by M. Walsh
James hesitated. “If you don’t mind my asking,” he said, sounding concerned, “what religion do you practice?”
“I don’t,” she said.
“You have to believe in something.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe in anything,” she said. “It’s just … I have no place there.”
This gave him pause. He looked at her and seemed almost confused, as if she’d spoken in a foreign language.
“What is your name?”
“Lily.”
“Lily, why would you believe that?”
She fidgeted in her seat and bit her lower lip. She wished this conversation would be over. She wished he would stop asking her questions. Most of all, she wished he would stop reminding her she was a demon and, by nature, evil and unnatural.
“The Faith says your Deity loves all,” she said. “And there’s this great paradise waiting for all good things, right?”
“Yes.”
“Not for me. I don’t belong among the good things.”
James looked troubled. Not offended, but like he discovered an injustice and needed to resolve it. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Why would you ever think you’d be rejected?”
Stop answering him! she thought. Drop it!
“Look, it’s not important,” she said, turning to the window. “Just forget it, okay?”
James continued staring at her before finally picking up his book. He looked at it in silence, as though debating whether to continue reading, while she kept her focus outside. They remained like that for several minutes, the only sound coming from the train as it trucked along on the tracks. They were still in the mountains, and outside, the sky had become overcast and dim.
“No. No,” said James, placing the book down and turning to her. “Lily, why would you think you don’t belong?”
“James,” she said. “It doesn’t concern you. I’m not looking to be converted.”
“I’m not saying you have to believe in the Faith,” he said. “I wouldn’t even mind if you didn’t believe in any god or faith. But to believe you’d be rejected? No, I won’t let that go.”
“You don’t know me. For all you know, I’m a … a …”
STOP talking! STOP answering him!
“If that were true,” he said. “Why would you have mentioned anything? Why not just lie?”
She didn’t answer.
“Listen,” he continued. “I’ve met people like you before. I understand how you feel.”
“You really don’t.”
“I know how … harsh the world can be. Believe me, I might not have gone deep into Graylands, but I’ve heard plenty of stories. Madmen like Krutch Leeroy, Castor Dessein, and the Jackal … wars, marauders, fanatics, demons …”
She flinched upon mention of the word.
“I understand how easy it is to wonder how there could be anything—anybody—good and true watching out for us. It’s easy to believe there’s nothing but chaos and evil when the Dark Lands are literally across the border.”
“But your Deity can keep us safe, right?” said Lily. “He’ll defend us from those monsters because he’s good and pure, and the demons are just evil abominations, right?”
“As long as we have faith,” he said, reaching into his inside pocket and revealing a small oval medallion with spiraled markings—the Sigil of the Faith.
Lily didn’t immediately realize what she was looking at, but upon recognizing it, she gasped and nearly jumped from her seat. As a demon, any religious icon, holy artifact, or blessed trinket was repellent and harmful to her. She stared at James and the small Sigil in his hand with her back pressed against the window, eyes wide and shaking.
“It’s just a Sigil.”
“But,” she stammered. “But aren’t those supposed to repel evil?”
“Well … yes, true evil like creatures of the Black,” he said. “But that’s my point, you see—”
“But … I …” Lily kept her eyes on the medallion. It wasn’t hurting her. “Are you sure it works?”
“Oh, yes,” James said. “It was passed to me by my teacher. When I was his apprentice, I actually saw him expel a demon with it.” He paused, looking at it with a proud smile. “That was the day I knew I made the right choice joining the Faith. That was the day I knew—absolutely knew—the Deity was watching over us.”
She listened to his story, still staring at the medallion. It should’ve been hurting her. There should’ve been stabbing pain, burning, and nausea. But she felt nothing.
“How does it work?”
“The Sigil by itself is just a piece of metal—just like any Shining Shield or Blessed Star. What gives them their power is the belief in them. It’s faith in good that drives away evil. Symbols are worthless unless you believe in their power.”
