The Last Survivors (Book 5): The Last Refuge

by Bobby Adair

  Beaten already. Franklin's brilliant idea suddenly seemed terrible, every single bit of it. And of course it was terrible—he'd been thwarted by the first pitfall. He hadn't guessed that Fitz might refuse to open the door to hear what he had to say.

  Of course, she hadn't.

  Franklin turned away from the door and took a step up the hall, stopping himself midstride.

  Wait.

  Why give up?

  Franklin wanted Fitz back more than anything. Why let one rebuff be the obstacle between him and happiness? Franklin turned and put his hand back on the doorknob. "No," he called through the door, firmly but not angrily. "We need to talk now."

  "Franklin, I can't. I won't."

  "You must."

  "Why does it have to be now?"

  "I thought about what you said."

  "I said a lot of things," Fitz told him through the door. "You've been sitting in the Temple for days. What could be so important just this minute?"

  "Maybe I've treated you unfairly. Maybe we all have." It was the first time the words had come out of Franklin's mouth. They felt awkward, considering that they'd been swimming through his thoughts for so long. He leaned his head on the wood as he waited for Fitz to respond. She didn't, so he pressed on. "I listened to you in the Temple when you shamed all of us. You opened my eyes. I'd never thought of things the way you said them. You were right." Franklin rushed to add, "You are right."

  "I know," Fitz told him through the door, the level of her voice rising with each word. "It took you all this time to realize what every girl knows from the moment she's old enough to wash a man's clothes or to slap his hands away when he grabs her butt?"

  "I can tell it makes you angry to talk about it." Franklin took a moment to select his words carefully. "Maybe I can't know. I'm not a woman. I know women have their tribulations, but I never really thought about it the way you described it. I knew it in my head, I think. But now that I've seen your passion and I've felt your pain, I know it in my heart."

  "You'll never know it in your heart," Fitz snapped back.

  "Maybe not the way you do," said Franklin. "But you have to understand, that though women may be treated badly, men are treated unfairly as well. Everyone lives under the foot of the one above. Even me, and I am the Bishop of Brighton. When I was a novice on the dais looking on as General Blackthorn, Minister Beck, and Father Winthrop presided over the burnings, I believed with all my heart that they were the three most powerful men in Brighton, and I dreamed of one day being one of them so that I'd no longer be subject to the whims of other men. I didn't fully understand at the time that everyone in Brighton, even the women, must feel the same way. We all suffer at the hands of the powerful."

  "That's true," Fitz agreed in a softer voice.

  "I never would've guessed that when I took Father Winthrop's seat, I'd still be under the boot of a powerful man."

  "So this is about you now?" Fitz snapped, her anger returning.

  "No, no," Franklin disagreed. "Please listen. I'm only saying that Tenbrook's lust for power makes me see that all of us men, women, and children in Brighton are tyrannized by the powerful, no matter who we are or what role we fill, from the dirty, hungry waifs in the orphanage all the way up to the Bishop of Brighton. I don't know how to fix that, not for certain, but I do know that it's wrong."

  "Wrong for everyone?" Fitz asked. "Even for Barren Women? Even for whores?"

  "I'm sorry. I was wrong to say anything like that," said Franklin. "If you hate me for the rest of my life for what I said, I'll understand. Right now, I'm asking for your forgiveness. You don't have to grant it to me, but please think about it. More important than what I want is what we need to do for Brighton."

  "What's that?" Fitz asked.

  "We need to stop Tenbrook. We need to stand up to him."

  "We can't, Franklin. He'll put us on a pyre."

  "I have a plan. We can build on what we started, and we can bring it to fruition."

  "Don't be a fool, Franklin. Get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

  "No," Franklin told her with much more force than he intended. "It must be done tonight. We must start now. I'm going back to the Temple sanctuary. I'm going to wake all the fathers and the novices, and I'm going to send them out into the rain to wake all of Brighton. I want everyone here before sunrise. I don't know what I'll tell them, but we'll figure something out that will touch their hearts and make them follow us to march on Tenbrook's stronghold. His soldiers can't stand before the might of the whole town."

