by Jeff Altabef
Piers crept out of the chamber, using Anthony’s snoring as cover, feeling as if he waded through mud, the pounding of his heart exploding in his head. He was sure he would be caught, but he had no choice. As the oldest, he had to protect Aaliss and Wilky.
When he reached the door, no one stirred. He thanked Jacob, remembered to breathe, and shuffled down the empty hallway toward the staircase. He half expected to see Sarah at every turn, but his luck held true, and he fumbled down the stairs unseen.
The hinges on the door that led to the main floor of the Compound were infamous for their loud squeal. Although everyone complained, no one ever fixed them. Piers had given it little thought until he realized he’d have to sneak through that door, so he had snuck a small vial of oil from the Orchard and carefully greased both hinges.
He held his breath... and the door swung smoothly and quietly for the first time in years.
He limped along in the shadows until he reached the door to the Labyrinth. Boots clattered against tiled floor in the distance, the sound fading as a Monk marched in the opposite direction.
Piers waited for Michel.
Did he give up on me? Does he think I lost my courage? Does everyone assume I’m craven?
He was concentrating on the door when Michel whispered from behind him. “You’re late.”
Piers jumped.
Michel wore his black ostrich suit, a black mask, and a short sword at his hip. His lean frame blended almost completely with the darkness.
“I couldn’t leave any sooner,” Piers said. “I didn’t want to be seen by the other novices.”
“We have two minutes before the Monk returns. Let’s go.” Michel twisted the lock, which made a loud metallic clank that sounded like breaking glass.
The Monk’s steps ceased.
Piers froze, worried that the Monk had heard them.
Michel creaked the door open and whispered, “Hurry through, Piers. We don’t have much time.”
Piers crossed into the Labyrinth and Michel shut the door behind them.
“I can’t tell if the Monk heard us or not, Piers. We should get moving in case he opens the door to investigate.”
Small electronic strips lit the rough concrete tunnels. At this time of night, only a few brightened the way for emergencies, and no light came from any of the rooms off the main passageway.
Eden children told many horror stories about the Labyrinth. As their favorite spooky place it easily lent itself to creative nightmares. Most stories involved a Soulless haunting the hallways and killing innocent children in gruesome fashions. The villain always discovered a secret passageway out of the Labyrinth to roam Eden at night. When young, Aaliss was a master at telling those stories, usually to Wilky’s dismay.
Piers smiled grimly. Now I’m the monster lurking the dark tunnels.
He raced after Michel and noticed a flickering yellow light from one of the side hallways, accompanied by approaching footsteps.
Michel lifted his hand signaling for him to stop. “Someone must be working late. He’s coming! Hide behind these crates.”
They hunched behind a series of stacked crates, keeping out of sight. The pleasant scent of dew in springtime mingled with the damp and musty odors in the tunnel.
As the footsteps from the side tunnel grew louder, the entrance to the Labyrinth swung open behind them. “Anyone there?” a Monk called out.
Piers recognized the voice as Mark’s, the same monk who had caught him in Aaliss and Wilky’s dwelling the other night with Sarah.
Michel swung his head back and forth between both dangers, looking uncertain on what he should do next.
Piers sent a silent prayer to Jacob for help.
Michel rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, his grasp firm.
Piers realized what he must do. This was his responsibility. No one had to see Michel in the shadows, so he stumbled from his hiding spot, toward the light and the oncoming footsteps, guessing that the unknown danger had to be better than the Monk.
He came face to face with a startled lab researcher he knew as Peter.
“Piers, what in Eden are you doing down here?”
Before Piers answered the Monk called out, louder this time. “Who’s down here?” Beams from his flashlight swung from side to side along the tunnel as he marched toward them.
“Wait here.” Peter rushed past Piers. “It’s only me down here. I’ve still got work to do.”
“I thought I heard the door open to the Labyrinth.”
