The Wasteland Soldier, Book 3, Drums Of War (TWS)

by Moore, Laurence

  “Shauna?”

  She invited him inside and apologised for the mess. She had begun packing a few items, half-heartedly, but she’d already given up. The thought of leaving was making her stomach heave. He stood at the hearth, the embers cold. It was already a warm morning but this side of the house was perpetually in the shade and the deacon appeared to notice the sudden drop in temperature.

  “I would have talked with Father William but I’m not sure he can help me.”

  “He’s terribly hard of hearing, Shauna. A conversation with him can leave you with a very sore throat.”

  She smiled faintly, relaxed a little.

  “You’ve gone very pale, Shauna.” He paused. “Are you ill?”

  “No. I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “I don’t feel ill.”

  “Would you like to sit down?” It wasn’t a question. He guided her toward Brian’s chair.

  She sat. He positioned a second chair before her. She looked at him, struggling to form the words she desperately needed to say. She had rehearsed this moment a hundred times over. Not always with the deacon. Sometimes she would be talking with Father Devon or Father William or even the brutish Captain Duggan but she imagined it would be easier to open up to Deacon Rush. He was only a few years older than her husband. She caught her breath when she realised she was staring at him, somewhat fondly. She had never really noticed his eyes before. They were charming eyes, gentle, with warmth and deep concern for her wellbeing. She realised she knew so little about him. He had always been a part of the Holy House, taught the ways of faith since childhood. That was all she knew. That was all anyone really knew. She glanced at the cross hanging around his neck, settled in the folds of his black robes. He seemed to have nothing beyond the Holy House; no family, no real friends, no woman, no interests apart from learning the wisdom of the Lord.

  Once more she attempted to coax the words forward.

  “Is it your husband, Shauna? Do you miss him?”

  “No, it’s not that.” Her voice was croaky. She cleared it. “Excuse me. I mean, yes, I miss him. I don’t like it when he goes to Touron.”

  “Do you not like Touron?”

  “No. I hear too many stories of trouble and fights and I hate it when he has to go there.”

  “I’m sure our Lord will keep him safe and return him to you soon.”

  He waited.

  “What’s troubling you, Shauna?”

  “Why do you think the Lord stops me from having a child?”

  Rush opened and closed his hands. He was silent for a moment.

  “I cannot begin to understand the pain you go through, Shauna.”

  “I look at the other women in the village and their lives are so complete. Lyndarn has six children. Why would the Lord give her six children and give me none? Does He hate me?”

  “He does not hate you. But the Lord has chosen a different path for you.”

  “It doesn’t feel much of a path, Deacon Rush.”

  “I can understand that it might seem that way now. However, I am certain you will find your reward.”

  She shook her head.

  “The only reward I want is a child. I’m less of a woman. I’m incomplete.”

  “You are a complete woman, Shauna.” Their eyes met. “You are simply travelling a different path to a woman such as Lyndarn.”

  She folded her arms.

  “There are hardly any childless women in Brix.”

  “There are childless women throughout our land, Shauna.”

  He pressed the cross between the palms of his hands.

  “I will say extra prayers for you, Shauna.”

  At that moment she wanted to cry. She would regret his death when the time came. She would mourn him. She would mourn the loss of Father William, too. His poor hearing made any conversation a laboured affair of hand gestures and bellowing but he was a gentle, kind hearted and thoughtful old soul who saw the lies within the truth and the truth within the lies. He had served as a soldier in the Marshal Regiment, during his younger days, but had taken his vows within the Holy House long before the outbreak of war with the Kiven, the bleak years when they swarmed from the Black Region across the Place of Bridges, slaughtering Ennpithians, stealing food and clothing and cattle. She had been a child then and Ennpithia had teetered on the brink. But now there was peace and there had been peace for ten long years.

  “Do you remember the war, Deacon Rush?”

  He nodded. “It was a dark time for Ennpithia.”

  “But do you remember it? What it was like to live through? How we all turned to the Holy House and prayed and then the war went away?”

  “I do.”

  “I have knelt for years praying for a child but my prayers are ignored. I think I’ve been abandoned.”

  “Your reward is coming, Shauna. All you need is patience.” He paused. “There is something else, isn’t there?”

  She took a deep breath. She had to tell him. She had to tell someone.

  “Deacon, my husband is mixed up in something very bad and he’s planning … people are going to die.”

  He nodded, leaned forward and curled his hands around her thighs.

  Shauna flinched. “What are you doing?”

  He tightened his grip.

  “Let go, let go of me.”

  “Your husband was a fool to trust you. I told him you were weak.”

  He loosened his hands and eased back from her, lifted the cross over his neck, and cradled it within his palm.

  “Pog se,” he said.

  “What?” she stammered.

  “Pog se. Pog se.”

  “I don’t … what are you saying?”

  “It means kiss it.”

  “Is that … Shaylighter? Do you speak Shaylighter?”

  “Kiss the cross, Shauna.”

