The Hallowed Ones

by Laura Bickle

  I think it was because I wanted to savor each instant, knowing that it had to end. As the dark softened and the light grayed, I dozed. Once or twice, I sensed something was watching us, and I heard a scuff at the door. I froze.

  Alex held me close. “If it’s the vampires,” he whispered, “don’t move.”

  The footsteps seemed to go away, and I was able to relax against him, lulled into dreams by warmth. It was a beautiful spell. For a moment, I felt as if I were truly in control of my world, of my own destiny.

  The spell broke after sunrise.

  I woke to a rusty sound, the sound of the door being reeled back.

  I jolted upright, clutching the blanket to my chest. I shaded my eyes from the bright sunlight with my hand. I could make out silhouettes at the door.

  “There they are,” said a voice, cold and bitter.

  I blinked. It was Elijah. And the Elders.

  I felt Alex behind me rising to fight, as I scrambled for my dress.

  “Don’t move,” the Bishop said, aiming a rifle at Alex.

  I closed my eyes.

  My little dream was over.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Elders let us dress, then marched us back through the fields to my house. I glared murderously at Elijah’s back the whole way. How dare he . . . how dare he destroy the last little bit of a dream I had for myself?

  I knew then that I hated him.

  Hated him more than Ruth. More than the vampires, even.

  I would never forgive him. Though “never” was shaping up to be a very short time for me.

  My father marched down the steps, shock on his face. My mother was fast behind him, wiping her hands on a dishrag. It was clear to me that they were just as surprised as Alex and I.

  “What’s happened?” my father demanded.

  Elijah was the first to answer. “I came by to see if Katie was home. She wasn’t. You said that she was likely looking after the new puppies, so I thought to go look for her there.”

  “Ja, I remember. You woke us up.” My father’s tone was harsh. I couldn’t tell if it was for me or directed at Elijah.

  I traded glances with Alex. The “vampires” we’d heard at dawn . . . it must have been Elijah. Spying.

  “I thought she was up to no good. I peered in between the slats of the wall . . . saw her”—he cast a contemptuous glare at me, then pointed to Alex—“lying with him.”

  My father’s angry gaze landed on me. I lifted my chin in defiance.

  “Is this true?”

  I stubbornly refused to answer. But my father took in my disheveled appearance, my unbound hair, and drew his own conclusions.

  He turned back to Elijah. “Why did you not come to me? I am her father. This is none of the concern of the Elders.”

  The Bishop raised his voice. “It is our concern when she lies with an Outsider.” He grabbed Alex’s wrist, yanked up his sleeve to show his tattoo. “The Outsider we ordered to be left beyond the field.”

  I opened my mouth to issue a scathing protest, but Alex interrupted me.

  “It’s true. She came to me to bring me water in the field that day. And I forced her to take me to shelter.”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “I told her that I’d kill her family if she didn’t obey. That I’d kill all of you if she didn’t bring me food. I even threatened to kill the pregnant dog with her puppies.” His jaw jutted out, and his voice was harsh. “She’s a good little obedient girl, that one. Does what she’s told.”

  “That’s not true.” Tears sprang to my eyes. I knew what he was trying to do.

  He stepped forward, raising his voice. “Shut up, you dumb bitch. And, yeah, I raped her. I forced her when she came to check on the dogs this morning.”

  My mother choked back a sob and pressed the dishtowel to her face.

  “She fought hard, but . . . how could any of you resist a piece of ass like that?” He gestured contemptuously at me, then Elijah. “How about you?”

  Elijah slugged him. Alex didn’t fight back, didn’t fall, just turned his cheek and stared at him.

  The Bishop stared at me. “Is this true?”

  I shook. I knew that Alex was trying to save me, that he was as good as dead. But he was trying to buy me a little time. Tears blurred my vision, and my mother came to me and wrapped her arms around me.

  “How could you ask such a thing?” she snarled at the Bishop.

  “It’s not true,” I said. I lifted my chin. “He’s lying. I took him in willingly. He was injured, and none of you would help.”