“You must have heard me drop one of these darn crates. Noises echo down here at night. There’s no one else but those who’re working with me.”
“Maybe I should take a look.”
“I don’t think the High Priest would be happy with you snooping around down here. I’d hate to tell him how you’ve wasted my time with a tour because you were curious at what we’re doing.” Peter tapped his foot. “Is that the Sacred Drink I smell?”
A few moments of silence followed and then Mark grunted. “If you say there’s no one else, that’s fine with me. I was only thinking of your protection.” The Monk turned and retreated down the corridor.
Peter returned slightly flushed and embraced Piers with a firm hug. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been over to see you yet. They’ve got me working so much I’m practically locked down here.”
“That’s all right, Peter. I understand.”
Peter was an old family friend. Short and round, he had white hair, a pointy beard, and gray piercing eyes that brightened his kindly face. Piers had forgotten he worked in the Labyrinth, had forgotten he had friends.
“I don’t believe a word of this drivel about Aaliss and Wilky,” said Peter. “There are no finer Edenites than your siblings. I’d stake my life on it.”
“Thanks. It means a lot. I’m sure there’s some type of mistake. I just need to figure out what it is.”
“What in Jacob’s name are you doing down here, anyway?” Peter’s eyebrows arched upward. “You could get in major trouble if they find you. There’s a lot of secret activity. Even I don’t know everything that’s going on. They only tell us what they think we need to know.”
“I’m headed to Wilky’s lab.” Piers touched Peter on the shoulder. “He left me a clue. I’m hoping there’s some evidence in his lab that will clear them.”
Michel stepped from behind the crates, and Peter gasped. He shot his hand to his chest and staggered backward. “What in Jacob’s world? Jacob’s Braid, I thought a shadow had come to life. You almost scared me to death. I don’t think the old ticker can take much more. Is anyone else lurking around?” He scrutinized the hallway, looking for living shadows.
“No, just us,” said Piers. “Do you have any idea what Wilky was working on? Maybe his research is behind this mistake?”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing, but I don’t have a clue what your brother was researching. I asked around, but no one else does either.” Peter stroked his short beard pensively. “Wilky was special. He had his own way of looking at problems, and he wasn’t the easiest person to talk to. I showed him around when he first got here, but most of the other researchers stayed away from him—too young and too unusual for them.” A trace of bitterness mingled with his words. “They felt threatened by him.”
“Is anyone else around?” Michel asked. “Do we have a straight shot to Wilky’s lab?”
“I have two colleagues with me in my lab.” Peter glanced down the lit hallway. “There’s no one else. We’re almost done for the night, but I can keep them in my lab for a while longer.” He glanced at the crates. “I’ll leave one of these behind. Turn it perpendicular to the wall when you leave. This way I’ll know the way is clear. I’ll keep them busy until you give the signal.”
“Thanks, Peter. I owe you.”
Peter grabbed Piers by the shoulders. “You’re a good man, Piers. I’ve always seen much of your father in you. Be careful. Strange things are happening.”
Piers nodded.
<
br /> He left Peter and led Michel to Wilky’s lab. Finding the lab and the holding pens empty, he awkwardly settled in Wilky’s chair and turned the computer on. The flat screen flickered to life, and after a second it prompted him for a username and password.
He breathed deeply, his fingers hovering over the keyboard before he typed Piers and David. One red file folder blinked ominously in the center of the screen. “Let’s see what Wilky left us.”
Michel hovered behind him and looked over his shoulder.
Piers clicked the file folder and a series of slides flashed on the screen—close-ups of a particular flower appeared first, followed by a familiar-looking mushroom with a red and yellow stem, and then pictures of Wilky combining the two ingredients with water.
The screen went black and a new series of images appeared—three Soulless drank the concoction, each of them with red eyes; a heartbeat later their eyes looked normal, all trace of the Red Death gone.
The pictures ended and were replaced with another blinking red file folder.