  Nervously, she leaned forward, lips pursed, but he snatched her by the hair and dragged her out of the chair, spinning her across the room and slamming her into the wall.

  “The cross is no longer your master, Shauna. You no longer worship it. You do not kneel before it.”

  She was on the floor, whimpering. He towered over her and kicked her.

  “Do you understand?”

  She gasped for air.

  “I understand.”

  He yanked her onto her feet. Tears streamed down her face.

  “Are you going to be problem for us?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Please don’t hurt me.”

  He tugged her hair. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. I’m sure.”

  “Do you promise?”

  She sobbed. “I promise.”

  “I’m very pleased to hear that.”

  He clasped her chin, studied her bruised face.

  “Hmm, that’s unfortunate. You will tell Brian you fell.”

  She nodded.

  “You will tell him you fell, Shauna.”

  She winced as his fingers pressed into her skin.

  “I fell. I’m clumsy.”

  “When Brian returns from Touron he will light the beacon to mark the first day of the Summer Blessings.”

  He delicately brushed hair from her eyes.

  “And then the world will change, Shauna. And you and Brian will have your reward.”

  He let her go.

  “Now, is there anything else you wish to talk about?”

  TEN

  It had been a noisy day in the blazing sun with very little for them to do but watch the crowds spend a large amount of coin on food, drink and a selection of items which Nuria described as junk, though she spotted something that brought a smile to her face and made a small purchase of her own, hastily tucking it into her pocket before Stone grew curious.

  Boyd had assembled trestle tables outside Earl Hardigan’s property before dawn, on a long bank of grass where other stallholders had gathered. They helped him carry his wares from the truck but no matter where Stone or Nuria plac
ed something he was behind them, shuttling them out of the way and rearranging it. As the sun broke across the horizon the village surged into life. In the blink of an eye, or so it seemed, hundreds of local people descended upon the green and throughout the day hundreds more arrived by horse or wagon. They witnessed the passing of many coins and began to understand the strange economy that underpinned this land and how it appeared to stop a man killing another for the goods he possessed.

  “Boyd was right about coins,” said Nuria. “It’s all good natured. Look how they haggle and shake once a price is agreed. Everyone’s smiling.”

  “There are markets in Gallen,” said Stone, a little defensively.

  Nuria nodded.

  “But no one is getting their throat slit for what they have. It works here.”

  He had no argument with that although it was not all harmonious. There were a few drunken grabs at bulging money bags and a handful of disagreements but nothing that paid guards or Churchmen soldiers could not deal with.

  Early in the afternoon, stomachs rumbling, Nuria sent Stone to purchase food. He threaded through the crowds onto a common ringed by open tents and stalls with awnings. The green was in the shadow of a Holy House and swarmed with people. The air was sticky and thickened with the smell of cooking and sweat and animal shit. There were more children here, engaged with a selection of games, variations of the same thing; pitching rotten fruit or wooden balls from a distance into a wicker basket or at a row of small objects balanced on wooden stakes or through a hole carved into a gaudily painted piece of cloth nailed taut across a wooden frame. But the games were busy and the children squealed and clapped and once again he witnessed scores of metal coins passing hands. It didn’t appear to matter that hardly anyone won and he wasn’t sure what the prizes were supposed to be if they did.

  He followed his nose to a stall cooking strips of meat over a smoky fire. The cook had bright eyes, a bushy ginger beard and whistled a tune through fat red lips. Stone left with his coin bag lighter and was about to return to Nuria when he spotted another green where men and women grunted loudly beneath the cloudless sky, indulging in arm wrestling and tug and dragging logs. He looked on, far more interested. The wrapped meat was hot and greasy in his hands. He decided to move on and passed a five piece band performing beneath a striped awning; pipes and tub drums and stringed instruments.

  A small audience jigged and clapped and dropped coins into a bowl.

  He spotted her, by herself, head bobbing from side to side, fingers hooked in the waistband of her trousers.

  She turned, suddenly, brown hair tumbling onto her forehead. Her cheek was red from where her mother had clattered her.

  “I looked for you all night.”

  He frowned, then remembered Kevane’s joke, and nodded with a grim smile.

  “I’m no monster.”

  “I know that.”

  She paused.

  “Is this the first time you’ve been to Great Onglee?”

  He ignored her question. “Why do you keep trying to run away?”

  It was there in her eyes, for a moment, a tiny child playing hide and seek, peeking around the doorway, just to look, just to check, and then the child was gone, masked by the smirk.

  It was her turn to ignore a question. “Do you like the music?”

  He shrugged.

  “You don’t know anything about music, do you?”

  “Not really.”

  “They’re called Dream State.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why are they called that?”

  “It’s the name of the band.”

  He nodded, juggled the hot food.

  “Where are you from?” she asked.

  “Gallen.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “It’s a long way from here.”

  “Is that where you got that scar?”

  “That’s right.”

  She lazily kicked at the ground. “What happened?”

  “A man took a whip to me.”