  Alex sneered at me. “See? I’ve got her wrapped around my little finger.”

  My father shoved him in the chest. “Enough.”

  I swallowed hard. I had never seen him get violent with anyone before.

  “I went to him willingly,” I cried. “I went to him willingly then, as I did last night.”

  My mother sobbed behind her fingers. “Katie, please . . .”

  Alex closed his eyes.

  Rage stained my hot cheeks. “And I went to him the night before when he helped the Hexenmeister and I keep the contagion from spreading, when we kept the Hersbergers from becoming monsters . . . from becoming vampires. What the Englishwoman said is right. There are vampires among us.”

  I stabbed my finger at the Elders, aware that my voice was shrill and hysterical. “I have seen them. And the Hexenmeister, with his Himmelsbriefen, is the only one who can save us. But you have silenced him, so he cannot help us.”

  My voice echoed in my ears, full of tears and rage. It felt useless, against the black wall of the Elders. But at least I had spoken the truth.

  The Bishop looked from Alex to me, nodded to the Elder holding the rifle. “Take them both Outside.”

  “No.” My father stood between him and me. This was the first note of defiance I’d ever seen in him. “My daughter is a victim.”

  “Your daughter has let an Outsider inside. He is likely the one to blame for all the other—”

  “No!” I shouted. “He didn’t do it. It was the vampires. Ask the Hexenmeister.”

  My mother flinched. The Bishop cast a murderous gaze on me. “She goes with him. She is now under the Bann.”

  “She may be too trusting,” my father said. “She’s been abused, and we will take care of her.”

  “She is still under the Bann.”

  “You cannot do that,” my father protested. “You can throw the Outsider beyond the gate. He is not one of us. But you cannot place an unbaptized person under the Bann.”

  The Bishop’s pale eyes narrowed.

  “You cannot,” my father said, his voice shaking in anger. I saw in that moment how truly strong he was. “It’s against the Ordnung. She has not formally accepted the church. If you place her under the Bann, you must place every child in this settlement with a pair of blue jeans in his closet or a radio in her dresser under the Bann. The Ordnung cannot be suspended in times of crisis. The Ordnung is law, and we will continue to follow it.”

  A heavy silence hung over the yard. I’d never seen anyone challenge the Elders, argue with them on a point of law. My father was correct. He’d called the Bishop out on his selective interpretation of the Ordnung.

  But what remained to be seen was whether or not the Bishop would acquiesce. Whether he would try to save face or fight.

  After a long moment, the Bishop grudgingly nodded in my direction. “Get her under control. We will decide about her later.”

  Another Elder entered the yard leading the white horse on a bridle.

  My heart sank to see the horse captured. They must have found him at Herr Stoltz’s house with the black mare. And they must have known that he did not belong to any of us. Or else Herr Stoltz had been forced to tell them.

  The Bishop nodded at the horse. “Tie the Englisher to the horse. Turn them loose beyond the gate.”

  “No!” I shouted, remembering the single bloody boot I’d found in the horse’s saddle. “That’s cert
ain death. The vampires will devour him. You’re a murderer, just the same as if you shot him the day you found him!”

  My mother clapped her hand over my mouth. Elijah grabbed my wrists, and they began to pull me back into my house.

  I kicked and fought against them, biting my mother on the hand. I saw the Elders turn and march Alex away before the door slammed and cut me off from the world.

  ***

  My mother dragged me down to the spring room. She cried when she saw the blood on the inside of my thigh, scrubbed me so hard that I ached. I would not look at her. No matter how hard she tried to wash the sin away, I was a defiled woman. Her hopes for me, the future that she wanted so desperately for her child, was ruined.

  She watched me dress. As she did so, I heard another crying jag begin. I stole that moment to steal the Himmelsbrief away from my dirty dress and hide it in the pocket of my clean apron. I waited expectantly for her to wash her face, blow her nose, and send me upstairs to my room. When I got up there, Ginger was still sitting upright in her nightgown, staring at the wall. I noticed that the beds had been stripped and Sarah’s things had been taken from the room. Only a Bible and a copy of the Ausbund lay on my naked bed.

