by Donald Brown
Dorothy fixed a smile on her face again and tried to comb over the reprimand. “Go wash your hands and your pretty face, pumpkin. Dinner will be ready soon.”
Yara nodded and headed towards the bathroom.
Dorothy’s mind turned towards darker thoughts as she remembered that it was the anniversary of George’s death today.
The frightening scenes flashed before her eyes again, sending a shiver down her spine.
“You shouldn’t cage a butterfly, Dorothy.”
“What?!”
Dorothy realized that it was Frieda who had spoken. She seemed taken aback by Dorothy’s hostility.
“No, it’s just… you can’t protect her forever! She needs to find her own feet. This witch’s curse is ruling your life now…”
“I made the mistake of not taking it seriously at first, Frieda. I won’t make the same mistake again,” Dorothy retorted.
She pondered the recent event with the Black Knight again.
I hope you and your daughter remain safe.
Frieda nodded, but she didn’t seem satisfied. Yara came running back into the room again and seemed to pick up on the tension between the two.
“Is there something wrong, Mommy? Can I help with anything?”
“Everything’s fine, sweetie,” Dorothy replied, now gazing absently through the window.
Yara was unsatisfied with this. Being a five-year-old with the brain of a ten-year-old she knew there was something the matter with her mother and she really wanted to help fix it, but she didn’t know how.
22
Even though the meeting with the witch in her hut had left Storm dubious that anything would come of her forebodings, he still hoped that something would save him; that someone would pluck him from school, or come to guide him out of Sanctuary.
He still didn’t actually know if he believed that there was a world outside of Sanctuary.
Nevertheless, the following day went by somewhat uneventful and he didn’t think about the subject too much. He was chased around a few times by the boys and Mr. Walrus shouted at him on three occasions, informing him that he was useless.
It was only when he reached home that he decided he had to confide in his brother about the book he had found. The ramifications of it were too great to be ignored and he was interested in Hadrian’s opinion, knowing that his brother wouldn’t betray him.
When Storm told Hadrian about the book, and then thrusted it into his hands, he was alarmed at first, but when Storm began to turn the pages for him, the shock of what he witnessed countered his fear of someone finding them in possession of reading material.
“We are telling you, the place is real, Hadrian,” Storm said, lurching forward and flipping the pages back to the photo that showed the Republic. “There has to be an advanced civilized world out there. Where else would this picture come from?”
Hadrian shook his head, even though the undeniable concrete evidence was staring at him right in the face. “It can’t be, it can’t be…” he muttered, continuing to shake his head.
Storm groaned in frustration. “What else could it be?” he moaned. “We have most likely been duped, Hadrian! Don’t we see it? The Council has misled us. We have been trapped in this place, serving them like damn slaves! This is exactly why so many people have tried to escape, like the Old Man.”
Hadrian only persisted to shake his head, now covering his ears with his hands, trying to block out what he was hearing. When Storm had finished giving his take on things, Hadrian turned suspicious and raised an accusing finger at him. “But we can see what we’re trying to do!” he said loudly. “We have a high chance of being sentenced to death and now we are selfishly trying to avoid it with these false stories. Don’t we think this could have been planted by the Outsiders? Don’t we think they are attempting to make us succumb to the Jacobites?”
For the first time, Storm began to slightly doubt the authenticity of the pictures in the book. What if it really had been planted? What if the woman had been sent by the Outsiders?
Hadrian cleared his throat. “If these Outsiders have so much power and wealth, if they are doing so much better than us, why do they then confess their guilt whenever they are captured? Why do they admit that they are wrong and that we are superior?”
Hadrian was making some good points and Storm didn’t have answers to any of them. He sat down on the bed, beside his brother, and dropped his chin to his chest in defeat.
“We have to report the book to headquarters, Storm,” Hadrian said, shoving it back into Storm’s lap and wiping his hands clean afterwards.
