Winds of Change (Empires Lost Book 2)

by Charles S. Jackson

  “You’re no goddamned priest,” Eddie observed shakily, voice cracking faintly as he turned and began to walk back toward the trees, a sullen expression on his face.

  “Just worked that out, have you…?” Brandis asked with sarcasm as he followed a few metres behind. “Quick on the uptake, aren’t you.” He shrugged. “I’m about as far away from religious as you can get, pal, but The Church lets me hang about in return helping them out here and there.”

  Brandis made a show of carefully unscrewing the silencer from the muzzle of the pistol as they walked and slipped it into the pocket of his pants. The pistol followed a moment later, although he took great care to ‘safe’ the weapon before slipping it into his waistband at the small of his back. He also slowed his pace to extend the distance between them as he did so. Eddie, who walked on facing straight ahead the whole time, heard none of that over the sound of falling rain and the crunch of their own boots through the grass and uneven ground.

  “So… you’re just gonna ‘let me go’ then…?” Eddie asked sceptically over his shoulder, never turning his head far enough to see that his would-be captor was now technically unarmed. The question drew a cold, humourless bark of laughter from Brandis.

  “Actually I’m going to do just that,” he answered with a lop-sided grin, “and if you’re smart, you’ll bugger off back to the base in once piece…” he shook his head knowingly “…but what’s actually going to happen is that you’re going to turn around in about ten seconds and try to attack me the moment you see I haven’t got a gun any more…” he paused for second or two, giving just enough time for the words to sink in and knowing Eddie was never going to hear what he was going to say next. As Eddie finally began to turn around, his body tensing, he added: “That’s when I’m going to kick the shit outta you…!”

  Eddie realised Brandis had spoken the truth the moment he turned around, and he launched himself across the four or five metres of open ground between them with the snarl of a wild animal. Brandis had been expecting it of course, and he sidestepped the attack with ease, ducking under the man’s swinging fist and delivering a sharp, hard jab to Eddie’s midriff as he passed. The brass knuckles he’d slipped over his own fist while he’d placed the silencer in that same pocket had gone unnoticed until now, and they were of great assistance as Brandis heard the satisfying sound of several ribs crack under the blow.

  Eddie howled in rage and pain, adrenalin coursing freely through his body now as he staggered to a halt a few steps on and whirled again, ready to attack again in spite of the fire raging against his injured side. That was the first sound either man had made the whole time that had been louder than a whisper, and it gained the surprised attention of everyone in the house, bringing them quickly to their respective windows as they stared out at the unbelievable.

  “Come on, Eddie,” Brandis goaded, his own mind focused and as sharp as a pin as he allowed his own fury to rise. “That the best you can do, Old Son?”

  Eddie screamed in defiance and lunged again, learning from his last attack and this time ducking in low as if to sweep his opponent’s feet from under him. Again Brandis whirled out of his path and again he landed a telling blow in the process, this time across the back of Eddie’s lowered head with his elbow as he turned away. It sent stars flickering across the soldier’s vision as he stumbled on, momentarily dazed by the blow, yet it hadn’t been perfectly timed for all that. A jarring pain seared up Brandis’ right arm to the shoulder, and as he staggered backward across the rough ground he lost his footing and fell heavily onto his back.

  Eddie might have been groggy but he knew an opening when he saw one, and he saw one now. A flicker of a smile appeared and died on his lips as he dived forward, hands outstretched as he threw himself on top of his fallen opponent. His thick, barrelled chest thudded heavily down and knocked the wind out of Brandis, leaving him wheezing for air as a pair of thick, sinewy hands slipped desperately about his throat. He was stronger than most of Eddie’s victims however, and without even a second’s thought he snapped his right knee upward to deliver a knockout strike to the American’s groin.

  He missed Eddie’s testicles by mere centimetres but nevertheless dealt him a severe blow as his kneecap pounded into the tender, fleshy part of the man’s inner thigh. There was a scream of absolute agony and Eddie rolled desperately away across the grass, clutching at his thigh but also managing to land a strong but glancing kick to the side of Brandis’ face with his other foot, leaving a deep gash across his right temple.

  Eddie struggled to his feet, barely able to stand due to broken ribs and the injury to his leg. For all that, he seemed on the face of it to be in better shape than Brandis – the erstwhile church curate found it difficult to even think about standing and instead remained where he lay, head raised and one knee drawn back as he glared at the other man in anger and disgust.

  “You… can still… get out of here now…” Brandis panted slowly, shaking his head to clear his mind. “Make it easier on yourself…”

  There was no logic or higher reasoning in Eddie’s mind now. The fight and his injuries had left him under the complete control of his animal nature and Brandis’ words slowed him down about as much as might a soft, summer breeze. With a final, bellowed howl of primal rage, Eddie came at Brandis again, intent this time to crush the man’s skull under his boots and smash him to a bloody pulp.

  Briony, Mrs Tuttle and Father O’Donnell had all burst through the back door by now and come to an immediate halt, all standing in a line as they took in the desperate battle before them. O’Donnell crossed himself almost in reflex and Briony screamed once in fear, but Eddie wasn’t paying any attention to her now. Eddie Leonski wasn’t thinking about anything other than his desire to kill the man on the ground before him.