  As soon as the door shut behind me, I heard a key turn in the lock.

  I snarled in frustration and collapsed on the bed.

  I felt Ginger’s vacant gaze upon me. “Sounds like you pissed them off.”

  “Ja. I really pissed them off.”

  She slowly reached beside her for her basket of yarn and offered me a ball. “Would you like to start a project of your own?”

  I started to bite off a snide remark, but then I looked at the thick yarn she was winding around her fingers. My eyes flicked to the window.

  Ginger lifted an eyebrow.

  I flattened my mouth and reached for the yarn.

  ***

  I was a fast hooker.

  Well, at least, that was what my mother said about my crochet skills.

  I worked on the yarn all day, using up all the balls of wool in Ginger’s basket and unraveling part of her afghan. The yarn was stretchy, and I tried to make stitches that were tight and inflexible. Looking out the window, I gauged the distance between the lintel and the ground to be about twenty-four feet.

  When I heard footsteps on the stairs, I jammed my project under the bed and grabbed my Ausbund. I succeeded in getting it open on my lap when my mother came in with lunch for us.

  She looked at me, teared up, and left the dishes on the bed. When the door was shut and locked, I heard her crying.

  I gave my food to Ginger and continued crocheting. I tightened my stitches angrily while the tears fell. I was angry for having endangered Alex with my selfishness. I was angry at Elijah for being rigid and possessive. I was angry at the Elders for their abuses of power. I was angry that the Hexenmeister was imprisoned, that our last hope for survival was under lock and key.

  But, most of all, I was angry that they had killed Alex. The image of the blood-smeared white horse was burned into my memory. I knew that after the sun set, it would be his blood pouring from his shoe in the stirrup onto the ground. Tears splashed onto my work, but I didn’t stop. I continued even though my fingers ached and the needle was blistering hot in my hand.

  I had enough of this world. I knew what lay Outside, but I would not stay here.

  I was fast, but the sun was faster. As I worked, it moved across the sky, moving toward the horizon. Part of me hoped that I could complete my work before the moon rose, that I could find Alex and save him. But I was forced to put my half-finished escape plan away when the sun disappeared and the stars came out. There simply was not enough light left to work by.

  I lay on my bed, listening to the clank of pots and pans downstairs and the crickets outside. Despair fell on me, and tears ran from the corners of my eyes into my ears. I rubbed at them. I knew that the vampires were coming out now, probably treating Alex’s remains like those of the dead cattle.

  We were all soon to be dead cattle.

  A knock sounded at the door. I lifted my head to see who it was, lowered it again.

  Elijah. Elijah the rat. He came in bearing the golden light of a lantern and a tray of food. My mother came after him to take Ginger downstairs, leaving me alone with the last person on earth I wanted to talk to.

  I stared up at the ceiling. The shadows on it moved as he set the lantern down on the nightstand. The bed squeaked as he sat down beside me. I edged away from him; I wanted no part of my leg touching his.

  “Katie . . .” he began.

  I said nothing. I laced my fingers behind my head tightly. Or else I was going to strangle him.

  “Katie, this is for your own good.”

  I turned my bright, angry gaze upon him. “And who are you to judge that?” I propped myself up on one arm, jammed my finger into his chest. “Who are you to judge me?”

  “What you did is—”

  “You are not God. The Elders are not God. The Bishop is not God. You may want to play as if you are him, in your own screwed-up shrinking little world, but you have no jurisdiction over me.”

  His eyes were wide, shocked. “I just came to tell you that . . . I forgive you.”

  I put my face close to his, snarled: “I don’t care. I don’t care what you think of me, what you approve of, what you forgive. You are not my God.”

  “But we’re to be together,” he said plaintively.

  “No,” I said. “Not you. Not ever. Not even after the vampires chew us up and spit us out, and we’re all dead, rotting meat waiting in line for the kingdom of heaven or the road to hell. Not ever.”

  His gaze darkened. It wasn’t the blasphemy that angered him. It was the rejection.

