Red Death

by Jeff Altabef

  “I’m sorry but you don’t have that choice.”

  Piers felt dizzy and heard a voice in his head: “I love you, Piers. I’ve always been proud of you.”

  It sounded like Wilky’s voice, but stronger, more confident and warmer than the Wilky he had known.

  “You’ve done enough. You’ve made a difference.”

  Fear and pain and anger vanished from Piers like water through a drain. A feeling of peace and strength washed over him.

  “And you’ll share your parents’ fate.” The High Priest turned toward Jonas. “It’s a shame that Piers committed suicide. He was always such a fragile individual.” The High Priest nodded toward the open window. “I guess he couldn’t handle having traitorous siblings.”

  Jonas grabbed Piers and heaved him toward the window, holding him perilously close to the edge.

  Piers smiled. He felt whole and strong and at peace with God and his faith. Refusing to struggle, he lifted his arms out toward his sides.

  “Don’t you want to plead for your life? If you beg, maybe I’ll let you live?”

  Piers called on a mental picture of Wilky and Aaliss on a crisp autumn day before the fire. They raced in the great meadow during an Eden Day long forgotten. Aaliss ran in the lead with Piers running at Wilky’s heels, urging him to go faster and catch up.

  Jonas frowned.

  “What’s wrong?” questioned the High Priest.

  “He won’t scream or beg. I like it when they beg. Oh well.”

  He shoved Piers out of the window and into the darkness.

  ***

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  Chapter 59 – Aaliss

  Aaliss watched as the bonfire roared. Orange spikes soared toward the heavens and danced to what seemed like a jubilant tune.

  The night was cold but the heat from the flames and the closeness of other people warmed the Courtyard. After Eamon passed the kingship back to Dermot, a massive celebration had erupted. Young men rolled out casks of wine, a pig roasted above a firepit, and musicians played light and airy music. The Stronghold exploded in song, many of which described Dermot’s greatest victories. The Singers also composed a new song about Eamon the Short, which was the name they dubbed him since his reign was the shortest in tribe history.

  Lost in the midst of the celebration was the grief that Dermot, Gemma, and Eamon tried to conceal. Yes, they drank and toasted and even sang. Eamon had a sweet clear voice, while Dermot’s rumbled lower and raspier in quality. Still, when Aaliss caught them alone, they looked sad, their eyes ringed with red. Whatever Fintan had been, he had also been their brother.

  Wilky had returned to the residence hall early in the night. It was best that way. He couldn’t deal with all the people and stimulation of the feast.

  Aaliss closed her eyes and let the energy from the celebration rejuvenate her and seep into her soul. She thanked God for delivering Eamon. Her world, so close to imploding, had held together and now even seemed bright. She could make a life among the Butchers. She’d have to find the ingredients for the cure, but she had time. She even pushed aside her worries about Eamon’s relationship with Jillian. She felt free and had found happiness in a most unlikely place—amongst the Soulless.

  The slightest trace of dawn brightened the horizon and brought an edge of gray to the silky darkness in the distance. The party still had life, but most of the tribe had disbanded. Couples broke off to be alone—shadows in the distance colliding into each other passionately, clinging to the short time they had together. Others, who tired of drink and celebrating, staggered back to the residence halls.

  Eamon walked up to her and stood close. “My teacher and savior, fearless, strong and... beautiful.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand.

  Heat seared her skin. She smiled at his deep eyes and the shaggy hair that fell across his face. She had only met him a few days ago but she felt as if she had known him her whole life. He was unlike anyone else she had ever known, and he stood only inches from her, his eyes locked on hers, wide and curious.

  He smiled. “Without you I would—”

  Aaliss pressed her finger to his lips. “Without me you would still have found a way.”

  “I don’t—”

  Aaliss kissed him gently on the lips. He tasted like honey and wine. She pulled back just enough that her nose rubbed against his. “You would have found a way,” she whispered.

