Traveling Merchant (Book 2): Pestilence

by Seymour, William J.

  Warm air, dry and dusty hits her face like a wall as she exits the doorway. Lanterns swing where they hang from the corners of the wagon and the horses on the front breath heavy as they kick at the rocky ground.

  “What is going on?” she asks.

  Derek is talking in hushed tones with Brother George as they huddle over the back where a lump remains curled under a layer of blankets. She sees Mary giving instructions to Jezabelle and Patricia, both of who are barely two years older than she is. Without turning, both women quickly run off into the darkness.

  “Mary, what is going on?” Kelly asks again, this time finding her way off the front steps of the church and over to the wagon.

  The wind shifts, and she gets the first smell of rotten filth and wet mud. Inside, her stomach churns and her mouth fills with the taste of acid and vomit. Grabbing onto the wooden edge of the cart, the wheels rock as she doubles over.

  “What… what is that smell?” Kelly asks, but no one is answering her.

  Taking in deep breaths through her mouth, she tries to calm her heart down and ease the cramping of her stomach.

  One breath.

  Two breaths.

  Finding the strength, she pulls herself up and looks at the blankets that everyone is huddled around. Dirty white feet stick out from beneath the dark canvas and blood trickles out from between the toes. There is no movement, and the stench keeps growing the longer the body sits there.

  “Are they dead?” Kelly asks again between coughs.

  “Please, honey, let’s go back inside,” Mary whispers as she wraps her arm around Kelly’s shoulder.

  When did she get so close? She didn’t even see the woman come around the horses.

  “Is… are they dead?” Kelly asks again as she follows the leading footsteps back toward the church.

  “Not yet, we may have found them in time. Let us both go inside and pray for a miracle. Brother George and the nurses will need all the help they can get if she is going to be saved,” Mary says.

  “It’s a woman?”

  Mary nods her head.

  “Yes, we found her down by the river.”

  “Was she alone?”

  The smell by the church is less tainted, and it is a lot easier to keep her legs from shaking as the warm dry air helps push back the need to vomit.

  “No, she was…” Mary starts but is cut off by the sound of dogs barking in the night.

  Going frantic, the howls echo and Kelly turns before entering through the door.

  Shadows approach from the road that leads to the river. Slowly, they walk and the closer they draw the wilder the dogs in town begin to grow.

  “Who is that?” Kelly asks.

  One of them she recognizes by sight. It is Derek’s brother, Trevor, but the other is someone she has never seen before. He towers over them even from a distance. As dark as the night, he’s easily the biggest man she has ever seen. As wide as Bert’s father but as muscled as the horses pulling the wagon. Over his shoulder he carries a bag, but he doesn’t seem to be in any kind of hurry.

  “Did you find him with her?” she asks when Mary doesn’t answer.

  “Yes… yes we did. How about we get inside and start those prayers?” Mary says and with a firm hand she pushes Kelly inside.

  Once through the door, Kelly spins to get one more glance out the door.

  The stranger reaches the church and begins talking with Brother George. Where that Logan Barnett with his men was tall and demanding, this one towers over them and there is something else about him she just can’t place. She cannot hear their words. Behind her she can already hear the whispers of prayers as Mary starts without her, but for the first time in the four years she has been here, she sees something she has never seen before.

  Brother George’s shoulders slump and standing before the dark man, the closest thing she has ever known to a father since her parents died, looks defeated.

  Metal utensils clang on teeth between unsmiling lips and empty bowls. Drinks are consumed, and time passes. No words are spoken, silence hanging over the room smothering any attempts to communicate even before the words are thought of.

  Fires burn on scentless candles, the sizzle of their wicks fighting against the buzz of insects singing into the night.

  Kelly bites at the corner edge of dry bread. It scratches the roof of her mouth and tastes like ash. The stuffiness in the air itches her skin and no matter where she scratches, she cannot make it end. She watches a half dozen heads bob as they eat, and no one looks up. Dark mops of hair with a thousand feet of distance between them all, yet they are shoulder to shoulder.

  Long shadows stretch across the wooden bench polished to a shine that reflects the light of the candles like a mirror. Time passes at a snail’s pace and she can hardly stand it. Her toes curl and her muscles ache with pent-up tension. She kicks at the floor and the impact echoes like thunder though no one looks up or seems to notice.

  "I'm told you were traveling along the river," Brother George says.

  A breath of relief washes over Kelly and she sighs. Everyone turns their heads her way for the first time this night. Heat washes over her face and she looks back at her empty bowl. The bottom is clean, but she can’t let them know that. Scratching with her wooden spoon, she scoops at the air and pretends to enjoy every taste of it.

  "We were looking for a way to cross and got caught in a storm. Washed us downriver. You found us climbing out," the tall, dark stranger says.

  He sits larger than any other person at the table and he picks at his food with an uninterested glare. As if insulted by the mere presence, he ignores most and instead spins the broth in large, looping circles. A small bite here and there are his only attempts to bother with the passing of the dinner.

  She can't seem to pick out what is different with him, but no one seems comfortable. Other than Brother George, everyone fidgets as if the only thought in their mind is to run for the nearest door. Inside, the feeling runs within her as well, though there is a part of her that asks, why?

