“What did it look like?”
“The same as here, for the most part,” Kirby said, clearly tiring of the conversation.
“And those water houses…” Bartholomew snapped his finger at Flora. “What did you call them, again?”
“Ships,” Flora said.
“Ships,” Bartholomew repeated. “That’s how you got here?”
“Yes,” Kirby answered.
“Do your ships still work?”
“They were destroyed in a bad storm,” Kirby answered, more tiredness entering her voice. “They’re stuck in a bay, and I doubt they will ever work again, without materials or hands to fix them.”
“It’s a shame to hear that,” Bartholomew said. “Perhaps the gods will instruct you and you can get them working again, like you made the god weapons.”
“It’s possible,” Kirby said, looking away.
Sensing he should change the subject, Bartholomew asked, “How about the town where you’re from, Bray? You said it was called Brighton? Is it a large township?”
“Very large, and well-defended,” Bray said, adding, “much like your place here.”
“How far away is it?”
“It would take a while to get there, even on horseback,” Bray said vaguely.
Bartholomew asked, “How did you run into Kirby and Flora?”
“Our people traded with Kirby’s,” Bray said, concocting a story. “We were familiar. William and I decided to head to her settlement to sell some things. When we got there, we found Kirby, and she told us what happened to her people. She decided to come with us. That’s when we ran into Flora and those men.”
“It is good that your people can travel and trade with others,” Bartholomew said. “I wish we could say the same about the people in this area. Most are no better than the Savages.”
Bray looked sideways at Kirby, giving her a sweet smile.
“Perhaps we’ll get along well enough that our people can trade, like you did with Kirby’s,” Bartholomew suggested.
“Maybe we can even help you get your god weapons back,” Jonathan added.
“We’ll see,” Bray said noncommittally.
Chapter 24: Bray
They walked on the main road a while longer, passing several more buildings that smelled of fresh-cut wood. Most of the doors and shutters were closed, but Bray heard the chatter of conversation and the clink of tools. In one house he heard someone banging what sounded like a hammer. They were approaching the first of the dirt paths that Bray had seen since leaving the bridge. From that one, several more trails branched off. As they’d been walking, Bray noticed Flora had grown unusually quiet, walking with her head down, staring at her boots. She looked as if she was holding something back.
Finally, she asked Bartholomew, “Can I return home?”
“Of course.” Bartholomew nodded. “My apologies for keeping you so long. We will make sure Bray, Kirby, and William are provided for.”
A look of sadness crossed Flora’s face, and Bray figured she was probably dreading a difficult conversation with Anya’s parents. “If you need me, please let me know,” she told Bartholomew and Jonathan.
“Our condolences for the loss of your friend.”
“She fought bravely,” Flora said, trying to keep composed. “Her parents will be proud of her.” She turned to Bray, Kirby, and William. “Thanks for what you did for me. I’ll come by tomorrow to check on William.”
“I’d like that,” William said with a smile.
“How will you know where we’re staying?” Bray asked.
“I’ll look for the horses.” Flora smiled. “They are the only ones here. I hope you get some good rest.”
And then she was leaving.
They watched Flora depart down the road, her bag bouncing on her shoulders, until she disappeared around a curve thick with trees. Flora’s departure gave Bray a sense of unease he didn’t like, but there was nothing he could do about it.
Soon they were heading down the dirt path, taking several turns and getting farther from the main road. Bray looked behind him, trying to keep track of the turns, and locking eyes with the few soldiers that had been mostly quiet for the trip. What if these men were taking them through the woods to kill them? What if they were being led into a trap they’d have to fight their way out of?
Kirby seemed equally tense. She walked with her hand near the gun strapped to her waist. Bray kept an eye on his sword.
Sensing their discomfort, Bartholomew turned over his shoulder and said, “I apologize for what feels like a long trip. This is one of the only open dwellings, and Flora told me you are a hunter, Bray. I figure you’d be most comfortable here. I suppose the tradesmen would’ve been kind enough to house you there, or one of the soldiers, if we had pressed the issue. Perhaps we should’ve asked.”
“It is no problem,” Bray responded.
Jonathan said, “The hunters’ houses are a little larger than some of our stone dwellings. And there will be more room for your horses outside, and less people to bother them.”
“I understand.”
“Has it been a while since you’ve eaten?”
“We could eat,” Bray said, thinking it would be a nice change to have a meal he didn’t have to work for.
“How is the game around here?” Kirby asked.
“You might have some trouble finding food,” Jonathan said. “Years of hunting on the island have slimmed the animal populations to nearly nothing. We catch most of our game on the mainland. Let us bring you something. We don’t mind.”
“Sounds good to me,” Bray said.
They kept going for a while longer. Just when Bray started to think his initial intuitions were correct, a cluster of wooden houses appeared. Unlike the stone houses that had characterized most of the island, these were made of interlocking wooden logs, and were spaced further apart. Smoke rose from several chimneys. Each wooden house had a small porch with a covered overhang. Bartholomew and Jonathan led them to what Bray assumed was a vacant house that had no smoke coming from the chimney, one of the first. Several others dwellings around it appeared to be empty. The closest occupied house was diagonal from them.