Storm opened his mouth to object, but Hadrian interrupted him. “Remember, the only reason why we shouldn’t kill us right now is that the law of Sanctuary protects us.”
“All right, all right, we will take it to them now,” Storm replied, terrified at the look his brother had given him. Besides, he had already seen what he had to see in the pictures; it was etched into his brain. He might just as well turn the book in.
Kneeling down to face the direction of the Guardian’s temple, Hadrian pressed his hands together and said, “When we return, we will pray for selflessness and purge ourselves of any potential Jacobites we may have contracted.”
Storm walked out of their house and made his way to the headquarters of the Peacekeepers.
The dark old building was busy as usual. People were moving in and out, either being arrested or filing complaints against fellow Sanctuarians. Inside the large hall, Storm had to wait a long time before he was allowed to see a Senior Peacekeeper. He was nervous with so many people around him and he just wanted to get it over with and go back home.
When it was finally his turn, he approached the desk and the Red Cloak took his time to look up at his next complaintive. He was an old man with white hair and a matching beard and moustache. “The last enemy that shall be destroyed is life,” he said mechanically.
“The last enemy that shall be destroyed is life,” Storm echoed. He handed the book over to the Peacekeeper. “I’m here to give this in,” he added in a croaky voice.
The Peacekeeper glanced at it and then glared up at Storm, expectantly.
“We found it in the house of the Old Man… the man who fled through the tunnel,” Storm explained to the Peacekeeper. “We didn’t burn it because we thought it was evidence.”
The Peacekeeper nodded and put the book away, in a box under the desk, but then he proceeded to eye Storm curiously. “Why have only we brought this in now?”
“Because we have only been dismissed from the search party now,” Storm said swiftly, having already thought of his excuse on his way to the headquarters.
A large German Shepherd suddenly appeared beside the Peacekeeper and stared at Storm with his vicious red eyes. Storm’s heart sank and he hoped that it would not be followed by its owner. Even the Red Cloak eyed the dog warily, who was known as Sentinel.
But, as it was with his luck, a block of a man followed Sentinel and Storm instantly recognized him.
“Let us handle this,” the new arrival instructed, placing a hand on the Senior Peacekeeper’s trembling shoulder. His voice was seethed with impatience and Storm felt his heart sink further to his feet. The Peacekeeper hurried away as fast as he could.
Everyone in Sanctuary knew who this imposing man was.
He was the Spymaster, in charge of the SS; the ones who worked undercover to find Outsider presence. They were far more dangerous than the Peacekeepers and, barring the Guardian, their boss was the most feared man in Sanctuary. He had a patch over his left eye and numerous diagonal scars across his face. The spiky hair on one side of his head was half gone, where an axe had left a large cleft mark. His eyes had also been affected somehow, as they always stared over a person’s head, adding to the coldness the Spymaster projected.
The Sanctuarians took their values so seriously that they had a secret police force dedicated to ensuring that those who transgressed were punished. The Sanctuarians named this organi
zation the Sanctuarian Strongmen, or SS. These shadow figures did not wear uniforms and were spies planted amongst Sanctuarians in all spheres of their lives. Anyone who felt that someone else was acting selfish could report that person to the SS and they would investigate the matter. The trouble was – at least that was the rumor going around – that many heads of the SS have been reported on numerous occasions, which led to their disappearance, rendering the unit somewhat dysfunctional at times.
The Spymaster took the book out of the box and then sat down behind the desk. A murmur spread through the mold-infested building as everyone recognized him and Sanctuarians hastily found excuses to remove themselves as far away from the Spymaster as possible.
Paging through the book, the Spymaster eventually found the picture of the Republic and paused on the page. He first inhaled slowly and then frowned, his one remaining eyebrow narrowing in surprise. After that he focused on Storm with an intense gaze. Even though his sinister black eyes weren’t locked with his, it still felt more piercing than any gaze he had ever felt.