  She needs to know the answer.

  "God must have a purpose to keep you alive during such an ordeal," Brother George says.

  A few at the table whisper Amen, but Kelly cannot make her lips move. For some reason she cannot fathom why the words will not budge. The shadows swirl around the stranger’s shoulders and without knowing the reason, she can feel God will not be a part of this man’s story.

  The dark man lifts his head as if he could hear the words in her mind and she turns back to her empty bowl.

  With the smallest glance she can dare, she can see him reveal the bright whites of his eyes and nothing more. The darkness held within threatens to pull her in, a void sucking them all into a trap they’ll never climb out of.

  "My purpose is my own, priest, and God has little to do with it," the man answers before going back to his food.

  He does not take another bite.

  "The Lord our father works in many ways, my son. Even in the darkest of days he watches over us and leads on a path he deems worthy. Even if we do not see it for ourselves."

  Spoon rattles on bowl and everyone freezes as the man stops acting like the stew in front of him is worth his time. No one looks up except her. Brother George does not flinch.

  Kelly moves from head to head. The big man grips the table and begins to push himself away.

  "What do they call you?" she blurts out, anything to change the subject.

  She doesn’t know why, but the voice in her head will not let him leave without her finding out something about him. A dark enigma with an answer she won’t rest without. If Brother George is right and God brought this man here, then they must find out why.

  Mary and Derek look up, Brother George turns his head toward her. The man at the end of the table settles his gaze on her and she regrets even being born. The room darkens. She is suddenly the only person in the world.

  "People call me, Merchant," he answers.

  She can feel his w
ords down to her bones. His voice is as old as time and deeper than the shadows filling in the spaces between her and him. She regrets ever gaining his attention. Her blood runs cold and the thumping in her chest is so loud she knows the others can hear it.

  "Just Merchant?" she asks and hopes he cannot hear the chatting of her teeth.

  "Please, Kelly. Let the man eat his dinner in peace. We know he didn't come here to be badgered by young women," Brother George cuts in.

  A rush of embarrassment punches her in the gut and what she has eaten knocks on the back of her throat. She turns her gaze to the hands resting on her lap. Why do they shake so much? Balling her fingers into fists, she squeezes until her knuckles turn white.

  "I'm sorry..." she starts.

  "The girl can ask whatever she pleases, priest. Are you her father?” Merchant asks.

  Brother George turns back to him with a soft smile.

  “All of us here have only one father, Mr. Merchant. But if you are asking if she is my daughter, then no she is not. Though I would think of her in no other way.”

  Merchant’s hard gaze moves back to her and the pressure to melt into her chair and be gone is enough to crack the bones in her lower back.

  “Questions have no weight unless you aren't prepared to hold the responsibility of the answers,” Merchant says. “The only name that still matters to me is Merchant. A long time and a long road have passed since anything else has mattered.”

  His reply tightens the feelings churning in her stomach. How long has he been traveling? Where does he come from? Why is he all the way out here? She can still feel Brother George and his judgement weighing heavy on her. She has never disobeyed him like this. What is this stranger doing to her?

  "Well, enough with the small chat. I bet you are getting tired, Mr. Merchant. You've suffered a great ordeal and I know you are anxious for some rest and word on your partner," Brother George says.

  He pushes away from the table himself and the others follow suit leaving Merchant and Kelly remaining.

  "Her life is her own and of no concern of mine," Merchant says.

  Breath catches in Kelly's throat burying a thousand questions behind it. What kind of man doesn’t care about the woman he travels with? Doesn’t he have a heart?

  The darkness around him begins to make sense. This is not a good man that sits at their table. Kelly wants to scream out at the others to let him go. Leave them in peace, but her throat is dry, and her tongue swollen as the edges of her eyes begin to burn. She feels twelve years old again and hates it so much.

  "Surely if you were traveling with her than you must care something for the woman," Brother George says.

  Yes, he must!

  The shadows become real and begin to pinch at Kelly’s shoulders. They are no longer alone. The room fills with eyes that watch their every move. She cannot see them. No one else can either or they’d all be running for shelter.

  A dry sweat runs down her back and she shivers in the warm night. Air is hard to come by as the room is so stuffy she can feel the droplets and tiny rivers tickle the skin on her forehead.

  "Infection has taken more of her than she can control. Even if she wakes up from her injuries, she will be less human than a wild animal needing to be put down. I would have done it myself, but your man here stumbled upon us and I didn’t want to start trouble where there is no need to. Do what you can for her if you will, priest. I will be gone by the morning," Merchant says.

  He rises with a grunt though his movements are cat like and smooth. Muscles bulge as if pulling a heavy weight and he turns to his bag that has rested by his feet the entire meal. Thick calloused fingers lift the lonely strap and the darkness crowds the man's broad shoulders like a jacket.

  "You can't mean that!" Kelly blurts out. "Give her a couple of days. She'll be perfectly healthy. Brother George will show you!"

  "Kelly!" Mary yells out.

  "Shut your mouth, girl!" Derek demands.

