by Joe McKinney
They’d been alternating speeds since they left—changing from a sprint to a jog and back again. Every time she heard a noise in the forest, Ella would panic and pull her son faster. When they’d gotten clear of the disturbance, they’d slow down again. It was an exhausting game of nerves versus energy, one from which she needed a break.
For several minutes, they’d heard the sound of water, and Ella had been trying to track down the source. Now she could see it in the distance—a clear, bubbling river that was almost the width of her house.
She recognized it immediately. Davenport River. She’d been by it with Ethan and the guide twelve years ago. The road to Davenport couldn’t be far.
William stared, his eyes tracing the swift current. They’d both been to the River of Brighton plenty of times, but he’d never been to this one. Ella was always amazed at the power of flowing water, the way it twisted and furled over the stones and sunken trees beneath it, finding its way through.
She allowed her gaze to wander for a few seconds before she bent down and crept to the edge. The river foamed and spat.
“Stay back,” she warned.
She dipped her hands in the water, letting the cold soak her skin, and then scrubbed her hands together. She could still smell the odor of the guard’s blood, and she held her breath as it washed away. Her dress was red and blemished. In her efforts to hold it up, she’d stained both the collar and the shoulders. She’d have to clean it before they ran into someone.
When she looked back, William was staring at his own grime-covered hands.
“Come here,” she urged.
The boy obeyed and scooted next to her. She helped him rinse off. Thankfully, his shirt was unscathed, although it’d been stretched out from where the guard had yanked it. She fixed him as best she could and then sent him back a few feet.
She scanned the banks of the river on either side, searching for danger, but saw nothing. As much as she hated to slow down, she knew that she’d need to clean her clothing to avoid suspicion.
“Can you look away for a moment, honey?” she asked William.
The boy obliged. Ella glanced around the forest, unbuttoned her dress, and slipped it over her head. The breeze was cool against her skin. It caressed her shoulders and tickled the inside of her arms. Being exposed in the woods felt strange and uncomfortable, but it was still better than being exposed on the Cleansing platform.
Anything was better than that.
She knelt down on the riverbed and began scrubbing at the top of her dress. To her relief, she was able to get off some of the blood, but some of it remained, and she did her best to dilute it. If someone inquired as to its origin, she’d blame it on a food spill, or perhaps a wound from a sewing needle.
When she’d cleaned the garment, she shook it out to dry it a bit, and slipped it back over her head.
It was the best she could do.
When she glanced back at William, he was still staring at the river. She walked up the bank to meet him.
“’I’m all set, sweetie. We can go now.”
The boy was holding their bags. She took one of them from his grasp and hefted it over her shoulder.
“Put yours on,” she said.
She was about to slip hers on when she noticed the boy wasn’t moving.
“Are they dead?” he asked. “The guards?”
“I think so.” She set her bag down and leaned next to him. “They were going to hurt us, William.”
“I know that.”
She studied his eyes, trying to see what was lurking behind them. As much as she’d tried to protect him, he’d seen as much bloodshed as she. The pyres. The spikes. Ethan burning. It’d been six months since he’d had a nightmare, but she still worried about him. How could any boy be expected to forget all that?
The children were exposed to the same things the adults were. There was a time when Father Winthrop enforced protection for the younger ones, but those days were long gone. Ella didn’t believe that was fair, or just. But what could she do?
The worst part of her job as a parent was the explanations. As much as it pained her, sometimes there just weren’t any good answers.
William still wasn’t moving. She stroked his hair and stared at the river with him.
She’d been ready to go for almost a minute, but she could sense that he needed another. After a few seconds, he looked at her.
“Am I going to die, Mom?”
Ella choked on her answer before she said it. “Of course not.”
William’s hands moved to his neck, and she fought the urge to pull them off. Not here, not now, she wanted to scream. Instead she kept quiet. The boy rubbed the back of his neck, as if a gnat had bitten him, and then placed his hands back at his sides.
“Will I feel it when it happens? Will I feel it when I turn?”
Ella shook her head. In truth, she had no idea. Didn’t want to think about it. They had plenty of time left, plenty of time to build a new life…She wasn’t ready to handle this…not now…not yet.
“No,” she forced herself to say. “I don’t think so.”
William nodded, his face grim and composed, looking much too mature for a boy his age. She stroked his hair one last time and then got to her feet, slinging her bag on her shoulder.
“We have to leave.”
“I know,” he said. “We’re going to Davenport, right? To see Aunt Jean and Uncle Frederick?”
“Yes.”
“Is it nice there?”
“It’s beautiful. Probably the most beautiful village I’ve ever seen,” Ella said.
A smile flitted across William’s face as he tugged his pack onto his shoulder. He reached out and took her hand, breaking his trance from the river.
Chapter 10
General Blackthorn
Blackthorn listened to the fire dirge and thought about all the places he’d rather be than sitting in his chair, watching the lucky thousands wail their fright, as though death had come to them personally. Fear was an insidious, contagious thing.
First, those nearest the flames reacted, as though they held some hope that the ritual would not be carried through to its ashen end, that the flame would not burn, that the torch would not be laid at the foot of the pyre. But of course it would; a tiny fiery star, a pinprick of horror.
