by Bobby Adair
She’d only gone a few steps toward the entrance when a voice whispered, “Melora!”
Her heart flooded with relief as William’s pale face appeared behind the stones. He peeled them away and peered out at her, as if he’d been waiting the whole time. He held his sword and called for Ella. Ella appeared behind him, puffy circles beneath her eyes.
“Melora!” Ella exclaimed. She removed the rest of the barricade and started through the doorway. She halted when she saw Ivory. “Who’s this?”
“A friend,” Melora said.
Ella’s face was torn between relief and suspicion. “Where did he come from?”
“He helped me when I was trapped by demons. He’s a rabbit hunter from Brighton,” Melora explained.
Ella pursed her lips and watched Ivory.
“I don’t mean anyone harm,” Ivory said.
Ella instinctively pushed William into the building behind her. “Stay back,” she whispered.
“His name’s Ivory. I told him what happened in Davenport,” Melora said. “I told him we escaped the massacre and fled.” She gave Ella a look she hoped would cement the lie.
Ella’s face softened. “We should get inside, then. It’s not safe here.”
“I haven’t seen any demons in the area for a while. Ivory says this area is usually pretty safe, compared to the rest of the Ancient City.”
Ella looked around, as if she wasn’t sure. Then she walked out and clutched Melora. Without warning, her face changed and she snapped, “We searched all day yesterday for you, Melora! I swore you’d been killed! Where were you?”
Melora stepped back, appraising her mother. William lingered in the doorway.
“I don’t need anyone to keep watch over me,” Melora said, taken aback.
“I thought you were dead,” Ella said with an accusatory look.
“I’m not. I’m fine.”
Ella opened her mouth and closed it, biting back harsher words. “You shouldn’t have gone out without telling anyone, especially at night. What if something happened to you? What if the demons or the soldiers came?”
“I’ve survived my whole life just fine, Mom. I don’t need you or anyone else to protect me.” Melora took a step away from her mother.
Ella’s eyes welled up. William tried to slip out of the doorway, but Ella walked back and stopped him.
“Stay back, William,” she said.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because it’s not safe out here.”
“I’m sick of you telling me that. I want to see Melora. Let me out!” he yelled through gritted teeth.
Grunting, he pushed past her and ran to Melora and Ivory. Gaining strength from Melora’s words, he said, “I’m not little anymore either, Mom! Both of us can take care of ourselves!”
Ella looked between Melora and William, her cheeks stinging red with hurt.
A cough drew their attention to the building’s entrance.
Bray walked from inside, wiping the remnants of his breakfast on his pants. “Welcome back, Melora,” he said casually. “I thought you were demon food.”
“It’ll be a long time before that happens,” Melora retorted.
“Don’t be upset by your mother,” Bray said, waving a hand. “It was no big deal searching for you. I told her you’d be fine. Besides, I comforted her while you were gone.”
“You wish,” Ella said. Without another word, she turned and walked back into the building. Melora watched her go. She felt a sting of guilt, but quickly dismissed it. Beside her, Ivory shifted from foot to foot.
“Who’s your friend?” Bray raised his chin at Ivory. His eyes immediately wandered to the bow.
“I’m Ivory. I met Melora further in the city.”
“He helped me out when some demons came,” Melora explained.
Bray scrutinized the weapon. “Is that a bow?”
Ivory nodded, clutching it tight. “Yes, I found it in the city.”
“I’ve never seen one like it.” Bray’s demeanor softened into wonder as he marveled at the contraption. “How does that even work, with all those wheels and strings? There’s no way it could work better than the ones we have.”
“It took me a while to figure it out,” Ivory said, grabbing an arrow from his quiver. “I’ll show you.”
Before anyone could answer, he nocked an arrow and spun, aiming at a scraggly cottonwood a hundred yards away. He fired. The arrow sailed through the air, embedding into the wood with a satisfying thud.
“By the gods!” Melora exclaimed.
“Unbelievable,” Bray muttered. “Did you see how fast and true it sailed?”
Melora nodded. William’s eyes were wide with amazement.
“I’ve killed demons with it, too,” Ivory said proudly.
“Are you a Warden?” Bray asked.
“No, a rabbit hunter.”
“He’s from Brighton,” Melora clarified, shooting Bray a look in hopes he wouldn’t give away Ella and William’s secret.
“A rabbit hunter roaming the Ancient City?” Bray frowned, as he looked Ivory up and down.
“Yes,” Ivory said.
“Rabbit hunters don’t come to the Ancient City.” Bray cocked his head with a smile, studying Ivory. He looked from his clothes to his bag. “You’re a metal smuggler.”
Ivory swallowed but didn’t answer.
Bray nodded, reinforcing his proclamation. “Definitely a metal smuggler.”
“No, I’m not,” Ivory said, but his face betrayed his secret.
They fell into silence, scrutinizing each other. After a moment, Bray’s face softened and he looked at the bow again. “Whoever you are, we could use someone with a weapon like that around. And Melora’s obviously taken a liking to you. Why don’t you come inside and have some breakfast?”