  Any retort is lost beneath the glares from all at the table. The room is no longer friendly and for the first time since she stumbled upon this town, she feels like a stranger in her own home. Brother George's unmovable calm demeanor is lost behind the sea of bitterness, and one risen eyebrow that Merchant turns her way. Darkness fills in where the dark man stares, and his eyes do not blink.

  "Though I know you mean well, there is little to be done for Red. Especially at the hands of a priest or a town full of farmers. I've seen one infected, I've seen a million. Once the disease has taken its grip there is nothing to be done. Even your god himself cannot help her. If he ever existed at all."

  Mary gasps behind a hand pressed tight against her lips. Derek mutters a few words of prayer and Kelly can't find a single friend in them.

  "Just give us a chance. We can prove you wrong. She'll be good as new," Kelly pleads.

  This man is a monster. If only she could make him believe. His friend will be like new. They all know it. God has always provided for them and he can provide for Red as well.

  “Even if so, Red can stay with you when she has recovered. My path leads me west and I do not have time to wait for a miracle to save one woman. I thank you for your hospitality and your food, but I will show myself out and be gone in the morning,” Merchant says. “It is better for us all. Especially you folks. Trust me on that.”

  Merchant turns to leave.

  "Tell him, Brother George. Show him what you can do. He can't leave her like this," she pleads.

  A barely noticeable shake of the man’s head is the response.

  "You will regret this, Merchant," she calls out.

  He is at the door, his head ducking beneath the top of the frame and his shoulders turn to avoid squeezing through.

  "I regret more than you'll ever understand," he says, his voice distant and echoing.

  "George, tell..."

  He reaches out a hand and puts it on top of hers as Merchant walks out the door. A wave of calm and ease washes through her.

  "It is OK, my dear child. Your heart is in the right place, but there are things in this world you cannot change. Let the man be. Maybe a good night's rest will change his mind," Brother George says.

  Kelly looks back to the door, the burning light of candles flickering through the opening and the darkness outside shifting in the man's wake.

  "How could a person be so heartless?" she asks herself and everyone in the room.

  Mostly herself though. She doesn’t understand. If it was her friend, she’d never leave. The idea of it being Bert sickens her at the slightest image, but her spine stiffens at the thought of staying at his side.

  No. She would never abandon her friends like this.

  There are no answers to questions that will not be asked. Nothing she could possibly accept will make her accept such a reality.

  How can he be so cold?

  Peaceful and quiet.

  The air is warm, dry, and all wrong. Merchant shifts his bag higher onto his shoulder and moves his way between dark buildings with little candle eyes that follow his every step.

  There is something here that is not right.

  The buildings do not close around him, and the softness of the lines ease the tension in his body. Quiet homes. Simple cottages made of wood cut fresh from trees that could not have grown in this war-torn country. It is as if the end of the world forgot about everything for miles.

  Merchant does not feel comfortable.

  This feels out of place. He can hear the soft murmur of voices carrying in the night. No one cries. The infected do not scream out and hunt.

  It reminds him of a place he left far behind and the burning acid in his gut churns as his eyes flare in the night. Those memories are gone, and his family taken with them. The bag on his shoulder droops and pulls at the skin stretching with the weight.

  He takes a firmer grip and shifts his burden forward.

  "Bunch of crazies here. Worse than the last time you stumbled upon the savior of God himself, demon," Snake-E
yes says.

  The ghost materializes from the darkness beside him, his ethereal form misting as he attempts to pick up a rock, fails, and then skips a disk of blue smoke across the dry path they walk.

  "That girl seemed pretty insistent. She’s certain they aren't crazy," Merchant says.

  He's retracing the path shown to him before meeting for dinner. Ahead waits the structure they called the 'Sick House'. Red lays in there. The infection eating away at her body if it hasn't killed her already.

  "They think they can cure the infection. What is crazier than that?" Snake-Eyes asks.

  Merchant tilts his head to the silence of the wind.

  "Those who think they can control it," he answers.

  They are being followed. Something moves through the darkness, keeping pace with them and staying out of the little light that shines along their way. They think to sneak up on him, but a thousand miles by foot and the darkness is his home. He shifts his bag higher onto his shoulder and the weight dissipates to nothing.

  “Well, that one was a special kind of crazy, and that crazy bitch we left behind, she was something different as well. Of course, that was before she went and got herself popped trying to save your dumb ass. Biggest mistake of that woman’s life. Do you think she’d do it again if she knew who you really are?”

  Merchant does not answer him. He knows the answer, but the ghost isn’t worth the breath needed for the words.

  “But, to tell you the truth I'll probably miss your number one fan when you leave her behind,” Snake-Eyes says.

  Merchant stops.

  "Who?"

  The eyes on the ghost's neck blink and stare wide with astonishment.

  "Our own local monster and probably the only living thing within a hundred miles who wants to ride you like a freight train going downhill. She isn't much to look at anymore, but she's more conversational than your dumb ass. I'm lucky if I can pry a single word out of that mouth of yours with a crowbar. Do you realize how quiet it is when you are dead? You can't even listen to yourself think because you don't have a brain left to think!"

  A small tug pulls up at the corner of Merchant's lips.