Of Limited Loyalty cc-2

by Michael A. Stackpole

  If he hits me, maybe he’ll knock some sense back into me.

  Rathfield looked him up and down. “It would seem, then, Mister Woods, that we have an unity of purpose. I shall accompany you.”

  “You cain’t. You don’t have no musket.”

  “We can remedy that, Mr. Woods.” Ezekiel Fire leaned heavily on Makepeace Bone as he joined the group. “Joseph Wright, can you shape a stock for Colonel Rathfield’s musket before morning and get the hardware fitted to it?”

  A burly man nodded and withdrew toward the workshop.

  Fire turned toward Nathaniel. “You should leave at dawn. I will come with you.”

  “This here is going to be a war party, Ezekiel Fire. Ain’t going to be time for preaching.”

  “I assure you, I will keep pace with you.” The older man glanced down. “Those people were out there because of me. I must go to comfort any other survivors, and to see to it that the others are properly laid to rest.”

  “Then that’s why you ought to be staying here, sending someone out to your other settlement, to warn them or bring them in. They’ll need you here.”

  Fire shook his head. “No, I have someone who will lead in my absence.”

  The hair stood up at the back of Nathaniel’s neck. “Who would that be?”

  The Steward nodded to Rufus Branch. “God has spoken to me. This deacon will serve.”

  Nathaniel didn’t like leaving Rufus Branch in charge, but he couldn’t say anything about it. The Steward’s word was law as far as Happy Valley was concerned. More importantly, the people knew Rufus better than they did Nathaniel. If he continued to say bad things about Branch, the citizens of Happy Valley would consider him mad or untrustworthy, which meant they’d side with Rufus if any showdown erupted.

  By morning the Steward’s hands had already begun to heal, having faded to a greenish-yellow with tinges of purple on the palms. The old man seemed to be quite chipper and shouldered a pack equal to that the others carried. What he wasn’t hauling in brimstone and shot he replaced with food and some medical supplies. A small skinning knife was the closest thing to a weapon he carried, and Nathaniel figured it would only ever be used for eating.

  Owen’s assessment had been correct. Backtracking Gail Green and her daughter had been very easy. Nathaniel straightened up from where a footprint on a stream bank had dried. “Kamiskwa, Makepeace, you notice anything odd?”

  Makepeace bent down to study it. “Looks about right for being a day and a half old.”

  The Shedashee grunted. “No other tracks.”

  “Right. Ripped up as the woman was, shoulda been dire wolves and pert near everything else a-hunting her.”

  Owen pointed to a long blade of saw-grass. “Blood here, and doesn’t look as if anything has touched it. There’s butterflies all over, but none on this?”

  Kamiskwa nodded. “Bad blood.”

  Rathfield arched an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

  Nathaniel scratched at an unshaved cheek. “Means that whatever done clawed her got the blood poison into her. Weren’t nothing that cut her trail liked the smell of her.”

  “But that would hardly seem to make sense, Woods.” Rathfield cradled his new musket in his arms. “Creatures don’t kill for sport.”

  “But men do, Colonel.” The Mystrian scout shook his head. “Could be whatever tried to kill her was a man, or least ways thought like one. I ain’t sure which is worse.”

  They pushed on as quickly as they could and, despite racing toward a settlement that he expected to find in ruins, Nathaniel found himself enjoying the trip. The forests seemed older, with fewer varieties of trees. It struck him that some trees transplanted from Norisle had worked their way inland season by season. He knew from the Shedashee that they’d never raised wheat or rye, but the crops could be found up and down the Colonies. Not only had men invaded Mystria, but they’d brought green allies to exert dominance over the land.

  Nathaniel knew that the Good Book gave man license to establish dominion over the world. He found himself wishing that the Good Lord had been a bit more specific with his instructions on how to do that. All too often he got the feeling that the Good Lord had said, “Yes, you may make light in the darkness,” and most men figured that gave them license to burn down a forest.

