“Hold on a second now.” Solloway said, holding up his hand. “We don’t know which way this man in furs went. It’s just silver, after all_”
“You gave your word to Old Wren that you would get my brother back. The only tongue the slavers speak with is silver-tipped. If we don’t get that purse, what else are we going to use? A wagon full of rotted fruit?”
“Now, now, it’s not rotted at all, just a little ripe,” Tim said, his old bow-legs finally catching him up with them. Brook leaped down from the wagon, her cape catching the air behind her in a manner befitting the title of her people, and landed next to Jompers, who was now sitting up and rubbing his head.
“I’m going after him. You all can come with me if you want, or stay, it makes no difference. Just remember, as an axe man from the Fort at Kingston, you’re also a man of your word, of honor, of_”
“I damn well know what being an axe man means, girl. I took an oath. But this may be a ploy to draw us out and take the rest of the wagon’s supplies. I’ll stay with Tim and Jed. You and Mercer go after him.”
Despite her impassioned stance, Brook saw Solloway’s point. She nodded. “Fine. Jompers, which way did he go?”
“I think… I think he went that way.” The cosmologist pointed east, into the woods that would lead from the Mountain Road to the Kill Fish and the Hud beyond.
“Thanks. Come on Mercer, let’s not waste any more time.”
“Wait!” Jompers cried out before they could take a few steps. “Brook, take this.” He tossed her a small satchel. Inside were hard spheres, like large seeds.
“What are these?”
“Pyrix Spheres. Throw them hard enough and they’ll explode in a ball of smoke and fire. They could come in useful.”
“Thank you, Jompers,” Brook said, tucking the burlap bag into her belt. “We’ll be back by sunset.”
“That gives you six hours at most, so make it quick.”
“Okay. Let’s go.” Mercer followed close to Brook and Leo as they tore their way through the briars and brambles of the forest. They hadn’t gone far when Leo stopped next to a small tree, sniffing at its branches.
“The man passed through here. The tracks are fresh and the limbs only recently pushed aside. Look.” Mercer followed her finger to the branch, where a red liquid glistened in the fog-filtered sun.
“Blood,” he said. “Jompers must have got him with his gun.”
“Serves the thief right.” Mercer was surprised by the vitriol in her voice, but understood it stemmed from the love she had for her brother, not hatred for the man in furs. The heavy purse of silver was the only thing that could buy Crow back from the slavers, and anyone who threatened that from happening would be treated by Brook with little to no mercy.
Mercer followed as Brook marched up the sloping hillside. “I see you’re a good tracker.”
“Good enough. Crow was far better. He could find the two-week old path of a wild boar without breaking a sweat. Mainly, I rely on Leo. He has this man’s scent. Shouldn’t be too long until we catch up with him.” They peaked the hill, scanning the misty valley below for signs of movement. From the next hilltop, through the trees, came a loud bang which echoed around their heads in soft, undulating waves.
“It sounded like a door,” Mercer said. “That must be our man.”
Brook nodded. “Let’s go.”
They bolted down the hillside then up the next. Leo was never more focused, his nose like the tip of an arrow sailing through the forest. The trees gathered one behind the other in straight rows, as if they had been planted deliberately in the long ago, lining a path as the old ones were wont to do. The path now was little more than a strip of moth-eaten leaves and gnarled roots, but still they felt they were being led someplace.
When they crested the hill, they were greeted by a square stone building, surrounded by stooped trees and the ruins of a stone-lined garden draped in fog. The source of the bang, the door in question, was directly ahead of them, embedded in the building’s wall at the summit of a dozen crumbled steps, painted blood red.
Mercer drew his sword, feeling for the blade’s pull. Jai Lin stayed calm. “There are no dead men about. What do we do?” He asked. “Just go in?”
“No, Mercer, how about we just turn around,” Brook said, jogging up to the red doorway, her knife drawn and Leo close.
“Thanks,” Mercer said, following her. “Your sarcasm, as always, is much appreciated.”
