
“I didn’t say I understood it.” The tall man leaned close and in hushed tones said, “If you listen close, some of his words come through to your ear, and the words turn clear in your head.”
Oliver listened intently. The people of the camp, those who weren’t exhausted from the day’s short trudge on the muddy road, were collecting around the campfires for warmth and the perceived safety of numbers. At first, most were talking, sharing stories, and bragging. As the night settled in and more demon howls echoed in the forest, the mood among the peasants grew more anxious.
That’s when Oliver had found Winthrop at one of the bonfires.
Winthrop’s mutterings had taken center stage. The attention drew others in to see what had everyone’s attention.
Men brought in logs and stacked them over the fire’s embers to build the blaze up.
Oliver appreciated the warmth, but he knew the men were doing it to appease Father Winthrop. No one cared about the lowly onlookers such as him.
“Hear that?” the tall man just over Oliver’s shoulder pointed discreetly at Winthrop.
“What?” the skinny man asked.
Oliver listened to see if he could understand any of Winthrop’s mutterings. All of it sounded like crazy talk.
The meaty guy was losing his patience. “He said the demons are coming.”
The skinny man looked at the dark over his shoulder. “I don’t need gods talking to me to know that. I can hear ‘em out in the woods.”
“He doesn’t mean those demons, you frightened woman.”
“Hey, I’m no woman.”
The tall man said, “He’s talking about the hordes that we’re going to kill.”
“They’re coming for us?” The skinny man gulped.
The tall man nodded. “Earlier, when you was over there pissin’ by the trees, he said the wicked are going to die.”
“Are you telling me the demons are coming to kill the wicked?”
The tall man tucked his thumbs in his belt and looked over the heads of Winthrop’s huddled audience. “That’s exactly what I think.”
“Who are the wicked?” the skinny man asked. “Us? Because if he’s talking about us,” the skinny man looked over his shoulder again, “I don’t want to stay and find out. I’ll go back to Brighton and take my chances behind the circle wall. I’m not going to die of demon bite out here in the cold.”
The tall man hushed his voice again and leaned in close. “I don’t think he means us. Besides, you’re not wicked, are you? I know I’m not.”
The skinny man shook his head. “I’m a good man. I herd my pigs. I keep my wife and kids fed.” He looked around again. “I go to The House of Barren Women from time to time.”
The tall man slapped him on the back and laughed. “Everybody does that. It don’t make you wicked.”
“Who is wicked, then? Who is Father Winthrop talking about?”
In a whisper, the tall man said, “It’s that Blackthorn and that bunch of prissy cavalrymen. That’s my bet.”
“Don’t say that.” The skinny man’s face turned to fright, and he took a long look around. “Blackthorn hears everything. He’ll put us on the pyre for talking like that.”
“Blackthorn’s wicked, but he’s no god. He’s a man like us. He can’t hear what we say. If the demons eat anybody, it’ll be him.”
The skinny man snorted. “No demon can kill General Blackthorn. Everybody knows that.”
Chapter 8: Beck
The sound of Blackthorn’s baritone made Minister Beck shiver.
He peeked out of his tent. Across the campsite, on the other side of the pyramid of flaming logs, Blackthorn stood in front of a handful of his cavalry officers and blue shirted ruffians. He was pointing and ordering. Beck wasn’t able to make out most of what Blackthorn was saying, but he put enough together to know that a band of demons was coming. A hundred, maybe two hundred strong. They’d been spotted following the road toward the camp.
One only had to listen to the sounds coming from the forest to know they weren’t alone. Demons howled from every direction. Not thousands. Maybe not even hundreds. But they were everywhere. Some near. Some far.
Nineteen thousand soldiers and camp followers marching up the road had made enough noise to draw in every demon from miles around. The howling would attract even more. It was going to be a long night for the cavalry and the militia.
Ideas germinated in Beck’s imagination. Not only would the night be long if the demons got close, but it would be chaotic. Dangerous. His plans to sneak back to Brighton were a lot easier to fathom when he wasn’t in the wild, listening to the shrieking of twisted men whose only ache was to feed.
His hope was that the four soldiers assigned to him might not stay to do so. Duty might call them elsewhere. Even if they did stay, it was a near certainty that their attention wouldn’t be focused on a tent holding one sleeping minister. They’d be watching the shadows beyond the light of the bonfire. They’d be watching for a horde of demons to burst through the trees.
Maybe an opportunity was coming together. Beck looked at the trees at the edge of the forest.
He needed to escape.