“You can tie your horses between those trees,” Jonathan said, pointing at several large oaks standing next to the house. “There are plenty of logs in back for the fire. And if you need to hang anything, there are ropes attached to the trees.”
Bray located several dingy ropes that looked like they were used to hold game.
“There is a stream a short walk from here where you can wash your clothes, or refill your flasks. It is accessible from that path over there.” Bartholomew pointed to a dirt trail that veered off from the main one, a little farther down.
“Thanks,” Kirby said.
Bartholomew and Jonathan opened the door of the wooden house while Bray secured their horses. When the animals were secure, they followed Bartholomew and Jonathan through the threshold while the other, quiet guards remained outside. The wooden structure had a dirt floor, a stone fireplace, and a simple wooden table and chair. Bray saw a few fire pokers, a couple of cutting boards, and a few beds that had been constructed out of boards, near the fireplace.
“Please let me know when you plan on leaving,” Bartholomew said. “We’ll make sure you are prepared for your journey home, or wherever you are going next.”
“Where can we find you?” Kirby asked.
“Our shifts on the bridge are split into night and day. Mine starts at dawn,” Bartholomew said. “If you leave in the morning, I will be there.”
“Thank you.”
“We hope you stay longer,” Jonathan added. “We have more questions, as you can imagine. And Deacon would love to meet you.”
“Of course,” Bray said. “We will see how William is feeling.”
William smiled with the look of someone trying to prove his health.
Bray realized he wouldn’t mind staying longer, provided the people could be trusted. They had only seen
a small portion of the island. There might be other types of Tech Magic, or sights as miraculous as the bridge, located somewhere he couldn’t see.
“I’m going to let a few of the neighbors know that you will be staying here. Seeing strangers in their area might alarm them.”
“Surely,” Bray said. “We wouldn’t want any accidental altercations.”
“We’ll have someone bring food for you. If Deacon happens to get back early, we will send for you.”
After promising dinner before dusk, Bartholomew and Jonathan left the house. Bray remained in the doorway, watching them walk down the path with the other soldiers. They walked to the closest occupied house, where a woman leaned out the doorway, talking briefly to Bartholomew and Jonathan and giving Bray a quick glance before disappearing back indoors. And then the two of them and their guards were heading for another house, having a similar conversation.
A few minutes later, they were gone.
Chapter 25: Bray
Bray studied the walls made of logs and the makeshift beds. The hunter’s house had the cold aura of a dwelling that had been unoccupied for some time, but blankets and a warm fire would help with that. He inspected the simple wooden table, the cutting boards, and the fire pokers. He was hoping to learn more about these people.
“What do you think of this place?” he asked Kirby and William.
“In many ways, it feels like Brighton,” William said observantly.
“The people talk the same,” Bray agreed. “And they dress the way most of our peasants do.”
“The dam is remarkable. And I’ve never seen a bridge like the one we crossed. I’d like to see more of the island.”
“You’ll need to get better first,” Bray warned William. Looking over at Kirby, who hadn’t responded, Bray noticed her staring at the door and windows. “What are your thoughts, Kirby?”
“I’m hesitant to trust them.”
“They seem hospitable. But they aren’t much different than the people I’ve met,” Bray agreed. “They spent most of their time leering at our horses and our guns.”
“As expected,” Kirby said.
“I’ll admit, the fighting women were new to me,” Bray said with a shrug. “We never had women in our armies.”
“You said the same when you met me.”
“Two surprises.”
“Regardless, I imagine they are having some conversations about us right now,” Kirby said. “Especially after some of the stories you told.”
“Stories?” Bray asked.
“You said the gods instructed my people how to build the guns.”
“If that buys us some time to rest, let them think what they want,” Bray said with a wave.
“It’s dangerous to tell so many lies.”
Bray said, “I also told them you were the only one who could use them. That gives us another layer of protection, assuming they believe it.”
“Maybe so,” Kirby admitted, but she didn’t look convinced.
“I wonder if this Deacon person is as great a leader as they made him seem?” William asked, obviously hesitant to believe it.
“I doubt he’s too different from the rulers in Brighton,” Bray warned. “Men seldom have interests other than their own in mind.”
“That’s what I’ve learned, too,” William said. “It would be nice if this place was better than Brighton, even though I doubt it could be.”
Despite his words, William needed hope.
And why wouldn’t he?
Traveling for so long in the cold—and getting sick—had surely beaten down any romantic thoughts he’d had about living in the wild. Even Bray appreciated the comforts of a roof, some walls, and an easy place to start a fire.
“I’m going to get some firewood,” Bray said.
Kirby grew quiet, making Bray pause before he reached the door. It looked like she was thinking of something else.
“What is it?” Bray asked.
“I’m worried about the people of Halifax.”