He cleared his throat and continued, “But the point I’m trying to make is, yes, there are terrible things and people in this world, but pure evil is the exception—not the rule. Everyone has the capacity for both good and evil in them. What matters is we strive to be better. That’s what is important.
“You’re right, Lily. I don’t know you, and I don’t know what could make you believe you’re beyond redemption. But I promise that isn’t true. We may have just met, but I look at you, and I don’t see someone without hope. I think you can be better.”
Lily sat in silence, letting James’s words sink in and trying to make sense of it. Her hand trembling, she reached out and took the Sigil. It didn’t hurt. There was no pain or burning. As James said, it was just a piece of metal in her hand.
He was about to speak, but trailed off upon seeing her face. Her mouth curved into a nervous, but hopeful smile, and her eyes lit up. Maybe it really didn’t matter that she was a demon, a creature of the Black. Maybe what she was didn’t matter—what mattered was who she was.
Acting on impulse, Lily wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”
“I … I’m glad I could help.”
7
Despite sleeping in a bed for the first time in months, Krutch did not get much rest. Although his allergies didn’t bother him in the summer, his room was a cramped, dusty place that stuffed up his nose anyway. His back felt stiff from the old cot, and the morning was stifling in the tiny space.
Nevertheless, he spent an hour in his room after waking up to shake out the cobwebs and figure out his next move. He was going to leave the mission, without question, but he still didn’t know where he would go next. He could go to Seba—and likely get himself killed there—or he could head back west and risk getting caught by the Sentry Elite.
He stretched his arm, working out the stiffness of his burns and thought about his conversation with Jessica the night before. For the first time in his life, he had a story about the “great” Krutch Leeroy that was actually true—even if it did involve him getting blown up. He remembered the admiring look in her eyes and her awe of his tale. It almost made him wish he really was that guy—the legendary swashbuckling pirate.
Almost.
He shook his head and put the thoughts aside. He threw his clothes on, gathered what few belongings he had, and would’ve been content to walk out of the mission right away—except he still didn’t have his pistol. Unless he lost the gun in the river, there was a good chance Brother Lucas found it when they took his clothes.
With a sigh, he decided to find Lucas and ask—hoping he would get an answer and be on his way without any trouble or sermons. If nothing else, he supposed, he could see about getting a few supplies, too.
Once out of his tiny room, Krutch found the day was not as hot as it seemed. The sky was clear, sun shining bright, and a breeze drifted through the mission. The place seemed deserted, as usual. A handful of scattered visitors drifted around the courtyard, moving from the chapel to their own private rooms and back.
No sign of Darjo, though, he thought. So I got that going for me.
He fou
nd Jessica hanging clothes out to dry outside the bell-tower. “Hey, Jessica,” he said. “Where’s Lucas? He has something of mine.” Her head was dipped, and she seemed reluctant to look at him. “Jessica..?”
Just above a whisper, she muttered, “He’s in the chapel. In the back, behind the altar.”
“Okay,” he said. “Thanks, I—” He stopped short upon seeing her face. A dull bruise was forming around her right eye, and the cheek beneath it was red. “What happened to you?”
Without saying a word, she turned around and went back to hanging up clothes. Behind him, Krutch heard Brother Lucas: “You’re looking for me, sir?”
He hesitated, looking at Lucas, glanced at Jessica, then back to Lucas. Before anything could be said, Jessica pinned one last shirt on the clothesline and scurried off.
“I, uh, yeah, I guess,” he said. “You—um—I think you have something that belongs to me.”
Lucas’s expression did not change. “I can’t imagine what.”
Unsure if he should reveal it was a pistol or even a weapon, Krutch said, “I had it in my jacket pocket when I got here. It’s metal with a black handle. It’s a … uh … tool that I need.”
“A tool, you say. What sort of tool?”
“A paperweight. You have it or not?”
“I don’t recall seeing any such thing on your person when you arrived,” Lucas said, his voice stiff and monotone.
