by Bobby Adair
I'm getting through to them. This is working.
He looked over at Fitz, who was standing next to him. Novice Joseph and several other clergymen were at her side, heads bowed. They shuffled nervously from one foot to the other, not yet used to the cold or the idea of preaching outside the Sanctuary.
This was new for all of them.
"Our toil is what brings us together," Franklin continued. "We should not only share the triumphs, but the difficult times, as well. We work together so that we might rejoice together."
"So sayeth The Word," one of the women said over the wind.
The farmers seemed to work harder as they listened to Franklin's words. He felt a swell of pride. If Winthrop had been here, he would've scoffed at standing next to the pig chasers and dirt scratchers. But standing in the field, Franklin felt a sense of unity with these women, old men, and children that he hadn't found in the Sanctuary. Maybe I'm not so different from the people in Brighton, after all. He continued his sermon as the sun sank lower in the sky. When it was dark enough that he could barely read, he concluded with a passage from his reference books.
"And Lady looked over the laborers and the children, who were tired after a long day of harvesting, and said, 'One day you will look on your children, and your children's children, and you will realize the miracle of what we've built. The soil will grow richer with each year of crops. The sustenance we reap today will feed all of us for years to come. We will rejoice in what we have built: a town made of a piece of each of us. A town called Brighton." Satisfied, Franklin lowered his notes and finished his sermon. He watched as a few of the people broke from their work.
"Can we approach, Father?" asked a heavyset woman, with tanned skin and a red face.
"Yes, please do," Franklin said.
"We appreciate you coming out here, Father Franklin," said the woman. "We were disappointed that we couldn't attend the sermon earlier. But the soldiers…" the woman waved her hands and her voice trailed off.
"I understand."
An old man with white hair sidled up next to her. "It was nice to have some faith to do our work with," he added, with a smile that seemed genuine.
Franklin smiled back and waved at the children, who were skipping away over the field, rounding up baskets and tools, waiting for their relatives. Several other farmers—probably aunts, cousins, and grandparents—were herding them back to the house.
The heavyset woman gestured to another field next door. "Tomorrow you can speak to Henrietta and her clan, if you want. I'm sure they'll appreciate it, just as we have."
"That sounds like a great idea," Franklin said. "May The Word be with you."
"And with you, Father."
The woman and the old man bade him farewell as Franklin started back up the road with Fitz, Joseph, and his clergymen in tow. Looking over at his companions, he saw a purpose in their stride that he'd never seen in the halls of the Sanctuary.
Chapter 31: Ella
Ella clung to William as they headed back to the ancient building where they were staying. She watched Ivory, but he didn't give any clue that anything was wrong.
Maybe he didn't see it, Ella told herself.
But she knew that wasn't true.
Try as she might, she couldn't convince herself that Ivory hadn't uncovered William's secret. Ivory smiled and chatted with Bray and Melora, as if he hadn't seen anything alarming. He wasn't acting any differently. But why would he?
Why would he do anything that gave him away?
She recalled the moment his expression had changed. That was the moment she'd seen her son dying under someone's fearful blade or bow.
She knew William was sick. She knew what the spores would lead to. But that decision was hers to make.
Not Ivory's. Not Brighton's.
Hers.
What if Ivory pieced together the reasons they had fled? What if he told the soldiers where they were? Anything was possible. She'd seen the fear that lived in Brighton, and Ivory was part of that fear.
"Mom, are you listening?" William asked, looking up at her. "I'm telling you about the bow."
"I am. I saw how good you did!" she said, afraid he might hear the crack in her voice.
Swallowing her panic, she kept William close, as if Ivory might turn and attack him in the middle of the street. She knew they shouldn't have been so quick to accept Ivory.
She should have trusted her intuition.
She needed to talk to Bray. She needed to figure out what to do. Whether it meant running, talking, or something else, she'd make whatever decision was needed to protect her family.
Chapter 32: Ivory
Ivory kept his discovery quiet as he walked back to the ancient museum with Melora, Bray, William, and Ella. He didn't want to alarm them. He'd seen the hard, calcified knot on the back of William's neck.
He didn't care.
He'd seen enough knots on Jingo to know what one looked like, and they didn't always lead to violence. At least, not right away. From what Jingo had told him, the spore took effect at different rates in different people. Ivory suspected it might take a while for the boy to fully turn. The boy seemed strange, sure, but then a lot of people did. It was hard to tell how much of that was related to the spore.
The family had obviously been through a lot. That was bound to have an effect on him.
That simple discovery explained a lot. Ivory recalled the cautious looks Ella had given him and Melora's strange worry when she talked about her family. Any mother would be cautious when meeting a stranger in the wild, and so would a sister with a secret to hide.
Whether they were truly Davenport survivors, or a band of people seeking refuge from a burning, Ivory didn't know. But he didn't care.
He wasn't especially worried about William. Maybe Ivory would talk with Jingo about William when he saw him again.
He took a few furtive looks at Ella as he chatted with the others, but she didn't seem to notice.
