The man in the black robe stepped off the first boat, accompanied by a man in armor. The two said something to Mr. Fedgewick, who then walked past Sammy, heading toward the church.
“What do they want?” Sammy asked, but Mr. Fedgewick didn’t answer.
The man in the black robes walked past Sammy and the other kids, the soldiers following him. One, two, three, Sammy counted. He kept counting and made it all the way to twelve. They must have been cold, or maybe tired because none of them were smiling. Way down the dock, a man in a red robe held two white things that dangled from his belt. The robe wasn’t a pretty red though. It was a dark red. Like it was dirty or old.
“Wow, a bunch of them,” Simon said, coming alongside Sammy. Simon fidgeted with the string and trigger as he spoke. “Who are they?”
“Soldiers,” Sammy said. “Pop told me about them. See the big swords on their belts? And that metal on their chest is their armor.”
“Looks heavy.”
“I bet they’re so strong they don’t even notice.”
“Why so many?” Simon asked. “Are they on their way somewhere? Do they need to rest here a while?
“I don’t know.”
“What about those other men? In the robes.”
“Dunno,” Sammy said, scratching his chin nervously, as he often did. “But I think this is bad.”
It didn’t take long for the soldiers and the men in robes to gather the kids near the announcement stage. Lots of kids. Sammy was pushed up almost to the stage steps, with Simon next to him. Sammy wondered if he could sneak under the stage and run away.
He could do it without anybody seeing. Maybe he could make it home to Pop. But Pop didn’t even have a sword. And Sammy didn’t want to leave Simon.
The adults gathered, and some argued with the man in black robes. But when soldiers came near, the men stopped talking. Some women were crying, including Simon’s mama, but when Simon tried to go to her, a soldier stood in the way.
“Don’t move, boy. Not a step.” He spoke in a scary voice, deep and grumbly as if he was good at being angry. A crooked scar ran along his nose. He looked at the other children and held out a finger. “And none of you, either. Not a step.”
“You’re mean,” said one of the kids. It was Simon’s little brother, Dylin. He was six. “You should get a whoopin’.”
The soldier laughed and turned away.
The man in the black robe stopped talking to the adults and pushed past the kids to walk the steps up to the stage. Father Taylor walked behind, taking a place on the stage. Father Taylor’s head was bowed, but it didn’t look like he was praying.
“The archbishop sent me to give this village its due. This is a reckoning,” the man in the black robe said.
Since Sammy was close to the stage, he could see him well. The man wasn’t old. He was kinda young. Older than Mykel, but not by a lot, with a little black beard covering only his lip and chin.
“What’s a reckoning?” Simon whispered in Sammy’s ear.
Sammy shrugged.
“This town, like many others, has defied the church,” the man said, turning to Father Taylor, who didn’t meet his gaze. “For years, you did not imbue your ceppit. You failed in your duty to the crown and the church. I am here to bring you to account.”
Father Taylor stepped forward and spoke to the crowd. “I am to blame,” he said. “I am sorry. Our coffers were empty, so I haven’t filled the ceppit in years.” He turned to the man in the robes in a quieter voice. “I never told them. It’s not their fault. Punish me only. Please.”
A nervous shuffling of feet spread through the crowd, and Sammy felt a chill. Punish?
“No,” continued the man in the black robes. “Blame is shared. Not only did you harbor a cursed and fail to submit him to the church, but you also raised an enemy of the crown as your own. The girl with red hair, a demon in your midst. Dimmitt is a town of desolation. A den of iniquity that deserves no mercy.”
Were they talking about Nara? They didn’t know her very well.
The soldiers surrounded the gathered villagers, but some folks were missing. Kids that lived on other parts of the island, not in the village. And Lina wasn’t here. Her parents, neither. Sammy was glad for that because the man said punish.
“The penalty will be harsh. First, we break your hearts,” the man said, then cleared his throat and stretched his neck to the side. “You will lose someone precious, the cost of defying Dei.”