“I had it before you guys found me. It should’ve been with my clothes, so who washed them when I got here?”
“I don’t know.”
Krutch cocked his eyebrow, looked at the drying clothes hanging behind him, and said to Lucas, “You think it might’ve been Jessica?”
For the first time since meeting him, Krutch saw Brother Lucas’s stern, locked down face shake. He turned away, and his mouth twitched in irritation. Returning his gaze to Krutch, he said, “I fear you may be involving yourself in matters you don’t understand.”
With a sigh, Krutch put his face in his palm and groaned. He’d dealt with many things since his curse had been placed on him. He’d outrun Sentry Elite, contended with bounty hunters, put up with psychotic pirates, hidden from demons, faced down the Enforcer, and even been blown up by a dragon.
But he’d come to realize he had a low tolerance for men who abused women and cryptic loons who spoke in riddles and half-answers. And Brother Eren Lucas was beginning to look like both.
“No, I don’t suppose I do understand,” he said. “Frankly, I’m not even supposed to be here. All I want is to have my gun back, maybe some supplies, and be on my merry way.”
“On the contrary my young friend,” Lucas said. “I would urge you to stay.”
“What?”
“I’m no fool, boy. I know ‘Dan Dirkwood’ isn’t your real name. I know trouble follows you like a shadow. Seba calls to you as it calls to many like you. As it calls to Jessica.”
“Here we go …”
“Seba is a wretched city for the wicked and corrupt,” Lucas continued. “It lures lost souls with the promise of gold, adventure, and copulation.”
“What was that last one?”
“Be wary of Jessica, my friend. The call of Seba is deep within her, and anyone she entrances with her wiles will be led to their downfall.” He paused and took Krutch by his arms. “I was once like you. Stay here. Learn the ways of the Faith. Become a Brother and renounce the foul temptress. I’ve tried to save her, but I fear she can only be contained.”
Suddenly, Krutch felt angry. “Is that why you smack her around?”
The Brother took his hands off him. “You misunderstand,” he said. “You don’t know Jessica as I do—”
Without thinking, Krutch jabbed him in the mouth. Upon recollection, he couldn’t say what possessed him to do that. He knew nothing about Jessica. But, for whatever reason, at that moment, he felt obliged to answer the Brother back for hitting her.
Lucas checked his nose for blood. Adjusting himself, he said, “Admirable of you, Mr. Dirkwood. But I assure you, your chivalry is misplaced. Especially in regard to Jessica. You see, she—”
“Shut-up,” he interrupted. “Just shut-up. And don’t call me Dirkwood. My name is—”
“Krutch Leeroy!”
He turned to see a group of six men entering the mission gates. Almost instantly, Krutch recognized them as outlaws. They had the look of goons he routinely found when he’d be roped into Lemmy Hobbs’s schemes. The type of brutes-for-hire who would fight and smash for any price, no questions asked.
Front and center of the gang—standing proud with his hands on his hips and a pair of large knives strapped to his belt—was the Graigman, Darjo Uthor.
Still caught up in his confrontation with Lucas, Krutch didn’t interpret the approaching group as a threat at first, nor did he think to deny his real identity. “Yeah,” he said. “What is it?”
“I thought it was you,” said Darjo, rubbing the back of his hand against the hair on his chin. “I’ve been looking far and wide for the likes of you.”
It was at that moment, looking at the Graigman’s crooked grin, it dawned on him he might be in danger. He’d been so used to running from Sentry Elite he’d forgotten that a group of outlaws could just as easily be out to kill him for some kind of bounty. And it was this realization that made him remember he was unarmed.
Oh, crumbs.
* * *
Katrina only walked far enough for Gareth and DeLance to leave her. When they were gone, she drifted back to the stone wall beside the pond and sat there. She stared into space—not seeing the lake or glare of the sun. She didn’t feel the breeze or hear the sound of the water. She only sat there and felt nothing.