Ivory vowed to keep his discovery quiet. When the time was right, he'd broach the subject with Melora. He'd just have to make it clear that he meant the family no harm.
Chapter 33: Winthrop
Winthrop, a war god, marched along with his malevolent swarm, men and women thriving in the maw of the demon, fearlessly ignoring the wails of those too weak to stand against the onslaught of bloody steel and bared teeth. These few, these thousands, were his dark disciples, his hunters, his killers, his children, the invincible, the immortals.
The demons feared the war god and his people.
No longer did they attack in twos and threes, not even in packs of a few dozen. They ran when they heard the chanting and saw Winthrop's blood army marching through the seemingly endless maze of ruins, always toward the crumbling spires, the heart of the Ancient City, still in the distance but getting closer.
When the demons did fight, they rushed out of crumbled old buildings in mobs of hundreds, and they died, just as they'd perished by the thousands on that hill below the mountains with the Ancient City—a tall temptation—far down the coast. Their bodies lay in piles, and their blood flowed into creeks and stained the water red.
"Father." The tall, nameless priest was now spattered in new blood.
Winthrop reached out and ran his fingers through the splatters, pulled his hands away, and reveled for a moment at the feel of the demon blood rubbing between his fingertips.
"Father," the priest asked again, looking to catch Winthrop's attention.
Winthrop looked at his red fingers. So many pleasures were his for the taking. No trembling virgin, no hungry harlot could compare to the simple pleasure of blood. The former were mere delights of dirty men. Winthrop had transcended that mortal plain. He was a god as surely as any had ever been. He had godly desires and godly ambitions.
"The day is getting late, Father," the nameless priest told him. He pointed at the far-off towers. "Shall we march on to the spires? Or shall we sleep tonight? The men are tired. Not all are gods like you. We n
eed rest."
Winthrop looked up at his brother, the sun god in the sky, and tried to put together in his mind whether it was late, early, or midday. He didn't know anymore. Time was a concept that enslaved mortal men. Winthrop had no need of it, and so he had forgotten all he had once known. Still, the nameless priest was right. Mortal men needed to sleep.
Winthrop made an effort to speak the mortal tongue. "Find them a place to rest."
Chapter 34: Franklin
The early morning sun glanced off Franklin's face, filling him with warmth that matched the hope in his heart. Under his arms were several reference books and notes that he'd tailored to the sermon. Fitz, Joseph, and several clergymen strode next to him again, looking slightly less nervous than they had the day before. Franklin had slept only a little, but that sleep was better than none.
"Still no sign of the soldiers," Franklin said, looking around the empty street. He knew they'd be back. But he didn't want to dampen the mood. "We'll have more time to preach to Henrietta and her clan today. An early start will allow us to visit a few more farms. Maybe we can even hit the larger ones."
"I think that's our best bet," Fitz suggested.
They passed several large, old buildings that preceded the neighborhood of farms they'd visited yesterday. The day before, Franklin had barely glanced at the buildings. His fear of Tenbrook had ruled his thoughts. His neck craned upward as he took in the crumbling balconies and the withered peaks, enjoying the architecture.
"I don't think I've appreciated the beauty of these buildings in a while," Franklin said. "They're a sight to behold."
"They're beautiful," Fitz said. Pointing to a few that had been broken down and scavenged to fix other buildings, she said, "It'd be great to restore them and turn them into meeting houses one day."
"I like that idea," Franklin said with a smile.
His optimism was contagious as they passed the old buildings and the other clergymen smiled and chatted. Soon they neared the small cluster of farms where they'd preached the day before. In the distance, Franklin spotted the farm belonging to the heavyset woman and her family.
"We'll cut through and say hello," Franklin suggested.
They cut across a barren patch of dirt, heading for the simple stone structure that stood in the middle of the property. Behind it were the family's fields.
Franklin gazed through the windowless openings on the side of the modest building. Did the entire family live in one room? His most recent memories were of days spent surrounded by treasures and wealth. The meals he ate—if not wholly satisfying—were at least given out regularly. He made a note to incorporate his observation into his next sermon.
He'd only walked a few more steps when Fitz screamed. Fitz and Joseph broke into a run. They headed toward something in the middle of the field.
Franklin followed, heart hammering. His robe blew in the wind as he struggled to catch up. The clergymen panted and ran behind. When he reached Fitz's and Joseph's side, Franklin recoiled.
Lying on her back, a pitchfork shoved into her belly, was the heavyset woman with the red cheeks with whom he'd spoken the day before. Next to her was the old man, a hoe buried in the back of his neck. Their relatives lay in dead heaps around them.
"No!" Fitz sobbed.
Scratch marks and bruises showed the family had struggled. Pitchforks and shovels protruded from their bodies. Soldiers' boot prints littered the ground. Fitz checked the family members for signs of life, even though she knew they were dead.
"The children?" Franklin asked, hardly able to breathe.
Another scream gave him the answer he dreaded. One of the clergymen found them near the house, tossed into a heap and burned. Franklin sank to his knees, dropping his books and his notes. This was his fault. He'd caused this.
"Franklin, we need to get out of here," Fitz said, tugging on his arm.
