by Unknown
“Since our mission was to aid the living and not the dead, we did not take much further notice of the remains other than to dig a hasty grave and bury what was left of the unfortunate woman. We continued on our way and, near dusk, found a small group of buildings inhabited by villagers who did not much care whether we were Imperial troops or rebels—we had a modest supply of food and water to hand out to those we discovered in our travels and they were glad to get what they could. They thanked us for the supplies, provided an empty wooden building for us to sleep in, and left us to our own devices, returning to their own homes.
“It was almost midnight when the enemy attacked. We had taken the precaution of posting a guard on the roof of our rickety building, and this is what most likely saved our lives. He woke us with a shout, telling us that the wooded area to the south of the village was on fire.
“The fire was coming closer.
“We immediately roused ourselves and began making preparations to either fight the fire or leave. I was sent to wake the villagers. When I reached the first wooden building, I knocked on the flimsy wooden wall to wake those within. As I knocked, the door swung open, and I saw the building was empty.
“I rushed to the next building, seeing the fire coming closer through the trees and brush. This building, too, was empty.
“I hurried back to the center of the village and found my companions. The village was deserted, save us. One of the others shouted this must be a trap, the fires set by the villagers to kill us. Another argued that made no sense; why would they destroy their own village merely to eliminate us?
“The fires were coming closer, almost ringing the village. We gathered up our equipment and supplies and moved toward the only escape—a gap in the fire to the north—and that is when I saw them.
“I was now able to make out that the ‘ring of fire’ was actually men—rebel soldiers—carrying blazing torches in both hands. They were driving something before them.
“This proved to be pathetic wretches, dressed only in rags and stumbling forward in front of the rebel soldiers. Among them were both men and women, all looking as if they had been starved nearly to death. Shambling in front of the torches, the pathetic peasants approached where we stood, moaning and groaning as they came.
“The enemy soldiers began to fall back into the surrounding forest. They dropped their torches as they withdrew, and the abandoned torches left a glow that illuminated the empty square in the center of the village.
“Confused at first, we soon realized these poor refugees needed our help—grabbing medical pouches and bags, several of my colleagues started to move in the direction of the wretched crowd in order to provide succor and support.
“Suddenly, the final enemy soldier dropped one of his torches and produced a pistol from his belt. He pointed it at one of my companions and pulled the trigger.
“The explosion seemed small compared to the pitiful moans and groans of the approaching sufferers but the young orderly staggered back, a wound in his abdomen producing a splash of blood. The enemy soldier dropped his remaining torch and ran into the forest, disappearing into the darkness.
“What happened next was completely unexpected and, to this day, I still do not understand how it was possible. My wounded colleague clutched at his stomach and fell to the ground, blood already welling between his fingers.
“The starving victims who had been driven into the village suddenly froze, their moans and groans dying on their lips.
“In the sudden silence, I glanced at the one closest to me and saw the features of a typical Chinese peasant emaciated to the point where he appeared a caricature of a human being. His clothing was nothing but rags, and his feet were bare. His skin was taut across his bones, and his fingernails were jagged and uncared for.
“But his eyes! His eyes burned with a feral light, springing to life at the sight of my dying comrade. His lips spread into an appalling, savage smile showing blackened teeth.
“My companions had not looked at the approaching villagers; they were horrified by the wounding of our fellow Agency member. Without hesitation, they turned to try and save our friend. But I, who had chanced to look into the face of one of the approaching wretches, hung back a moment and that made all the difference.
“With a savage cry, the dozens of starving peasants charged the small circle of doctors, nurses, and guides who converged on the wounded man. I ran to the nearest wooden building in panic. Any thought I had of courageously standing with my friends fled like the urine down my legs as I broke utterly and ran for some hope of safety.
“To my eternal damnation, I stopped as I rounded the corner of the building and, for some insane reason, looked back at the scene unfolding. What I saw was like something from the scenes of Diyu—the eighteen levels of hell which my people have depicted in paintings and stories.
“I can still see it today, here in the comfort of this fine room, when I close my eyes, and it follows me every night into my sleep and debases my dreams.
“The savage villagers, like the jiang shi—the ghouls talked about by my grandmother—descended on the rest of my team and began tearing them apart before my eyes. I remember seeing one of the nurses, a lovely young woman named Lanfen, grabbed by the hair and pulled, screaming, to the ground. One of the older doctors, I have forgotten his name, tried to stop the savages. He held up his hands, palms to them, and yelled for them to stop.
“The last I saw of him, two of the crazed villagers were already chewing off his fingers and spitting the bones into his face as he screamed his last.
“I watched as three of the beasts attacked another of the orderlies and pulled him to the ground, ripping out chunks of flesh and muscle. They tore open his stomach with teeth and nails and dug out his steaming entrails. They threw them into the darkness, and I suddenly thought of the corpse of the woman we had found earlier that day. These creatures seemed to lust for bloody flesh, but turn their heads from the acid-filled stomach and dung-filled intestines.