He watched that dread ripple through the crowd faster than the flames surged through the dry wood. Women swooned and children trembled, each catching the emotion from the person in front of him or her, fear manifesting itself in a visible wave that rolled over the mass of the weak-hearted.
Maybe that’s what Blackthorn disliked most about Cleansing Day. Fear became real. He saw it. He smelled it. He tasted it in the air. It reminded him of cloying, urine soaked britches, and the wet bed sheets of a boy too afraid to go to the outhouse in the dark of night. It brought back memories of the worst days of his life, when panic ruled him as a boy, leading up to that moment when his father, the great man, fell from his horse and was swarmed by the beasts.
Emotion welled up in his hard heart. He gritted his teeth, sucked in his breath, and recalled how the fear had transformed him from weak boy into the stone-hard man that he now was, Supreme Leader of all in the three towns and every village in between. Sure, there were Beck and Winthrop, the other two in the Council of Elders, but they were weak. They were figureheads pretending to be leaders.
Movement to his right distracted Blackthorn from his thoughts.
Three of Beck’s census men were in front of Beck, showing him their lists, reviewing their calculations with anxious gestures and quivering voices. Blackthorn didn’t need to hear their words to know that the numbers didn’t add up. For the census takers, men who sat in the night squinting at papers on candlelit tables—men who would never raise a sword in anger, or have the blood of a brother on their hands—this was the pinnacle of fear.
Blackthorn hated them, necessary though they were.
The weak, hunchbacked writers of numbers perfor
med an important duty. In taking the Cleansing census, they also wrote down the names of any missing women, the ones too afraid to face the pyre.
The fact that there were still runners sickened Blackthorn. Unfortunately, the Muldoons of the world were becoming a rarer and rarer occurrence. With each Cleansing that passed, fear had taken root and was growing. Deceitful behavior was becoming the norm. Frightened people were too weak of heart to walk the road to courage without a little helpful prodding.
The census men finished their presentation, and Beck made some disappointed sounds. He motioned for the men to present the results to Blackthorn. Blackthorn didn’t need to be told. Nevertheless, he let them approach. The ritual was a necessary one. Structure helped simple-minded men manage the anxieties in their lives. Brighton had more than its share of simple-minded men.
Beck’s three census men lined up, shoulder to shoulder in front of Blackthorn. The one in the middle, a chinless man with darting eyes, said, “General Blackthorn, we have the results of the Cleansing census.”
“Speak.”
It was the chinless man’s first time to present the numbers, and he was troubled. Blackthorn half expected to see a puddle form at the man’s feet. He even wagered to himself on which would come first—the urine or the man’s words.
To his surprise, the words won. The census man said, “There are two missing from the count.”
Blackthorn nodded sternly. There was no need to feign surprise. No need for anger. Solutions were necessary.
Looking around again, the chinless man’s eyes fell to Beck, searching for direction.
Beck waved his hand in small circles. “Speak, man.”
The chinless man looked back at Blackthorn. His eyes slowly sank from Blackthorn’s face to his feet. “Ella Barrow and her son William are not present, General.”
Blackthorn nodded to his left, gesturing a direction for the three census men to take. “Go,” he told them.
Two soldiers came to fill the space in front of Blackthorn, and all on the dais waited while Blackthorn contemplated his words. He let the tension build, even though there was no decision to be made. Ella and William would be found. They would be brought to the square, flailed for their cowardice, and placed atop particularly slow smoldering pyres that would lick their flesh clean for many long, agonizing minutes.
Then their souls would be taken to God.
“Captain Swan,” Blackthorn said.
Captain Swan, one of the two standing in front of Blackthorn said, “Yes, General.”
“Send troops to find this woman Ella and her son. Bring her back to the square.”
“Yes, General.” Captain Swan and the captain beside him turned crisply, stepping toward the stairs.
“Captain Townshend.”
The second captain came to a halt. Captain Swan stopped alongside him.
“Captain Swan, you have your task. Go.” Blackthorn stood, surprising everyone on the dais with the divergence from protocol. Normally the two captains would go off together. “Captain Townshend, you have another task.”
“Yes, General.”
General Blackthorn walked to the front edge of the dais.
Just as the fear had rippled across the women when the pyres were lit, a new ripple spread out from the crowd, emanating from Blackthorn himself as though he were the hottest flame they’d seen, hot enough to burn them all. No word could be heard, not a cough or a sneeze.
Blackthorn said, “Two of the unclean have chosen weakness over strength, fear over courage.” He paused, letting the gravity the betrayal sink in. It wasn’t a betrayal of Blackthorn, or the Council of Elders—it was a betrayal of Brighton.
“Fear is growing among us. Dread makes our hearts soft. It destroys our unity, and weakens the three towns. Fear is infectious. Left unchecked, it will destroy the efforts of the strong. It will destroy what our fathers have built. It will destroy us all.”
He paused again, for effect.