A woman behind Sammy sobbed loudly.
“Then we’ll break your bodies. We’ll announce every adult in this town. Any gifted that result will be conscripted. For the rest of your life. No wages. No freedom.”
A worried voice came from behind Sammy. “They can’t announce adults. The church has already announced us.”
Another voice said, “Apparently not. Taylor didn’t fill the ceppit, that cur. They gonna do it again.”
Were they going to announce the smaller kids too, like Sammy? He wondered how much it would hurt. But Mykel had done it, and Sammy was just as brave. Braver, maybe, though he wasn’t as big.
The man in black reached under his robes and pulled out a knife with a white handle and a small blade. It was a ceppit, but different from Father Taylor’s. “Submit a sacrifice to fill the ceppit,” he said, looking at the crowd.
Nobody moved.
“Submit one, or we will choose.”
It got quiet and Sammy looked around. Nobody moved.
“Fine, I’ll pick one,” the man said. He looked down at Sammy. And pointed.
“Me?” Sammy said, pointing to himself. Then he realized the man wasn’t pointing at him, he was pointing at Simon. Sammy turned to see that Simon’s face was pale and he had stopped fiddling with the trigger and string.
“Come here,” the man said to Simon.
“No!” came a voice from behind them. It was Simon’s mama. “Not him!”
Simon put the trigger and string in his pocket and started toward the steps of the stage. Sammy watched Simon’s mama pushing through the crowd. She reached Simon just as he put a foot on the first step.
“He’s eleven,” she said, crying.
Two soldiers and the man in red robes came forward. The soldiers pulled Simon’s mama away. She fought them, but they were too strong.
“He’s just a boy!” she pleaded.
Nobody helped her, not even Sammy. He wanted to, but his arms and legs didn’t move.
Simon walked up the steps and stood in front of the man in black robes.
“Not a boy,” Father Taylor said. “Please. Take me, instead. Please.”
“You had your chance. Now you will witness the fruits of your heresy.”
“This isn’t about Dei. This isn’t His way at all,” Father Taylor said. “You know nothing of Him.”
A soldier walked up and whispered something to the man in black robes.
“Absolutely not,” the man said. “This is Dimmitt. We need to make an example of this place. She insisted.”
The soldier said nothing else. He turned and grabbed Father Taylor’s arm and led him off the stage.
The man in red robes went up the steps next. He gripped one of the white things on his belt, and flames came out of his hand, streaming high into the air. Sammy could feel the heat on his face.
“Don’t come near the stage,” said the red-robed man. The flames disappeared as his hand dropped to his side.
Nobody moved, but there was a lot of crying. Sammy squeezed his fists tightly, trying to beat back the fear that was swelling inside his chest.
“We’re just a poor town. Please!” someone shouted.
Then the man in black robes, still holding the ceppit, put his hand on Simon’s head. More people cried. A moment later, the man in robes thrust the blade of the ceppit into Simon’s heart. Simon screamed, fell to his knees, and his skin began to change. His mama was screaming. Then Sammy realized that he was screaming, too.
Sammy had seen this before. They had
all seen it when Mykel fell. But Nara had run to him, and Nara’s pop carried them away. Sammy looked around, but there was nobody to help today. Nobody to carry Simon away.
Simon’s skin turned black as he fell to his side, then curled up into a ball like a sleeping kitten. His skin dried up, and cracks appeared all over his face, blood oozing out of them. Simon’s eyes were open, but they weren’t looking at anything. Simon was dead.
The man in robes pulled the knife out of Simon’s chest and rose to his feet. A big soldier went up the steps to the stage, then lifted Simon’s body and carried him down the steps to the grass below. Simon’s mama ran to him, but Sammy didn’t. Sammy didn’t move at all.
A bunch of adults were directed to the stage after that and got their hands stabbed. Some cried. Others fell. Some had trouble breathing afterward. Sammy didn’t understand what was happening, and the confusion seemed to go on forever. He could hear his heartbeat in his head, and he was sweating.