He kept his eyes on the high battlements of the building, wary that the man they were pursuing would have a weapon aimed at them as they approached. He saw only pine needles and leaves eddying in the soft wind, no human movement at all. His eyes went to below the roof, to the broken windows in the stone walls, their remaining glass the colors of a rainbow. “I think this was a church, once in the long ago. It was a holy place.”
“Well, now it’s just the hiding ground for a thief. Here, help me with this door.” Mercer tried the door’s handle but it wouldn’t turn. He pulled his hand away and saw fresh blood covering his palm. “It looks like his wound is getting worse,” Mercer said. He wiped his hand on his pants and then put his shoulder into the door, trying to push it open. Still, it would not budge.
“Here, I have an idea.” Sheathing his sword, Mercer leaped up to the ledge that ran along the outer wall of the church, just below the windows.
“Be careful,” Brook whispered to him. Below the ledge was a tangle of sharp stones and twisted thorns. Falling would not be pleasant.
“I will. These ledges are old. They may_ whoa!” The ledge beneath his foot cracked and fell away. He desperately grasped at the stone blocks that jutted out from the wall above, trying to steady himself before he plummeted.
“Are you okay?” Brook called to him.
Mercer had steadied himself, but his fingertips and palms felt as if a gang of ants had dug underneath his flesh and set up a colony. He hated scraping his hands.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be more careful.” Mercer stepped across the chasm that had formed, hugging the wall as tightly as he could. After a few moments and no more broken ledges, he had made it to a window.
“What do you see?” Brook called up to him. Mercer looked in through the window, over the serrated panes of colored glass that stubbornly hung in the frame. The room was awash in the sort of ghostly phosphorescence one would see on the sticks and stones at the bottom of a stream. Long benches were draped in mildewy sheets, all facing towards a dais made of wood and dull gold. Nothing moved, save the soft arms of fog snaking in through the broken window panes.
Mercer ducked his head just in time. The window pane broke into a score of shards, raining down upon his head from the force of the stone that had been thrown.
“He’s in there,” Mercer said, the back of his neck bleeding from the glass above.
“Here, catch!” Brook threw him the small satchel of pyrix spheres that Jompers had given her. “Throw one in, then jump through the window. The spheres will distract him.”
“Jump in? You are kidding, right?” But he could tell by her face that she wasn’t. Another rock sailed through the window, this one only passing through empty space. “Fine,” Mercer said, opening the bag and pulling out one of the spheres. It was firm and chalky to the touch, like a ball of clay, with the same violet hue as bloot berry wine. Without even looking, he lobbed the ball in through the window. There was a thud, then a roar like an old combustible engine coming to life. A creaky voice cried out from within as smoke began to billow out the window. Mercer took it as his chance and leaped in the church.
As swift as a hawk, as unfettered as a stream, he thought as he fell through the air. His senses took on a heightened acuity as hawk-stream style washed over him. He did a diving somersault upon meeting the ground and then sprung up, his feet moving him quickly towards the man cowering in the corner of the church. Blue flames from the pyrix sphere licked at the sheets upon the benches, and the air was filled with black smoke, so thick that
the cowering man didn’t see Mercer sprinting towards him.
In his heightened state, Mercer could make out the man’s every feature, from the dirty hair that sprouted like broken spider legs from his skull to the yellow of his eyes. The man was near his father in age and the layers of thick furs he wore made the shape of his body hard to determine. Despite this, Mercer could clearly see that the man had only one arm. The moment Mercer realized this was the same that the man’s yellow eyes fell upon him.
“Mercy…” the man muttered, just as the butt of Jai Lin found his jaw. He went down in a heap, the church eaves reverberating with the crack of steel on bone. As the furs scattered about, Mercer could see just how frail and thin the man was. He looked to have not eaten in weeks.
Mercer also saw the place where Jompers’ blunderbuss had hit home: the dirty white tunic the man wore under his furs was drenched in blood, emanating from a spot just above where his kidney would be if Mercer remembered his anatomy lessons right. He felt pity for the man, and regretted hitting him so hard.