  He found himself walking behind the Steward as the second day stretched toward night. “Don’t mind me asking, Ezekiel Fire, but what was it made you come on out here?”

  The older man glanced back over his shoulder. “God gave man an unspoiled garden. He gave people everything they wanted, including the gift of magick. But men got greedy, and they spoiled the garden. So God exiled them and took away their gifts. Mostly He did, that was, but He’s a loving God. He gave us a way to return to His grace. And it came upon me to realize that He wanted men to be back in that unspoiled garden. Now, truly, have you seen any other place that has done without man’s spoiling hand since He created the world?”

  “I don’t reckon I have, but we ain’t alone out here. There’s Shedashee lives in these parts.”

  “But they live as God intended. They’re innocents, of course, because they have not heard the Word and have not been saved, but their innocence and the way they live in harmony with the land makes them blessed. I believe, when the Good Lord comes again, He will reward them for their fidelity to His intention.”

  Nathaniel snorted. “That’s a mite kinder assessment than I done heard coming out of some other preachers’ pieholes.”

  Fire looked back, a wistful expression lighting his face. “That’s because my brethren are frustrated. They hold the key to salvation in their hands every day, but they have failed to discern God’s true plan, failed to have learned the lessons He set out for each of us.”

  Kamiskwa worked his way back along the trail. “We found where they probably spent their first morning. It has good water. We can’t be more than four or five hours away now, so we might as well camp for the night.”

  “Agreed, iffen you’re agreeable, Steward.”

  “Yes. I shall use the time to pray.”

  Neither man said it aloud, but they expected fighting the next day. Taking the evening to rest and prepare would not hurt.

  “Now, Steward, when we head out tomorrow…”

  Fire shook his head. “Son, do you think God has spared me a vision of what we will find?”

  “Don’t know if He has, sir, or not, but I don’t know if you done ever seen a slaughter before. It’s been going on a week since they died. Scavengers might not have been at them because of the blood poison, but the sun ain’t going to have spared them none, and maggots, well, they tend to be hearty little beasts.” Nathaniel pointed up and down the trail. “For us, they ain’t gonna be people we knowed. For you…”

  “I understand, Mr. Woods, and I appreciate your concern.” The older man smiled. “But you should understand this: I am not the Steward of their physical selves, but of their souls. What you describe is not, to me, a tragedy, but confirmation that God, in His Wisdom, has called them home. And while I know that what we will see will be horrible, there will be a part of me that wishes I lay among them.”

  Nathaniel frowned. “I don’t reckon that is right.”

  “Oh, but it is.” Ezekiel Fire sighed wearily. “You see, God has showed me what we shall see tomorrow, and all that I shall endure the rest of my days. Believe me when I say that there are some things which are worse than Death, and those very things lay in store for me.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  13 May 1767 Piety Postsylvania, Mystria

  In the morning’s dead air, nothing moved in Piety.

  They’d come in from the east, topping a hill that looked down upon the shallow valley in which the settlement had been raised. A modest stream ran from northeast to southwest, with a small lake at the southwestern end. It wasn’t hard to see that the lake had once been larger, but the settlers had drained what had been marshland, reducing it by two-thirds, and had placed that land u
nder cultivation. A wooden dock jutted into the lake and Owen easily imagined boys fishing off it on a warm summer afternoon.

  Owen had crouched and taken out a journal to sketch a rough map of the village. The structures had been clustered toward the northeastern end of the valley. They had neither a mill nor a workshop, but a central blockhouse overlooked a village green and served as a meeting house. Smaller houses had been arranged around it, many with corrals and chicken coops built nearby. Four barns served the community, two on each side of the stream, all southwest of the settlement.

  Nathaniel sank down beside Owen. “Ain’t nothing to see, is there?”

  “Doesn’t appear to be.” Owen sighed. “We might as well go down and investigate.”

