Red Death

by Jeff Altabef

  She studied the jailor, an unkempt, overweight, unattractive man with greasy hair, acne, and stubble dotting various parts of his face. She smiled and called out in her best, most seductive voice. “Hey, jailor, I want to show you something.”

  Redmond opened his eyes and turned his head. “I can see from here, if you want to put on a show.”

  “Come closer. I want to tell you a secret.” She playfully tugged on the zipper of her suit.

  Redmond grunted and closed his eyes.

  She spun, stomped her foot, and returned to her pacing. Their cell had two empty wooden buckets and two raised wooden platforms with loose straw thrown on top. She refused to think about the buckets and turned toward Wilky.

  “Why bother with wood platforms? The floor would do as well.” As she finished talking, a small rodent with a long, thin tail scurried through their cell.

  “You sit on top of that,” she told Wilky as she pointed to the platform bed.

  With Wilky safely off the floor, she continued pacing. “I don’t understand why they’re treating us like this. Gemma should have told them that we saved her by now. They should be thanking us.”

  She turned to Wilky for confirmation, but he just looked at her with his big eyes, quiet and calm. He said so much without ever speaking.

  Some of the steam blew through her. “I know, Wilky. We don’t treat them awfully well in the labs either, but that’s different.”

  She tried to think of all the ways the Edenites treated Soulless prisoners better, but she really couldn’t come up with much. In many ways they treated Guests far worse.

  “Besides, could you imagine a place like this in Eden? The Priests would go crazy. All of this filth.” She snorted, happy to have at least one thing to feel superior about.

  The night crept along. She rattled the bars, but they held.

  The jailor opened his eyes long enough to sneer at her before closing them again.

  The prisoner across the hall snored incessantly, which had started to drive her crazy. She looked for something to throw at him. She eyed the bucket but it wouldn’t fit through the bars.

  The Basement door opened and whined on rusty hinges. Two sets of footsteps grew steadily louder.

  The jailor woke from his stupor and rose from his chair.

  Aaliss wrapped her hands around the metal bars and waited.

  Gemma appeared first, followed by a young man her age. Tall, he had shaggy brown hair that reached the tops of his wide shoulders. When he turned to look at her, he had smoldering sapphire eyes that sparkled in the flickering lantern light. He resembled Fintan, but his features were more pleasing, and he had no trace of the arrogant smugness Fintan sported in abundance.

  Not many people in Eden had blue eyes.

  What is that silly saying? If his eyes are blue, then he’ll be true. Does the saying work for Soulless eyes?

  She bit her lip, and the pain helped her focus.

  I can’t become distracted by a pleasing face and blue eyes. What does it matter if his eyes are blue?

  Everyone she met was an enemy until proven otherwise.

  Redmond the Round stood stiffly and sounded nervous. “Good evening, Prince Eamon. I wasn’t expecting any visitors at this time of night.”

  “Believe me, this is the last place I expected to be tonight, but I’ve displeased Dermot. For punishment he sent me here to relieve you and watch our prisoners for the rest of the evening.”

  Redmond squinted at him. “And Princess Gemma? Is she also being punished?” The question in his voice made it clear he doubted Dermot would punish Gemma in this fashion.

  Gemma stood in the shadows watching them, smiling shyly at Wilky, swaying back and forth.

  Eamon laughed. “No, Gemma couldn’t go to sleep unless she had a chance to curse at her captors. I’m sure she’ll get bored in a little while and go back to her room.”

  “Well, I’d sure like to go to bed and leave this lot, but the Master won’t like me leaving. This is my last day on Basement duty, and I’d hate to anger him.” Redmond shifted his weight and gazed uncertainly. “I don’t want to serve additional time in the Basement. He only has the one arm, but he’s quick with that whip he keeps coiled at his waist.”

  He rubbed his cheek, caressing a faint scar.

  “You will do as I say,” Eamon said. “King Dermot will be a lot angrier than the Master Jailor if his orders are ignored. You know how he gets. Of course, if you want to ask him yourself, you could go to his room.” He winked. “I wouldn’t suggest it. He wasn’t alone the last time I saw him.”