  Another of the things Eddie didn’t pay attention to was the thick, heavy branch lying quite close to where Brandis had fallen. There were many Eucalypts growing at the rear of the property, and gum trees often dropped their branches unexpectedly, something that made it ill-advised to set up tents or fires beneath such trees when camping.

  Brandis’ fingers closed firmly around one end of that branch now, the piece of gnarled wood about roughly the same length as a baseball bat and of similar weight. His timing was perfect out of sheer necessity, and as he swung it up and hard across Eddie’s path it connected with the man’s head in a sickening ‘crunch’. The American instantly slumped to one side and rolled away across the grass, moaning softly as Brandis now clambered to his feet and allowed the branch to fall to the ground once more. The pistol had fallen from his waistband during the fight, and he took a few steps across to where it lay and picked it up once more. Holding it loosely in one hand, he screwed the silencer back into position as he moved back toward where Eddie lay, hardened resolve his only expression as he stared down at the man’s battered, bleeding body.

  “Get out of here as soon as you’re able to walk,” he snarled softly, and punctuated the words with a savage kick in the shoulder that drew out a louder moan. He kicked Eddie again, this time in the shin as the American tried to roll over once more and rise to his feet. The blow collapsed him to the ground again, but this time Eddie remained on his knees. Pain coursed through every inch of his body and blood was running down the side of his face from a serious wound above his hairline, but he glared up with defiance in his eyes, teeth bared as if he were ready to try again. Only the fact that he was now once more staring into the muzzle of Brandis’ pistol held him in check… barely…

  “I’m gonna get you, you son of a bitch!” Eddie vowed in a laboured voice laced with venom. “… Get you for what you done!”

  “You’re not going to do a goddamned thing, asshole: get outta here while you still can...! Try to ‘enjoy’ the days you have left...” Brandis hissed, finger squeezing against the trigger as he fought against his own desperate instincts “…because we’re gonna meet again soon enough...” an evil, almost lascivious smile crept across his face as
he paused for effect “...and you’ll die screaming when we do…!”

  He held no interest in discussing the issue any further now, and to make that completely clear, Brandis raised the pistol in one outstretched hand and canted his aim just slightly to the left before pulling the trigger. The weapon discharged with a snort that was barely audible over the rain, but the spray of wet earth and grass that flew into the air by Eddie’s feet as a shiny brass case spiralled away into the darkness left no doubt as to what he’d do if the man tried to attack again.

  The shot into the ground had caused him to flinch more than he’d have liked to admit, but the short pause since the end of the fight had allowed at least some modicum of rationality to seep back into Eddie’s mind. He quickly recognised he couldn’t win that battle – although he fully intended to continue it at a later time of his own choosing – and he rose unsteadily to his feet, his eyes never breaking from Brandis’ gaze the entire time.

  Lowering his head slightly, he spat once in defiance at the other man’s feet. With one last, almost-convincing smug grin, Eddie turned and limped off across the property toward the street, body tensed as if he expected one final shot to come at any time. For all that, he never once looked back.

  Brandis waited until Eddie had disappeared from view before allowing himself the luxury of collapsing to the ground once more, the pistol falling from his hands to the grass beside him. Briony was first to reach him and with poise and forethought beyond her years, she quickly assessed his condition and started issuing orders.

  “He’s hurt bad, Mrs Tuttle,” she observed quickly, knowing that to be a huge understatement as she knelt beside him and lifted Brandis’ head carefully up to rest against her waist. “We need bandages and clean water straight away – hot water if you can manage it, and some antiseptic cream if you have some.” As the old woman simply nodded and turned to leave, she directed her next words to Father O’Donnell. “We need the police, Father… we need them here straight away…”

  “No police…!” Brandis croaked weakly, trying to push himself forward in an attempt to regain his feet but failing miserably. “...Not yet, anyway…”

  “He’s delirious!” Briony exclaimed, throwing a worried glance at the priest.

  “I’m not delirious,” Brandis insisted, his thoughts clearing now, although he was still quite weak and having trouble seeing properly.

  “Your... your voice...” Briony stammered, the change in his accent only now becoming apparent. Her mouth opened slightly as if to say more but the bottomless darkness behind his eyes was such as she looked into them in that moment that the words died on her lips.

  “Just hear me out first…” He croaked softly, waves of shame rolling through him as he saw the realisation of his deception in her eyes. “There are a few things you need to know…” Blood that had been building at the edge of his hairline broke free at that moment, coursing past his eye and down across his cheek before dripping darkly from his lower jaw. Tearing a piece of cloth from the hem of her plain, cotton skirt, Briony folded it into a wad and held it to the wound on his temple in an effort to stop the bleeding.

  “No...!” He snapped hoarsely with unexpected intensity as his mind cleared and he realised what was happening. He gently but firmly pushed her back with one arm and took the makeshift dressing from her with the other hand. “I can look after myself...!” He croaked, forcing a failed attempt at humour as he pressed the makeshift bandage to the wound and he stifled a gasp of pain “…I think you’ll find I’m not quite that fragile tonight.” He knew they’d probably all noticed the momentary glimpse of abject fear in his eyes, but he fought to conceal it anyway.

