Oath Keeper

by Jefferson Smith

  “What have we gotten ourselves into?” Sue asked, once the big doors to the building had closed and the train of guests had stopped arriving.

  “I don’t know,” he replied.

  Just then, a limousine came around the corner and slowed as it approached the orphanage. The two of them watched as the rear window slid smoothly down. They could see the steam of breath puffing through the open window as whoever it was took a long look at the closed orphanage doors. A moment later, the window slid back up again, and the car pulled away. Nobody got out. Apparently, once they had closed, you did not go thumping on the doors and yelling for late admittance.

  “I wonder who that was,” Sue said.

  “I got the plate,” he said, hastily jotting down the numbers on a small pad of paper, “but it was a rental. I might be able to get something from the dispatcher later, but they’re pretty protective, and I haven’t got any official standing.”

  “And you can’t ask for any either,” Sue said, nodding toward the police car that the Chief and his friends had arrived in.

  “Right. But none of this makes any sense,” he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “I mean, these are some of the most influential and politically connected people in the city. The kind of people who only got where they are by having excellent scandal radar and an itchy trigger finger on the ‘run away’ button. Not one of them should be stupid enough to be here. In a building full of nuns and underage children? After dark and on the wrong side of town? It just doesn’t add up. Hell, the photos you took alone would be enough to topple the entire city infrastructure.”

  “So why did they come?”

  “I have no idea,” he said, shaking his head.

  “You mean you don’t remember.”

  DelRoy sagged. “Right. I don’t remember.”

  And somehow, that made it worse.

  * * *

  The next day, after a sleepless night worrying about all the powerful people who seemed to stand between her and her daughter, Sue returned to the scene of the crime. Most things look better by day. Happier. Less threatening. But to her eye, the Old Shoe hadn’t lost even a shade of its midnight evil. If anything, it was even worse now, standing there in the crisp morning sunlight with all its callous indifference on display, blind to the plight of the children it was supposed to be sheltering.

  Sue strolled confidently down the alley beside the old brick building, and plucked the folded scrap of paper out from between the bricks next to the rear door. This new drop location that the girls had suggested was more secure, but it made Sue a little less comfortable. Scuttling around behind the dumpster made her feel more like a criminal than a mother searching for her lost child, but the girls had insisted on finding a better place. There had already been one mishap, with one of Sue’s notes being picked up by another girl, but the next time they might not be so lucky. The window drop was just too risky.

  She pushed the note down into her pocket and turned to head back to her car, but a dark figure stepped into her path from the shadows. Sue let go of the slip of paper and made a fist around her car keys, ready to fend him off if he attacked. But for the moment, he just stood there, peering at her. His hands came up, almost distractedly, rather than threatening.

  “Don’t come any closer,” Sue said, trying to sound more confident and dangerous than she felt.

  The man’s hands patted at the air, his fingers dancing around her as though they bounced along a surface that only he could sense. Sue had to suppress a smile as she took in his wardrobe. Hip waders that had been intended for a much fatter man covered him from toe-tips to arm-pits, and a dusty pink trench coat was tucked haphazardly into the waders. On his head he wore a baseball cap to hold his wild, stringy hair at bay. It wasn’t until he turned to follow his finger-dance off to Sue’s left that she saw the hat’s yellow bill and googly eyes. She coughed suddenly, in an attempt to hide her laughter.

  “Ah, hello. Am I in your way?” Sue stepped aside, hoping that his private pat-a-cake game somehow didn’t involve her. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. Maybe she was standing in the middle of his invisible sculpting studio or something. But as she moved, he moved with her.

  “Well, I don’t want to be rude, but you’re blocking my way.” Sue had always tried her best to be civil and respectful to the homeless. She couldn’t begin to imagine what nightmares of perception this poor man lived in, but she wanted to get back to the car and read the note from her young cohorts. She took a step forward, showing him that she intended to move along now, and he brought up a hand abruptly, signaling for her to stop.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have ti-” His other hand had fumbled briefly in a pocket of the trench coat, but he brought it out now, clutching something between his fingers, which he thrust out, obviously intending for Sue to take it. Another note.

  Sue took it from him warily, keeping one eye fixed on him as she reached out. She had to fight hard to not grab it and snatch her hand away, as if he was filthy or radioactive. Instead, she took the piece of paper calmly and said, “Thank you.” Then she put his note in her pocket and moved again to step past him. But he plucked at her hand, almost politely, so she turned and looked at him. His eyes bored into her with intensity and he pointed at the pocket she had pushed the note into.

  “Yes,” she promised. “I will read it. But not here. I have… somewhere I need to go right now. But later. Yes.” That seemed to satisfy the poor man and he stepped aside, allowing Sue to continue on her way. When she reached the sidewalk, she turned and looked back, but he was no longer there. Poor, poor man, she thought. I wonder what he sees.