Frightened beyond himself, Storm dropped his head to look at the floor.
“Have we seen what is in this book?” Sentinel snapped, biting into each word. It was rumored that one of his injuries still left a constant pain in his spine and lower back, which was why he was always so impatient and edgy.
“N… no,” Storm lied, quickly glancing up before looking away again. He could feel the Spymaster continuing to stare at him and even though Storm knew he shouldn’t peer down, he could not bring himself to look at the scary man.
“Very well,” The Spymaster said, pursing his lips. “We live with Peacekeeper-141, don’t we?” he then inquired, referring to Hadrian.
Storm looked up and fervently bobbed his head up and down.
The Spymaster closed the book with a loud smack and said, “We may go now.”
Storm walked out of the headquarters as fast as he could and headed back home. A wave of relief washed over him as soon as he reached the residential area of Sanctuary.
Back at the house, he told his brother what had happened and Hadrian seemed upset that the Spymaster was now involved and that he had asked about them living together. With no other recourse left but faith, he motioned to Storm to pray with him, which they did. Storm didn’t know what his brother prayed for, but he prayed for escape.
***
The next day, after another boring school lesson, Storm arrived at home to find four SS agents outside his house. As was traditional, they didn’t wear any uniforms but he instantly recognized them as members of the secret police, because they were all holding shiny swords with the menacing SS logo painted on the hilts.
He stood there and stared at them, his heart pounding against his ribcage. After a short while, he realized he couldn’t stay outside forever, he had to go check what was happening. His brother had to be inside and hopefully he’d managed to hide the teacher from them.
Walking past the four agents with his head down, Storm went inside. Oddly, none of them made an effort to stop him or ask him any questions.
He soon found out why.
When he walked through the front door, he stopped in his tracks. Sitting at the only table in their house was the Spymaster. He was accompanied by two Sanctuary Strongmen agents flanking him and perched at his feet was Sentinel, who perked up as Storm entered. Across them stood Hadrian, who was clearly dreading the situation he was in.
“Why have we not reported that this man has the Jacobites?” the Spymaster hissed, shifting his gaze from Hadrian to Teacher-20 and then back to Hadrian.
Hadrian – his usual dutiful self – opened his mouth, most likely planning on telling the truth, but Storm interceded. “Because he snuck in here, we didn’t know he was here.”
The Spymaster cast an annoyed look at Storm, as if he couldn’t be bothered with handling another imbecile at that moment. “Are we saying that we never knew he was here?”
“That’s exactly what we’re saying,” Storm replied, sounding more confident than he felt.
Everybody turned to look at Hadrian for confirmation. After an awkward moment of silent tension, Storm’s brother slowly nodded.
“Very well,” The Spymaster grumbled, “then the one with the Jacobites can be disposed of.”
The two SS agents stood up and grabbed the teacher, hauling him from the bed. Storm desperately tried to think of something that could save Teacher-20, but nothing came to mind. Their guest had been a dead man walking for a long time now. The Spymaster was watching both Hadrian and Storm, cautiously regarding their reactions, so they both kept quiet.
The SS agents dragged the ailing Teacher-20 outside, but the Spymaster suddenly waved for them to stop. “No, wait there,” he said, glaring at Hadrian with a malicious smirk on his face. “This Peacekeeper over here can kill him.”
Storm turned to look at his brother and Hadrian seemed outwardly calm, but Storm knew he had to be reeling inside.
Hadrian nodded a moment later and drew his traditional Peacekeeper sword from its sheath on his belt. The Spymaster continued watching him closely, as Teacher-20 was put in front of him. The teacher considered Hadrian with expressionless eyes as he raised his sword sideways. Then Teacher-20 cocked his head forward and the message was clear: End it, please. Hadrian brought the sword down with a force and then their former teacher collapsed to the floor, headless. Storm nearly threw up the little content in his aching stomach, but in the end he managed to spare himself the humility.
