“Thank you, Alice. You’ve given me reason for hope,” Zoë said. Then she turned to Jon. “If either of my brothers is alive, he’d have gone to the Mountain House, so that’s where I propose we go.”
“You’re our leader,” Jon said. “I’ll follow where you take us, Zoë.”
Zoë looked at him earnestly.
“I am no leader—I’m only the oldest, and that by no more than months. We act together and everyone has a part. But I see no use for us here. These people are going in the right direction and Mother and Ethel will be there to meet them.”
“You’re right. We should go to the Mountain House.”
“May I come with you?” Alice asked. “My father and brothers will never return, and now I’ve lost my mother.”
“Of course you can come with us,” Zoë told her. “But tell your aunt. It’s important that your family know where you’ve gone. Your mother may still be alive.”
Alice shook her head.
“No, Zoë. I’ve put that hope aside. But you’re right. My aunt should know where I’m going. She’s always been close to our family.”
And so the companions, now five, left the River Road and headed for to the winter quarters of the Foresters. Zoë and Alice walked together, talking softly, and Jon brought up the rear, as had become his custom.
Alice had spoken the truth, he thought. There was no reason for hope—no reason in the world. But he was glad to be going to the Mountain House. It was a building he’d grown to love—and he longed to see the library again. There was no better place to think.
Chapter Fifteen
Trudging up the approach, they saw David standing by the door, almost as if he’d expected their arrival. He must have recognized them, Jon thought, but he gave no acknowledgement. His left arm was in a sling and he looked as if he hadn’t slept for days. From his blank gaze, Jon wasn’t even sure he intended to speak, until they were only feet away.
“Karl is dead,” David said in an empty voice. “He fell at the bridge. He ordered me to return. I had no choice.”
He seemed to be talking into space—until that final phrase, which bared his soul.
Zoë studied him for a few seconds.
“But at least you escaped,” she said pointedly.
David became defensive.
“Not right away,” he said, looking around as if for confirmation. “I stayed until the second time he ordered me to go. ‘If you respect me, do what I’m telling you,’ he said. ‘If you respect me . . .’ I’ll never forget those words. It wasn’t a command so much as a plea. What could I do but obey?”
“But your arm?” she asked. “You must have been injured in the fighting.”
“Nothing really—it’s nothing,” he replied awkwardly. “I wanted to stay with Karl—you must understand that, Zoë. But he was right. Why sacrifice more of us than necessary?”
He looked at his sister as he spoke, heedless of her companions.
“Eleven,” he said in a weak voice. “Eleven Foresters fell at the bridge—seven men and four women. Only fifteen of us escaped and returned here.”
How guilty he feels, Jon thought. But he did the right thing. No reasonable person would question his choice. And they’d accomplished all they could have at the bridge. Even so, his sister doesn’t know how to assess his words. Both David and Zoë seemed naked—David riven by guilt and Zoë suspicious of the account he’d offered. Jon heard her unspoken question: Had David simply run away? Yet, if she’d been aware of David’s emotions, she’d have harbored no doubt whatsoever. He didn’t accuse himself of cowardice; he was overwhelmed by the injustice of his own survival. But Zoë understood none of that. How strange it was to realize what little insight she had into her brother’s mind.
Klei may have sensed what was going on—he picked up what others missed—but Klei couldn’t have read David as Jon did. It had been coming gradually—the consciousness of other people’s feelings. But this was the sharpest yet. Before today, he’d felt intimations; now it was reality.
Jon grasped the balustrade that ran along the stairway; he needed stone beneath his fingers to confirm the presence of the real world. How was it he knew so much? Not just about Zoë and David, but also about a forgotten past. What did it mean? What did anything mean? First John, then Karl. Had he brought a curse to this family? He should have been the one killed by the Brotherhood, allowing John to escape. How easy that would have made things. How difficult everything was now.
“What’s going to happen?” Zoë asked, and her question broke the spell. Something would have to happen, wouldn’t it? Even the Foresters would be forced to act, and Jon would have no choice but to play a role in it.