Ivory looked from Bray to Melora, hesitating.
“Do you have somewhere else to be?” Bray asked.
“No,” Ivory said after a pause. “I guess I can come in.”
Chapter 9: Fitzgerald
The streets reeked of sweat and ash as Fitz opened the door of the Sanctuary and looked around. Or maybe it was the memory of the burnings. She held her breath and looked in all directions for soldiers, worried she might have been wrong about what she told Franklin, fearing someone might race up and grab her. Instead, she noticed only a few passersby walking with their heads bowed. Thrusting the awful details of the burnings from her mind, Fitz departed into the streets with a basket in her hand.
She thought of the words Franklin had spoken in his room. He doubted the women in Brighton could make a difference. But that was the way with most in Brighton. She couldn’t fault him for it. Still, if she could find a way to rally those women and ensure they went to the sermons, maybe she could use that power.
She just wasn’t sure how to do it yet.
She walked past a cluster of tall, stone buildings. During her stay in the Sanctuary, she’d learned that those buildings were used to house visitors when they came to ask Father Winthrop for favors, or to grovel for his forgiveness.
Walking several streets further, those buildings turned into squalid, filthy hovels and roads filled with people. The smell of cooked pig laced the air. Conversation surrounded her. The street was stuffed with merchants stocking their wares. Most were women, the wives of the men who had gone off to war, left behind to take care of their business. The customers were a blend of people from other townships or villages, mostly female, and the children they were left to tend. Fitz found her way between shoulders, waving hands, and youthful cries of children playing street games.
Normally, the task of getting fresh vegetables and meats from the market was reserved for the novices, but she’d convinced Franklin she’d be careful if he allowed her t
o go. Her hope was that she could observe the townsfolk and figure out something that would convince herself her argument was valid.
Between the customers spending coin, she found a few women huddling in corners or holding distraught conversations. Some were mourning the deaths of their husbands; others were celebrating their men going off to war by purchasing more than they could afford.
Stopping at a produce stand, she picked up an apple and turned it in her hand.
A lady merchant asked, “Looking for anything in particular?”
“Just a few apples for the Sanctuary,” Fitz said. The woman’s face fell as she realized she wouldn’t be getting paid.
“Take what you need, but please go easy on me,” the lady merchant pleaded. “With the early cold, we lost some of our crops, and my husband is off to the war.”
“Of course,” Fitz answered.
The merchant moved on to the next customer, hoping for more coin. As Fitz placed some apples in her basket, she noticed four women standing in an alleyway. One was a woman with a kerchief tied around her head, waving her hands. She talked angrily while others listened. Fitzgerald thanked the merchant and stepped into the alley, hoping she might eavesdrop.
The woman raised her fist at the sky. “The gods took my husband to war. They took my brothers in the burning. What do I have left?”
Fitzgerald edged closer to the circle, a sympathetic look on her face. She looked around at the women, whose faces were dirt-stained and whose clothes were ripped. It looked like they were only a few mouthfuls above starving. Fitz felt out of place in her clean merchant’s dress. She’d sewn it back together after Tenbrook’s attack. Though one could notice a few tears, if they looked closely, it was still nicer than what these women were wearing. Acknowledging her presence, one of the women eyed her with a suspicious glance.
“What’s going on?” Fitz whispered.
The woman took a second to answer, judging Fitz’s dress. “She lost her brothers in the burnings,” she finally whispered. “And her husband was called out with Blackthorn’s army.”
“That’s awful,” Fitzgerald said.
Blinking tears from her eyes, the angry woman’s voice grew louder. “How am I supposed to manage my house? My children will starve. I have no one to help me. The gods have forgotten my children. The Word has failed!”
A few of the women gave nervous looks around the alley. Their sympathy went only as far as doubting The Word. They took a few steps backward, contemplating scattering.
Fitzgerald took a step forward.
“I’m sorry to hear about your husband and brothers,” she said.
The angry woman surveyed Fitz, noticing her for the first time. Studying Fitz with a scowl, the woman took a bold step forward. “I appreciate your concern. But those words won’t feed my children, or help us afford clothes as nice as yours.”
Fitz said, “That doesn’t have to be true. We can all help each other.”
“My neighbors offered the same help. But their kindness will only go as far as the next burning or until their own families can’t be fed.”
“The Word guides us through these tough times. Our faith will see us through.”
Growing suspicious, the woman became bolder. “Who are you?”
“I’m a servant at the Sanctuary.”
The woman gasped and threw her hands up in despair. “Of course! You’re here to tell the guards! You’re here to see me burned! I should’ve known by your dress.”
The other women panicked. They raced for the end of the alley.
“Wait!” Fitzgerald said, stopping them with an insistent wave. “I’m not here to see anyone burned.”
“How can we believe you?” one of the women called over her shoulder.