Franklin's guilt was a crashing wave, sapping him of strength and leaving him motionless. The clergymen looked in all directions, as if soldiers were waiting to finish them off. They chattered in nervous bursts.
"We have to get out of here," one of them echoed.
"Tenbrook will kill us."
Another voice interrupted them.
"Get out of here! Leave!" someone shouted.
Franklin's head snapped up to find a woman running into the yard. Her long, scraggly hair fell over her face as she frantically waved her arms.
"We don't want your sermon!" the woman shrieked. "Get out of here! All of you!"
Henrietta, Franklin thought numbly, the woman whose family they were supposed to speak with.
Franklin barely registered what she was saying.
"Get out of here, before my family dies like the others!"
"What happened?" Fitz called between sobs.
"The soldiers!" the woman screamed. "They came and butchered them!"
"We didn't know this would happen," Franklin said hopelessly, wringing his hands. "We didn't intend this."
"Get out of here, before my children are killed! Please!"
Before they could ask the woman anything further, she turned and ran. Her nervous gasps faded from earshot as she reached a dwelling in the distance and slammed the door. Franklin forced himself to his feet, heeding Fitz's frantic warnings. They collected the others.
"We have to go, before the soldiers return," he heard Fitz say.
"Someone should bury these people," Joseph sobbed.
"We'll send someone back for them," Fitz whispered. "I promise."
Chapter 35: Ella
"What's wrong?" Bray asked, looking at Ella's hand on his sleeve. "Are you trying to lure me in for another kiss?"
"No." Ella's eyes were wide and terrified. She'd barely slept the night before, watching over William more than sleeping. "We need to talk."
"What about?"
"Ivory." Ella looked all around. "Where are Ivory and Melora?"
"Upstairs."
"William?"
"He's still behind you, in the building."
Ella looked over her shoulder into the building, verifying that William was still wandering among the pedestals. He didn't appear to be listening.
"William, stay down here," she called behind her.
"Okay, Mom," he called back.
She tugged Bray out onto the steps, sucking in a nervous breath.
Keeping her voice low, she said, "Ivory saw the lump on William's neck."
Bray's expression turned serious as the statement sunk in. "How do you know?"
Ella ignored the question. Her thoughts ran away from her as her panic grew. "I told William to hide his condition. I shouldn't have let him shoot that bow. But he was so excited."
"Ella, slow down. How do you know Ivory found out?"
"When we were in the building yesterday, Ivory dropped an arrow. William picked it up. Do you remember?"
"I think so. But that doesn't mean he saw."
"Ivory saw the lump. I saw his face change."
"Are you sure?" Bray asked, stroking his chin.
"I'm sure," Ella whispered. Even as the words left her mouth, she found herself questioning what she had seen, replaying the moment in her head. Even if she hadn't been certain, she would've said she was. She needed to protect William.
"He didn't seem any different on the walk back," Bray noted. "At least, not that I noticed."
"We need to talk to him and find out what his motives are."
"We might have to do more than that," Bray said with a grim shrug, looking down at his sword. "If he goes back to Brighton and tells someone where we are, the soldiers might come."
Wrapping her mind around the idea as she spoke, Ella said, "What will we do, then?
Bray bit his lip. "Let's start out by talking to him. Maybe it will go no further."
Chapter 36: Franklin
"Tenbrook is an invisible snake, coiled at our heels," Fitzgerald said, drying her tears. "Striking when our backs are turned."
Franklin bowed his head and s
tared at the floor in his room. He nodded. Hours of mourning and regret had segued into a defeated silence. After returning to the Sanctuary, Franklin had dismissed Joseph and the clergymen. He imagined they were huddled somewhere in the Sanctuary, discussing Tenbrook's brutality with anyone who would listen. The story would spread around the Temple and make its way into town, undermining any authority Franklin had left.
That was Tenbrook's intention.
How long until Franklin's sermons were completely empty? How long until he was sitting in a vacant room, waiting for the sword to strike him down?
Tenbrook's game would end in his death.
"We need to do something," Fitz tried, but even her voice sounded hopeless.
"We can't go out there again," Franklin said simply. "I won't have others killed for my actions. Not again."
Fitz opened her mouth, but her protest died.
"Those farmers were killed because we were there," he continued. "That was the only reason."
"They didn't break his guideline," Fitz said, as if she might argue them back to life. "Neither did we."
"Tenbrook doesn't need a reason to kill," Franklin said. "He makes up reasons. How can we fight brutality like that with words?" Thinking of the butchered children, Franklin shook his head. "If I could do it again, I'd spend years training as a soldier instead of praying in the Sanctuary. I'd stick a blade in his neck."
Fitz grabbed his arm, but she didn't disagree.
Franklin sighed. He closed his eyes. What would they do? He hugged her even as his thoughts roamed to the dead people in the field, for whose deaths he was responsible.
"We need to find another way," Fitz whispered. Franklin sighed and embraced her, inhaling the scent of her hair and drawing comfort in her presence, trying to think of one.
But he couldn't.
Instead he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if their time together was running out.