  “Agreed.” Nathaniel stood. “Everyone stay together. Makepeace, you’ll be watching our backsides. Steward, you’ll be with Owen, telling him what’s normal and what ain’t. Kamiskwa, Colonel, we’ll be keeping our eyes peeled and don’t be forgetting the sky. Anything comes on bat-wings, I reckon we should send it back to Hell.”

  The party made their way down into the village from the east and approached one of the houses from the rear. It really wasn’t much more than a log shack, ten feet deep and twenty wide. It had a long roof sloping toward the rear, with an overhang that covered a shelf for wood storage. Owen figured it had first been made as a lean-to, with the front face open, but that had later been finished with rough-hewn boards. A plank door hung crooked on leather hinges.

  Kamiskwa swung a door to the chicken coop back and forth. “No birds, a little blood, but the coop is intact. Whatever took them wasn’t a wild animal.”

  Nathaniel nodded and pointed toward the goat pen. “They also took time to brush away their footprints.”

  “Looks wind-scoured to me.” Makepeace bent down to take a better look. “But ain’t no wind woulda done that good a job, save for a big storm, and we ain’t had that.”

  Owen shivered. “Magick, then?”

  He’d expected Kamiskwa to answer, but Fire hung his head. “Evil magick. I can feel it.”

  Makepeace and Rathfield crossed themselves.

  They moved on to the house. Owen entered first, rifle ready, but the small shack proved empty. A sleeping loft considerably lowered the ceiling over the main room. The fire in the hearth on the left wall had long since died. Cornmeal mush had congealed in the base of a cast-iron pot hanging there. The surface had cracked like the mud in a dry lake bed. The porridge had been served up and small mounds of it had dried on four plates set on a table suitable for seating six. Butter had melted and resolidified in a small crock, and the loaf of brown bread on a cutting board had grown stale.

  “Do you know who lived here?”

  Fire nodded solemnly. “Ben Mason, his wife, four children-a boy, three girls.”

  Owen quickly mounted the log ladder to the sleeping loft. A large bed with a cradle at the foot of it lay to the right, and three sleeping mats with blankets lay to the left. The beds had been made neatly, with one of the sleeping mats having a small ragged doll in a grey dress and bonnet leaning against the pillow.

  Owen descended again and rejoined the others outside. “Family was having dinner, must have come out peacefully because there is nothing out of place. If we didn’t know what had happened, a casual look-see and I’d assume they were all coming back inside the hour.”

  “Miriam always did keep a good house. Encouraged the children that way.”

  Fire’s observation did nothing to make Owen feel any better. The peaceful nature of the village contrasted with the horror of the wounds on the Green woman’s body. For all intents and purposes, every living thing had vanished in an instant, and there was no reason Owen could imagine that they couldn’t disappear just as quickly. His stomach tightened as the pain of never seeing Miranda again struck him. In its wake came the cold realization that his wife would not miss him. And when he visualized his daughter crying, the woman he saw comforting her was Bethany Frost.

  He wished for one moment-one selfish moment-that she had come along with them. He told himself it was because he wanted her insight on what he was seeing. He was missing something and he knew it. She would have seen it. She will pick it easily from my journal notes. She would have made short work of the mystery of Piety.

  But he also knew he wanted her there for more. Piety, empty and silent, made him feel terribly alone. He harkened back to when du Malphias had kept him captive and how it had been Bethany who nursed him back to health after his escape. And even limiting his recollection to that point in his life, he was cheating, and knew it. He’d resented those men who had paid Bethany court, and secretly delighted when their suits failed-even though he could have no claim on her.

  The fact was that he’d felt alone for far longer than he’d been in Mystria. While he had no desire to be alone, he realized there was no escaping that fate. His wife might loathe him, but she would never grant him a divorce. To do so would be to admit, somehow, that she had lost something. He was a possession that she would never let slip from her grasp. More importantly, however, he would never ask for a divorce. He had been solemn and sincere when he made his marriage vows to her. It did not matter that she had abandoned her obligations to him; as an honorable man, he could not abandon his to her.