  "We'll go to war with them?" Fitz asked.

  "It must be done," said Franklin. "We'll put him and the captains on the pyre. It's the only way to change Brighton."

  Chapter 80: Fitzgerald

  The Strong Women, that's how Fitz thought of them. Eighteen girls and women, some widows of men burned on the pyre by Tenbrook, the rest probably widows after their men had been taken on Blackthorn's folly into the Ancient City. They were the ones who'd been in her room late at night, bickering mostly over trivial things and avoiding the biggest problem of all, how to unseat Tenbrook. They discussed at length where the power in Brighton would rest if Tenbrook magically disappeared from the picture. With Evan dead and Tenbrook gone, that would leave Franklin, a weak-willed man to rule. Not one woman believed that would lead anywhere good.

  After these discussions, Fitz was frustrated, as she often was.

  They all seemed to have the same general goals, but they couldn't come to any agreement on the actions they might take to achieve those goals. The point they couldn't seem to grasp was that cooperation and compromise was the only road forward.

  Nevertheless, after Franklin had spoken through the door for all the women in the room to hear, the meeting broke up and the women left one by one, going to pitch their lot in with the clergy on Franklin's errands, to muster as many old men and women to the Temple as could be convinced to come.

  And as Fitz sat on the edge of her bed, watching them through the windows as the night sky lost its blackness, she heard the sound of thousands of hushed, anxious voices echoing from the Temple down the hall. It seemed that Franklin had done what he'd set out to do, fill the Temple in the dark of night, in a howling thunderstorm, defiantly facing down Tenbrook's threats and executions.

  Maybe Franklin was finally growing into the man that she'd always believed he was.

  Those thoughts made Fitz's heart ache, because Franklin, despite what the two of them shared, had accepted the vile words of another man at face value, despite the blatant lies. Franklin was a man in a man's kingdom. And Fitz would always be a woman, and in the back of Franklin's mind, a whore.

  As badly as Fitz wanted to go into the Temple with everyone else to see if Franklin could take the last victorious step in the plans that she'd laid, she couldn't make her feet move.

  Chapter 81: Tenbrook

  The woman stirred, jostling the mattress. Tenbrook grew angry, thinking it was her squirming and whining again.

  Why'd I let her lay with me through the night?

  It always made him feel dirty when he woke up smelling a woman, hearing one snore, or worst of all, feeling her clinging to him in that parasitic embrace they all seemed to have bred into their weak, needy souls.

  They were so necessary, but he hated them.

  And when he saw this one, sitting up on the edge of the bed, her hair matted into scabs that were just starting to crust on her back as she curled up with her knees under her chin and her shins wrapped tightly in her arms, he thought about punching her in the mouth so hard she'd learn once and for all not to whimper and wake a man trying to get his rest.

  She remained quiet. Watching him.

  Not making a sound.

  In fact, barely moving, not even shivering, though her skin was covered in goose bumps from the cold air in the room.

  Thunder rumbled through the night sky, loud and close.

  That must have been what had done the waking. It wasn't the girl's fault.<
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  With that thought dispensed, Tenbrook gave a thought to rolling the girl on her belly and taking her for another go. Why not? Morning couldn't be far away. It would make for a good beginning.

  The thunder again.

  Only it was different.

  The girl was looking toward the door.

  It was both the thunder and the door. Someone was beating on it, seemingly intent on breaking it down with a single fist.

  Tenbrook's temper erupted. He swung a foot up and brutally shoved the girl off the edge of the bed. "Go see who's at the door. Are you a fool?"

  She scrambled up from the floor, fresh blood on her knees from new scrapes, and stumbled across the room, looking from side to side for something to wear, moving more slowly with each step.

  "Hurry, girl. Do you think you're the only naked bitch anyone's ever seen? The door!"

  The girl reached the door, grasped the handle, and looked back at Tenbrook.

  Tenbrook reached for a dagger he kept on a nightstand beside the bed. "Open it, stupid girl!"