“We’re to decide this afternoon,” David replied. “They’ve called a meeting—you arrived just in time, although I had no idea you’d come—no idea whatsoever. Karl and I looked for you when we reached Bridgetown, but a girl told us that you’d gone north for a few days.”
He suddenly recognized Alice.
“That girl there. I’m sorry. I forgot your name.”
“Alice.”
“Yes, Alice. I remember now.”
He looked at her for a few seconds.
“Alice,” he repeated slowly.
“Anyway, Karl was angry at first. He blamed Jon for persuading Zoë to travel beyond Bridgetown. But then, when the enemy appeared at the North Gate, he was glad you weren’t there. ‘Zoë is no fool,’ he said. ‘She has sense enough to avoid unnecessary danger. Never underestimate our sister.’ I thought you’d like to hear that, Zoë. It was the last thing Karl said about you.”
▲
The afternoon meeting took place in the Great Hall. Jon loved the room almost as much as he loved the library, but its lofty ceiling and windows seemed an absurdly grandiose setting for the handful of men and women now huddled together in fear and confusion. Today, no one questioned the presence of strangers, so Klei, Alice and Alf sat with Jon in a corner of the room, listening to the Foresters.
It quickly became clear that none knew how to respond to the tragedy. The Foresters had lost eleven of their best and the catastrophe left them bewildered. Karl, stiff-necked as he could be, might have stirred them, but they had no Karl. Even Terrel was missing. Had he, too, been slain?
At least the Foresters now acknowledged that they could no longer count on the Emperor. He was caught up in a war he might be losing, for how else had the Chosen sent an army to Bridgetown? For all they knew, the Emperor was dead without a successor, and if that was true, then their world was transformed, for without an Emperor they were nothing.
Their kin from Bridgetown and Hexam were fleeing south at this very moment. But once they reached Bent Lake, what then? Some Foresters were for returning to their old life. They’d be safe in the forest, where they could wait and see. But others proposed joining the refugees at Bent Lake, where they’d have a home they could defend. (What the present inhabitants of Bent Lake might think was never in question, Jon noted; the Foresters took it for granted they’d be welcome.)
But whatever choice the Foresters made, Jon wanted something different . He’d never accept a choice John would have rejected, and surely John would have rejected retreat. But what was the alternative? Jon loved this place, but he couldn’t remain here. Yet he couldn’t desert the Foresters—he owed them too much. But how to repay them? Caught up in these ruminations, Jon lost track of the discussion, watching the sunlight move across the floor as the afternoon drew toward evening.
But then, abruptly, he could be silent no longer. Without thinking, he stood and strode to the center of the hall. The woman who’d been in the midst of a rambling speech paused in midsentence. All eyes were on Jon. A few were scowling and Alf looked surprised, but Zoë and Klei both smiled in an encouraging way. Had they expected something like this? Jon took a breath and began. Only as the words formed did he realize what he was about to say.
“You took me in when I had no place to go,” he said, turning to include a
ll seated in the hall. “And you made me one of you. Zoë is my sister now—and John and Karl were my brothers—and David is still my brother. I will be grateful to you until the day I die—and proud that you allowed me to wear the clothing of the Foresters. I can imagine no greater honor.
“But now I must leave. You speak of going south or returning to your forest homes, but I can do neither.”
There was a long silence, and then David spoke.
“But what will you do, Jon?”
“It was the charge of the Foresters to bring the Emperor news. For the last years you’ve tried to carry out that responsibility, but no Prefect appeared. Some say that absolves you of your duty, but I believe the Emperor should know that, while Bridgetown has fallen, many here remain true. Someone must remind him of the loyalty of his Foresters and the people of Bridgetown and Hexam, and that is what I intend to do.”
“But even if he’s still alive, how will you find a way to him?” an old man asked. “The Emperor’s no ordinary mortal. He’s surrounded by guards and courtiers. None of us has ever spoken to the Emperor—only to his Prefect.”
Other voices followed.
“Yes, why do you think you’ll be able to address the Emperor?”
“No one but a Forester has a right to speak for the Foresters.”
