Red Death

by Jeff Altabef

Wilky had discarded his gasmask, and now stood unprotected only a few inches from Gemma—only a few inches from certain death, from being infected with the Red Death and having his soul stripped from him.

  She dropped to her knees, tears welling up in her eyes. “Wilky, why?”

  The dam broke and her tears fell.

  ***

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  Chapter 11 – Wilky

  Wilky stared at his sister, his feet stuck to the ground as if sunk into a mudhole. Details began to intrude in his mind and crowd out Aaliss’s face—a paw print on his left that led to a snapped branch. The snapped branch led to other snapped branches, then to other paw prints. Slightly to the right of one paw print, a green worm with yellow spots ate a leaf from an oak tree. Eight brown circles dotted the leaf in a rough circular pattern that wasn’t quite symmetrical; the dots made a perfect diamond pattern.

  Gemma smelled acidic. She smelled like worry.

  A light white cloud floated overhead in the shape of a large horse. He liked black horses best, but he had never seen a completely black one. Always some white or gray or brown mingled with the black; even if no one else noticed it, he always did.

  Gemma was breathing so loudly.

  The greens and browns and yellows closed in on him in a kaleidoscope of colors.

  He closed his eyes and bit his lip, fighting hard for control. He wished he were back in his lab or his small dwelling among the familiar, safe, and quiet, where all these colors and smells would not haunt him. He concentrated on his breathing, counting his inhales and exhales, all the while trying to ignore the different fragrances in the air.

  When he opened his eyes, he focused solely on his sister.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks and fell on both sides of her gas mask as she yanked at her short black hair. The ostrich suit had a white-greenish stain on the stomach, but he refused to take in the details.

  Still, he felt his mind wander and couldn’t stop some of the minutiae from leaking in. The stain had more white than green, and the dropping looked as if it had fallen from a distance and thus splattered across the suit. He could calculate how far in his head if he tried.

  He bit the inside of his cheek hard until he tasted blood, regained control, and heard his sister’s pleas.

  She cried “Why?” over and over again, her voice hoarse between sobs.

  He stamped his foot in frustration. Images flooded through his mind, but he couldn’t find the words to match them. He saw Eden and knew they could not return. Not now. Maybe someday, but now darkness and shadows covered Eden. The light that had always shone around it had vanished as if sucked from the world. Even Piers was cast in darkness.

  Their futures lay out here with the Soulless. He saw bits and pieces of it—just flashes of scenes that stuck in his mind, scenes he memorized down to the smallest details.

  He had known the terrawks would attack. He saw the attack in a vision just before he woke. He had warned Gemma and closed his eyes to it, but it didn’t matter. He had already witnessed the carnage, already seen the blood and the feathers and heard the screams. The image had now become part of him, stuck in his mind like a pebble in a shoe he could never remove. He had also been with his sister in the City of Bones and saw the witches. He knew they meant trouble, but how he and they fit together remained a mystery.

  He summoned his strength and stepped close to his sister, his boots crunching on fallen leaves and twigs.

  The wind gusted and rustled her hair, and she wiped her cheeks with her hands. Dirt had smudged her palms, bits of brown and green clinging to them. Her crossbow lay on the ground with a bolt in position.

  A bright red cardinal called from a nearby tree, and a fat gray squirrel bounded from one tree to the next, chattering his displeasure with the world. He clung on to a branch and then scurried away, followed by another squirrel, this one black. The black squirrel’s tail was bushier than the gray one, but shorter.

  No!

  He refocused on Aaliss. “Don’t need the mask anymore,” was all he could say, and he struggled with those simple words. He couldn’t explain the certainty he felt or how he knew the mask offered no protection.

  His sister stopped crying and laughed. “You’ve taken the cure! The Red Death has no power over you! I should have known.”