  He smiled and she pushed against him, locking her lips onto his. This time she felt passion build from her toes and explode throughout her body. It was a feeling she had heard others describe but thought imaginary. Now she knew better as she reached for him and pulled him close. Lip to lip, body to body, they were one, joined in a way that melted her heart. They shared the same space and were completely entwined together.

  Aaliss pushed him back to catch her breath. She gasped for air and grinned at him. “So that’s what it’s like to kiss a king?”

  “You mean former king,” he said with a smirk. “I’m Eamon the Short.”

  “Same thing to me.”

  He circled his fingers around hers and chuckled. “Maybe to you, but I think the tribe’s happy how things worked out.”

  “I don’t know. I’m sure some of them wanted Eamon the Handsome to rule.”

  “Hey, I don’t go by that name!” He protested but his eyes told a different story. “Shall we go back to the halls? The sun will be up soon.”

  Aaliss glanced at the coming dawn—a new day was indeed starting, full of possibilities she had never dreamed of before. She smiled shyly at Eamon. “Sure. I should check on Wilky. Our room is on the same floor as yours, right?”

  “No one ever accused me of being stupid.”

  She chuckled.

  They started back to the halls, winding their way through the tight cobblestone streets. When they neared the Royal Hall, Aaliss noticed a prone figure lying on the ground against one of the buildings. “Who’s that?”

  Eamon shrugged. “Someone who can’t hold his wine. Let’s see.”

  A young man lay face down.

  “Hey, wake up!” Eamon used his foot to flip him over. Blood splatters covered the man’s shirt, his eyes lifeless. “What in the world?”

  Aaliss’s instincts sang a cautionary tune. She felt a jolt of adrenaline as she surveyed the empty street around her. Then she saw a shadow move from the side of a building and heard the whiz of a spinning throwing star head toward them.

  “Eamon!” She tried to jump in the way of the spiked disc, but she moved too late.

  The star lodged in his chest. He glanced at it and then back at her. “Run!” He staggered backward, clutched the star, fell to his knees, and looked back at her. He tried to say something, but he had no wind and toppled to the ground.

  Aaliss’s eyes stung, a scream frozen in her throat. For a heartbeat she felt her legs turn weak. Her hand almost moved to brush his hair, but she pulled it back and glared at the shadow. Tears burned her eyes and her breath turned ragged. Anger shoved aside her grief. She would make him pay for this. A million deaths would be too good for him.

  The Viper stalked toward her, armed with both his short swords. “Time to end the chase, rabbit. You can’t run any longer.”

  Aaliss’s vision tunneled around the Viper and the night tinted red. She drew her sword and sprinted forward. She wanted to kill him, to avenge Eamon more than anything—more than finding a cure for Wilky, more than returning to Eden, more than her hatred for the High Priest and her uncle who started her on this journey. Her footsteps fell hard against the stone street.

  She slowed a step before she reached him, swinging her blade in an angry sideswipe for his head. He deflected it with the sword in his left hand and cut at her with the one in his right. She moved just in time and the night air rang with the sounds of their steel dance—Aaliss powered by her anger, and the Viper no doubt by his self-righteousness.

  She moved quicker and felt stronger than ever before, but th
e Viper always moved a second ahead of her. She tried everything she had been taught, but none of it was enough.

  He snickered. “You learned well, but who do you think taught your sword master?” He feigned to his left. When Aaliss shifted, he sliced her left shoulder with the sword in his right hand.

  She hadn’t lost a sword fight in years, yet he was toying with her. He had no weaknesses and no tells. Whenever she thought she could anticipate his next move, he did the unexpected and she labored to cover. He had already scored half a dozen nicks on her body, and she hadn’t drawn his blood.

  She began to tire, so he switched from mostly defense to offense and pressed her toward the Royal Hall. “You have talent. Too bad I didn’t spend more time with you. I could have made you into something truly valuable.”

  “I’d rather wrestle with the Devil in hell!”

  He swiped at her stomach.

  She danced back but not quickly enough. The tip of his blade turned red and left an angry line behind.