Many nods of agreement responded to the last sentiment. Then Zoë stood up.
“Look at him, Friends. He is one of us. Our blood runs through his veins.”
“Who was your father?” a woman asked
“I don’t know,” Jon admitted. “None of us born in the Valley of Women do.”
“You must be stupid not to know he was a Brother,” a man pointed out. “They father all the children here.”
“Who was your mother?” the woman asked, ignoring the interruption.
“Why are you asking him that?” the man continued. “He has no Forester blood. He’s just taller than the others, that’s all.”
“With blue eyes?” Zoë asked. “None in the Valley of Women have blue eyes, nor do the members of the Brotherhood.”
That wasn’t true. Klei had blue eyes and so did a lot of the other boys. Zoë was making a wild surmise. And Klei knew that, too, for he had bowed his head to hide his eyes.
“What’s all this arguing about?” It was a woman who hadn’t spoken before. “He says he wants to find the Emperor. It’s a daring ambition—and probably a foolhardy one. But I honor him for it. There’s little harm to us if he undertakes this journey, but he may harm himself. Yet there’s a slim chance that good will come of it. At the very least, the message he brings to the Emperor may encourage him to keep fighting. I say, give Jon the right to call himself our representative and go with our blessing—and with funds for the journey. That’s what the treasury is for, isn’t it?”
Despite murmurings, no one spoke against this judgment. Taking that as a sign of approval, Jon left the room and walked down the steps from the north entrance. On his left, the sun was sinking behind the mountains amid clouds of crimson and gold. It seemed a promise of something—but was it glory or disaster? Yet, whatever happened, his fate would be a result of this journey. Until this moment, his life had been one reaction after another. What happened next would be different.
He heard footsteps behind him. Zoë and Klei had followed him out of the building, with Alf, Alice, and David close behind. They walked to Jon and formed a circle around him. Klei spoke first.
“Not without us. You aren‘t leaving without us, Jon. Whether you like it or not, we intend to go with you.”
“Do you think we’d let you make this journey alone?” Zoë quickly added. “You called me your sister. A sister must stand by her brother when he faces danger.”
“And you called me a brother,” David said.
“And I’m your oldest friend,” Alf reminded him. “If anybody has a right to go with you, I do.”
Alice simply looked at him, saying nothing.
Of course they were coming with him. When he’d spoken before the Council, he’d imagined himself a solitary traveler disappearing into the distance, but it was absurd to have thought he could get away with it. Yet were they coming with him for his sake or because he’d given them a purpose?
“If that’s your choice, then we’ll go together,” he said. “And the sooner the better. Not tomorrow—we need a rest—but the day after tomorrow. That’s my plan. Do you agree?”
“Yes,” Zoë responded. But her reply wasn’t enough. Jon turned in a slow circle, facing each in turn, waiting to hear each ye. And when the circle was complete, he had another question for Zoë.
“And you will be our leader?”
Zoë looked at David.
“Yes, Zoë,” David said. “Jon has chosen well. It’s you we’ll follow. I may be the oldest now, but you know I’m no leader. I always followed Karl or John.”
“You forget that the idea for this journey was Jon’s, not mine. By rights he should lead.”
“No,” Jon told her. “Like David, I don’t want to be a leader. I’ve never wanted to be a leader. If you ask for it, I’ll offer you advice, but the decisions will be yours, Zoë.”
▲
They reached Bridgetown late in a peaceful morning. The sun shown in a cloudless summer sky, but the town was a ruin. The South Gate lay open, just as they’d left it. Inside, all was blackened rubble and what had been the main thoroughfare was covered with fallen timbers and broken tiles. It was hard to imagine anyone surviving the holocaust.
Picking their way through the ruined city, they eventually reached the bridge. With relief, Jon saw that it remained in place, dark with soot, but still spanning the river on its three arches; and the center of the plaza beyond the bridge was clear of debris. Crossing the bridge, Jon climbed to the chair of the Prefect. A wall had fallen against the three columns, breaking one and shattering the capital of another. Standing next to the chair, he looked down at the wreckage surrounding him, reconstructing an image the former square with its market stalls in neat rows and red door of the inn that was now a burned-out shell. The others watched him in silence. He could see, though, that Alice had turned pale and that her fingers were shaking.