  Redmond grabbed his key ring. “As you wish, my lord. They’ll give you no problems.” He nodded toward Aaliss. “She just paces back and forth. I wouldn’t get too close though. She’s got a crazy look in her eyes.”

  He handed Eamon the keys and trudged up the stairs.

  Once the Basement door closed, Eamon and Gemma approached the cell and stood an arm’s length away from the bars.

  If he moves a little closer, I can grab him and use my blade to persuade him to free us.

  Wilky hopped from the wood platform and stood beside her.

  Gemma grinned and said something to Wilky that Aaliss could not understand.

  Eamon stood quietly, studying them both. After a long moment, he took a step closer to the bars.

  Aaliss glared at him and inched her hand toward her hidden blade. Almost without realizing it, her eyes focused on the key ring in his hand.

  Just another foot and she’d have him.

  ***

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  Chapter 23 – Eamon

  Eamon studied the siblings. The boy seemed harmless, his mind elsewhere, but the girl was a different story. She looked lethal and very present, and a jolt of energy zipped through him. Something about her posture made Eamon wonder if she could spring forward at any moment and slide effortlessly through the bars of her jail cell.

  She stood, arms crossed, her lips pinched together, her eyes narrow and intense. A black suit fit snugly over her athletic body.

  He had never seen a garment made of skins like that before. Pieced together seamlessly, it gave the illusion that it served as the girl’s second skin.

  A few freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks dotted her cream-colored face, but her eyes took his breath away. They were deep pools—nuanced and dangerous. They sparkled sapphire-blue with specks of gray.

  He glanced away, embarrassed by the current that raced through his body and worried he might fall too deeply into those waters. He wasn’t usually absorbed by looks, but something about this girl was different. More than her physical beauty pulled at him. He instinctively knew he had never met anyone quite like her.

  He turned his attention to the boy, in part to avoid the girl’s withering gaze. “What’s my name?”

  “Eamon.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  He shrugged one of his small shoulders. “I saw it.”

  How can he see a name?

  Perhaps a subtle difference in language between tribes explained the odd word choice.

  He regarded the boy more closely. His face looked unlined, showing no sign of distress or deceit. He had the same coloring and straight black hair as his sister, but his gaze lacked any sign of danger. Something else replaced the danger, however. When he looked carefully, the boy’s eyes appeared as if they folded in on themselves, creating an infinite loop—the most complicated pattern he had ever seen.

  He pulled back and questioned him. “You have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

  “I’m Wilky, and my sister is Aaliss.”

  Gemma twirled her dress and clutched a small scented cloth to her nose to mask the Basement’s stench.

  No use playing at word games. The time was late and he needed to know. “Have you discovered a cure to the Red Death?” Eamon spit to ward of bad spirits.

  “Yes,” the boy answered simply.


  “You’ll need to free us before we tell you what it is.” Aaliss grabbed the bars and leaned forward. “We’ll need to work together to find the ingredients to make it.”

  “But you attacked my brother, Fintan. The way he tells it, you shot a bolt at him that he snatched before it sank into his chest. You’re his prisoners to do with as he sees fit. He’s very angry at you.”

  Aaliss’s face burned scarlet, and her left eye twitched. “I never attacked him! If I did, he would be dead right now. I just offered an invitation to fight, which he turned down, being the miserable coward that he is. I’d gladly give him another chance, and that large, overgrown, imbecile he’s friends with, too. If they’re afraid, I’d fight them both at the same time.”

  He heard no bluster in her words, which meant she was either crazy or confident, both equally dangerous. “Watch your tongue! That’s my brother you’re talking about.”

  He tried to feign anger, but made a poor show of it; the edges of his lips betrayed him, having turned upward. The thought of the ever-confident Fintan reluctant to face the girl amused him. He wished he had seen it.

  “Well, my condolences. Hopefully, cowardice doesn’t run in the family.”