  He struck me. He hit me hard across the face, sending me tumbling to the floor. I lifted my head and growled at him, “Get out!”

  He stood over me, his hand clenching my dress collar. His breath was hot on my face. “How could you give yourself to that Outsider? That stranger?”

  I lifted my chin. “Because he didn’t try to control me.”

  “I’ll show you control.” He grabbed my wrist and the hem of my dress, then sat on me.

  I opened my mouth to scream, but he jammed his hand over my mouth.

  “You never screamed in his arms,” he snarled.

  Something struck my window. It sounded small, insignificant. Like a pebble hitting glass. It barely registered to me, but Elijah froze.

  “Oh no,” he cried out.

  I reached up, dug my thumb into his eye.

  He howled and fell back against the bed. I kicked him off of me, backed away.

  “You get the hell away from me,” I said. “You monster.”

  He pressed his hand over his wounded eye, but the other eye rolled fearfully to the window. “I’m not a monster. Not like them.”

  I glanced at the window, down into the yard.

  And then I understood. I understood everything with perfect clarity.

  I understood why the Darkness had fallen over us. Why my parents had not come running when they heard the scuffle on the second floor. I even understood why Ruth had died.

  Two vampires stood in the backyard, staring up at my window. They were pale and gaunt, like spiders, the shadow cast by the moon driven before them.

  “Elijah,” one of them said. “Come to us.”

  “Elijah,” the other said. “Don’t you miss us?”

  They were dressed as Plain folk, but their white shirts were stained with blood from neck to waist. I knew them. Seth and Joseph.

  “You left us a note that said you missed us.”

  I turned to Elijah, who sat stupidly on the floor, crying and holding his eye. “You knew they were here.”

  “Ja,” he sobbed. “I saw them at dusk, five nights ago. I took my father’s wagon to go and get some fresh air . . . I was tired of being cooped up in the house. And I saw them, standing just beyond the gate, on the road. They called to me. Like now.”
<
br />   I sucked in my breath. “You let them in.”

  I heard a scraping outside the house. I stifled a scream as I whirled and saw Joseph peering through the window, stroking the screen. I reached up and slammed the window glass so hard it cracked a pane. Joseph laughed, and I heard him drop to the ground as lightly as a cat from a fence.

  I whirled back to Elijah. “How could you let them in?”

  He lowered his head. “I was so happy to see them . . . you can’t imagine. But they blew past me like leaves.”

  “Why didn’t they kill you?” I demanded.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I think they remember me.”

  “No. They have no sentimentality.” I kicked him in the ribs. “Why didn’t they kill you?”

  “I don’t know,” he whimpered.

  I grabbed his jacket, dug through his pockets. My fingers closed around a piece of paper. When I pulled it out, it was parchment. I shook it in front of his nose like a dog who’d had an accident. “Where did you get this?”

  “Herr Stoltz made it for me.”

  I opened it up, expecting a Himmelsbrief. But it was an elaborately painted document, showing stylized doves and hearts and tulips. In the Hexenmeister’s hand, the words Grow old with me were printed in Hochdeutsch. A list of ministers’ signatures endorsed Elijah’s character. Both our names were printed on it, with space for us to sign.

  It was a Zeugnis, a marriage contract. I let it flutter to the floor. Some of the Hexenmeister’s magic must have worked into it, enough to keep Elijah safe.

  I looked down into the yard, and my breath clotted in my throat.

  Seth, the youngest, was kneeling down with his arms open. The door creaked open, and a small figure ran across the yard into his embrace.

  “No!” I shrieked.

  Seth stood up, cradling Sarah. He grinned over his shoulder at me, displaying long teeth and inhuman eyes.

  “Come down here, pretty one,” Joseph said. “Come here and we’ll let the little girl go.”

  I glared down at Elijah. He rocked back and forth, his hand pressed to his eye. “How dare you bring this to our doorstep!” I cried.

  He didn’t answer me. I grabbed the lantern and stepped on the Zeugnis as I left the room.