Hawk-stream style left him, the usual fatigue and languidness taking its place. Brook’s pounding on the door sparked him back to life. He ran to the red doors, a bar of iron through its handles. After removing it, Brook nearly tumbled in. Her brown eyes were wide and mad in her head, her knife shaking in her hand. “Where is he?” She seethed.
“I knocked him out. Brook, you have to calm down. He didn’t mean anything by stealing the silver. He’s a poor vagrant, nothing more. The guy looks like he hasn’t had a good meal his entire adult life.”
“I don’t care, Mercer. Let me punish him. Let me_”
“Brook!” Mercer grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, until her wandering, dilated eyes calmed and focused on him. “Did you hear me? He has nothing. This isn’t like you to be this way. You’re not a bully who takes from the weak, a sword without a conscience. Please.” Mercer turned towards the corner of the church where the frail man in furs lay sprawled upon the ground. “He asked for mercy just before I hit him. It’s the least we can do. I don’t think he has much time left.”
Brook took a deep breath, and nodded. “I just want the silver back.”
“Fine. Come on.” They walked in silence towards the man. Brook had re-sheathed her knife, Mercer having done the same with Jai Lin. Mercer could feel the weight of Brook’s mood shift as she took in the broken shape beneath her.
“He has no arm,” she muttered.
“I’m not sure why he took the silver when he could have taken the fruit and grains in the wagon,” Mercer said, leaning down to inspect the wound. “Ah, look. Here it is.” He unclasped Old Wren’s bag of silver from the man’s belt and tossed it up to Brook.
The man started flailing, giving Mercer enough of a fright that he gasped and bolted back to his feet. Whatever power had just surged through the one-armed man’s body quickly left it, taking even more color from his skin as it did so.
“I took it…” the man rattled. “I took the silver… because I wanted to buy passage… with the Boat People…”
“You could have just asked us for food. We would have given you whatever you needed. You didn’t need to be shot.”
“Blight on your food…” the man said, trying to turn over. “I needed coin to… to go north… beyond the Aderon Mountains… all will die in the Green Lands… the final horseman of the Apocalypse is coming…”
“The final horseman?” Brook grabbed Mercer’s arm. “It’s like the man in the yellow suit said in the dead dream. It’s what he called Plaguewind.”
“Ah, so you know him. He’s… he’s powerful. I was an Apostle once… part of the Church of the Bleeding Christ… they made him even stronger...” The man coughed, specks of blood falling on his lips. “They… they gave Plaguewind the sceptre… the Sceptre of Jai Lin… I tried to stop them but… they banished me… cut off my arm and sent me ashore…” The man began to tremble uncontrollably, and his breath was coming in shallower gulps. “Now men will kill each other in their fight for the Green Lands… and the dead will rise… and feast on the living… until nothing is left… until all is Blight...”
“Shh, it’s okay,” Brook said, leaning down to him. She took some of the furs and draped them over his body. “Mercer, we should do something.”
“I know,” he said, taking his sword from his back.
“No need… to kill me. My time… is up. I see the light… the Bleeding Christ… he’s so beautiful…” The man’s trembling quieted. He tried to speak, but there were only silent phrases traipsing on his chapped lips. With one last gasp, as deep as he could get the air in his lungs, the man whispered his final words: “Go north… Jai Lin… the only hope…” Stillness settled over him, his jaundiced gaze forever locked on the heavens above.
“He’s gone,” Brook said, closing the man’s eyelids. “What did he mean? To go north? Is he talking about your sword being the only hope? And hope for what?”
Mercer shook his head. “I don’t know. Come on, let’s get back to Solloway and the others.”
The flames from the pyrix sphere had shrunk to smoking, charred holes upon the sheets; Mercer took the least damaged one from its place over a bench and draped it over the dead Apostle’s body. With Leo in tow and the purse of coins safely with them, they walked out the church and started back towards the Mountain Road.
The afternoon sun had begun to burn off the fog, so that rays of light touched down into the forest, given shape by the white vapor dancing around them. The leaves shone in various shades of green, gold and crimson, their surfaces wet and sparkling from the heavy fog. They walked in silence, both ruminating on the strange synchronicities between the dream they’d shared and the warnings of the one-armed Apostle.