“I could take no more. I remember whimpering as I slunk off into the darkness, praying to my ancestors that I would not come across any more of these things. I am not normally a religious man, but that night I prayed like I have never prayed before and hope never to do again.
“When I felt it was safe, I started running as fast as I could. There was no moon that night, and I was trying to navigate in almost total darkness. I stumbled into holes and ditches, ran into thorn bushes and small trees. Barely feeling the multitude of cuts and scratches, I ran without any thought to where I was going. I only knew I must avoid the circle of fire left by the burning torches on the ground.
“At one point, I found myself wading into a stream. I wanted to get to the other side so badly, to place this barrier between me and the incredible scene behind me, that I went deeper and deeper into the water. I have never learned to swim, but I didn’t care. The fear of drowning was nothing compared to the terror caused by what I had seen.
“I continued trying to cross the river, but ran hard into a jumble of brush and logs floating downstream. Clutching onto the tangle of wood and brambles, I flinched as something cold and muscular moved across my arm and into the water.
“I scrambled half onto the natural raft and let the current take me. It soon became obvious that what I had thought was a stream was a fair-sized river. The current carried me downstream, but I had no idea which direction I was traveling. Could I somehow be moving back towards the village? Towards the creatures who wanted to tear me limb from limb and feast upon my flesh? I lay partially on the tangled mass and partially in the water and began to weep.
“I did not consider myself a coward. I had faced death numerous times in the course of my duties. I had crawled, with artillery shells bursting around me, into a forward area to carry water to wounded soldiers. I had kept my place in the trenches when the enemy’s metal war machines chugged towards us, spitting out musket fire and steam.
“But what I saw that night, even though
I was practiced in the arts of autopsy and surgery, was beyond my ability to take in. I must have passed out from the shock and my precarious situation, however, because my next memory was of breaking dawn and the slowing of my makeshift boat.
“The sun was rising and the world was illuminated with the first rays of the new day. The logs and brambles upon which I lay were bouncing along the river bottom as it became shallower and shallower. I raised my head and saw, with utter horror, that I was floating towards a sand bar covered with emaciated villagers, dressed in rags and hunched down by the river bank.
“They seemed to be awaiting my approach with eager anticipation.
“Panic aroused me and I began thrashing and screaming in fear. I struggled to extricate myself from the brambles and jagged logs which made up my raft. My strength had been sapped by my exertions the previous night, and the coldness of the water. I watched with increasing fear as I neared the sand bar.
“Some of the savage monsters were coming into the water, reaching for me, taking hold of the logs and pulling me toward shore. I kicked and screamed, striking out in all directions, but to no avail. I was about to be torn apart—I could imagine it already happening.
“But then, as I braced myself for death, I looked up into the face of a young girl, maybe fourteen, smiling down at me, her expression touched with confusion. She held a pole of some kind, and turned to an older man who had been one of the people pulling me ashore. He turned to look at me, then knelt down, and began to speak.
“‘Are you alright, soldier? My family and these others came down to the river to fish, for we have no rice, and there is no more game near our village. My daughter saw you floating by and wanted us to pull you from the river. I see you are hurt. Ah! This war—’
“At that moment, his head exploded and I was covered with blood and small pieces of brain and skull. I began screaming again as the young girl and the rest of the farmers on the sand bar were cut down, one after the other, with what I realized was musket fire.
“Finally freeing myself from my raft, I rolled onto the sand bar, just in time to see, on the bluff overlooking the river, a line of Imperial troops. They arose from behind bushes and fallen trees, their white uniforms and red vests looking out of place in this setting.
“I watched as their officer began giving commands, forming the men into a column. Later, I found out they believed they were coming to my rescue. Perhaps they were; I will never know.
“Their captain told me he thought I was in danger, being attacked by the villagers. He said he had heard stories of starving villagers killing our soldiers to steal food.
“But, in a night filled with savagery, the calculated murder of the people on that sand bar fills me with the most horror.
“Still, I said nothing. For all these years, I have said nothing. Until now.”
The old man finishes his tale, gazing out the window. He turns to you; a tired look in his eyes…a wistful smile on his face.
You do not know what to say. After what he has told you, what is there to say?
He slowly rises, his eyes never leaving yours, and bows.
He says “Good evening.”
You reply “Good night.”
He walks away from the table. Just before he leaves the dining room, he turns. Even from half a room away, you see another gentle, tired smile, and then he walks out the door of the dining salon. Into the night, into the past, into oblivion.
Last Dance with Mary Jane
Wynelda Ann Deaver
There was a rhythm to the night. The scrape of the shovel against the metal sides of the wheelbarrows, the rattle of coals falling hard and fast from the chute, ready to be loaded into barrows and shoveled into the red hot boilers.