Michel whispered, “Those pictures must be out of sequence. The ones where the Soulless have normal eyes were placed after the ones where they’ve already had the red eyes.”
“I don’t think they’re out of sequence at all. Wilky’s shown us the cure to the Red Death.” Piers smiled and turned to Michel. “It’s a miracle! He must have discovered the cure, and cured those Soulless. They’re probably the ones Aaliss needed the bread for. She told me someone was starving them. Whoever framed Aaliss and Wilky didn’t want those Soulless around any longer.”
A confused expression clouded Michel’s face. “So Wilky figured out a cure to the Red Death and it’s a simple combination of a mushroom, flower, and water.” He looked incredulously at Piers.
Piers grinned backed at him, feeling giddy despite the dire situation they found themselves in.
“But, if Wilky figured out the cure, why would someone set him and Aaliss up as traitors?” Michel wondered. “He should be treated as a hero, or maybe a prophet.”
A prophet.... My Wilky?
Piers couldn’t imagine such a thing—not the boy he grew up with who had difficulties dealing with the smallest things. Still, he remembered the prophets God had selected throughout time—none were perfect. And the High Priest wouldn’t want a prophet around whether real or imagined. People would look up to Wilky and he’d have power. They might even want him to replace the High Priest some day. No, that would be the last thing the High Priest would want.
He shrugged. “Those in power might not want the cure to be discovered, or maybe they wouldn’t want Wilky to be the one to discover it.” He couldn’t bring himself to speak his suspicions about the High Priest out loud. Just thinking them constituted high treason and blasphemy. He pointed to the screen. “There’s still more.”
He clicked on the last file folder. The words Eden Day flashed on the screen in capital letters, and then a note appeared. It was probably the longest note Wilky had every written him.
Piers:
I can’t tell if the future is set. To learn the whole truth you need to access the High Priest’s personal computer.
User Name: Jacob1.
Password: Serpent.
File: Poisoned Apple.
Think twice before you do. Once you learn the truth you can’t unlearn it. It’s up to you.
Love,
Wilky
The computer erased the file and shut itself off.
Piers felt the wind knock out of him and he sagged back in the chair. He’d hoped for proof to save his brother and sister, and he only got another mystery and a new clue.
“I don’t know what to make of that,” Michel said.
“Neither do I, but I know what I have to do next.”
He felt hollow.
Once again he knew the what but not the how.
***
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Chapter 33 – Aaliss
Aaliss glanced at her empty bowl. “Many thanks for the hot meal.” She meant it. Food would be hard to come by outside of both Eden and the Stronghold, and the stew had replenished her strength.
“It’s the least an old witch can do for such important travelers.” The Witch spoke to her, yet she seemed to stare at Wilky. In fact, she spent most of the evening stealing glances at Wilky, but Aaliss detected no malice in it, and Wilky paid her little attention.
Eamon sported a sheepish grin. He looked better with a smile on his face, especially the way his cheeks dimpled and his eyes sparkled. “One of my tribe visited you a short while ago. He goes by the name of Reilly. Any idea what he wanted?”
The Witch chuckled. “I remember him. Did he go north?”
“He moved. So what did—“
“Us witches never divulge the wishes of our clients. We have a code, but you can trust that one. He might be important in events that will follow. Yes, he can be... trusted.” A faraway look settled in the Witch’s eyes for a moment, and then she pointed toward the far end of the cabin where Jillian slept. “There’s plenty of room for you all to sleep on the floor. I have some dry straw in the barn to soften the hard edge of the wood. I suggest you get some rest before your journey tomorrow.”
She rose from the table with a groan, took one last look at Wilky, and disappeared behind a door on the other side of the cabin.
“Great,” Aaliss mumbled.
She looked for a place to string up the hammocks inside the cabin and found none. She considered sleeping outside, but the night looked foreboding and she wanted the safety and warmth of the cabin. And surely Eamon would sleep inside near Jillian, and that weighed on her decision too.