  He chuckled. “Once I kill you, I’ll murder your brother. Him, I’ll finish off quickly.”

  She breathed hard, trying to get enough oxygen in her lungs. The cuts had weakened her. She knew her end neared, and then she saw the first light of dawn reflect off a white stone on the other side of the street.

  What did Eamon say about those white stones again? They’re traps!

  She danced backward to avoid a vicious cut at her neck.

  The trap was her only chance to defeat the Viper. She had to get him to chase after her. Only if he thought he had defeated her would he fail to notice the false ground.

  Clanging her sword against the one held in his left hand, she let it linger for a second longer than she should have.

  He sensed the opportunity and bit his blade into her arm. She dropped her weapon, and he grinned.

  This was her only chance. She bolted for the trap, the Viper hot on her heels. When she reached the stone marker she leaped and cleared the false floor. She turned and saw the Viper skid to a stop, his toes beyond the imaginary line between stones as he studied the ground before him.

  “You must think me a fool,” he said. “This ground is untrod upon. Jacob would never let me fall for such a trap.” He swerved around the stone markers and hemmed her in against a building.

  Despair filled her now. She looked at Eamon, who hadn’t budged since the star hit him, and then she backed away from the approaching devil. She had nowhere to go and her shoulders bumped against stone. Her plan had failed. He had her trapped, and now he would kill her, and then he would kill Wilky. She had failed everyone she cared about.

  He paused, bent his head back, and looked toward the heavens. “Jacob is with me! He embraces me.” When he focused on her again his eyes had an ethereal glow about them, and his smile had an eerie quality. He tensed his legs for the last deadly plunge.

  If she was going to die, she wanted to look one last time on Eamon. She glanced toward him, and she saw Wilky standing in the street instead.

  He leveled her crossbow and squeezed the trigger.

  A heartbeat later, the bolt ripped into the Viper’s chest, and he froze. His eyes shot wide. “It can’t be. Jacob—”

  “Isn’t with you. Maybe you’ll find him in hell?” Aaliss kicked him in the chest and toppled him into the trap.

  The false ground gave way, and he landed on a spike. Blood bubbled from his mouth.

  Aaliss pulled her eyes away from the Viper and ran toward Eamon, who did not stir.

  ***

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  Chapter 60 – Michel

  Michel watched from the shadows, invisible in his black ostrich suit. He wanted to help, to scale the wall from the Pantry to the High Priest’s office, but Piers would not allow it, and without Piers’s help he could not gain entry to the Parsonage. He was powerless, and Piers was being stupid.

  Michel knew Piers was brave. Even among the Guardians, Piers would stand out, yet since the fire he had an unquenchable desire to prove himself, so Michel waited in the darkness, only the steam from his mouth visible in the cold air. He had the sickening feeling that Aaliss would be angry with him.

  He’d held his breath when Piers climbed outside the Pantry window and slid across the wall to the High Priest’s office, and his heart had skipped a beat when he almost fell.

  Now he waited and watched.

  What could be taking so long?

  He only needed to copy the file onto the flash drive. Peter said it would take only a few minutes.

  Time crawled past. When flickering lights from a lantern danced in the window, Michel knew trouble had found Piers. He considered scrambling up the side of the building, but he understood only the basics about climbing, and the darkness was near complete. He’d never find the necessary nooks in the stone he needed to reach the top floor.

  A figure moved to the window. He squinted into the moonlight and saw Piers standing with his back to the window frame, his hands stretched out to his sides. And then he fell, his robe fluttering in the breeze.

  Thud!

  Michel cringed at the sickening sound. He glanced back at the window and saw Jonas’s unmistakable bulk peer out of it. Michel cursed and darted toward Piers, who had landed on his back with his arms out to his sides.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered, but he knew Piers had only moments left to live, the light in his eyes growing faint.

  “I’ve got the drive in my hand.”

  Michel uncurled Piers’s fingers and took the small external drive. “I’ve got it.”