  Eamon glanced at Gemma, who giggled and spoke in her special language. “She speaks the truth, and I said you would like her. I can tell by the way you look at her.”

  “Right,” he said, and then turned back toward Aaliss. “Why should I free both of you? I can keep your brother hostage. You and I can look for the cure together, and if we can’t find it, your brother’s life will be forfeited.”

  Wilky’s eyes widened, and Aaliss stepped toward him protectively. “No deal! Only Wilky knows the components for the cure. He’d be useless without me, and I’ll never leave him. You’ll have to free us both or you’ll never get it.” She sounded and looked sincere—no bluff in her eyes.

  He whispered to his twin sister, “What do you think? We don’t have much time. If we’re wrong, Fintan and Dermot will be angry with us. I’d likely spend the rest of my life down here on guard duty.”

  He scowled at the filth and the stench. He could think of no worse job in the Stronghold.

  Gemma spun in a carefree circle. “Why ask me? You must do what is right, Brother. Besides, your mind is made up anyway.”

  He had persuaded Dermot to serve wine at dinner so the Stronghold would be sleepy tonight and sluggish tomorrow. If Dermot’s eyes had already flickered, Eamon had to move now or face losing him. He sighed. If he had any chance to save his brother, he had to take it. He really had no other choice. The conditions were as good as they were going to get. Tomorrow would be too uncertain and perhaps too late.

  He turned from his sister and faced Aaliss. “If I free you both, I’ll have your word that we’ll work together to get the necessary items for the cure? You’ll promise not to run off or kill me in my sleep?”

  She answered for both of them. “We swear it on Jacob’s life.”

  He had no idea who this Jacob was, but no matter. “If you’re lying, it will not go well for you.” He inserted a key into the metal lock, twisted, and swung open the gate with a creak.

  Aaliss smiled. “That sounds better than Jacob’s Choir. Where’s our stuff?” She glanced around the Basement with a frown on her face.

  “A friend has it. We’ve got to sneak out without anyone seeing us. It’s late and few people should be out. The guard by the drawbridge will conveniently look the other way when we cross. Once we leave the Stronghold, we’ll meet up with my friend, who has horses and supplies.”

  “And our stuff?” asked Aaliss.

  “Yes, but first tell me what we need to make the cure.” He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. While the two seemed honest, he would be stupid to trust them, and he was not stupid. “We’ll need a destination after we leave the Stronghold.”

  “The cure is made from a mixture of a flower and a mushroom,” Aaliss answered confidently.

  “Okay, but what flower and what mushroom? We’ll need a direction and a plan.”

  Wilky pointed at Gemma.

  “What does my sister have to do with it?”

  Wilky shook his head and touched a flower on her yellow dress. “This flower.”

  Gemma giggled. “How lucky for us. It blooms in the fall and has the loveliest blue and red petals. It smells like fresh dew in springtime. It’s one of my favorites, but you’ll have to hurry. You won’t find many left.”

  Eamon’s heart started racing.

  Can this be true? Did these strangers find the cure to the Red Death? Can I truly save Dermot?

  He turned back to his sister. “Where do these flowers grow?”

  “You’ll need to find the old creek to the east and head north. They bloom along its banks.” Gemma whirled in a circle, a broad grin on her face.

  “What about the mushroom?” asked Eamon, hoping the answer would be as easy.

  Wilky shrugged. “It grows this time of year, but I can’t see where to find it.”

  Eamon waited but when the boy said nothing else, he asked, “Is that it? We need more to go on than that. Half a cure is no better than none.”

  “I can draw it. I’m a good artist. I just can’t see where to find it.”

  “He can’t see it. What does that mean?” Eamon glanced at Aaliss. “How does he see things?”

  Aaliss stepped between the two. “It means that we get the flower first and go after the mushroom second. We have a destination. That’s enough for now. After we’re free, we can talk about the mushroom and where to find it.”

  Eamon stared at Wilky for a moment. He had hoped that the mushroom would be as easy as the flower, but at least they had a destination. And maybe he’d know how to find the mushroom after Wilky drew it. Standing in the Basement any longer certainly wouldn’t get them closer to the cure.