  He knew she wanted him to say yes, maybe even needed him to say yes on some level, but she had to know the truth. Just like she always told him the truth, he would be honest with her. Their future lay here with the Soulless, away from Eden. The gas masks couldn’t help them anymore. They would have to find a different way. This was the only way to make her believe.

  “No.” He shook his head. “No cure yet. We can’t go back.” He spoke gravely and shook his head. “Can’t go back.”

  He stroked his sister’s hair. The textile sensations flooded through his fingers, but he maintained control and focused all his attention on her, willing her to believe him.

  “We can never go back?” She looked weak and small at that moment, not the way she normally appeared, but the way she sometimes seemed when she thought no one else was looking.

  “No. It’s all right.” Wilky thought it would be all right, eventually, in ways he had seen but could not understand. He had no way to communicate this to his sister except for the simple statement. He smiled crookedly at her, doing his best to reassure her without words.

  Aaliss stared at him for a long moment, and then she took off her mask and let it tumble to the ground.

  He knew she would.

  ***

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  Chapter 12 – Cattie

  Cattie stood in her usual spot as far away from the Master’s prying eyes as she could, her mind lost in thought, her body tired from working late the previous night. She was supposed to be watching a dozen two-year-olds, but the children might as well have been on a different planet. She had more important matters to contemplate.

  Just when she thought her day could not get worse, her younger sister, Maeve, ambled over to her side. “What are you planning?”

  Cattie frowned at the sight of her. Even now, after working the morning shift, she looked striking. A pink string drew her blonde hair off her face in a low ponytail, and her wide eyes contained five different shades of blue. Cattie had counted them when they were children, becoming increasingly jealous with each shade. Her own brown eyes were the singular color of mud.

  Maeve slowly rocked an infant in her arms. Fussing only a moment ago, the baby now cooed quietly.

  “Why would you ask me that, Mae?” Cattie added a chill to her voice.

  “I know that look. You’re planning something. Whenever you get that look, you dream up a new plan to escape the Nursery and move up.” Maeve rolled her beautiful eyes.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Two of Cattie’s toddlers wrestled over a toy wooden soldier. The bigger one yanked it away from the smaller one and started beating him on the arm with it.

  Cattie growled in their direction but didn’t budge to intercede, and the children paid her no mind.

  Let the little brats settle the matter on their own.

  Maeve chuckled. “There have been too many schemes to count. Although my favorite is when you tried to persuade the King’s cousin, Brion, that you were a good witch and should be re-assigned as his personal tutor so you could teach him magic.”

  Cattie felt heat flush her cheeks. “Okay, so I’ve had some bad luck. I can’t help it if I have ambition to do something better with my time than tend to these monsters.”

  The larger toddler stopped beating his friend with the toy soldier, smiled mischievously, and bounced it off the smaller one’s head. The small boy let loose a loud wail.

  Forced to act before others stepped in, Cattie scolded the small crying child. “That’s what happens when you lose. He’s bigger and stronger than you.” She handed the wooden toy to the larger toddler,
who grinned. “You’re a good boy. You took it fair and square.”

  Maeve wrinkled her nose. “Do you think that’s the best way to handle the situation? Teach them they can get whatever they want if they beat each other up for it?”

  “Yes, dear sister, I absolutely do think that’s right. They should learn the truth about how things work. It’s no use teaching them how things ought to work.”

  The Master rang the bell for a shift change. At twenty years old, he kept the Stronghold’s youngest children safe—over a hundred charges—the future of the Butcher Tribe.

  “Thank goodness,” muttered Cattie as she strolled outside.

  Maeve must have returned the newborn to his crib because she rushed after her sister and touched her arm when Cattie had reached the Courtyard. “It’s beautiful out. I love the fall weather. The leaves have just started to turn colors and the light is just right. It’s so clear and the air is so crisp.” She spun around in a circle, and the bottom of her blue dress ballooned outward.

  Annoyed at her sister’s good mood, Cattie blurted out, “Prince Fintan has eyes for me.” She spoke before thinking and immediately regretted it. She hadn’t meant to tell her, but sometimes Maeve just being Maeve goaded her.

