“Them, and other groups,” Enoch said with a sigh that showed his years. “We have met many people in the wild. Perhaps even from the place you are from, though I admit I haven’t heard the name Brighton.”
“No one seems to have heard of it here,” said Bray. “And I knew nothing of your people, or those who live in The Arches, before I came and they took us in.”
“They took you in?”
“Yes. They took me in, along with a woman and a boy I was traveling with. I went for a hunt with them. When I returned, they tried to kill me. I’m not sure what happened to the others.”
“You would have been better staying away.” Hatred burned in Enoch’s eyes. “They are cowards, and thieves, as well. They took our lands.”
“Your lands?” Bray was confused.
Enoch took a moment to suck in a breath before continuing. “The people of The Arches stole those islands from us, long ago, in a time when our ancestors were alive. We had a different name for The Arches, back then.” Enoch shook his head. “We called it The Blessed Land. Now those lands are defiled. The islanders use our crop fields, they inhabit our ancestors’ homes; they degrade our memories. That is not the worst of it.”
Bray furrowed his brow. Most of the past few days seemed like a lie he was unraveling. “I don’t mean to offend you, but a man named Deacon told a different tale. It seemed quite the opposite. He says your people slaughtered theirs, following them from another city, a place called The City of the Gods.”
“Deacon tells his people lies to further a war,” Enoch said. “The truth is buried beneath the scalps of our people and the blood of our children. Our numbers were much greater than you see here, before Deacon’s ancestors slaughtered them.” Enoch waved his hand toward the door. “At one time, our people inhabited those islands. We built many of the buildings, or repaired them. The islanders’ ancestors raided us, killing most of our men, keeping only the young, the women, or those weak enough to force into slavery. The rest of our people—a few of the sick, or disabled—were sent away into the forests, weaponless and alone to die, with markings burned into their foreheads. They were to be sacrifices to the islanders’ gods. The islanders’ ancestors told them they would be killed on sight if they were seen again. What they didn’t plan on was that some our ancestors would survive. Our people are strong.” Enoch’s eyes blazed with a deep anger and pride.
Bray listened intently. It felt as if he were hearing a truth for the first time.
“Over generations, our people repopulated. We built a new place to live—the place that you see around you called Halifax. We wear the marks on our heads as a symbol of the land that we will get back one day.” Enoch pointed to the thick, dyed marks on his head. “The islanders hunt us. They use our scalps as trophies. To them, we are as useless as rotten meat, or a Diseased Man’s carcass in the forest. They step on us and destroy us. But not anymore.” Enoch reached underneath the table, pulling one of the guns that had captured Bray’s attention since the moment he saw it. “Now we have a way to even the numbers.”
“Guns,” Bray said.
“You know the name?” Enoch asked, looking at the metal object curiously.
“Yes,” Bray said. “The woman I was with, Kirby, made them with her people.”
“We found them in an abandoned settlement. They were unclaimed.”
“The one by the water.” Bray nodded, verifying it was one and the same. “The settlement is called New Hope. That was Kirby’s group. Her people all died from a demon fight—perhaps you saw the bodies. She was the only survivor.” Bray didn’t mention the two Halifax men they had killed in New Hope. “I fear Kirby is dead, along with the boy with whom we were traveling.”
“You fear, or you know?”
“The last I saw them, they were on the islands,” Bray said. “We were separated. I’m not sure what happened.”
“The islanders are a cruel people. They take whatever they can use, and discard the rest.” Enoch shook his head.
Bray felt a burgeoning fear in his gut as he thought of Kirby and William. “I am grateful for the help of your men.”
Enoch nodded. “The islanders have killed too many. How long were you on the islands?”
“I stayed for several days before they betrayed us.”
“The only people of ours that get close to the islands, never return.” Enoch looked grave. “We only know what we see through the forest.”