  When the finicky engine finally started and her seatbelt was secure, Sue reached curiously into her pocket and drew out both notes. “I feel so James Bond,” she said to herself, raising her voice over the blowing of the car’s heater, as though there might be somebody listening.

  Hobo first, she decided, and she unfolded his note. Her first thought was that the hand was surprisingly crisp. She had expected some cramped and palsied rambling, but this looked almost like laser printing, though clearly it had been hand-written. “It’s like he was trying to mimic Times New Ro-” Then the words registered.

  And Sue began to scream.

  Chapter 22

  To Elicand’s relief, the fall did not kill him. In fact, it wasn’t even a fall at all. Not really. More of a terrifying, death defying slide. After a short drop from the Lip, ridges began to rise on either side of him, keeping Elicand channeled between them as the cliff face arced out away from vertical, pressing against him, and eventually, under him. He had no idea how far he slid, nor how fast, but a year or two after he’d tumbled off the edge—at the very most—the slideway had carried him as far as it would and he’d come to a rest some vast, unknowable distance from where he had started. Or maybe only a few strides distant. It was impossible to say. He’d been too busy screaming.

  (fun play tumble fall statement) (confirmation query)

  “Piles of fun statement,” Elicand replied, standing slowly and rubbing at his backside. That part of him had received the worst of the scrapes, during the parts of his journey that had actually included contact with the rock, although those had been fewer than one might imagine. With every bump or rise along the route, Elicand had been tossed abruptly into the air, certain that he had come free from the track at last and was now being flung aside to his certain doom.

  “Where are we now, question?”

  (sadness family mother group live place statement)

  Elicand wasn’t sure he’d caught the gist of that one. “This is where your mother lives question?”

  (correction mother family group live place time-past statement)

  “And where are they now question?” A sense of dread bloomed in Elicand’s belly. He was afraid he knew the answer to this already.

  (big-nose-people steal people-mine time-past statement)

  The Gnomes. Great. Why would Gnomes want to take these gentle peo
ple hostage? What use could he—

  “Wait a minute,” Elicand said, out loud. “How is it that you can do empathinking? Where did you learn to do it?”

  (talk-teach time-past lesson-mine mother-give statement)

  “But how does she know? Where did she learn to do it?”

  (mother-mine friend-yours statement) (memory-share (DANGER DANGER FLEE SELF-THOU TIME-PRESENT-NOW)) (sadness-mine-ours)

  Elicand recognized the shared memory right away. It had been playing over and over in the back of his mind ever since he’d first heard it. From Calaida. Just before she and her people had suddenly— And then, like a brilliant light had shone down, illuminating everything, Elicand realized what had happened. When he had gotten himself trapped in the Scary Tunnel of Wind… Shondu hadn’t wandered off and left him to die. He’d gone for help—gone to the one person every child runs to when they’re scared. He’d run to get his mother. Empathinkers were adult Brownies and Calaida was Shondu’s mom!

  “Oh, what have I done?” Elicand groaned. He stumbled then, banging his shoulder against a rocky cave wall and then leaned against it, sinking slowly to his haunches in despair. “And ow!” he added, rubbing at his latest bruise. “Are all stories this painful question?”

  The darkness did not reply.

  * * *

  They had been wandering about blind and in the roaring silence for days. No matter where they went, they never seemed to get far enough from the cascading river to diminishing its ravenous appetite for sound. The only time Elicand had heard any sound at all had been the few times he had banged his head on low rocks, or the one time he had fallen painfully, striking his knee on a raised ridge of stone. And while these occasional reminders that he was not in fact deaf were reassuring, he decided he would rather live without them, if that could be arranged. Hearing the sound, “Clunk!” conducted to his ears by way of his skeleton was just not worth the bruises.

  Their explorations however, were much more productive than they had been in Ouchyville, because here they could communicate more clearly. According to Shondu, they could only “think-talk” in the caverns that were filled with “river-breath.” It was apparently something about the dampness of the air that permitted this unusual way of talking. But even though empathinking was better for conveying emotions than conversations, Elicand preferred it greatly over the “fun play, eat now” style of chatter that had been the extent of their conversations on the surface, before this adventure had begun.

  The biggest problem confronting them was that Shondu did not know his way around the caves. Apparently, young Brownies were educated by sending them out into the world to roam free and have fun, learning about the peoples of the world and exploring whatever places, things or ideas captured their interest. Brownies considered themselves the only well-educated people in the entire Forest, and indeed, Shondu’s knowledge of the Wasketchin, the Djin and the Gnomes did seem quite extensive. Especially his knowledge of their curse-words.

  But that education came at a price. Until they reached maturity, Brownies returned to River-Home rarely, and even then their visits were brief. Shondu knew next to nothing of the politics or daily life of his Brownie elders, so he could not explain anything about the relationship between his mother’s people and the Horde. And he knew absolutely nothing of the local geography, so he was as lost down here as Elicand himself was.

