by Bobby Adair
"I can't know that," said Kirby. "I don't know how things are in Brighton. From what Beck tells me, he believes he'll be some kind of king when he returns, except he has to handle some fellow named Tenbrook."
"He was planning to overthrow the Council, before the army marched," said Oliver. "He told me he wanted to make Brighton a better place than it was."
"Is that what you want?" Kirby asked. "To make it better?"
"Brighton is ruled by bad men that kill people." He caught himself, took a breath, and said, "I'm sorry. Brighton is an evil place. At least that's what I think most of the time."
"Are the people evil, or are the leaders evil?"
Oliver cocked his head. "I haven't thought of it that way, not really." He looked toward the mountains and looked around at the dead settlement while he thought about it. "I think the people are victims. The Council, the blue shirts, the clergy, and the cavalry have all the power. They make the rules and enforce them. The people die, but are afraid to do anything but run away when they get a smudge. Most of the time they go to the pyre like they thought nobody would ever find out. "
"But Beck wants to change that, right?" asked Kirby.
Oliver nodded.
"Will he make it better?"
Oliver turned back to look at Kirby. "I hope so."
"Do you trust him?" she asked. "Is he an honest man? Is he a good man?"
"He's a smart man." In truth, that was the only thing about Beck Oliver was sure of. "Maybe the smartest in Brighton. I don't know if he's honest. I don't think he's lied to me. He's been good to me. But, he's on the Council, and the Council does evil things."
"He says that was all the doing of this Winthrop character and a man named General Blackthorn."
"Why is all of this important?" asked Oliver "Are you going to go to Brighton?"
"No," Kirby told him emphatically. "I don't want to be around people. I'm going to leave this place." She looked west again. "Jingo told me he hasn't ventured over the mountains in nearly three hundred years. Beck doesn't know what lies west of Brighton. Nobody does. Three hundred years ago, it was a vast country of great cities, fruitful plains, and more mountains, all the way to the Pacific ocean."
Oliver looked at the mountains, and his surprise carried in his voice, "Another ocean?" He pointed. "That way?"
"Very, very far, that way," said Kirby. "That's where I'm going."
"Do you hope to find those other cities?" asked Oliver "Do you think they survived? Can I come with you?"
"You don't have friends and family in Brighton?"
Oliver thought about Franklin and Fitz. Despite all that had happened between them, they were more than just friends. They were his family. Thinking about it now, he missed them.
"You don't want to help Beck with his revolution?"
"I don't know," Oliver answered absently, still thinking of Franklin, feeling guilty for how he'd left Brighton. He felt like he owed Franklin an apology, but he wasn't sure why.
"I wouldn't, either," said Kirby. "Revolution is another word for war, and war is ugly."
"I know war," said Oliver. He'd seen all he wanted of it on Blackthorn's expedition.
"Yes," said Kirby. "I guess you do." She drilled Oliver with a hard stare and asked, "I need to know whether to trust Beck."
"That's why you asked if I trust him?"
"Yes." Kirby patted the butt of the handgun in her holster. "He wants me to give him my Tech Magic." Kirby laughed rudely at that. "It's not magic. He thinks guns will help him win his revolution with little blood and few deaths."
"You have more guns?"
Kirby nodded. "Hundreds of them." She waved a hand at all the dead people. "We were all armed. After we lost this war, I collected all the weapons and hid them where we keep our store of ammunition."
"You have hundreds of guns?" Oliver reiterated, because he couldn't believe it. He was mesmerized by the thought of having a Tech Magic weapon of his own. "Can I have one?"
Chapter 30: Fitz
Fitz looked around the room she'd chosen as her new meeting hall. On the walls were painted renditions of old battles. In one, a single soldier positioned himself in the center of a circle of demons, his face regal and defiant. In another, a group of men stood in a tight row, holding polished, gleaming swords and wearing Blackthorn's colors. Ornaments and glasses adorned several shelves, items that were worth more coin than Fitz had probably seen in her life.
