by Jeff Altabef
The High Priest used the Orchard as punishment, and though the Priests generally supervised the manual laborers, at times they did the work themselves. Piers had no illusions over what his day would be like; he would work the fields or sort the recently harvested apples until he couldn’t stand any longer.
He strode along the stone path that cut through a lightly wooded forest and ended at the Orchard facilities a half-mile from the Compound. Apple trees stretched in long, neat rows, for nearly a mile. Abundant in Eden, apples made up the largest portion of their diet. The sun felt refreshing against his skin, and his black robes fluttered around his legs as he walked.
He paused with the facilities just in sight. He could make out a half dozen workers unloading a wagon filled with casks, a horse pulling a cart piled high with apples, and two men walking briskly toward the Orchard, long poles slung on their shoulders to knock ripe apples from the higher branches of the trees.
He sensed that someone was watching him again and spun, half expecting to see Sarah leering at him, but he found no one. Feeling foolish, he continued along the path until he heard an odd whistle to his right, followed by a hushed, “Piers, over here.”
He looked in the direction from which the voice had come and strained his eyes, but couldn’t spot anyone.
“Come on, Piers. It’s Michel. I’m behind the oak.”
Piers saw a shadow behind the tree and wandered toward it.
“Here.” A tall, reed-thin man with walnut-colored hair stepped from behind an oak. Michel was Piers’s age, friends with Aaliss and trained as a Guardian. He wore a black ostrich suit, which helped him blend in with the shadows cast by the tree.
Piers trampled a patch of long grass and joined him behind the oak, hidden from the path and the Orchard. “How did you know the High Priest banished me to the Orchard?”
Michel’s long, thin face looked tired with dark circles under his eyes. “Nothing is a secret in Eden. And besides, where else would they send you? They send everyone they want to punish to the Orchard.”
“Good point.”
Michel clenched his jaw. “I don’t understand what in Jacob’s name is going on? I can’t believe what they’re saying about Aaliss and Wilky. They’re not traitors! There’s not a dishonest bone in your brother’s body, and I know Aaliss as well as anyone. I just don’t believe it.”
Piers sighed. He had not realized how lonely he had felt until now. It seemed that no one believed in Aaliss and Wilky but him. “Neither do I. The High Priest has made a horrible mistake. They’re innocent. I know it.” Just saying the words made him feel better.
“I’m not the only one who believes in them, either. A group of us offered to go into the Zone and bring them back alive, but they refused to let us. I’m grounded. Forbidden. Gabriel and Jonas went in after them.” He frowned. “Your sister is one tough customer, but the Viper is the scariest thing in the Zone. If he finds her.... I don’t want to even think about what would happen.”
He glanced at his feet. While he didn’t want to think about what would happen to Aaliss, by the expression on his face and the dark circles under his eyes, Piers knew he had spent much time imagining the worst. He knew Aaliss and Michel were friends, but seeing him like this made Piers wonder if they shared a deeper relationship.
I have to trust someone.
“Look, Michel, last night I went to their apartment. Wilky left me a message in a secret hiding spot. I need to get to his computer in his lab. He left some clue for me to follow. Maybe it will prove their innocence before....”
Michel whistled softly. “Whoa... Jacob’s braid! That’s not an easy thing to do. There’s been tons of activity in the Labyrinth lately.” A calculating look sharpened his eyes. “There’s only one way. We need to break in late at night when everyone else is asleep. It won’t be easy getting around the Monks, but I have a key, and once we get into the Labyrinth’s maze we should be all right.”
Piers whispered, “Just give me the key and I’ll sneak in. You shouldn’t put yourself in harm’s way. I’ll tell you what I find.” He reached his hand out, palm up for the key.
This is my responsibility. I am the oldest.
Michel stared at the hand for a few seconds before he turned away. “Meet me at midnight by the door to the Labyrinth. Be careful. Stay in the shadows. I’ll find you.”