Chapter 9: Melora
Melora readjusted under the blanket Ella had given her, looking through several thin cracks in the ceiling of the Ancient building. The moon looked the same as always—a bright, wondrous bulb. It was hard to believe she was viewing it from the Ancient City. A mixture of excitement and fear kept her awake.
She swallowed as she listened for William. She hadn’t heard him for a while. She assumed he was asleep, run down from the exhaustive journey. She rolled over, trying to find comfort in her thin blanket. Tucking her hands under her chin, she smelled on her fingers the apple Bray had given her earlier. She had a meal and a place to stay.
Melora was grateful. Not only to be out from the wild, but to be bedded down in a place with protection. Her hands stung from the cold of night, but it was better than being outside, roaming among the beasts. Every so often, a demon wailed in the distance, but the noises were far enough away that she convinced herself that she, William, Ella, and Bray weren’t in danger.
She’d just started drifting off when she heard voices. She snapped awake and looked around.
Bray was whispering to Ella. Melora strained to make out their conversation, but could only pick up a word or two. The Warden was keeping his voice low, but the casual lilt in his voice was one she’d heard before, normally by men who w
ere trying to bed a woman or take a wife. Melora instinctively reached for her sword. She told herself that Ella could take care of herself. If Ella didn’t like Bray’s advances, Ella would tell him.
Right?
She recalled Ella’s warning at the campsite when Bray had gone to Coventry. Despite the fact that the Warden continued to help them, Ella was mistrustful.
That made Melora wary, too.
Melora kept alert as the conversation continued. She heard the banter of voices as Ella deflected whatever suggestions Bray was making.
I should’ve stayed in the same room with them.
Bray had assured her and William they’d be safe.
Of course, he had.
He probably meant to separate them so he could employ his devious plan. Melora was about to spring to her feet when she heard Ella turn over. The conversation faded, leaving only the lingering sound of insects that were brave enough for the weather. Melora kept a silent vigil, but the noises had stopped. Eventually, she convinced herself it was all right to sleep. Thoughts of lustful men were replaced by dreams of Tech Magic. Now that they’d found a place to stay, maybe she’d find some of the Ancients’ secrets that she’d fantasized about since she was a child.
Melora didn’t remember drifting off, but she did.
Chapter 10: Beck
From far up the road, the sounds of a battle carried back to the campsite. Beck stood outside his tent, looking both at the woods and at the sprawling camp spread out past the rows and rows of tents that housed the sleeping militiamen. Or that’s to say, the tents that housed the few soldiers who did sleep.
As Beck understood it, a third of General Blackthorn’s draftees and half his cavalry were either patrolling the camp perimeter in platoon-sized formations or had gone up the road under Blackthorn’s direct command, to take on the noisy horde of monsters that was moving down the road. As for the militiamen who had the chance to sleep, most weren’t in their tents. Some stood by the fires, weapons in hand, watching the forest. Others walked the camp looking for food, Barren Women, or any other distraction that might take their minds off the danger of being outside the circle wall. Of the camp followers, few appeared to be sleeping. The camp was nearly as active as it had been hours ago before the sun went down.
Beck’s four assigned guards were nowhere to be seen. Whether they’d merged with the platoons of men who were covering the empty pasture between the ministers’ tents and the edge of the forest, Beck didn’t know. He did know that a better chance to escape might not present itself. He already had his boots on his feet and his warm coat to protect him from a night that was turning to harsh cold. He had a knife in a sheath on his hip. He was ready to steal away.
But out there in the trees, the demons lurked. Shortly after they started howling, they attacked. They’d been attacking the camp since the sun went down. At first, they came in ones, twos, and threes, never at the same time. They had the camp frazzled, but they were easily handled by the platoons of soldiers guarding the camp’s perimeter.
Thinking about escape, two unresolved questions kept Beck immobile. If he fled, how could he keep Blackthorn from sending horsemen out to find him? Short of that, what would stop Blackthorn from sending a rider back to Brighton to alert Tenbrook of the desertion? In that case, Tenbrook would scour the city until he found Beck, and then Beck would spend the last moments of his life breathing searing hot air from the pyre flames as they burned away the flesh on his body.
Beck trembled.
The more pressing question was whether Beck could evade the beasts in the woods. If they attacked him, he didn’t believe he could defend himself. He had only the most rudimentary skills with a knife, and no experience in fighting anything but a thick slice of pork on his plate. He had no sword. No spear.
He couldn’t steal the horse Blackthorn had given him to ride. To do that would be the clearest proof of escape.
A commotion to Blackthorn’s left caught his attention. People screamed. Men cursed, and swords glinted in the light of the fires. Demons howled—half a hundred, maybe twice that. They were attacking.