  She pulled the door open, swinging it into the room while trying to hide her nudity.

  Tenbrook sat up and leaned against the headboard, not making any effort to temper the scowl on his face.

  Captain Sinko strode through the door in his uniform, sword hanging menacingly in its scabbard. He gave the naked, bruised girl a glance as he passed by before turning his attention to Tenbrook. "General."

  "What is it, Captain?"

  "The Bishop. He's assembling the townsfolk in the Temple."

  "Is he?" Tenbrook grinned. He turned his attention to the girl. "Get out of here."

  The girl stepped away from the door, moving toward a garment laying on the floor across the room.

  "Go now!" Tenbrook bellowed.

  The girl ran through the open door and down the hall.

  Captain Sinko turned to watch her run. "A pretty one."

  "They're all pretty," said Tenbrook as he got out of bed, anxious now to start his day with some bloodshed. That was better than toying with a skittish, used-up blonde. "How many has Franklin mustered?"

  "I had a man check," said Sinko. "The guess is a thousand, but he said all the pews in the Temple were filled and more people were standing where they could find a space."

  "A thousand was the guess?" Tenbrook started to dress. "The Temple holds nearly three thousand. So there must be more than that." Tenbrook knew few of his men had their numbers. To them, a thousand was the largest quantity imaginable. "With the rain coming down as it is. That is impressive. Perhaps I've underestimated our Bishop friend."

  Sinko neither agreed nor disagreed. "More are in the street. All going to the Temple."

  "Many more?"

  "By my guess, they'll double inside the hour."

  "They'll be standing on top of one another," Tenbrook laughed. He reached for his sword and slid it out of the scabbard, taking a moment to admire the blade. "Muster the men."

  "I anticipated your wishes," said Captain Sinko.

  Tenbrook froze, thought about rebuking Sinko, and then chose not to. He didn't want any of his officers acting on their own without his authority. He made a mental note to punish Sinko later. "Assemble the men in the street beside the house. Have both squadrons of cavalry mount their horses. Bring my horse, as well. Send word up to me as soon as they're ready."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Keep an eye out for spies. If any woman or man sees the soldiers in the street, have that man or woman killed. I'd like our visit to Franklin's gathering to be a surprise."

  Chapter 82: Fitzgerald

  The door flew open. Fitz's friend Ginger, one of the few girls she'd liked from The House of Barren Women, stood there, urgency on her face. "Do you hear it?"

  Fitz nodded.

  "People are standing outside in the storm. Thousands of them."

  Fitz had no concrete idea of how many "thousands" were, except that they were a lot, a whole lot. In fact, she knew that Ginger didn't know what "thousands" were, either.

  "You can hear them." Ginger pointed into the hall. "I've never seen the Temple so full. Women and their children. Even the old men came."

  Fitz knew. She'd heard the sound of the growing crowd. People started coming in not long after Franklin had left, and they'd kept coming all through the night. There was an excitement in the muffled sounds of their voices. It was that intangible spirit that Franklin had tapped into the first time he'd spoken in the Temple. And each time he spoke, each time people heard him, they seemed more energized and anxious.

  They loved Franklin.

  He was special enough to draw thousands of them out of their beds in the middle of the night to walk the cold streets through a driving rain, rattled by thunder and startled by lightning. Franklin had tapped into a revulsion for Brighton's bureaucracy that grew a little in each person every time they'd watched one of their own burn on the pyre, each time Blackthorn's hawk eyes spied them from up on the dais, or as Winthrop's gelatinous girth flowed under his robes while their kids went without their meals. And now, to have a new generation of tyrant in Tenbrook…

  A lot of hate lay repressed in the souls of the people of Brighton.

  "You should come out," said Ginger. "It's still dark, but the sun is just coming up behind the clouds. The storm is breaking. He's going to speak soon."

  Fitz looked at one of the windows. In the dull gray, the heavy rain was turning to a sprinkle. She looked at the fire in the hearth, then looked at the floor.