  Piers sputtered, “I’m the oldest.... I’m responsible....” And the light left him for the last time.

  Michel growled. Piers didn’t deserve this fate. When patrolling with Aaliss he had promised to look after Piers and Wilky if anything happened to her. He kept his promises, but now he’d failed. A bloodthirsty rage built inside him.

  He thought about climbing the stairs to the Parsonage, kicking open the door, and seeking revenge against Jonas and the High Priest, but he hesitated. He’d have to be smarter. He had to get proof that Aaliss and Wilky were innocent of these charges. Armed with evidence, he could clear their names.

  He could go after them and bring them back.

  He could bring them home.

  ***

  Michel raced to Peter’s dwelling. The aging researcher waited for him but he wasn’t alone. Father Luke stood beside him. When Michel explained what had happened to Piers, Peter sank into a chair and Father Luke said a small prayer. Then they went to the Lab together, Michel making sure the way was clear.

  They huddled around a computer screen in Peter’s office, watching the files from the flash drive, the silence between them thick as the video ended.

  “So it’s all true,” said Peter. “We suspected the origin of the Red Death was man-made, and the Order of the Poisoned Apple was formed at the beginning to pass down that knowledge, but it was so long ago and none of us had any proof.”

  “Until now,” said Father Luke.

  “It’s all a lie?” Michel felt numb. “Jacob was deranged. He wasn’t a prophet!”

  Father Luke placed his hand on Michel’s shoulder. “Not all of it is a lie, my son. God is with us. The God of the Bible. We never would have survived so long without Him.”

  “Everything makes sense,” said Peter. “We’ve been making the cure for the last week. All those flowers and mushrooms harvested. There’s no other explanation.”

  “Why not just tell everyone about the cure? The High Priest could still act as if it’s his miracle. Wilky and Aaliss are gone. They couldn’t expose the lie.” Michel glanced at the two older men, his mind fighting hard to catch up.

  Father Luke shook his head. “He must have tampered with the casks after we put the Sacred Drink in them for Eden Day. I knew it was strange that he came by to bless them. I took another look at those casks after he left. All of them have a green apple stamped on the outside except one, which has a
red apple. That weasel is only going to give the cure to those he wants, and the others will get stuck with the regular Sacred Drink from the cask with the red apple. Once we’re exposed to the Red Death—”

  “He’s going to murder a score of people he’d rather not have around,” said Peter. “There’s only one way to know for certain. Let’s pry open two of the casks. If the cure is in one marked with the green apple and not in the one with the red apple, we’ll have all the evidence we need.”

  “We’ve got to move on this before he knows the file was copied,” said Father Luke. “If what we suspect is true, I’ll rally the Priests.”

  “More than enough guardians support Aaliss,” said Michel. “They’ll listen to me. The Monks won’t stand in our way.”

  “And the researchers will see the logic of action,” agreed Peter.

  ***

  Michel flung the door open.

  Father Luke and a half-dozen guardians, all dressed in their suits with weapons drawn, followed close behind him. Two guardians dragged Jonas with them, a fresh cut across his cheek and the beginnings of a new black eye marring his face.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” The High Priest stood behind his desk, his face turning to ash as he saw Jonas.

  Michel leaped toward him, his sword pointed at his blubbery chest. “You’re being charged with murdering Piers and with treason. Make any move, even just blink your eyes, and I’ll gut you like a fish.” He pressed the tip of his blade against his chest.

  “You insolent fool! My power comes from Jacob. You have no authority over me.”

  Father Luke stepped forward. “Do you really think you can select who gets the cure and who doesn’t? Do you think you’re God?”

  The High Priest glanced between Michel and Father Luke. “I’m greater than God. It’s up to me to decide life and death. Piers was a fool, and his meddling sister and brother are more fools who got in the way. You’re all fools.”

  Michel smashed him in the face with the hilt of his sword.

  The High Priest reeled from the blow, his head snapping back, blood gushing from his broken nose.