Bray shifted as he prepared his request. “It is for that reason I was hoping I might make a proposition.” Turning to look over his shoulder, he pointed at the door, in the direction in which Enoch’s men had taken Flora. “The girl I was with might know what happened to my friends. My hope was to speak with her.”
“You hoped for a favor.”
“In return, I will give you whatever information I can about the islands. Your men saved my life. I owe you. There is no disputing that.” Bray paused, hoping he could convey his sincerity. “But I am trying to find out whether I am chasing ghosts.”
Enoch watched him for a long while. “Perhaps we can help each other.” Enoch scratched his chin. “Is the girl, Flora, a leader to them?”
“I believe she has stature,” Bray said, hoping he hadn’t stretched the truth too far. “She knows Deacon’s top soldiers, the men who watch over the bridge. I believe she might be of use to you, as well.”
“The islanders would rather die than speak with us,” Enoch said solemnly. “I am not sure how much luck either of us will have in speaking with her. We will interrogate her tonight. In the meantime, I will instruct some of our women to tend your wounds. You have had a long journey. You need rest. Our people will set you up in a house, where you can heal and sleep. In the morning, when we are finished with the girl, I will allow you to speak with her.”
“Thank you,” Bray said, standing. “I appreciate what your people have done for me.”
“It seems as if we were fortunate to run into one another.” Enoch nodded gravely.
He called loudly enough to be heard through the door, and some men opened it, escorting Bray out.
Chapter 42: Deacon
Deacon sat in his study, the fresh scalp of the Halifax man on top of his desk, the long, smooth metal gun nearby. Jonas, Kirby, Heinrich, and Ruben should be at the settlement soon. If he hadn’t been worried about an impending attack, Deacon might’ve gone. But his people needed a leader.
He picked up the gun from his table.
Before Kirby left, he had received instructions on how to use it, and he had even tried it in the forest. He was wise enough to save the device’s power, for when he needed it. If war was coming, he needed to be prepared.
Footsteps in the hallway drew his attention to one of his soldiers, who came down the hall and stopped at his open door to address him.
“Sir?”
“What is it?”
“I have sent a few of our soldiers into the forest to get a Savage, as you instructed. They will be back as soon as they find one.”
“Thank you,” Deacon said. “Let me know as soon as you have it.”
The soldier hesitated. “It might be a difficult task, bringing one back alive. I’m not sure we’ve done that before.” The soldier’s eyes roamed to the gun in Deacon’s hands, and the fresh scalp. “We will get it done.”
“Is there anything else?” Deacon asked.
“No, sir.”
“Go. Now.”
After a dismissive wave from Deacon, the soldier departed and his footsteps echoed down the long, dark corridor. As soon as Deacon got a Savage, he would test William’s power. Then he would figure out whether the boy’s power could be taught to others.
Chapter 43: Kirby
Kirby rode in silence behind Jonas, unable to stop thinking about the conversation she’d overheard by the rock. She imagined the contraptions Jonas had been using—devices made of metal, wood, or any other type of material strong enough to bend and twist human skin. She’d seen too many people torture
d beyond imagining as others sought power and information, or maybe a way to pass the time. That thought only deepened her disgust toward these people, specifically Jonas.
They rode farther north as the sun sank halfway into the afternoon sky. Another day was ending. Time worried her. Even if they reached the settlement before dark, it would take some effort to remove whatever debris covered the burnt, abandoned guns and bring them back. They would need to be quick.
“Should we cut east?” Heinrich called behind him. “It’s getting late.”
“I think we’ve gone far enough,” Kirby confirmed.
They turned their horses and the glare of the sun shifted behind them. Trees whipped past as they found a game trail wide enough to ride on and made better ground. Soon the trail ended, and they entered an area that Kirby didn’t recognize. Several times, they skirted around brooks or streams that wound into the horses’ path, putting them further off course, or ended up taking a path to avoid a few running mutants, who screeched and charged. They outpaced them when they could, rather than fighting pointless skirmishes that would slow them down. Sometimes, they were forced to stop and kill them.