  Owen shook himself and they continued exploring homes, working their way toward the block house. Each home matched what they’d seen in the Mason home. Families at supper had stepped out of their houses and had simply evaporated. No signs where they had gone, and no signs of the horror Becca Green had related.

  Then they reached the block house. Rathfield entered first, then turned back and vomited. Hunched over, he still held a hand out, warning the others off. As he went to his knees, Fire comforted him.

  The officer wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Don’t go in there. It’s…”

  Owen swallowed hard and moved upwind of the man’s vomit. He glanced at Nathaniel. The scout nodded, Makepeace crossed himself, and the three of them cautiously passed over meeting house threshold.

  The single room had been arranged as it must have been for services. A lectern stood at the front, next to a table, facing the door through which they entered. Row upon row of sturdy wooden chairs, each handcrafted, with the family name carved uppermost on the back, faced the lectern. A few chairs without names formed the last row, as if waiting to welcome visitors. The most ornate chairs, being just bit larger than the others, had been reserved for family patriarchs.

  The people of Piety had never left. Virtually every chair had been filled, with bodies sitting upright and attentive, hands clasped in their laps. The villagers heads had been cleanly removed, and sat on top of those hands. Time and warmth had begun to desiccate the flesh, but otherwise Owen saw no signs of putrefaction. No bodily fluids had dripped, and all he could smell was dust, no decay. While some of the clothes showed evidence of battle-like sleeves having been slashed during efforts to ward off attacks-the faces had been arranged to look impassive, if not peaceful.

  The deacon’s body stood at the lectern. His head rested where the Good Book should have been. He stared toward the door with milky eyes.

  Owen didn’t know how long he stood there. He’d seen horrible things in combat-bodies so thoroughly destroyed that all one could do was to pile bits into a basket and hope they all belonged to the same person. This was worse, far worse, because it had been done deliberately and with great precision. Not only had the people been slain, but their killing mocked who they had been. He could only imagine their horror as their fate befell them, and wept for all the fathers who had watched their children die.

  He stuck out a hand to bar the Steward from going past the doorway. “You can’t.”

  “I must.” Fire pushed past, then slumped back against the wall. “Oh, Heavenly Father…”

  Kamiskwa stayed clear, as did Rathfield. Nathaniel and Makepeace got as far as the first row with bodies. They studied the patriarch of that family, then withdrew. O
wen followed, guiding the Steward out with him.

  “I counted fifty-two bodies. How many people lived in Piety?”

  Fire glanced back toward the meeting house. “Seventy, last I knew, which was a month ago.”

  “The two who made to Happy Valley brings that total to fifty-four. That’s sixteen unaccounted for.”

  Nathaniel nodded. “Like as not, tain’t more than another two or three escaped the slaughter. Scout about; we could find some bodies.”

  “So, that’s a dozen that vanished. The Mason family was two shy of full. A son and daughter.” Owen got out a journal and made a note. “I want to check something at the Mason home.”

  He ran back, took a quick inventory, made more notes, then returned. His heart ached and he wanted nothing more than to lay down get drunk “It’s worse than we imagined.”

  Rathfield, who still looked grey, sat in the shadow of a house. “How is that possible? Out with it, man.”

  “We have a dozen people unaccounted for. The Masons were a family of six, but only four places were set at the table. One child was an infant, so it wouldn’t have had a plate. But that fifth setting is gone, plate, food, utensils, cup, napkin. And a doll is missing from one of the beds. I imagine, if we go through every home here, we’ll find other things missing. These people didn’t have much, so we might not notice what had been taken, but I’d imagine there will be empty spaces on shelves, or that things you might expect to find will be gone.”

  Nathaniel nodded. “I reckon we can confirm that idea for you.”

  “We could, Woods, but what would it prove?”

  Owen closed his journal. “It would prove, Colonel, that we have a big problem.”

  Rathfield laughed. “The congregation proves that.”