Fitzgerald reached into her basket and held out an apple. A couple of the women furrowed their brows, confused and distrustful. They stopped moving.
“A gesture of my goodwill. I have one for each of you.”
“You want a favor,” one of the women said, a guarded expression on her face.
“No favor. Come back over and I’ll share what I have.”
With some coaxing, she convinced the women to return. She gave them the apples from her basket. The angry woman tucked hers away, eyeing Fitz warily as if she might take it back.
“I could be burned for giving away Sanctuary food.” Fitz said. She took out an apple and bit into it. “That should prove I’m not here to trick you.”
The women huddled around Fitz, eating. They watched Fitzgerald with eyes that said they wanted to believe.
“I just overheard what you were saying,” Fitz added. “I want to help.”
“No one does that. People talk about helping when they’re in the pews. After that, The Word fades and we’re on our own.”
“Lady and Bruce had the same doubts,” Fitz said.
The angry woman grew visibly afraid at the names of Lady and Bruce. “I shouldn’t have doubted The Word. I’m sorry.”
Fitz smiled grimly. Directing her words to all the women, she said, “I’m just a servant at the Sanctuary. You don’t have to worry about me. But you’re right. There seem to be two versions of The Word: the things people say behind the Sanctuary doors, and the things they do after they leave. We need to learn to bring our same faith outside, if we want to survive.”
The other women nodded. They watched Fitzgerald intently.
“Most of the men are gone,” Fitz added. “We need to look out for ourselves.”
“There are more of us than there are of them, now that the army is gone,” the woman with the kerchief said with a shrug.
“That may be true,” another woman conceded. “But what can women do? The burnings yesterday are proof things are getting worse. People are afraid, and only concerned for themselves. We’ll burn whether the men are here or not.”
“It’s Tenbrook,” one of the women whispered, looking around the alley. “He’s worse than Blackthorn.”
“That’s true,” Fitzgerald said, fighting back her emotions.
“He never goes to sermons,” one of the women said with a scoff. “He condemns and burns people, and he doesn’t even pray with the rest of us.”
“He burned my brothers in the square.” The woman with the kerchief wiped her eyes and stepped forward, watching Fitz.
“Tenbrook has no power over The Word. But Father Franklin does,” Fitz said. “What do you think of him?”
“I heard his last sermon,” the woman continued. “I believe he’s different. He seems to believe some of the things you’re saying, about helping each other outside of the Sanctuary. Winthrop was only concerned with rules. Still, I’m not sure that will be enough to convince everybody. And it certainly won’t stop Tenbrook from burning whoever he wants.”
“What if there was nothing for Tenbrook to hear?” Fitz asked. “What if we were all to keep silent?”
The woman paused. The rest thought on it. “There’s no guarantee anyone would follow that rule. The soldiers find things out.”
“They find things out because we tell them. If we keep gathering at the sermons and practicing The Word, we’ll gain the trust of others. We’ll start to grow stronger. I think that’s what Father Franklin was trying to say at his last sermon.”
The woman with the kerchief frowned. The others whispered amongst themselves and a couple gave disbelieving looks.
“I want to believe him,” she said.
“I can attest that he means it, having worked for him. Give him time,” Fitzgerald said. She reached out and gently placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Come to the next sermon. Tell everyone you know to come. We’ll sit together in the pews.”
The woman looked around at the others in the group, then slowly nodded.
Fitzgerald smiled, then turned and headed back down the alley to look for others.
Chapter 10: Ivory
Ivory followed Melora, Bray, and William into the building, keeping a wary eye on Bray. Bray also seemed fascinated by the bow. And who wouldn’t be? Ivory vowed to keep his weapon close during his stay.
He looked for Ella, but she wasn’t nearby.
The building looked the same as the last time he’d entered it. He’d been in the building a few times with his uncle and Jingo, but hadn’t found anything of value. Broken glass was ground into the floor and partially buried. Fractured, crumbling pedestals dotted the room. Jingo had told him it was a museum—a place the Ancients used to display archaic, preserved treasures, though most had been looted or destroyed.
Ivory walked up the flight of stairs, skirting around the divots and gaps in the stone and following Melora. When they entered the first room, he saw Ella tidying up several blankets and bags. The look on her face showed she was still upset by what had happened outside.
Ivory couldn’t help but smile. Melora was independent. Her strong words reminded him of similar encounters he’d had with Muldoon when Muldoon was still alive.
“Would you like something to eat?” Melora asked, grabbing a bag from the floor and pulling out a slice of dried pork.
“Thanks,” Ivory said appreciatively.
He watched as Melora, Bray, and William pulled out flasks, setting down their belongings, eating in whatever position they’d crouched in. The meal reminded him of many he’d had in the wild, on an empty stomach, accompanied by furtive glances. It was a life not many in Brighton knew.
He hunched on the ground next to Melora and had breakfast, holding his bow on his lap. Ella remained standing.
“How long have you been here?” Bray asked Ivory.
“A few days,” Ivory said. That wasn’t a lie.