  She’s always so darned happy!

  Maeve grabbed her arm. “Prince Fintan, the King’s brother? I didn’t know you were friends. When did this happen?”

  Cattie stared hard at her sister and whispered even though no one stood near them. “You have to promise me you won’t tell anyone what I’m going to tell you. Swear on mother’s blood.”

  Maeve shifted on her feet and clutched her hips. “I swear. Now tell me everything! I knew you were up to something.”

  “Not here.”

  She led Maeve away from the Feasting Hall and toward the deserted space under the Naming Tree, an ancient ghost tree that towered above the buildings in the Stronghold. Carved into its bark were the names of every member of the tribe. The practice stretched back to the beginning of time, and thousands of names reached high into the tree. When they stepped under it, Cattie scanned the higher branches, not sure where her name appeared, but sure it would be remembered long after she joined the tribal leaders in the stars. She just needed a little bit of good luck for once.

  When she stopped, she stared up at her sister, who had crossed her arms against her chest. “I overheard a conversation last night that changes everything. Prince Fintan spoke to Cormac, the Captain of the King’s Guard, in whispered tones. They thought no one could hear them.”

  When she paused, Maeve pressed her. “And what were they saying?” She tapped her foot anxiously. “It can’t be that you just saw them talking. I know you. You were spying on them and overheard something you shouldn’t have heard.”

  Cattie smiled, a hint of mischief playing with the corners of her mouth. “You don’t need to know the details. Let’s just say I overheard something important they wouldn’t want our king to discover.”

  “And you plan on blackmailing Prince Fintan?” Maeve’s tone conveyed her displeasure, as did her face, which changed color from peaches and cream to a splotchy scarlet.

  “Blackmail is such a strong word, sister. Once Fintan knows I share his secret with him, I’m sure he’ll fall madly in love with me. He’ll see that he can trust me, and that I’ll be the best choice for him as his princess. A coupling ceremony is sure to be in our future.” Cattie chuckled at the thought and spun in a circle with her arms stretched wide. “I’ll never have to work in the Nursery again. I think you should wear your yellow dress, the one with the flowers.”

  Maeve’s normally sweet voice turned toxic. “I don’t like this plan one bit. I don’t trust those two.”

  “You don’t have to like it, sister. Just keep your mouth shut.” Cattie pinched her sister’s arm, just so Meave knew that she was serious.

  “Oww!”

  “Remember, you swore on our mother’s blood, and that’s the strongest oath you can make. Everything will work out so long as you don’t ruin it.”

  She’d get her happy ending. She just needed a good plan.

  ***

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  Chapter 13 – P’mina

  P’mina trudged toward the nursery past clay huts with their brightly-colored fabric roofs. Each family had their own color, every shade of the rainbow except red, which was bad luck. The huts reminded her of a field of wildflowers, each one distinctive and beautiful.

  The Orions had no colors. They used the same straw-colored dried thatch on all their roofs.

  P’mina kicked the ground. They lack creativity and imagination. How can I be myself among them?

  The tribe bustled with energy as they prepared for the Renewal Feast—Spinners spun thread into brightly covered decorations; others cleared the round ceremonial space in the center of the village; the great stack of fire wood needed for the giant bonfire grew steadily by the wheelbarrow.

  The Artists performed the most important task, adding to the Mother’s Banner that would wrap around the festive space. It told the story of the Painted Ones with exploding colors and images of wars, treaties, harvests, and families. The history was so exacting that each female member of the tribe had her name added to the banner when she received her first tattoo, so she would forever be remembered as part of the tribe. Her name would stay on the Banner, but after the Renewal Feast, she’d be an Orion, never to be thought of as a Painted One again.