Michel left Piers standing by himself, hand still outstretched and empty.
Piers saw movement in a nearby tree and found an odd-looking blackbird watching him. He thought it must be his imagination, as surely the bird had no interest in him, but then it cocked its head as if to get a close look at him.
***
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Chapter 27 – Aaliss
Aaliss woke tired after a restless sleep.
At least Wilky looked fine. He had survived another day outside of Eden.
Eamon waved them over to the campfire and handed them strips of dried beef. “Sorry that breakfast isn’t a little better, but this is all we brought for provisiosns.”
Aaliss smiled. “I’ve eaten worse.” When patrolling as a Guardian, she usually ate dried apples for breakfast and foraged for her other meals. The beef, while dried and rough, was tasty and satisfied her morning hunger.
They broke camp and led their horses on foot along the banks of the creek as it meandered northward. Wilky explained that the flower was too small to be seen on horseback, so they formed a ragged line on foot, head down, necks straining, eyes studying the ground as closely as they could.
Everyone except Wilky, who seemed lost in his own thoughts and spent more time looking at the sky than at the ground.
They moved slowly, and after traveling hours, had found no sign of the flowers. Most of the morning conversation burned away like dew. Tension replaced the words as each mile melted away and the sun rose in the sky.
Jillian, who hadn’t said much the entire trip, asked, “Did everyone in your tribe take the cure?” The tone in her voice practically froze the words in the air.
The question worried Aaliss. She had concocted a thin story, and if Jillian pushed hard enough, she would rip a hole right through it. In no rush to answer, she studied the forest unfolding before them.
“Well, is your tribe free from the Red Death?”
Aaliss realized she could stall no longer. “Not exactly.” She hoped the conversation would move to something else. To help it on its way, she added, “I hope the weather holds up. It looks like it might rain.”
“What exactly happened? How do you know that the cure works?” Jillian shot invisible daggers at her in rapid fashion with her eyes.
Aaliss had started to rethink her position on creating enemies. Jillian’s attitude grated on her nerves, but Aaliss had to admit she asked fair questions. If their roles were reversed, she would have asked more difficult ones, and probably at the tip of a real dagger.
She glanced at Wilky, who nodded. “Wilky gave the cure to a Sou... to a person with red eyes, and it worked. It cured him, and he stayed cured.”
“So, if he became cured, then how come the whole tribe didn’t take it? Why did you run?” Jillian pressed her, those invisible daggers ready to draw blood at the first sign of weakness.
Eamon stopped to look at her, his hopeful gaze falling heavily upon her. She knew he so desperately wanted the cure to be real he would believe anything, but Jillian presented a tougher obstacle. She would not be so easily fooled.
“The tribe thought Wilky used dark magic to make the cure, which is totally ridiculous. They were scared and destroyed the cure, so we ran. They called the man Wilky cured a demon and burned him at a stake. If we didn’t get out, they would’ve killed us for certain.”
She met Eamon’s gaze sincerely. While a twisted version of their story, just enough truth remained that she told it convincingly. Still, the deceit made her stomach twist.
Maybe later I can tell him the truth—later, after we make the cure, after Wilky an
d Dermot are safe, after I have a chance to breathe.
Aaliss asked Jillian her own question, her voice matching Jillian’s frosty tone. “So how long have you two been coupled?” She glanced at Eamon and her stomach somersaulted.
Why do I care?
Jillian’s face reddened as she bent down low to inspect a common weed by her foot.
“We’re not coupled,” Eamon explained. “We’re just close friends.”
Did he seem just a touch eager to tell me?
“Oh,” Aaliss said. The word lingered in the air, transforming from sound to something physical... like a dense fog. She smiled to herself, not certain why their uncommitted status made her happy, but it did, and something lighter and bubblier replaced the acid in her stomach.
After that, they ambled in silence for a stretch.
The morning had turned into early afternoon when Eamon pointed to the far side of the creek. “Look over there! That’s the flower from Gemma’s dress.”