Sometimes the knowledge that she was living in Blackthorn's house gave her a pang of fright, though she'd never admit that to the courageous women who followed her.
A knock sounded on the door. "Lady Fitz?"
"Come in," she called.
Two female riders entered, their cheeks red from a hard journey. Dirt was caked to the sides of their boots, and blood stained their pants. Fitz recognized them as the riders she'd sent out, Tara and Loren.
"Are you all right?" Fitz asked, concerned.
The women seemed uninjured, despite their ragged clothing.
"We had to fight off a few demons," Tara explained as she brushed a strand of dark hair from her face and motioned to a sword at her side.
"We stayed on our horses, and tried to avoid as many as we could," added Loren. "We rode through much of the night to get here this morning."
"You have news?" Fitz asked.
Tara nodded.
"Have a seat," Fitz said.
The riders surveyed the meeting room, seemingly uneasy in the presence of so many expensive things. Fitz smiled to allay their fears, beckoning them again to two chairs before they sat.
Tara tapped her fingers on the table. "We found the army," she said.
A pit formed in Fitz's stomach. "Alive?"
"The ones we saw."
"How far away are they?"
"Probably a few days' march. They have a few horses, but most are on foot."
Fitz nodded. "How many are there?"
"A few thousand," Tara said, before adding an explanation. "That's the amount of people that can fit in the largest farmer's field at the beginning of Hay Road."
"I appreciate the description. One of the merchant's wives has been teaching me my numbers," Fitz said. "I'm learning. Do you know if the rest of the army was killed in Blackthorn's war?"
Tara said, "I'm not sure. We can only speak of what we saw. We found a spot on a hill overlooking their path through the woods where we could eavesdrop."
"What did you see and hear?"
"The army was fighting off groups of demons while marching. That was slowing them down. They were tired, but they seemed to be making ground."
"Most of the remaining people are blue shirts and cavalry?" Fitz guessed.
Tara shook her head. "No. The army seems to be a mix of blue shirts and the militia. I didn't see any cavalry. The rest have banded together so much that you can't tell most of them apart."
"You mean they're all dressed the same?" Fitz asked, nodding.
"No. Something else…" Tara paused as a flicker of fear crossed her face.
"What?" Fitz asked.
"Their faces and chests are covered with blood."
"From battle?" Fitz asked.
"No," Tara said, rubbing her hands together nervously. She looked around the room, as if someone might storm in and accuse her of lying. "They're painting themselves with demon's blood."
Fitz said, "I've never seen soldiers do that. Do you think this is a tradition we haven't heard about?"
"I don't think so," Loren cut in. "It doesn't seem normal. We watched several of these men slaying demons. They cut them open and dipped their fingers in their blood, using it to paint themselves. They were chanting, talking about returning to Brighton. They were talking as if the battle drove them insane. They were talking about tearing down the circle wall."
Fitzgerald's worry deepened. "They want to tear down the circle wall?"
"That's what is sounded like."
"Why would they do that? We'd be exposed to the demons."
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"I'm not sure, Lady Fitz," Loren said. "We're just reporting what we heard."
Tara said, "They were chanting things like they were in a sermon, even though they were outside. We heard them saying they were immortal. They said they were the children of a new god. They said they were coming back to Brighton to save the rest of us."
"What about Blackthorn? Was he among them?" Fitz asked.
"Blackthorn's dead."
Fitz reeled in shock for a moment. Blackthorn might as well have told her he was dying. Still, it was hard to believe the leader who had ruled since she was a child was gone, and that he'd never be coming back. "How do you know?"
"We heard some of them chanting. They said he was the devil, and that they killed him," Tara explained.
"If Blackthorn is dead, who's leading the army?"
"Father Winthrop."
A cold shiver of fear ran through Fitz, but she forced herself to remain strong.