  Her sister Kalhona worked on the grandest image on the banner—the Tree of Life—the most beautiful painting P’mina had ever seen. Her earliest memory revolved around it: her mom had held her at an Awaking Feast while she stared at it with her mouth agape, then she whispered that P’mina’s name would one day show up on that tree in a place of importance, because she was special.

  A fond memory ruined. Soon her name would be added to that tree as one of the girls who was swapped with the Orions.

  I’m special because they’re giving me away.

  She clenched her hands into fists, turned her back on the Banner and her sister, groaned, and marched to the nursery.

  Most toddlers were playing outside in the short grass enjoying the sunny day. P’mina spotted Tania almost immediately. Her curly blonde hair fell down to her shoulders in an unorganized mop around a round, happy face, clear hazel eyes, and small button nose. As usual, she smiled with real joy in her eyes.

  P’mina stooped low and called out her name.

  Tania twisted, grinned and raced forward, unsteady on her feet, giggling as she wobbled. She opened her arms as she got close and shouted, “Peema,” which was as close as she could come to properly pronouncing P’mina’s name. She jumped into her aunt’s outstretched arms and laughed with delight as P’mina spun her in circles.

  P’mina breathed her in, and she smelled like happiness. P’mina gently placed her on the ground and watched as she spun unsteadily for a moment and then plopped down on her ample backside.

  Smiling and laughing, she shouted, “Peema!”—her favorite thing to say, though in truth she was so young she could say little else.

  “Your Aunt P’mina loves you very much.”

  Tania giggled and opened her arms for another hug. “Love Peema,” she said and fell into another tight embrace.

  “And I love you, Tania. Very, very much.” P’mina fought hard to keep the tears from her voice.

  Last night Kalhona had been wrong when she said P’mina could not recall what had happened when their mother had turned into a witch. P’mina did remember some things: the nasty looks, her aunt’s anxiety, and the hollow feeling in her stomach that never quite left. Now she worried about Tania and what she would have to face after P’mina left the tribe.

  Knowing others were watching them, she bent low and whispered. “People might say bad things about me, but you tell them to pound dirt. You had nothing to do with it.”

  Tania replied happily, “Pounds dirts!”

  “Your momm
a loves you. I know she’s not as nice as I am, but she loves you very much.”

  Tania looked quizzically at P’mina, her eyebrows raised and her cheeks pinched together. “Peema loves me.”

  “Yes, I do, and so does your mother.” She felt tears start to moisten her eyes. “I’ll find a way to look after you, but it’ll be our secret.”

  Tania grabbed P’mina’s nose. She loved to grab noses, ears, hair—really whatever she could reach.

  P’mina grabbed the girl’s hand and playfully munched on Tania’s chubby fingers. “Now don’t forget. Always eat the blue berries and never the green berries.”

  Tania scowled. “Green berries bad!” She stuck out her tongue to prove it.

  “I must go, sweetie. Don’t forget that I love you.” She turned to leave, but Tania grabbed onto her leg and refused to release her. P’mina had to pry her fingers off her leg.

  Tears welled up in Tania’s eyes. She was such a happy child that the tears surprised P’mina.

  “Don’t cry, sweetie,” P’mina whispered, her own voice husky.

  Tania banged her hands on her legs and her face turned red. “Peema!”

  One of the caregivers walked over and said, “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine.” P’mina did her best to regain her composure. “I just wanted to see Tania before I hunt for the red berries they need for the dyes. It’ll take all day, so I won’t see her later.”

  Tania started to cry in a hurricane of tears, and waved her arms as if she knew the truth was very different.

  The worker lifted the girl and stroked her back. “Don’t worry, Tania. P’mina will see you tomorrow. Isn’t that right, P’mina?”

  Fearful she would start to cry, P’mina had already turned and hurried away. She retrieved a satchel of supplies and her spear from her hut. Her spear functioned as part walking stick, part weapon, and part tool for harvesting plants in the forest. She swept her eyes across the small living space for the last time. She didn’t want to leave, but she’d rather find her mother than be forced to live with the Orions.