“All who support weakness and fear must meet the pyre.” Blackthorn cast his glare slowly across the women. “These two runners did not act alone. Nobody turns unclean and runs without those around him knowing. And when we, the people of Brighton, do nothing to Cleanse this fear, the spore takes root and we are all guilty. In this case, the family, the neighbors, and the close friends of Ella Barrow and her boy William are complicit.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
“Captain Townshend, bring before us this woman’s family. Bring her neighbors. Bring her friends. We will sort this out, and the pyre will mete our town’s justice and Cleanse them.”
Stifled cries emanated from the crowd, and heads drooped. Hands covered mouths to whisper protests.
Minister Beck stepped up out of his chair. “General Blackthorn, this is not a decision to be taken by one Elder alone.”
Without turning, Blackthorn asked, “Father Winthrop, do you concur?”
Put on the spot, Father Winthrop gasped. He rubbed a shaking hand over his chin and glanced at Minister Beck, but turned away before he caught Beck’s eye. Weakly, Winthrop murmured, “Ah…um… Yes. I… concur.”
Beck flushed red with rage.
Keeping a repressive eye on the women in the square and the men on the fringe, Blackthorn said, “Captain Townshend, bring us all of Ella Barrow’s accomplices.”
Chapter 11
Ella
Ella recognized the road to Davenport immediately.
Davenport Road was little more than a ten-foot wide trail, worn down by years of foot and hoof. At one point, the road crossed a great field and branched off to Coventry, but mostly it ran close to the river.
Everyone knew if you followed the river, you’d eventually get to Davenport. But the river snaked a circuitous path. If followed exactly, it would lead a traveler through the forests for days and days. There were many paths that branched to smaller villages, and without the services of a guide, a traveller from Brighton might end up in any of a dozen places.
Getting lost was the least of Ella’s worries. Getting caught was her major concern. If the Elders sent the guards to look for her and William, they’d follow the roads out of Brighton. Her and William needed to avoid the roads.
The river was their best bet.
As simple as the idea was, following the river was more of a challenge than Ella had hoped. In several places, the ground was too rough or steep, or the forest was too dense to navigate. Creeks ran into the river and cut right across their path, sometimes flowing through ravines so deep they couldn’t be crossed. There were the spots where Ella and William would come to a hard curve in the river, watching it flow off to their right. Rather than follow it, they’d tromp through the woods, following the sound of the strong current somewhere off in the trees, trying to shave a mile or two off their journey.
It was on one such tromp that they lost sight of the river and ran across a long, perfectly straight wall, made from what appeared to be a single piece of waist-high stone.
“Ancient Stone,” Ella said as she laid a hand on the wall, showing it to William. He was already preoccupied with another wall, running parallel to the first but five feet above, across a gap. Above that was another, and another, alternating bands of ancient stone and gaps that grew thick with shrubs and vines. The layers stacked up into the air on thick square posts until they stopped just above the tallest trees.
“What is it?” asked William.
Shaking her head, Ella said, “I don’t know.”
“Did the Ancients live here?”
It didn’t look like a house or anything she’d seen back in Brighton. And it didn’t look like anything she’d seen in Davenport, either. At least, not that she remembered. All the ancient buildings there looked like they’d once served a purpose. Some had rooms that looked like they could have been sleeping quarters, or possible merchants stores. Some could have been storehouses.
But the function of this giant, cubed-shaped thing was lost on her.
Between the
bushes that jutted out between the layers, she could see murky, empty shadows and far through the other side she saw the outlines of tree trunks in the sunshine. The inside appeared to be a quarter the size of the square in Brighton. Why would the Ancients have constructed such thing?
“I’ll bet we’re the first people in a thousand years to be here,” William said in awe.
“Maybe,” Ella responded. She looked around, as if the guards might’ve already caught up to them. Despite her concern, she knew it was getting late; they’d been traveling for the greater part of a day, and soon they’d need to take shelter for the night. The boy’s words finally hit her. “A thousand years?” She looked down at William and smiled. “You don’t even know what a thousand years is, you silly boy.”
“I do,” William said confidently. “You don’t, but I do.”
Shaking her head, Ella motioned William to follow her. She started walking the length of the wall, looking inside between the shrubs and admiring the towering layers of Ancient Stone. “You’re right. I don’t know what a thousand is. My uncle Frederick taught me to count to a hundred when I was your age. A hundred was all I ever needed. I seldom need to count anything more than a dozen.”
William brushed his fingers along the ancient wall as they walked. “A thousand is easy. It’s just like counting to a hundred ten times. That’s all.”
“And how would you know that?” Ella asked, not believing a word of it, but happy for a moment to forget their troubles and have a normal conversation.
“When we’re at the market, I heard merchants talking about numbers, some big, some small, adding them up and subtracting them even.”
“Adding and subtracting?” Ella laughed. “You’re going to tell me now that you can add and subtract and you learned it listening to merchants talk?”
“Yes,” William’s tone was completely serious.
Ella stopped, turned and knelt down in front of William. It wasn’t until she’d assumed the position that she realized he was too tall. On her knees, she had to look up at him. “You’re growing up too fast, William. You’re going to be as big as your father.”