  When young Brownies visited home, they did so in the same way that Shondu and Elicand had arrived—by doing what Shondu called “pocket-turning”—a phrase that conveyed a sense to Elicand in empathink of something like both “door-opening” and “door-closing.” As best he could tell, it meant both, and this was their problem. Before Shondu could open the door again to the outside world, he must first close the door he had opened when he’d brought Elicand here, by taking him back out again. But he was powerless to do so without the pikabu bag that Elicand had lost. It was hard to know exactly what the problem was, given the oddness of this emotion-based communication, but clearly, if Elicand wanted out of the caves, they either had to find the bag, or find their own way out.

  So that’s what they were doing now. Exploring the caverns and tunnels of the Brownie territory, trying to find their way to the surface. It wasn’t entirely hopeless however, because Shondu at least could see down here. He’d been able to see in Ouchyville too, of course. Elicand had worked that out for himself at the time. But Shondu had been different then. More frivolous. Caught up in a joke that only he had found funny. When they talked about it now, Elicand was surprised to sense that Shondu seemed genuinely embarrassed by how immature he had been. Apparently, his little friend had done some growing up recently. Maybe hearing the screams of your mother being dragged away by invaders had that kind of effect.

  Since Shondu could see though, and since they were now actually cooperating in their mutual exile, things were going much more smoothly. Elicand did not have to crawl about on hands and knees, making little cairns of stone to orient himself by. He simply stuck out his hand and Shondu took it, to lead him through the tunnels, avoiding the most dangerous places. Consequently, their progress was much faster than it had been before. And safer too.

  They were sitting on a comfortable stoop of rock, sharing a bitter helping of the papery-tasting moss that Shondu assured him was safe to eat, when Elicand caught wind of something strange. Literally. He had been in sensory isolation for so long that at first he couldn’t even name the sense that had disturbed him. Oh yes. Smell. For the first time in week-long days, his nose brought him a hint of something that was neither damp air nor rock dust. It was a high-pitched odor. Sweetish, but somehow oily too. And it left an unpleasant tang on the back of his tongue. It was unlike anything Elicand had ever put nose to before.

  “What is that smell question?”

  (ignorance unpleasantness dislike statement)

  “Can you at least tell where it’s coming from question?”

  (uncertainty statement) (everywhere statement) (avoid suggestion)

  “Well, if you don’t know where it is condition, and you can’t even tell what direction it’s coming from condition, how do you propose we avoid it question?”

  (nose-close eyes-close run-away suggestion) (laughter question)

  “Did you just make a joke question?” Elicand asked. “In empathink? I didn’t even think that was possible statement.”

  (laughter-thought time-always possibility statement)

  “Trust a Brownie to say that,” Elicand replied. “But it’s the first thing we’ve smelled down here in forever statement, and it might be coming from outside suggestion, so I think we should try to find it decision.”

  After arguing about it for several more minutes, Elicand finally convinced his tiny guide to continue leading in the direction they had been going. Since the source of the smell was not clear, there was no more specific direction to choose, and the only wrong way would be back the way they had come. Finally, Shondu took him by the hand and began to pull him forward again, but not quickly.

  (tongue-sticking-out statement)

  “Be that way if you want to suggestion,” Elicand said, “But thank you for helping gratitude statement, just the same.”

  They continued like that for some time, moving forward through the caves. For a time, Elicand wondered if they had lost the trail. The smell had receded and even the incessant din of the river seemed somehow less oppressive, but Shondu assured him that there had been no branches or side trails that they might have missed, so they pressed on. While the sound and smell had diminished, the air seemed to be getting wetter and Elicand wondered if perhaps the smell and the dampness flowed differently in the air, refusing to mix—perhaps the odor had risen higher above their heads and was forcing the watery parts of the air down lower, or some such explanation? But then they rounded a bend and were suddenly overwhelmed as everything came crashing together—the smell, the dampness and the noise—all of it. The tang of the smell suddenly felt thick enough to lick—like a g
el forcing its way into his nose and throat, while droplets of spray spattered across his face.

  Elicand spat and coughed, trying to clear the sickly mist from his mouth and lungs, but a new breath followed every cough and just pulled more of the stuff back in. His sightless eyes burned in its stinging presence and he lurched away, losing track of Shondu’s hand and stumbling about, gagging. Something smooth and cold banged against his leg and he fell, reaching out with his hands, but his fall was broken by more of the smooth hardness, which somehow, writhed beneath his weight, skittering away to either side, and left him to drop face-first onto the cave floor. His hands and cheek struck hard against the gritty stone, but there was a squelch too, as though he had landed partly in the thick muck of a river bank.

  ((water-hole rushing-speed place-here caution statement) intensify)

  Gagging and retching, Elicand scrambled to his feet and backpedaled, trying desperately to get away from whatever creature had tripped him, before it could attack.

  (negation creature place-here statement)

  “Are you sure?” Elicand wheezed. “It felt like a snake. A giant snake.”