A soldier spoke about someone making trouble. When Sammy looked across the church field, he saw Pop fighting with soldiers. Sammy tried to push through the crowd to reach him, but couldn’t find his way through. People were screaming and crying and everything was confusing. He finally made his way to the edge of the group and could see again. Pop carried a big stick. He knocked over two of the soldiers, but then they hit him with swords. Pop never cried, but he fell. Sammy tried again to run to Pop, but strong hands around his shoulders kept him from leaving the others. The soldiers hit Pop with their swords again, and he didn’t get up.
Mykel was gone. And Simon. Now Pop was gone too. Sammy was really alone, now.
They put some adults into the post office building. They carried Simon in there. The man in red robes lit the building on fire. Soldiers stood around while it burned. When people tried to come out of the windows, the soldiers stabbed at them with swords.
Then they made all the kids take their clothes off.
“Look for defects,” said the man in black robes. “Anything. Curved spines, extra fingers or toes, any defects at all. Separate the broken ones from the others.”
Gilbert Bonny’s little sister, Ellin, had a clubbed foot, and they pulled her aside. She was screaming and crying out loud, so loud that it hurt Sammy’s ears.
“It’ll be okay, Ellin,” Sammy tried to say, but she didn’t hear him. It wouldn’t be okay, though. It wouldn’t be okay at all.
Sammy spent the night in the church with the other kids and a bunch of soldiers. It smelled bad, and there was lots of crying. The next morning, they got on the boats. The sails were raised, and the wind took Sammy away from home.
8
Dimmitt
Even at a breakneck pace, it took Nara and Mykel three more days to arrive in Junn, fatigue held at bay by the health runes that were ever present in their thoughts. The journey left them haggard, dirty, thin, and, for Nara, barefoot. The endless miles had destroyed her shoes and was a curse at first, but aided by the health rune, her soles had developed a thick, leathery layer of protection in a very short time. Even so, she missed her shoes.
Junn was just as busy as they remembered from their last visit, months before, and Nara was again fascinated with the wealth displayed in the third-largest city in the Great Land. Bells jangled on the doors of shops as customers came in and out, workers pushed carts of goods, and children played in the spring sunshine.
“These people have no idea what is happening in the surrounding villages, do they?” Nara asked.
“Probably not. Kayna is picking on the easy prey but she may come here, eventually.”
Upon arrival at the docks, Mykel picked a small dingy with a short mast, low boom, and a sail. Nobody was near, so he tossed his pack and the staff inside, then untied the craft from its mooring. He motioned Nara to join him. She looked about, fearfully, then stepped down the center of the boat to keep it from tipping. Mykel pushed off, settling upon the aft seat even as Nara settled in the middle, grabbing the oars.
“We return it when we come back,” Nara said.
“Okay.” Mykel turned, eyes scanning the docks as they left the harbor. The boat was empty of everything but oars and a sail, and Nara wondered who owned it. She dismissed the curiosity and rowed for a while, fatigue from the long runs deadening the feeling in her arms as she powered them out of the port. They hadn’t eaten a meal for days, and she was weak from the toll on her body. She wouldn’t be able to keep this up forever, and neither would Mykel. She flared the health rune repeatedly as she rowed, knowing it would be magic alone that would get them to Dimmitt.
Once they left the harbor, Mykel set the sail, and they tacked against the wind toward Dimmitt. Nara seemed to know the general direction and directed Mykel accordingly. The wind was light, but it might be enough. Darkness was growing, however, in more ways than one.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
She waited, hoping he would say more. He didn’t.
“I’m worried about them too,” she said.
Mykel gave a brief, almost painful smile in her direction and turned back to fiddle with the tiller.
The sail occasionally went slack and Mykel adjusted, Nara ducking under the swinging boom as he tacked back and forth. She then rowed to realign the boat as it caught the breeze again. Long moments passed.
“We had to do it,” Mykel finally said. “The children. Keetna. I don’t blame you.”
Another silence.