Two small plants with a plethora of tiny flowers stood just a foot from the edge of the creek, the flowers little puffs of blue and red.
“Wilky, is that what we want?” Aaliss asked, holding her breath.
He grinned. “Yes.”
Eamon and Aaliss raced forward, splashing through the creek to the far bank while Wilky and Jillian stayed behind with the horses.
The cold water lapped past Aaliss’s boots and splashed on her legs. Only the two small plants swayed in the breeze; no others bloomed in sight.
Eamon reached the bank first and looked back at Aaliss with pure joy on his face. He turned toward the flowers, and as he reached for them, a blackbird swooped down and grabbed both plants in its claws and flew off. Dirt dropped from the plants and toppled onto Eamon’s head as the bird soared in the air.
He cursed and ran after the thief with Aaliss at his heels.
The blackbird rose above the trees.
Aaliss raced forward, moving swiftly and gracefully. She passed Eamon and weaved her way under branches, around trees, and over short thorny hedges, all the while keeping one eye on the blackbird.
The bird beat its wings a few more times and perched in the high branches of a maple, the flowers clutched firmly in its red-tipped claws.
Aaliss and Eamon skidded to a stop.
The thief stared back at them, taunting them as if it knew something they did not.
She leveled her small crossbow and took aim.
He whispered, his breath brushing against her ear. “That’s one hard shot from here.”
“It’ll be a lot easier without you talking.” Pulling back the elastic cord, she steadied her hands, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
The bolt clipped the blackbird’s wing, freeing the two plants, which twisted around each other in a slow graceful dance as they floated to their outstretched hands.
It was the most stunning flower Aaliss had ever seen. The blue and red colors wove around each other creating an intricate swirling pattern.
She lifted it to her nose. “It does smell like dew.”
Eamon smiled at her with his shaggy brown hair falling in front of his eyes; a few strands of copper mingled with his unorganized mop.
A tidal wave of happiness and relief overtook her. She was one ingredient away from making the cure and keeping Wilky safe.
She looked upon Eamon and her body warmed as he stood close, his eyes earnest and happy. She imagined what it would feel like to throw her arms around his neck and pull him toward her.
What would his lips taste like?
She felt herself inch toward him and his smoldering blue eyes when she heard a scream.
Jillian screamed.
Aaliss froze and her heart skipped a beat.
Jillian and Wilky were out of sight on the other side of the rushing water.
***
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Chapter 28 – Eamon
Eamon followed Aaliss as she retraced their path to the creek, his heart firmly lodged in his throat.
She grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop before they reached the water. “We have to be quiet,” she whispered. “Stay behind me.”
He nodded, feeling numb.
Aaliss moved shadow-cat quiet and confident. The rushing water masked the little sound they made as they bent low and peeked through a web of branches and thorny vines across the water.
Jillian knelt helpless in the tall grass. A large, ragged looking man held her hair in his left hand and waved a curved knife at her in his right.
Eamon’s heart vaulted and his legs turned to liquid.
“Where’s your friend?” the ragged man shouted.
Sprawled on the ground, twenty feet from Jillian, Wilky spat blood from a cut lip.
A tall, lean, wild-looking woman stood over him. She held a simple spear and wore a torn leather cloak patched with an odd assortment of furs and skins. So much dirt and filth blended on her that Eamon could not tell the difference between skin or dirt or leather or fur.
Two other men rummaged through their saddlebags by the horses.
“They’re outlaws,” whispered Eamon. “Tribeless. They poach cattle and steal whatever they can to get by. The King’s Horsemen run them down whenever they stray too close to our lands, but I’ve never seen these ones before.”
The ragged men by the horses clutched heavy wooden clubs with steel spikes through them, but Eamon’s eyes gravitated toward the curved knife that fluttered close to Jillian’s neck.
The bear-sized man sneered down at her. A wild beard clung to his chin, a thin scar zagged down his left cheek, and his bulbous nose bent at an unnatural angle. “Tell me where the third rider is or I’ll cut you.”