Beck stepped quickly in the direction of the noise, getting away from the light of the fire, hoping to see what was happening.
Men ran in the direction of the fight. Others fled.
However many demons were attacking the camp, it was easily the largest group of the night.
Thousands of people across the encampment were on their feet, looking in the direction of the commotion. More were standing up and coming out of their tents.
Beck started to fear that he might not need to worry about escape. The night was only half over, and the demons were coming in greater and greater numbers.
He might die before he got away.
Chapter 11: William
After waiting for Melora to fall asleep, William slipped from underneath his blanket. He held his breath, certain the slightest exhalation might awaken the others. With cautious, creeping fingers, he reclaimed his sword. He got to his haunches. A sliver of moonlight shone through a crack in the walls, providing enough light to see Ella in the same position she’d been in when she fell asleep. Bray was dozing. William had watched the Warden over the past week. He’d studied him enough to learn his habits. Though Bray was observant in the ways of the demons, William was pretty sure he’d miss a cautious, lightweight boy who already knew the path he was taking.
William crawled on hands and feet until he’d reached the stairs, then slipped down them, avoiding loose stones and rubble. He pressed his boots firmly but quietly, his heart pelting his ribcage. His palms were sweaty on the sword handle.
Reaching the barricade they’d placed in front of the door, he set down his sword and quietly moved the smallest of the stones.
Soon he was in the open air. Cold air filled William’s lungs as he drew a breath. The moon turned the buildings into hulking, irregular masses, giants that might uproot and follow him on colossal legs. He kept to the shadows, sneaking down the street, exploring.
The smell of demons was a potent reminder of the creatures around him. William kept going, driven by curiosity.
I’m one of them, he told himself. They won’t hurt me.
In truth, he wasn’t certain. William reached down and brushed his knees. The hard, swollen lumps were still there. He’d noticed more knots when he’d taken a bath in the stream. Thankfully, his mother and sister hadn’t seen.
The spreading lumps were proof of what he was becoming.
Two more reasons for Ella, Bray, and Melora to kill him.
Would Ella and Melora join Bray when he swung his sword? William wasn’t sure. He no longer knew whom he could trust.
Swallowing, William let go of that thought and concentrated on the road. He took stock of where he was. He recognized a few of the buildings, even in the looming darkness. They were taller than any he’d ever seen in Brighton, constructed in a fashion he could hardly fathom. Despite the crumbling, decayed edges, the pocked walls, and the faltering tops, he could envision how they’d once looked: tall, proud and unblemished.
William continued, weaving down several streets, keeping track of where he was. He’d never been alone before. He’d run from his mother a few times, sure, but only far enough to earn a scolding.
The smell of the demons thickened. A fallen, rectangular shape of stone blocked the roadway. Something rustled behind it. A hiss escaped into the air: mucous-filled and thick. A demon. William stopped and stared at the piece of rubble, shaking. He held up his sword.
The moonlight revealed the edges of the stone, but nothing more. He gulped. Something else shifted in a nearby building, coming toward him and stopping. He sensed the demons’ presence. Watching. Waiting. Perhaps they knew what he knew.
They were waiting for him to speak.
That had to be it. Right?
“Come out and show yourself,” William said, his voice tinny and weak.
His words died almost as soon as they came out of his mouth. They were accompanied by a shot of fear. He’d given himself up. If the demons didn’t know where he was before, they knew it now.
He suddenly doubted the authority he’d asserted in the woods. Had the encounter in the forest been a coincidence? Maybe the creatures that’d attacked Ella and Melora had never listened to him at all.
He glanced over his shoulder. For a brief moment, William considered running back through the streets, calling out for the others.
But he was too far away. He knew it, and so did the demons. They had him.
They’ll overtake me before I make it back. It’s too late.
The first demon crept out soundlessly. William wasn’t sure when it had appeared, but suddenly it was there, lurking next to the rectangular stone like a specter in the night. It stared at him, its eyes glinting moonlight. If it weren’t for the beast’s scraggly, naked form, William might’ve mistaken it for a villager, coming out to greet a passerby. Another demon crept into the open, emerging from a gloomy building to his right, then another, to his left. The three demons took several insidious steps forward.
William’s panic thickened. Not only had he left his family behind, but he’d also made a decision that might cost him his life. Gritting his teeth, he held up his sword and prayed for bravery.
“Stay where you are!” he commanded.
He pushed courage into his words, projecting deepness he’d never found in his young voice. He waited for the beasts to charge, to overtake him in a flurry of limbs, but instead they halted. He blinked to ensure he wasn’t imagining things. The beasts had stopped. Just like they’d done in the woods.