Chapter 31: Oliver
The wind had kicked up earlier that morning, driving thunderous waves against the beached ship, rocking the boat and grinding rusty steel against the rocks. Oliver felt like he was in the belly of a beast, groaning as it died. Still, he followed Kirby through the ship's dimly lit, sideways corridor, taking care not to fall through doors into rooms below them.
Jingo and Beck lagged behind. Jingo was old, and his joints were laced with the roots of the spore-warts that grew through his skin. Beck wasn't used to this kind of activity.
Melora had no interest in entering the ship. Her one and only experience with a boat when escaping the hordes of demons in the Ancient City was the kind of thing that bred phobias. To keep out of sight, she waited just inside the tear in the ship's hull, watching for any twisted men who might follow the group. Ivory stayed with her.
Kirby stopped in front of a large, heavy-looking door with a latching mechanism that appeared much too complicated for its purpose. Oliver watched as Kirby worked the latch, and then as she strained under the weight of the door, opening it downward and laying it on the floor.
She crouched low to get through, and Oliver followed, glancing back down the hall to ensure that Jingo and Beck were still on their way.
Inside, the room was nearly black. The only light came from the open door. Oliver lost track of Kirby in the darkness, and he dared not take more than a few steps.
"Careful," Kirby told him. "Don't move until I get this lit."
Oliver heard the rattle of metal and the slosh of liquid in a small container. Something clicked a few times and lantern light splashed suddenly across a room so large the far wall nearly disappeared in shadow.
Kirby pointed at the floor. "We built it sideways across most of this cargo hold." Nodding to one side of the space, she said, "Don't go over there. The floor is rusty in spots close to the wall. It might give way."
Oliver stepped in the opposite direction of the places Kirby pointed, and he looked the other way to see long racks of rifles on both sides, like the one Kirby carried strapped across her back. They each stood on the butt with the barrel pointing up. Bigger guns that looked like they weighed as much as Oliver leaned on one of the racks. Handguns were arrayed on shelves along a wall.
In the back of the room, stacked floor to ceiling, were hundreds of crates, carefully constructed and marked with faded black letters on weathered wood.
Kirby waved at the crates. "Our ammunition."
"For the guns?" Oliver asked.
"More than you'll ever need."
Oliver's eyes were back on the racks of weapons, and he examined them as he got close. "Three types of guns," said Oliver, "But all the guns of each type look exactly alike."
"Of course." Kirby leaned over to look through the sideways door, checking that Jingo and Beck were still coming.
Getting close enough to stroke the smooth dark metal on one of the guns, Oliver said, "Your blacksmiths are amazing."
"Blacksmiths?" Kirby asked, before catching herself. "We have a factory that manufactures these. We don't have blacksmiths in the sense that you probably think."
"Manufacture?" Oliver asked.
"A process," said Jingo as he crouched to get through the sideways door, "where people work together using machines to make many identical pieces efficiently."
"I don't understand," said Oliver.
"It's not important that you do just yet," said Jingo. "I've got some books in the Ancient City that'll make it very easy for you to understand, if we ever get back there. If not, I can explain it later. Okay?"
Beck came in through the sideways door, his eyes lighting up when he saw the racks of guns. "It's true."
Kirby pointed out the crates of ammunition. "This is the last of what we have."
"You brought that with you when you came fourteen years ago?" Jingo asked.
"Much more," Kirby answered.
"You manufactured none of it here?" Jingo pressed.
Kirby shook her head. "We'd hoped to. As I said, we were all infected with the spore, but before we were forced into the army, each of us worked at other jobs. Among us were farmers, doctors, laborers, teachers, chemists, and metallurgists. We had enough knowledge and skill that we thought we could build everything we needed. Eventually."
"Why did you bring so much with you, then?" Beck asked.
"We stole the ships," said Kirby. "They had whatever came in them. Two belonged to our people. Three belonged to other cities that traded with us. Some were packed with food. One was empty; one was filled with ore. That one's at the bottom of the bay now. This ship carried a load of weapons and ammunition."
"Why didn't you try to manufacture anything here?" asked Jingo. "Were you not able to find the raw materials?"