“We should be safe from them on the islands,” Bray assured her.
“I’m not convinced of that. I’m thinking about the ones Flora and her people saw with the guns. Once they figure out how to use the weapons they stole, this place will be embroiled in a bitter battle. Men with new power will be drawn to seek out their enemies.” Kirby shook her head. “War will come here.”
Bray considered that thought. “That is a thing we should think about, when we figure out how long we’re staying. But if we’re going to get the rest we came here for, we should get a fire going. William needs sleep.”
William didn’t argue. He was already digging through his bag for his blankets. With the men gone, his shoulders sagged and he looked like he had lost some energy. Or maybe he was giving in to what was clearly a growing sickness.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” Bray said. “Hopefully dinner will be here soon. It’s almost dusk.”
“Be careful,” Kirby warned.
Bray stepped outside, closing the door behind him and looking around at the dirt trails, all of which were empty. If not for the smoke billowing quietly from the chimneys, he might’ve thought they were in a settlement as dead as Kirby’s. He saw no sign of Jonathan, Bartholomew, or the dinner they had been promised. No sign of the woman that had stuck her head out the door earlier.
The sky between the trees was growing dark, but the area around the house was getting even darker, with thick, overhanging boughs all around and encroaching shadows everywhere. The horses shifted nervously as they tried to rest. They were cavalry horses, probably used to resting for a full day in between several hard days of riding. Bray had told the truth. It was another legitimate reason to stop. They’d all been traveling too hard.
Perhaps that was the reason William had gotten sick.
Finding this place had been a fortunate accident.
Seeing nothing alarming outside, Bray gathered a few logs from the pile behind the house and brought them back inside, giving a last look around before closing the door.
Chapter 26: Flora
Flora curved off onto another dirt pathway that she could barely see, following a familiar trail leading to Anya’s parents’ house, her home. She’d thought of her home many times when she was lying on a bed of cold snow, or running from the Halifax men over mountains that felt like they’d never end, with Anya at her side.
She’d never considered returning without her.
An awful feeling stuck in her gut.
The stone dwelling sat halfway down the island, close to the western shore. Several other houses were close, separated by leafless trees and nestled among a few small hills, but she saw none of the neighbors. They were probably resting indoors after a hard day’s work, warming themselves around fires and watching their children in the evening chill.
She looked for the similar stone structure that used to belong to her parents—her real parents—but it was out of view. She hadn’t set foot in it in years.
Flora’s parents had been dead since she was just a child—her mother from childbirth, her father from a crippling disease that had confined him to bed while he shriveled away. When Flora was six, Anya’s parents had adopted her. Flora had scant few memories of her time with her father, except those moments before his death. She’d never forget those.
Forcing back those painful memories, she approached the familiar stone dwelling in which she’d grown up. The sun’s last rays glinted off the river behind it, illuminating several branches that looked like skeletal arms over the water. Flora remembered perching on a few of the thicker ones, staring off into the sloping mountains with Anya and discussing dreams of marriage, children, and stone dwellings they might one day own.
The pit in her stomach grew as she raised a hand to knock on the small dwelling, not totally surprised when the door opened in front of her and Becca—the woman she’d called mom for most of her life—stood in the doorway, looking pale and expectant.
“I heard you were bac
k,” Becca said, dried tear streaks on her face.
Behind her, Bailey got off the chair, making his way over to greet Flora. His normally stoic face looked strangely soft in the firelight that gripped most of the room.
“Flora,” he said simply.
Flora opened and closed her eyes. Sometimes it felt like news on the islands spread in less time than it took to walk them.
They stared at each other in the doorway for several moments, dreading the words that came next.
Flora shook her head.
Becca looked as if she might collapse.
Holding his wife’s arm, Bailey led Flora and Becca inside.
Chapter 27: Flora
Flora stared at the steaming cup of tea in her lap. She knew she wouldn’t touch it. Breaking her gaze, she looked around the room, recognizing the familiar pots and pans hung on the wall, and the table around which they’d shared many meals. Silence fell over a room that felt strangely empty without Anya in it.
“How?” Becca asked, once the initial tears had been shed and the shock of the announcement had subsided.
“She died bravely,” Flora said, after a pause.
“You’re sure she…” Becca almost couldn’t say the words.
“She’s gone,” Flora said, the words haunting her as she spoke them. She’d rather picture the vibrant young woman with whom she’d shared most of her childhood than Anya’s final moments, face-first in the sand, an arrow stuck in her skull. That image would be the one she saw when she closed her eyes at night. But she owed Anya’s parents an explanation. “We were out for several days when it happened. The Halifax men chased us. We hid in some huge water houses, like the ones our hunters found years ago, in a settlement we’d never seen. When the Halifax men found us, we fought back.”
“Water houses,” Becca whispered quietly, most of her marvel dampened by sadness.
“She fought more bravely than anyone I’ve ever seen. It was a proud day.”
“How did she die?” Becca whispered, barely managing the words.
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