They all grabbed straw from the barn and spread it on the floor near Jillian. At least Aaliss could find no fleas in it. She settled between Eamon and Wilky, and Wilky fell asleep almost instantly.
Kalhona wove a stone over the knuckles on her right hand and through her fingers. When she saw Aaliss staring at her, she said, “This exercise helps keep my fingers nimble, so I can work the dyes.” The tip of a tattoo peeked out from the collar of her shirt.
Aaliss had never seen a tattoo before, and it interested her. Painting one’s body would certainly be prohibited in Eden. “Would you mind showing me your ink?”
Kalhona rolled up her sleeve.
Aaliss gasped at a tree so intricate and colorful she instantly wanted one. “Does it wash away?”
Kalhona grinned. “Never. This is my tree of life.” She pointed to a flower on the top most branch. “This is for my daughter, Tania. She’s only two harvests old.”
Aaliss dropped her jaw; Kalhona was probably her age and she already had a daughter! The truth hit her hard: the Soulless had no time to wait to have children. For them life was too short, and without the cure her life would also be too short.
“Are you married?”
Kalhona scrunched up her eyes. “Married?”
“I mean coupled together with the father.”
“No.” Kalhona shook her head. “He served his purpose, but that’s all he was good for. He died from the Red Death last harvest.”
“Oh,” said Aaliss. Such a thing—having a child without being married—would be unthinkable in Eden.
Kalhona stopped twirling her stone and closed her eyes, leaving only Aaliss and Eamon awake.
“Does Jillian look any better to you?” Eamon asked.
Aaliss studied her for a long moment. “She looks the same, which is probably a good thing.”
Eamon clenched his hand into a fist. “I feel so helpless. There should be something I can do.”
“You’ve done all you can. The rest is up to her. Besides, she seems to be a strong-willed person. I bet she’ll pull through just fine.”
He nodded.
Aaliss still wrestled with the idea that Kalhona was a mother, and felt her stomach flip when she asked Eamon, “Do you have any children?”
He shook his head. “No, not me. I’m waiting to excha
nge bracelets.”
“Exchange bracelets?”
He smiled. “I forget that you don’t know our ways. In my tribe, when two people commit to each other, they exchange bracelets—usually leather cords with a unique design on them. Once two people exchange bracelets they’re coupled. If one strays, he or she will be banished from the tribe as a Bracelet Breaker. Only half the tribe exchange bracelets. Others live a more uncommitted life.”
Aaliss felt her face warm and spoke in a breathless whisper. “What about the other half? What do they do?”
“Dermot would never exchange bracelets. He doesn’t like to be... limited. He has four children with three different women. He thinks I’m silly, but I want to be with that one special girl forever. It’s said that those who exchange bracelets find themselves together in the next life, that the leather cords bind them for all time.”
Aaliss stole a glance at Jillian and wondered for the hundredth time what type of relationship the two had. She felt weird and unsettled, anxious and somewhat elated at the same time. She couldn’t just ask Eamon about his feelings so she settled on more innocent questions. “Tell me about Jillian. What does she do at the tribe?”
“She’s working on the Books of Wisdom as a scribe. Her letters are small and precise and her tongue is sharp.” He chuckled. “She keeps the masters on subject. When they stray, she lets them know about it.”
“So you work with her... closely.”
Eamon shrugged. “Sure, but I do lots of other things for the tribe, and Jillian never travels with us when we trade with other tribes and go to other lands.”
Other lands? “Do you know a place called the City of Bones?”
Her dream the other night had been eating at her quiet moments. She didn’t like the look of those witches, and couldn’t explain Wilky’s bizarre behavior. She wanted to shake it off as a bad dream and nothing more, but it seemed so vivid and lifelike—unlike any other dream she’d had in the past.
“Sure, I’m familiar with the City of Bones, although we call it Bone City. It’s just outside of The Exchange.”