“There’s no reason to stay here,” David said. “It’s painful for all of us.”
Yet as he continued to gaze at the scene, Jon discovered that the desolation pleased him in an unexpected way. It offered a vision of the end of the world—of the final overthrow of human hopes and aspirations. If his life had come to this, why not humanity as a whole? But he carefully masked his feelings.
“I never want to forget this sight,” he said, hoping a platitude would serve his purpose.
“How could any of us forget it, Jon?’ David asked. “Especially we who were here that day?”
Zoë walked over to her brother and put her arm around him. Jon watched them standing together, then stepped down from the platform.
“My mother must have died there,” Alice told him, pointing to the bridge. “It’s difficult to think of that happening—today, when we’re the only ones in the city. It makes no sense.”
“And my oldest brother,” Zoë said. “He died here, too.”
David looked away.
Klei walked over to Alice and laid his hand on her shoulder. She looked at him for a moment, and then she began weeping. He took her in his arms and held her close, while her body shook with sobs.
How had Klei been able to break through the shell in which these people wrapped themselves? Klei could do so many things Jon couldn’t. But so could John. He’d induced that woman in Krapàn to speak about the murder of her husband and son, hadn’t he? Jon had never thought of Klei and John as possessing traits in common, but now he saw a similarity. Both had ways of aligning themselves to the feelings of other human beings. Jon could read those feelings—sometimes powerfully—but that wasn’t the same as making a connection. For him, knowledge was power, and sympathy and power were different. Strange that Klei, a product of the same l
oveless world he’d grown up in, possessed an ability to touch other human beings that Jon lacked.
All were silent again for a long time, and then Jon spoke. “David is right,” he said. “There’s no reason for us to stay here.”
Turning away, he began to make his way through the rubble toward the North Gate.
“Wait,” Alf called after him. “The Chosen may not be here, but remember what you said: it’s possible they’re camped nearby. And, since we didn’t see them at the South Gate, it’s likely they’re at the North. We need to determine if it’s safe to leave the city on the River Road.”
“It’s safe, Alf. They are all gone,” Jon replied. How he knew that, he wasn’t sure, but he knew it.
“Jon is right,” Zoë said. “The Chosen haven’t stayed here. They thought it important to destroy Bridgetown, but now they need their army elsewhere.”
And so Jon led them out of the ruins of Bridgetown, forgetting for the moment that he hadn’t wanted to be anyone’s leader.
▲
Like its counterpart to the South, the North Gate lay open to an empty landscape. Nearby, buildings had been destroyed, but most were simply vacant. Three hours past the city, they spent the night in a farmhouse. The house had been looted—what else to expect?—but the kitchen garden had escaped ravage, so they made a meal of vegetables.
“We won’t have food like this again soon,” Klei said.
“Not until we’ve reached Krapàn,” Zoë told him. “And beyond Krapàn, who knows what we’ll find. Even my brothers never went past Krapàn. Isn’t that true, David?”
“That’s very true.”
Beyond the escarpment they met few signs of life until, on their fourth day from Bridgetown, they passed through the village where a tattered flag of the Chosen still flew above one housetop. Then, the following afternoon, they found themselves at Krapàn. From all the talk. Jon had expected more of the place, but it was little more than a street lined with unpainted wooden houses interrupted by a dirt crossroad that led to a plank bridge across the river barely wide enough for a cart. Yet, both here and on the far side of the river, farms were scattered in all directions, signaling that they’d returned to populated territory. They spent the night at the town’s one inn, where the proprietor pretended to remember David from last summer “We’re always honored to serve Foresters.” But the man claimed no memory of the Chosen or their Brotherhood allies—“we have so many guests, you can’t expect a person to keep track of them all”—but Jon knew he was lying and had been frightened by their question.
The Flight from Kar (The Emperor's Library Page 25
