The Godseeker Duet

by David A Willson

  Such faith in the face of calamity. Nara couldn’t contemplate what strength of spirit she carried to endure in such circumstances. “What can we do to help?” Nara asked.

  “You have done enough by returning our little treasures,” she answered. “I’m sure you have more important things to do.”

  She was right. Dimmitt needed them, and they couldn’t protect the entire Great Land at once.

  Mykel put a hand on Nara’s shoulder. “We should go.”

  Nilly stepped boldly up to Nara, her eyes focused, brows narrowed. “Take me with you.”

  “You are needed here.”

  “My family is gone.”

  “You are the oldest of the children,” Nara said. “Almost a woman. They will need you to care for them. These little ones, and Mimi, they are your family now.”

  Nilly’s demeanor relaxed, head dropping.

  “I’ll visit you,” Nara said. “As soon as I can. To check on you.”

  Nilly looked up to give a grateful smile.

  They said goodbye to each of the children, and to Mimi before setting out at a fast pace to the south. They had lost much time, and Dimmitt was still far away.

  7

  Punishment

  Sammy crouched in the hollow, eyes fixed on the brown coney as it hopped toward the waiting snare a few yards ahead. Simon Tinny was at his side, and they both held their breath as the fuzzy creature inched toward the apple core that had been placed as bait.

  A bent sapling strained against the round trigger that Sammy had crafted for the task, attached to a looped piece of string that served as the noose. He had sanded one side of the trigger to make it hold better, and it served him well–he’d already caught one coney yesterday. Sammy gave a thumbs-up to Simon, then nodded, confident it would work again today.

  Several more moments passed as the coney nibbled at the treat. Testing. Tasting. Then it took a bite, pushing the apple as it did so, and the trigger slipped. The sapling came free, springing straight, pulling the string and catching both of the coney’s rear feet in its tightened loop. It emitted a muffled squeal in surprise.

  “Got it!” Simon stood, clapping. “Great job, Sam.”

  If only Mykel were here to see it. He had gotten much better with snares in the last few months and fashioned half a dozen triggers that worked almost every time. But Mykel had not come home.

  Sammy liked to imagine that Mykel had survived the announcement and now lived in a faraway part of the Great Land, married to his sweet Nara. He thought of his brother wearing armor and carrying a sword, a powerful warrior who led armies. Other times he thought of Mykel as a simple farmer with a big field of potatoes he tended. Nara was his beautiful lady-wife, and she cared for their dozen children, some with black hair and some with red hair, little versions of Mykel and Nara running about and playing.

  “Nonsense,” Pop had told him. “Your brother is dead. He’s cursed, and you’re an idiot. Grow up.”

  But Sammy refused to believe it. Mykel still lived. He would come home someday.

  As Sammy reached the panicked creature, he grabbed it by the neck and slipped the noose free from its feet. He looked it in the eyes as it struggled, trying to bite him, its eyes darting back and forth. So scared. Suffering. Sammy felt sorry for it, but he could understand. Sometimes he was scared too. With a quick motion from his other hand, he twisted and pulled the creature’s head, snapping its neck.

  “You can have this one, Simon,” he said, handing the prize to his friend.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Pop and I ate one yesterday.” He handed over the bounty, then knelt to untie the trigger and string. “And take these too. Now you know how it works, you can catch your own. Just don’t take my spots!”

  “I won’t,” Simon said as he received the valuable gifts. “I’ll find new ones. Honest. Thanks, Sam. It will thrill Mama.”

  Sammy smiled. Simon was a good kid, and although he was eleven, just like Sammy, he seemed to be sweeter. Nicer. It was because he had a mama. She wore an apron and her hair was messy, but Sammy didn’t care. Simon’s mama was a kind lady and laughed a lot. It was a funny laugh, almost like a donkey, and it made Sammy laugh every time. Simon would blush when his mama laughed, but Sammy wouldn’t have been ashamed at all. Sammy envied him. Living with a mama would be nice. She was someone to tuck you in at night and sing to you. She was someone who said nice things about you and rubbed your back when you cried about stuff. Sammy wished he had one.

  He left Simon behind and headed toward the village. There was no food at home and he had given away the coney. Tonight would be a hungry one if he couldn’t find scraps. Perhaps someone in town would have extra food.

  His stomach growled as he approached the church. The stage remained outside, left over from the announcement a few months back. Some folks had commented on how it was cursed, just like Mykel, and nobody dared to touch it for fear of the curse spreading. Sammy slowed, wondering if it really was. He scaled the steps to the top, wood creaking under his bare feet. On reaching the top, he saw the boards where the blood had spilled. Blood from Nara, Finn Willy, and Gilbert Bonny. And Mykel. Cursed blood, they said.

  He sat in the middle, crossing his legs and leaning forward, elbows on knees and chin resting on his hands. It didn’t seem cursed. It just seemed like wood. But it was the last place he’d seen his brother before Nara’s pop carried them both away.

  The memory haunted Sammy, but being in this place comforted him, somehow bringing him closer to Mykel. He closed his eyes.

  “Get off that stage,” came a sudden voice.

  Sammy looked to see Father Taylor waving through an open window in the church.

  “Get off there this minute,” he said again, then grumbled something Sammy couldn’t make out.

  Sammy frowned, then stood and descended the steps without a word and walked toward the docks. Father Taylor had been grumpier these last few months. The nice old man had become like a hermit and sometimes even canceled church services. Lots of folks had gone sad and talked about curses and how Dei didn’t love them anymore. Some even moved away, to Junn or Fulsk. Sammy wanted to move away, too. He knew how to paddle a boat but had never worked a sail, so he’d need to paddle the whole way to Junn. That would be hard, but he was getting stronger–and taller. He could do it. If he trapped enough coneys, sold both the meat and the hides, and didn’t share the money with Pop, maybe he could buy a boat.

  As he gazed out at the dock and the waves, he saw two boats come into view from the west. They didn’t look like the boats that usually visited Dimmitt. These bore big sails, and a lot of men stood on board. As they came closer, he saw a man on the bow of the first boat wearing a black robe, two big white things dangling from a chain on his waist. That was odd. People on boats didn’t wear robes; they wore trousers and aprons for cutting up fish and stuff. And they didn’t hang white things on their belt.

  Sammy sprinted from the docks and ducked behind the church, where he grabbed the rope to the bell tower and pulled it repeatedly. Gong! Gong! Gong!

  “Boats!” he exclaimed as loudly as he could. “Big boats.”

  At first, nobody paid him any mind, but after he kept ringing the bell, some kids gathered around the docks. Kids were always the first to greet new people. Sammy stopped ringing the bell and joined the others, waiting at the entrance to the main pier but not walking on the planks. That would be rude. You never walked on the docks when important people were arriving–you might get in their way. Not unless someone asked for help. Then you could go all the way up to the boats and help tie them off. Or carry things.

  The boats were even bigger than Sammy thought. Each bore two masts, but they tucked the sails long before docking. There were soldiers on the boats, but there were others too. Men who sat on benches and rowed.

  “Oars up!” someone yelled, and the oars on the first boat rose. Mr. Fedgewick and some others stepped onto the docks and headed to the first boat as it approached the docking bay
reserved for visitors. There was a skiff tied up there, and Mr. Fedgewick untied it and moved it out of the way.

  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 s
creaming. 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.