  “Why?”

  “He was weak.”

  She flicked her head. “Did you kill him?”

  “Do you have scars?”

  She blinked at him. He saw the child peek from the darkness, linger and then disappear.

  “No.”

  “Scars that only you can see?”

  “No.”

  “Scars that you can’t tell anyone about?”

  Kaya glanced at the hundreds of people milling around; talking, drinking, eating, lives without fear, without regret, lives with certainly, with hope, bright and brighter still, unstained by patches of black and brown that soaked through and became impossible to wash out. She was floating amongst them, out of control, trapped in a bubble, helpless, screaming to break free. They looked but couldn’t see her; she cried out but they couldn’t hear her. Her heart beat fast and she took deep breaths. Her lips drew thin. Her eyes emptied of mischief. She balled her fists, stretching the skin white and dug her nails into her palms. It was the first thing she thought of, it was the last thing she thought of. It was all she was, it was all she would ever be.

  Stone saw the distress and placed his hand on her shoulder but she flinched and snarled at him.

  “I don’t want to see you under my bed. Or anywhere.” She fled into the bustling crowds.

  He watched the untidy mop of brown hair vanish from sight and glanced across the village toward the Earl’s estate, where Nuria paced beside Boyd’s stall, crossbow over her shoulder.

  They ate in the shade of a tall tree. He picked listlessly at the meat.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “This has no taste.”

  Nuria chewed.

  “It’s not halk. But it’s not that bad.”

  Stone said nothing.

  “We haven’t seen any halk since coming here. They have a lot of different animals. And different names for animals we know.”

  He plucked apples from the tree and tossed one to her. Slowly he recounted his conversation with Kaya.

  “Do you think her parents are abusing her?”

  “Possibly,” said Stone. “Her mother clouted her good last night when you were in the truck.”

  “You don’t seem convinced.”

  “Someone is scaring her. I’m not certain it’s them.”

  Nuria bit into her apple, chewed slowly. “I’ll keep watch for her tonight. She might talk to me. Have you told Boyd you’re going?”

  “No.”

  “He won’t like it.”

  “His problem. Not mine.”

  “I don’t want you to go and that’s your problem.”

  He shook his head.

  “No, it’s yours.”

  She had no words for him through the afternoon. She thought of the purchase she’d made and wondered whether to throw it away. Then she forgot all about it and chased off a few thieves. As dusk settled the merchants began to pack away. The music still played and the food still cooked but the children’s games had closed and only adults remained and now the drink flowed in abundance. Stone sought out Boyd. The portly man was concealing a chest of coins inside the truck.

  “I’ll be back before dawn. It’s only a two hour ride from here. She’s your friend. I thought you’d be pleased.”

  Boyd fumed.

  “The city will kill you. Do you not get it? Quinn has a way of surviving. You don’t, Stone. You’ll die in Mosscar. Now, I’m paying you to protect my truck. Not take the bloody night off. Keep your nose out of it.”

  “Then don’t pay me. It shouldn’t matter after tonight, should it?”

  “You can’t survive in Ennpithia without coins. This isn’t Gallen. I keep trying to tell you.”

  “What do you know about Gallen?”

  “I was born there – remember? - and I know it wishes it could be half as civilised as Ennpithia is.”

  Stone narrowed his eyes.

  “Nuria is more than capable of protecting yo
u and your cargo.”

  “I don’t have a choice,” said Boyd. “Do I?”

  “For once, no.”

  Stone found her behind the stables. She had set up targets and was practising with the rapid fire crossbow.

  “What if you’re wrong?” she said.

  “I’m not.”

  She fired. The bolt thudded into the target. She cranked the lever, bit her lip.

  “You’ve been wrong before.”

  “Not this time.”

  She pulled the trigger, cranked; another bolt dropped from the magazine and she fired again.

  “It’s a good weapon,” he said.

  She didn’t reply and went for speed, counting down as she fired and cranked, fired and cranked, rapidly exhausting the magazine.

  The crossbow clicked empty.

  “I’ll be back before dawn.”

  “If you’re wrong you won’t ever come back.” She shook her head. “You selfish bastard.”

  Stone said nothing more as he took one of the horses and rode away into the deepening dusk. Nuria watched him disappear and her stomach twisted bleak and empty. She heard Kevane and Maurice arrive at the Earl’s property to replace the two men who were on duty through the day.

  “Where’s Stone going?” asked Maurice.

  “Off to watch the dancing girls in the tavern,” said Kevane. “Racking up his tally of sins.”

  “Quinn would never leave Boyd’s truck.”

  “I’m still here,” said Nuria, slinging the crossbow over her shoulder. “I can manage, thank you.”

  “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Will you shut up, Maurice?” said Kevane, elbowing his companion. “You really know how to charm a woman, don’t you?”

  “Last night he was asking about Mosscar,” said Maurice. “Is he going there?”

  “He’s going there,” she said.

  Maurice crossed himself. Kevane studied his boots and scratched his head.