  “Why, Uncle James… why…?” She could think of nothing else to day that could so simply and succinctly convey to him the stunned bewilderment she felt over what she’d just seen.

  “Can’t bluff my way out of this one, eh?” He asked rhetorically, staring up at her with pain and guilt showing clearly in his eyes, although she got the distinct impression he mightn’t have been talking to either her or the others present. She gave no response and after another second or two he made his own mind up. “I do owe you an explanation though,” he continued, definitely speaking to her now as wiped the palm of his free hand against one (relatively) clean leg of his pants and then he reached up unsteadily with one hand and then clasped hers tightly as if to reassure both her and himself. “The truth this time… the whole truth…”

  “Not before we’ve had a chance to look after the gash on your head, Uncle James,” Briony insisted with her mother’s unflappable stubbornness. “After that you can tell me any tale you like, and once you’re done I’ll decide whether or not we still need to call the police…”

  Brandis thought for a moment ­– just a moment – that he might argue with that. Her expression dispelled that idea instantly however, and he also realised then that it was the first time in three days that he’d seen her out of her room and not mired in her own pain and grief. It gave him hope at least that her mother’s strength was also within her, and that she’d soon be able to start on the road to recovery from her own grief and the suffering still to come. Against all his better judgement, the man they knew of as James Brandis swallowed his words and his pride in that moment and simply gave one single, silent nod of assent.

  11. Harsh Realities

  St Peter’s Church, Tocumwal

  New South Wales, Australia

  October 1, 1942

  Thursday

  Despite all of Briony’s protests from beyond the closed door (and also those of Mrs Tuttle and Father O’Donnell), Brandis refused all aid as he with some significant difficulty stripped off his wet, blood-stained clothes alone in the privacy of his own room. Still quite groggy, he almost fell several times and came close to passing out once – he suspected he was possibly suffering from a mild concussion – yet he persevered all the same and managed to dress himself well enough in some dry Levis and a clean T-shirt.

  Dragging the clothing over his head reopened the wound at his temple, which once again began to ooze blood slowly down the side of his face. Briony had insisted she tend to it the moment he’d finished dressing, this time doing a far more professional job with proper bandages and a small gauze pad. He’d only permitted her to proceed after she’d agreed to wear a pair of thin, surgical protective gloves he’d produced from a small first aid kit he kept in his room.

  She also provided some aspirin, which went some way toward easing the thumping headache that accompanied his injury. He downed two tablets with a large cup of water as they sat together on the edge of his single bed, Briony watching him intently the whole time with a stare that was equal parts concern and suspicion.

  “We’d better have a talk,” he began, sounding reluctant as he finished the water and allowed the emptied mug to fall onto the bed beside him, landing beside the discarded and forgotten automatic pistol that already lay there. He glanced up momentarily at O’Donnell standing silently in the doorway with a concerned expression on his face, Mrs Tuttle visible just behind him. “This needs to be a private conversation,” he added pointedly, only vaguely apologetic as he fixed the priest with a familiar but firm gaze. “Please close the door, Pat...”

  Reluctant as he was, the old man complied with the request: after so many years he knew better than to argue with Brandis.

  Come and sit at the table...” he began slowly once they were alone in the room “...I’ve a few things to show you.”

  Brandis’ bedroom was as small as O’Donnell’s, or the spare room for that matter (Edwina Tuttle lived in her own modest home a few doors up along Charlotte Street), and comprised little more than the single bed against the inner wall and a tall and quite narrow wooden wardrobe between it and the door, while the window on the opposite side of the room was flanked on either side buy a small dressing table with mirror and a circular table that was barely large enough for the two wooden chairs pushed beneath it.

  All of it had been there
long before Brandis had arrived and would – he had no doubt – still be there for many years to come. The only addition that was his (save for his clothes) was a large and well-maintained Louis Vuitton steamer trunk that dated back to before the turn of the century. It measured approximately 110 centimetres long by 60 centimetres high and deep, and always lay at the head of Brandis’ bed, securely locked. Neither Briony nor any of the others had ever seen its interior, and prior to that evening it had been the only thing she had ever considered even vaguely ‘mysterious’ about the man she knew of as James Brandis.

  He stood and moved to it now as she took a seat at the table, and she watched with deep interest as he reached down toward the base of the trunk rather than opening the lid as one might normally expect. She realised that a tiny metal key had appeared in his hand as if by magic and he proceeded to insert it into a matching keyhole somewhere in the near side of the trunk, quite close to the bottom.

  The well-practised action was so fast that she was never given any exact indication of where the key had been inserted – it was out and tucked away again in seconds – and at the same time there was a solid and quite audible ‘click’ from the trunk itself. A secret drawer no more than 30cm or so across had popped out at the very base of the trunk and he pulled it open completely to retrieve the contents within. The item clearly had some weight to it as he lifted it from its resting place and carried it across to the table, but Briony couldn’t identify what it was as it looked like nothing she’d ever seen before in her life.