"That wasn't it," answered Kirby. "The spore-corrupted men started attacking almost immediately. By the time we'd been here a week, we were fighting hordes of them numbering in the hundreds, thinking we were killing all those in the area and that eventually there'd be none left."
"But they kept coming," said Jingo.
"How did you know that?" asked Kirby.
Jingo pointed south. "Before the fall, millions of people lived in the city south of here. Many hundreds of thousands of demons still live there, and all along the coast between the ocean and the mountains. From the tall building I lived in, I saw them heading north in bands of a few dozen or a few hundred. They used to band together and head west for Brighton. Around the time you say your people landed here, they started coming this way."
"The attacks went on and on," said Kirby. "They never slowed, as we'd expected. They only grew worse. We were in discussions about sailing our ships elsewhere, to find a safer place to build our new home, but the hurricane came."
"A bad one," said Jingo. "I remember it."
"It sank the ore ship in the bay. It tossed these others up on shore, where they lay today, and stranded us here. After that, we had to build the towers that we lived in and the wall to defend ourselves."
"And still, the demons came," said Jingo.
Kirby nodded. "We grew what we could, but we didn't have enough room inside the stockade. We planted crops outside, but we'd be lucky if we ever were able to harvest half of them. They got trampled by the attacking mobs or raided before the harvest. We didn't bring any animals with us—no pigs, no goats, no cattle."
"Cattle?" Oliver asked. They were beasts of myth that fed the Ancients all their meat and cheese and gave them all the milk they could drink.
"They were real to our people," Kirby told him. "But the city I came from didn't have any. We didn't control enough pasture land to keep them. We had plenty of pastureland on the frontier, but raiding parties killed or stole our herds." Looking back at Jingo and Beck, she said, "When we runaways understood the problem we faced, we rationed what food we'd brought with us. We hunted when we could. We gathered what we were able to find in the forest, but that was dangerous business. We built wooden boats to fish, but none of us were fisherman, and the few fish we caught were ne
ver worth the effort put in to catch them."
"And it wasn't enough?" asked Beck.
"We starved every winter," said Kirby. She held up a thin arm as proof. "You've seen the bodies of my people outside on the ground. You see how thin we all are. If the spore hadn't finished us, starvation would have, eventually."
"The spore?" Jingo asked. "How's that?"
"You know what happens when a man or woman is corrupted by the spore," Kirby told him. "At first, we are normal. Over time we develop the discolored spots on our skin, and then the lumps. Some go crazy, but many don't. Eventually, though, we all lose our minds."
"If you truly believed that," said Jingo, "none of you would have come here."
"We hoped," answered Kirby. "Who doesn't?"
"What did you do with the people here who lost their minds?" asked Beck.
"We turned the worst of them out into the forest," said Kirby. "But it wasn't enough. For every one we turned out, another ten stayed who hadn't gone crazy, but had lost their capacity to make good choices. Eventually, so many of us were halfway down the road to insanity that we were no longer able to defend ourselves. In the last battle, some of the insane people inside the stockade decided to put a torch to it, and that was it. The demon horde breached the walls, and you see the result. The dead cover the ground."
"How do you know you were the only one to survive?" asked Jingo
"I don't," Kirby admitted. "Maybe some others escaped into the forest. If they did, none have come back."
"If you'd used these guns," Beck asked, rubbing his chin and coming to conclusions, "do you think you could have beaten the demons?"
Kirby laughed in a dark, mean way that was her habit. "We did use the guns. That's why there are so many dead demons out there."
"But," Beck pointed at the racks of weapons, "why are the guns here now?"
"I collected them," said Kirby, as though it were the most obvious thing she'd said all day.
"Why?" asked Beck. "You can't use more than one or two, correct?"
"Where I come from," said Kirby, "whenever a battle is won, the winner scavenges and keeps the spoils, especially the guns. They're too valuable to leave out to rust. I brought all of these here, cleaned off the blood, and put them on the racks, as you see here."