Nodding with satisfaction, The Spymaster headed for the exit, his squad in tow. He paused at the door. “Oh,” he said, “be sure that no one else with Jacobites finds themselves here again.”
And with that they left.
Hadrian stood there, heaving a bit, beholding the blood on his sword.
“Hadrian, We don’t, We…” Storm began, but Hadrian immediately raised his head in anger and glared at Storm. “We lied to them,” he said through gritted teeth.
Storm bit his lower lip. “We tried to save him, Hadrian.”
“We lied and that is selfish, Storm,” his brother continued angrily, wiping away tears from his face with the back of his hand.
Storm didn’t know what to say. He was also struggling to hold back his tears.
“We have to bury him now,” Hadrian said, tucking away his sword. “Come on, help me.”
They hoisted the teacher and moved him outside. Then they quickly dug a trench behind the house with a worn shovel and buried him in the shallow grave. Afterwards they just stood there and stared at the ground in horror. Storm thought about all the good people he’d known who had died so far: his mother, Tom, and now Teacher-20.
It can’t go on like this, his mind told him. He was now willing to search for another society more than ever. Anything was better than to stay here and suffer. “We have to leave this place, Hadrian,” he whispered to his brother.
Hadrian shook his head. “We can’t,” he hissed.
“We can go through the tunnel,” Storm continued.
“No Boy-150!” Hadrian suddenly whirled to face Storm, livid. “We don’t understand, do we? It was the outsiders that led to all these deaths; the teacher, our mother and everything we see here and… and we want to go join them?! We can never do that!”
And with that he stormed back inside, leaving behind a conflicted Storm. He inspected their surroundings to see if anyone had overheard them. To his alarm, he noticed that Mr. Walrus was standing just a few yards away, across the street from him.
Did he hear what I said? he wondered. How long has he been standing there? His teacher’s walrus face was quite unreadable. When he saw that Storm had noticed him, he merely walked away, without saying a word.
Storm didn’t make too much of this. He couldn’t really see how their situation could deteriorate further. Storm stood there for hours, watching the grave until, finally as the cold became too much for him, he headed inside.
23
…The bees
once more devoured through their fill and grew angry when they saw that the two Bears had discovered a honey pot further in the room.
With the butterfly out of reach, the only option left to them was too approach the bears. This time the Bears, now prepared, managed to ward off the attack. The bees retreated and reconsidered their options.
They devised a cunning plan and approached the small cub while his mother was sleeping. With tears in their eyes, they begged the cub for their honey. The cub, being small and not used to the trickery of the bees, gave away the pot. His mother was later on horrified to hear this and after the bees had once more devoured their share, it now left both groups unhappy.
Dorothy paused there, uncertain, her eyes on the last remaining sentences of the book. The rest of the class waited expectantly.
“Is that it?” Yara finally asked and when Dorothy looked up and nodded, Yara added, “That is a sad story.”
The rest murmured in agreement. Dorothy shook her head, closed the book and a smile returned to her face as she regarded the young children in her class.
They were all beautiful, but none as lovely as her own Yara, who was sitting in front, looking at her mother in awe. Yara was two years younger than the other kids in class – too young for school really – but Dorothy had nowhere else to leave her in the mornings. Frieda had taken up a job at Mr. Meyers’s stables on the farm and Doctor Ron was far too busy this time of the year, when the pox really hit Zion hard. All the other people she knew also had day jobs.
The main reason why Dorothy felt energy once again, had all come about largely on the inspiration from Yara. She had once more seen her mother brooding one morning, holding the now fixed jar in her hand.
“Mommy?” she had said walking over.
Dorothy had flashed her a weak smile.
“Mommy follow me.”
Yara tugged at her sleeve and noticing the urgency on her daughter’s face, Dorothy stood up, surprised, leaving the jar behind.
“No, you have to take that with,” her daughter had said and mystified, Dorothy clasped the jar and followed her.