Watham paused, wiping his forehead with his arm. Not his hands. He’d learned that lesson early and painfully. Tonight was a scorcher, they were running hot and fast, with no explanation. Didn’t need to know why, just that being in hell tonight meant tomorrow Nico could attend the Academicia. It was worth it. Nico wouldn’t have to save his money from campaigning in other men’s wars, scraping a living to hoard pennies to buy a piece of land, a home. This had to be worth it.
A cool breeze brushed past him, swirling coal dust across the floor. “Thank you, Mary Jane,” he whispered. The haint responded by blowing sweet and true on his neck, cooling him somewhat. Watham had been a little nervous when he’d been introduced to the ghost by another worker on his first shift, but it had worked out. Disrespecting the dead never did anyone good, and this one seemed a helpful sort.
The flames were almost white hot, the gauges spinning out of control when finally they were called off. Shaking his head, Watham followed the others to the water buckets lined up against the stone walls. No longer bearing the chill of the well, at least the contents were wet. Tomorrow though...
“Watham!” The supervisor’s shout rang across the room before he could even get to a dipper. The men next to him in line widened the gap, not wanting to draw attention. Didn’t matter. He wasn’t here for companionship. Just Nico’s education.
“We’re running maintenance tomorrow night, going completely cold,” the supervisor continued. “You want the extra packet?”
He wasn’t in it for the money, but an extra packet… It meant being able to buy things for Nico that the other kids had. Gears. Tools. Books that he could write in. “Yes, sir. I’ll be here.”
He returned to line, waiting for his turn at the dipper. He watched as large woven black bags were stuffed into the boilers by men in green robes. The other workers watched too, their eyes glazed and unfocused—blinking like automatons running out of steam. He turned in a tight circle, but not one showed any emotion. Not even when a hand fell out of one of the bags.
Watham carefully picked up the dipper, bringing it up to his lips. Cool air brushed his cheek, whispering and sighing until he breathed it in. The supervisor watched everyone with an eagle eye. Making sure everyone had dipped?
Watham let the water fall down the front of his shirt.
He had to do something. Make sure he wasn’t singled out. Carefully, he walked to the line of men. One plodding step at a time. Turn. Step back as if pushing against water. The others stared blankly at the wall across from them. He did the same, careful not to look right or left. The perfect human automaton.
He was given the relief of broom duty after the brief break. Following Mary Jane’s trails in the coal, somehow he evaded notice until his shift was over.
Watham shuffled out of the gate, heart pounding in his chest. Through the gates, across the street. Down two blocks, turn left. Now, he dared move faster. Down another block, turn right.
Nico stood on the front steps of the boarding house, his grin as big as the world. He was tall for his age, already the height of a small adult. His school bag was dumped against the porch post, gears and papers trickling out of it.
“Nico, want to stay home with me today?”
“Da, I have my test today! I can get my first certification!” Nico grabbed his arm, pulling him through the door and into the small hall. “I’d be the youngest ever to be certified as a Gear Apprentice!” Ten years old and already bright as a newly-minted penny.
Images from the night before blurred in his mind. Watham kept seeing that hand flopping out of the bag being thrown into the incinerator. The other men’s docility after drinking the water. There was no way Nico should go to his testing, and yet…
And yet.
With his certification as a Gear Apprentice, he could continue learning anywhere. They could become wanderers if they wanted, going only where Nico could learn.
Watham shook his head. “Come straight home, son.”
His chest tightened as soon as the words came out. Nico’s whole face lit up as he jabbered about the test, the other boys, and life in general. “My project is a mechanical sweeper, Da. It would go in circles, eventually sweeping everything into a boiler or an area where it can be shoveled up into a barrow.”
Watham ruffled his hair. “How did you get so smart? Did you build it already?”
Nico grabbed his school bag, shaking his head at his father. “That’s what we’re finishing today, Da. I’ll be home by the time you wake up!”
After Nico left, Watham found his way to the bathing room. He paid extra to have a bath every day, although Mrs. Moore would allow it without the coins. She hated dirt in the common areas, and right now he was downright filthy. Stripping to his smalls, he sluiced himself off at a spigot in the wall while he waited for the tub to fill. The tiles were cold under his feet, the water warm. He’d miss this, the indoor plumbing, if they went back to the farm. Heating and carrying buckets of water was never fun, although maybe Nico could work on that next. A way to move heated water without the plumbing necessary in the city.
It had been a mistake to let Nico go to school today, even for certification. If Nico could get home safely, though, it would be worth it. After he collected the extra pay packet, Watham would make the worry and fear worth it. They’d be free of this city, and the mages and gear masters.
Even if he was never free from the image of a small hand falling out of an incinerator bag.
He snapped the spigot off, watching the blackened water spiral down the drain.
* * *
Watham woke to the banging of the door against the wall. Nico’s face was lit from within, his smile shining through the darkened room.
“I did it, Da! It worked!”
Slowly, he sat up in bed, muscles pulling and shifting. A burn had started in his left shoulder underneath the scar tissue. Patting the bed with his right hand he said, “Come, tell me all about it.”