They were approaching a valley when Heinrich halted suddenly, looking behind his horse at Jonas and Kirby. Jonas halted, too. In the clearing through some trees, a band of mutants raced across the snow-covered landscape. A large cluster of mutants gathered around a fallen, writhing animal. Through breaks in the surrounding group of mutants, Kirby saw swaying antlers and kicking hooves. It was a buck, most likely. They were consuming it alive. She shook her head in disgust as the animal’s dying screams echoed across the field and the animal struggled vainly to get free.
“That buck would’ve made a healthy meal,” Heinrich said.
“Probably not a good idea to ride through that, though,” Ruben muttered. “We could probably outrun them, but it wouldn’t be worth the chance.”
Everyone agreed, and they detoured north, keeping to the forest, watching the Savages through breaks in the trees. Kirby saw a few more groups of mutants racing through the trees, entering the clearing and joining their brothers.
“The Savages are powerful creatures,” Jonas mused from the front of the horse. “If only there were a way to tap into that.”
“They are vile,” Kirby muttered.
Jonas shrugged. “Our people believe the gods put them here to test our faith and ability. Is that your peoples’ belief?”
“No.”
Jonas waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. She’d had enough conversation with him for a day. Despite her lack of enthusiasm, Jonas continued speaking, as if he were eager to share some ideas. Or maybe he was eager to hear himself talk. Peering through the trees, he beckoned toward a group of mutants, running from the edge of the clearing to join the rest.
“As I said, some people think they are a test of our faith and our ability—a means to hone our skills with the blade and knife, a foe to keep us honest. The islanders who fail the gods are sent to join them. But I have other ideas.” He paused, thinking through an idea. “I believe they were put here for a greater purpose. If there were a way to control them, we might have a formidable army behind us.”
Kirby stiffened. Did he know about William?
Or was it a coincidental remark?
Eventually, they curved back east, under a sun that was slowly disappearing, dimming Kirby’s hope of reaching the settlement before dusk. Impatient to get to the guns, Heinrich and Jonas pushed the horses hard. Kirby looked around the tree-covered forest, hoping she might recognize something from her trips away from New Hope, but she was in territory she’d never seen.
“Are we sure we’re going the right way?” Jonas asked.
“East,” Kirby said plainly. “We’re heading for the coast, as I said.”
“I hope we didn’t stray too far, with our detours,” Heinrich called over his shoulder.
Despite her words, Kirby couldn’t deny her nervousness. Nothing out here looked familiar. Getting the guns back to the islands two more nights after this one was growing less and less plausible, the more time that elapsed. She didn’t want to think about missing Deacon’s deadline.
Kirby studied their surroundings—a half-rotted tree that had fallen in a storm, a formation of rocks that jutted from the ground in the distance, a hill with a thick cluster of pines. She wanted to believe the coastline was close, but the truth was, it could be much farther. She hung on to the horse as it stepped over a patch of uneven ground, jostling her in the saddle. The air took on an aura of quiet that she didn’t like.
“Something’s wrong with the horse,” Ruben announced, looking down at the horse’s flank. “It’s slowing down.”
“Spur it faster,” Jonas called.
Gunfire burst from the trees.
Too late, Kirby swiveled to face the formation of rocks they were passing.
Heinrich screamed as a bullet jarred him from the saddle, sending him toppling. Ruben reached out for his companion, confused, but bullets slammed into his side, rocking him back and forth in his seat. He cried out in agony, falling from the horse.
“No!” Kirby screamed.
“By the gods!” Jonas shouted.
She was supposed to protect them. To keep them safe.
The first horse ran, suddenly free from its riders. Heinrich lay on the ground, unmoving, while Ruben spat and coughed blood, clearly in his death throes. Jonas pulled the horse hard, too hard, as several strange, marked men burst from the pines.
Halifax men.