  "Come out," said Ginger. "I know you're…" She couldn't find the next word.

  "Ashamed?" said Fitz.

  "You have nothing to be ashamed of."

  Fitz nodded, but she truly felt it. Ever since Franklin had come begging at her door and she'd forced him to stay out in the hall as she ground his humiliation into the wounds both their hard words had left, she'd felt a growing shame. She'd been mean. She'd been petty. She'd been showing off in front of the Strong Women.

  But he deserved it. That and so much more.

  "I'm afraid for Franklin," said Fitz.

  "No." Ginger smiled with pleading eyes. "You have to come out and see. Franklin knows what he's doing. You have to see the people. There are so many of them. Tenbrook can't do anything to Franklin now. Not to any of us, anymore."

  "Do you believe that?" Fitz asked. "Truly?"

  "I do."

  "Why?" Fitz asked.

  Ginger seemed hurt by the question, but she said, "Because I've heard him. All of us have. He hasn't come right out and said it, but he tells us in words we all understand, what The Word truly says about how we should live. Everybody knows that Father Winthrop was a liar. Everybody knows General Blackthorn's tyranny wasn't blessed by The Word. Few of us can read or write, but we aren't stupid people. You've said that to us yourself, right here in this room. You've told us what Franklin's words mean. Now, he's going to tell us himself. The rumor from the novices is that he's going to call for a change. When the sun breaks through the clouds this morning, Brighton will be a new city."

  It was exactly what Fitz wanted, exactly what she hoped Franklin would one day say to The People.

  Ginger crossed the room and took Fitz's hands in hers, pulling her up to stand. "Come. You'll hate yourself if you don't come out to listen."

  Ginger led Fitz to the door and together they walked down the corridor.

  Chapter 83: Franklin

  "It's almost dawn," said Novice Joseph.

  Franklin looked up from where he sat on his old bed, staring across the room at Oliver's bed, not giving a thought about what he was going to say—he knew that. It was a speech that needed no preparation. It was an epiphany that needed to be voiced. He only needed to follow his heart, and through his words, show his path to The People. It was time for Brighton to become a better place.

  If only I knew where Oliver was.

  Franklin feared that Oliver had died. They'd heard nothing from Blackthorn's expedition in days and days. The last wor
d said they'd made it through the pass and had found a safe place on a hill to camp in view of the Ancient City. But every night the demons came in greater numbers to kill them. Everyone in town feared that the demons had done just that, and a despicable rumor was quickly becoming an unassailable truth: the council had betrayed the militia and sent them to their deaths.

  Friends. Neighbors. Husbands. All dead.

  "Father Franklin," Novice Joseph persisted, "the dawn. It's here. The People await."

  Franklin stood up. It was time. If only Fitz had come to kiss him and wish him luck. It would have been nice, but it wasn't necessary. The hour had come for Franklin to stand as a man on his own two feet. He would not spend the rest of his life being tyrannized by the Tenbrooks of the world. He'd show Fitz that he was a man that she could love.

  Franklin looked at Novice Joseph and smiled placidly. "Let's go."

  Novice Joseph rushed a smile in return and hurried over to open the door.

  As Franklin walked into the long hall, he saw all of the clergymen and all of the novices lined up from his door all the way down, all soaked from running through the streets in the pouring rain, carrying Franklin's message.

  They looked on proudly as he passed.

  He'd talked with them earlier in the night when he'd told them what to do, and he'd told them why. It was time that The Word ruled the townships—not Father Winthrop's venal version of it, but the true Word, that made all men brothers and all women sisters, The Word that didn't burn children, that didn't starve the orphans, and didn't force women to be the slaves of men, The Word that didn't make one man the servant of another, or make all men the servants of a vicious few.

  This was the morning.

  This was the day.

  Franklin reached the end of the hall and the Sanctuary erupted in a cheer louder than the thunder of the night before. He turned and took the stairs up to the stage, empty except a simple lectern in the middle. The fathers and novices filed past to take up the empty seats on the first row of pews that had been held for them.