“Can you make this go faster?” he asked.
“I’m terrible at summoning air. Maybe we just take turns rowing?”
She grabbed the oars again, the strength in her arms threatening to leave her. Flaring health, she felt vigor return anew.
The boat surged forward with her efforts, moving in good time. Despite the spiritual exhaustion, using the magic, along with the vigor it brought, felt good. At least she was in control of something, simple as it was. After what seemed like forever, exhaustion again came over her and she let Mykel take over, switching positions carefully in the unstable boat.
As Nara sat at the stern, Mykel tied up the sail and grabbed the oars, the craft bolting forward as if in a race.
“It’s still a long way,” she said. “Might want to pace yourself.”
He continued with the vigorous rowing.
She scanned the horizon, the faint outline of trees visible only to her in the now complete darkness. Mykel rowed and rowed, and she only occasionally needed to guide his efforts.
“We’ll stop on one of the northern beaches,” she said.
“Yes.”
They could run faster than they could row and travel on foot would be far quicker than rowing around to the southern harbor. But with the fervor in Mykel’s efforts, she wondered if he would have anything left for such a run.
What would have taken all night via sail ended up being only a few hours under Mykel’s oars when they pulled into a lagoon. They dragged the boat well above the high tide line, grabbed their gear, and ran.
Nara led, but Mykel was holding the staff and found his way through the dark woods with its help. In less than an hour, they passed the trail to the mountain’s peak and entered the outskirts of the village. Nara slowed to a walk. The numbness in her feet and thighs made it difficult to control her gait and she almost stumbled on the uneven terrain of the forest path.
The sun started to rise over the distant horizon, and a clearing opened up. The northwest side of town and a few cottages came into view. No, not cottages. Burned husks.
Dei, no.
A long moment passed. “We’re too late,” Mykel said.
He burst into a sprint toward the east side of town. Nara followed. They passed the church, which was one of few buildings still standing, but Mykel ran ever faster and Nara couldn’t keep up. Little strength remained for flaring runes to sustain herself, but she knew where he was going.
She fell several times as she followed after him, struggling to run in the
half-darkness, through the fatigue and the tears that wouldn’t stop. She heard crying from some cottages that still stood, muffled crying that was soon accompanied by her own sobs. Her legs were almost numb, and her skin was cold. She slowed to a walk, afraid to reach her destination. Afraid of what she would find.
When she came to the unburned cottage, Mykel said in a quiet, sterile tone, “One grave in the back. Pop. Not Sammy.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s not Sammy!”
Even in the weak light of dawn, she could see that his eyes were hard, a wave of sudden anger his voice. It wasn’t Sammy. It couldn’t be. Like Mykel, she chose not to believe it. It must be Mykel’s pop. Sammy would have been taken, like so many other children.
“Mykel,” she said, and he turned toward her. She wanted to say she was sorry about his father, or she was sorry they hadn’t gotten here sooner, but she found no words.
He turned away and strode off, then stopped, whirling, anger and confusion on his face. “I don’t know what to do. Where do I look?”
“If Lina is here, she might know.”
Mykel bolted down the path toward the Tibbins’ house. Moments later, they approached the area above the docks in Dimmitt, near the church. They could see several adults going through the remains of the burned cottages, salvaging what they could. The Fedgewicks’ home next to the smithy was still standing, but Gilbert Bonny’s house was gone, and his mom was crying on the remains of her doorstep.
When they got to Lina’s house, they found it burned as well. Her pop was using a straight bar to pry charred timbers apart. Mykel stepped up into the husk of the home.
“Mykel Aragos.” Mr. Tibbins’ shoulders drooped, and his eyes were tired. “I never thought we would see you again.” He turned to Nara and scowled. “And you. The cause of all this. I’d welcome you home, but,” he turned, arms out, gesturing toward the destruction, “there’s not much left.”
Mr. Tibbins’ scowl felt like a stab through the heart. This was her doing. She’d started it all, and now these people suffered.
Finding Kai Page 6