Kirby pulled her gun, but the horse whinnied and reared, tossing her around. She fought to stay in the saddle, but she had nothing to hold other than Jonas. Jonas lost purchase. He fell, taking Kirby with him. Kirby’s breath burst from her lungs as they landed in a painful heap and her gun flew from her grasp.
The horse took off running in an effort to escape, like the first.
Kirby rolled away from Jonas, spotted her gun, and crawled.
Halifax men screamed.
Bullets split the air.
Loud, excited voices echoed through the forest and footsteps crunched the snow.
She didn’t need to look to know they were coming for her. Kirby kept crawling as several more gunshots split the air and hit the ground around her, waiting for the pain of a bullet, the last moments of consciousness, but she didn’t feel anything other than cold ice and snow beneath her. Soon she was on top of her weapon, clutching it and turning to face her attackers. Several running men halted, surprised to see a gun aimed back at them. She fired a few shots, scattering them. More men shouted in the distance. They were new to the weapons.
She needed cover.
Looking over her shoulder, she spotted a nearby cluster of trees and scrambled to her feet, no time to think of anything other than surviving, nothing except…Jonas. Jonas lay on the ground near where they’d fallen, clutching his stomach, reaching for her.
“Kirby!” he screamed, in a pained voice she might’ve relished, if she hadn’t been instructed to keep him and the others alive.
“Get up!” she screamed at him, no time to argue.
She raced to his side and pulled him to his feet. Grabbing his arm, she swung it over her shoulder, firing a shot behind her to keep the men away. And then they were hobbling into a cluster of trees, breathing heavily as men’s shouts erupted behind them.
“Keep going, Jonas!” she cried, leading him through the trees as she searched for something—anything—to get behind.
Jonas wheezed into her ear. In the distance, Kirby heard a horse whinny. She scanned the trees frantically, but the small pines and bushes in front of them were useless for cover against a bullet. She spun to look over her shoulder, snow caking her boots.
More men than she thought were following them, ducking behind the trees as she fired a few more times, staving off a few. Bullets hit the snow around her. There were too many men.
“Are we going to die?” Jonas asked through a mouthful of blood.
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“No,” Kirby said through gritted teeth. “We’re not going to die.”
Jonas adjusted on her shoulder, sagging and clearly losing the ability to run.
“Stop!” one of the soldiers screamed from behind them, in a voice she was surprised she could understand.
“M-maybe we should listen,” Jonas said, his voice a half-whisper as Kirby veered to the right, pulling him a few more steps.
Kirby stared ahead of them, noticing a small, broken-down building in the distance. Then she looked down at her belt.
“Are we stopping?” Jonas asked.
“No,” she said. “We’re not stopping.”
Chapter 44: Bray
Bray woke from a sleep he hardly remembered. His arms were wrapped where the soldier’s blades had cut him. Bandages lined his back. Before he settled the night before, the Halifax women had tended his wounds, setting him up with a place to stay and some food and drink. For the first time in nights, he’d slept in a wooden bed and under some warm blankets. It was much better than a bed of rocks on which he’d lain the night before.
He sat up, looking around a room slightly smaller than the one in which he’d met Enoch. To his right, on a table, was a cup of cold, strange-smelling tea. He took a swig. It was bitter, but he needed the fluid, which was laced with herbs. Next to the tea was a flask that they had told him he could take. Verifying it held water, he stood, tucking it into his belt.
His door had been left open a crack, allowing some of the cold and noise to seep into his room. Bray heard the high-pitched wail of a baby, the murmur of conversations in tongues he couldn’t understand. Despite the place’s strangeness, he was grateful to be alive. He winced as he made his way to the door.
A few Halifax men stood at attention outside, waiting for him to rouse. Samron was among them. “Do you need food?”
Bray thanked him for the offer. “I’m all set for now.” Food could wait. He had something else on his mind. “Enoch told me I could see Flora this morning.”
“Yes. He passed the message. I can take you.”
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