The wild woman laughed gaily, clapping her hands. “Cut her! Cut her!”
“It’s just us two,” Jillian sobbed. “There’s no one else.”
Eamon’s blood raced and his head filled with the sound of his pounding heart. He unsheathed his long sword and bent at the knees, anxious about the knife hovering so close to Jillian’s throat. He had to stop that brute from hurting her.
Aaliss whispered, “We can’t cross the creek here. It’s too wide. By the time we reach them it’ll be too late. I’ll sneak around to the left and cross the water over there. You go to the right and sneak up on the guys by the horses. We should have just enough time. Call like a crow when you’re in place. I’ll take one out with the crossbow, and then we’ll have to do the rest with the swords.”
Eamon nodded and watched Aaliss sprint away, admiring her calm. He wished he had felt calm as he turned and dashed through the forest, weaving his way around trees and rocks and through mud slicked by the creek. The water wound around a rock formation large enough to hide him from the tribeless band, so he scampered across a natural stone footpath.
Relieved to be on the right side of the world, his adrenaline kicked in and details exploded—colors burst around him; the burbling of the creek sounded like a waterfall; and odd smells mixed with cool sweet air to fill his lungs.
He strained his ears, fearful of hearing Jillian cry out, fearful of that knife. Hearing nothing unusual, he pushed on.
He concentrated on his footing and resisted the urge to run recklessly forward, mentally assuring himself they would not kill Jillian. He repeated the same thread in his mind.
They’re probably just scaring her. They want information. Why kill her if she’s harmless?
Anxious horses snorted nearby and he slowed. He said silent prayers to all the gods of his childhood, until he remembered the God from The Book, and he prayed to him also. He had never faced a warrior in battle before, never spilt blood. He thought of Dermot, found strength from within, and pushed forward, trying his best not to make any noise.
He heard one of the two rogues by the horses before he saw them. He sounded raspy and impatient. “Just cut her and let’s see if she’ll sing.”
Eamon circled the horses, taking only a few steps until the small clearing
came into view. He stood no more than fifteen feet from the two thieves who held the horses, their attention firmly fixed on Jillian. The bear-sized man had released her hair, but he feared the angry look on his face and the tightening grip on the knife.
He gave his best crow call without thinking. Time slowed. A bolt flew from the other side of the clearing and plunged into the chest of the bear-sized man, but it scored a moment late; the ragged man had already looped the knife toward Jillian. Luckily, the bolt changed the blade’s arc, so instead of Jillian’s neck it sliced into her arm and splashed the ground with her blood.
Jillian’s blood!
He charged from the edge of the forest and swiped his longsword at the nearest outlaw, who noticed him just in time to block the blow with his heavy club. Eamon pressed the attack by slashing his sword at the rogue’s stomach. His extra practice time had proven useful. He moved without thinking and the sword felt comfortable in his hand.
When the outlaw jumped backward to avoid Eamon’s sideswipe, Eamon spun forward and sliced his blade into the man’s side, cutting through his furs and into his flesh.
The outlaw shouted and darted forward with his club raised over his head.
Eamon sidestepped the awkward charge and thrust his sword into the charging man’s stomach, the blade sinking in deep.
Blood bubbled from the tribeless man’s mouth. He dropped his club harmlessly, and groaned as he tried to keep his innards from spilling out of his body with his hands.
Before he hit the ground, the second outlaw charged Eamon, swinging his club at his head, trying to drive the spike into the side of his face. With little time to react, Eamon dropped his sword and grabbed the man’s wrist before the spike gouged him. The point inched its way toward his face, and the outlaw laughed.
Eamon struggled with both arms. Sweat drenched his body and his hands shook with effort. Despite using all his strength, the spike crept ever closer. The red tip inched toward his eyes, a hairsbreadth from him. All he saw was that tip. The world melted away and was replaced with that tip.