Brook was the first to speak. “You told me back there to have mercy on the weak, to not be a sword without a conscience. Do you remember when I said the same exact thing to you, after my brother was taken?”
“I remember,” Mercer said. “I listened.”
“Mercer, we haven’t really had the chance to talk about the dream or... your father.” She took his hand. “The man in the church echoed what the man in the dream was saying, about Plaguewind being the final horseman of the Apocalypse, that he’s bringing an army of killim up from the Blight into the Green Lands.”
“We’ve seen as much,” Mercer replied. “From what happened in Young Poe to the dead men we’ve encountered on our way north. What I don’t understand is…”
Mercer felt a knot rise in his throat as he remembered the man who would hug him close after he’d fall and scrape his knees, who had taught him about science and religion and farming. What had happened to Willis Crane? How had such a good man become so twisted, so evil?
“It’s okay Mercer,” she said as he violently pulled his hand away from hers. He unsheathed Jai Lin in one quick motion and swung it through the air. The crown of the small tree in front of him fell to the ground, a clean cut through its trunk. Mercer turned to another tree, an oak as wide as Tim’s wagon, and hacked away. Wood chips and tears coalesced in the air, Mercer’s teeth gritted against the image of Plaguewind taking shape in the lines and undulations of the tree bark.
“Mercer!” Brook cried. Leo whined, taking a few steps back from the swordsman. Eventually, he stopped, a smoldering wound in the tree, sap bleeding out, Mercer’s shoulders heaving.
“Nothing will be okay.” He said, his voice creaking, deep. “All good things die, or become twisted. That’s just how it is.”
“That’s not true, Mercer. Even after the longest night, morning comes. Winter births spring. We’ll stop the armies from marching on one another, we will. Once they know there are killim coming up from the south, all men will unite together in common cause against Plaguewind. I’m sure of it. Then dawn will come, as it always does.”
“You heard the man in the church and the man in the dream. This is the sort of night that dawn does not come from. Those men were Apostles, from Revelation Island. Di
sciples of the Church of the Bleeding Christ. My father taught me all about them, long ago, when he was still Willis Crane. They’re a religious cult obsessed with the end of days. They see the Time of the Great Dying as their god’s ultimate judgement against the unrighteous, who they see as anyone who is not them, as far as I can tell. They believe God’s wrath will come about in the form of four horsemen, the first three which came in quick succession in the old days, after the oil ran out: Famine first, then pestilence, then war. Now comes plague. It seems they’ve armed him with a powerful weapon.”
“The Sceptre of Jai Lin. That’s what the two Apostles called it. Do you think…?”
“Do I think it’s connected to the sword? It has to be. When I went in that trance the other day, Plaguewind found me. He drew me to the Blight through the connection the sceptre had with the sword.”
“The apostle in the church said that Jai Lin was the only hope. Did he mean your sword was the only hope to save the Green Lands? Did he mean the sceptre?”
“I really don’t know. It’s likely a secret he’ll take to his grave. All I know is he desperately wanted to get north, to whatever land lies beyond the Aderon Mountains.”
Brook pursed her lips. “That sword is more powerful than you and I even know. It might be the key to stopping your father.”
“He seems to want it, but also fears it,” Mercer said, inspecting Jai Lin’s blade. “Come on. Let’s get back to the others.”
Jompers was the first to see them emerge from the forest and hailed them with a hearty “hallo!” He seemed fully recovered, but as Brook said, there was a large bump which shone like a pearl on his forehead. Solloway tottered out from behind the wagon, his cheeks rosy and wet splotches of liquor on his uniform.
“Did you get it?” He asked, his words like paste. Brook smiled and tossed him the bag of coins. “Very nice. Did he put up a fight, or did he take one look at Leo and run like a Lazarus Township nancy?”
Mercer cleared his throat. “He was mortally wounded, actually. He died soon after we found him.”
“Oh dear, oh dear... I killed the man. I never meant to. I just wanted to scare him off. Oh no, I’m a murderer. Oh dear, oh dear…”
The Undead King: The Saga of Jai Lin: Book One Page 15