Some part of her mind pondered what she should do next. Move on to the next town? Drink herself into unconsciousness? Take her sabre and plunge it into her heart? Open up her wrists? Throw herself in the pond and sink to the bottom? All of the above?
A part of her even entertained the notion of getting drunk and going on a rampage through the Vigorian settlement. Kill everyone in sight, burn the homes, and then kill herself.
But all those ideas seemed distant and hollow. Vague concepts she had no real ambition to pursue. Instead, a strange image kept repeating in her mind. She imagined herself falling apart, piece by piece, as if she was a living jigsaw puzzle. Bits of her crumbled away as she walked, littering the landscape and leaving nothing but the empty shell of her being.
Despite her longtime nickname, for the first time—probably since Vigor fell—she truly felt like a ghost.
“Katrina.”
She didn’t react, thinking she imagined it.
“Katrina,” the voice repeated.
She turned and saw DeLance behind her, sitting on his horse. Upon seeing him, she was a little disturbed her gut reaction was to rip out his throat.
“I wasn’t sure if I should bother, but …” he said. “But Nora convinced me …”
“What?” she said, her voice flat and lifeless. Without realizing it, her hand was going for her sabre.
“For what it’s worth,” DeLance said, his shrewd voice sounding sympathetic. “Jagger survived.”
All at once, reality crashed back to her. She shot up to her feet, eyes wide, and feeling like her heart had jumped into her throat.
“Yes,” he continued. “He was among the survivors of the Red Plague. He came with us to Graylands.”
“Is he,” she said, breathlessly. “Is he down there? Is he one of..?”
“No. Like all of us, what happened to Vigor hit him pretty hard. He was with us for only two years and then left.”
Katrina’s head was spinning. Learning there were other Vigorian survivors had been shocking enough, but that Jagger might have been one of them never even occurred to her.
“He,” she stammered. “Where did he..?”
“He headed east. I believe he eventually turned south. The last we heard from him, he’d been somewhere between Aster and Eaton. That was
six years ago.”
She tried to control her breathing and slow her heart. The idea she might find him inspired a flicker of hope she thought had been crushed when DeLance told her she wasn’t wanted. But she remembered Rasul Kader, and a grim thought came to mind.
“DeLance,” she said. “Does … did Jagger … does he hate me, too?”
“I,” he said. “I don’t believe so. Like I said, what happened was hard on all of us. He was quiet and distant, but I don’t recall Jagger ever blaming you or resenting you.” He paused. “Take that for what it’s worth.” He turned his horse, and before riding off, added, “I can’t guarantee he’s still alive or that you will be able to find him if he is. But I suppose that’ll be enough for you.”
He started away, leaving Katrina too stunned to say anything. She gathered herself enough to call out, “DeLance! Why..? Why tell me? I thought … I thought you—”
“You were my Princess once,” he said, betraying a hint of sadness in his voice. “I—we believed in you. We won’t have you with us, but …” His face sunk, and he—like Gareth—looked old and tired. “It’s the least I can offer.”
Katrina and DeLance stared at one another. A part of her wanted to scream and cry at how unfair it all was. That she and her people should be denied their peace. That they would not accept her, even though they hurt as much as she. But she also knew there was no sense in that. It was done.
“DeLance,” she said. “I didn’t know killing Tyrell would release the plague. He never said it. Not even when I killed him.”
“What would that have to do with..?”
“He didn’t do it to keep me from fighting him. He did it to make sure if he didn’t win, no one would.” She couldn’t say what made her say this, but getting it out came with surprising relief. “I know it doesn’t make any difference now,” she continued, “but I never would have killed him if I’d known. I swear to you.”
On DeLance’s face, she saw a pained look of sorrow and regret. “Sadly,” he said, nodding. “We can’t undo the past.”
“No.”
“For what it’s worth, I wish you good luck, Katrina. I hope you find Jagger.” He was about to ride off, but added, “I hope you find some kind of peace.”