  He had no choice. “So be it. Lets go.”

  He led them up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. He inhaled deeply as they shut the door behind them, trying to flush the jail’s stench out of his system, but it still lingered like slime left behind by a slug.

  He kissed Gemma on top of her head. “Go to bed and tell Dermot it was all my doing. I forced you to come down into the Basement, and you don’t know where we went. Remember, it was all my fault.”

  “Bring back some of the flowers for me. They’re my favorite.” She turned and raced upstairs.

  Eamon whispered as he led them out of the hall and into the night. “Follow me. Keep close and quiet.”

  He glanced around the Stronghold. The only home he had ever known looked foreign to him now. The light from the moon and the torches cast shadows on the stone buildings, making them look sinister. The strong walls he had always found protective now appeared hard and unyielding. The Courtyard felt like a graveyard, and even the Naming Tree, his favorite place within the Stronghold, appeared like a giant skeleton raised from the dead, or like a giant tombstone, the names written proudly across the tree’s trunk nothing more than lives it had claimed.

  He jumped when the bells started tolling. With no one in sight, he swallowed hard, grabbed Aaliss’s hand, and pulled.

  She felt warm to the touch, steady, and fearless. He drew courage from her strength as he sprinted from one building to another. When she started to stray to his left, he yanked her hard to keep her safe.

  “What’s that for?” asked Aaliss.

  He pointed to the ground. “See those four white stones. They mark the corners of a trap. We have a number of them spread throughout the Stronghold. It’s really a false floor. If you step on it, it’ll give away. There’s a steep drop with spikes at the bottom. This way, if the walls ever get breached, we have some nasty surprises for invaders.”

  He resumed his sprint, stopping only when he reached the bakery. He breathed in deeply, soaking in the last scent of bread that lingered in the air and driving away the remaining stench from the Basement.

  A blackbird with a splash of red on it
s claws perched on the roof opposite them. Squawking loudly, it shattered the quiet. He waved his hands at the bird and it reluctantly flew off. Eamon watched it go, but he had the uneasy feeling that the bird had been spying on them.

  He pushed onward, leading from one building to the next, keeping as deep in the shadows as he could, with Aaliss and Wilky breathing heavily at his heels.

  Close to the drawbridge, he heard footsteps. Two people, lost in conversation, approached from the Courtyard, and he squeezed himself tight against the edge of the Nursery.

  Flickering torchlight brushed against Fintan’s and Cormac’s faces.

  Eamon froze. There was no place for them to hide.

  Aaliss tensed her body and narrowed her eyes. He put his arm in front of her to restrain her, but she knocked it away sharply. Still, she held her place, although he could tell it took all her willpower not to confront the two.

  Fintan and Cormac walked only a few feet away from them. If either of them glanced in their direction, they’d be caught and all would be lost. Eamon smelled traces of wine and saw the tight expression on Cormac’s face, and heard Fintan’s easy laughter.

  He held his breath. He could touch them, or stick out his leg to trip them if he wanted.

  Cormac looked up, but Fintan whispered something and shoved him. The push propelled Cormac past where they stood, and the two friends didn’t notice them.

  Eamon exhaled, took Aaliss’s hand, and led them to the drawbridge. She stood close when they stopped, and he felt a surge of electricity ripple through him. Heat singed his fingers where their hands touched.

  When he spoke, his voice sounded breathless and husky. “We walk across the drawbridge. Try to be quiet. When we reach the other side, we will cross the bridge and run to the woods. It’s not far. My friend should be there with the horses.”

  She pulled her hand from his. “I think I can manage from here. We’ll be right behind you. No offense, but I’m happy we’re leaving, and I don’t plan on returning.”

  He led them across the drawbridge and chanced a look back at the guard, and noticed his friend, Kiernan, looking in the opposite direction. Kiernan would answer truly when asked whether he saw them cross the bridge. Eamon had bailed Kiernan out from some large gambling debts last month. The man would keep his silence.