“Who?” I ask, turning toward the woman, but she’s already slipped past the threshold, joining her friend in the safety of the store, both of them leaving their cookware unattended out front. I turn to Maja. “Gromus.” I say. “That’s what you think too, isn’t it? That look on her face. That’s the same look Cezar had.”
Maja doesn’t reply, but the staidness of her expression affirms my belief. “We should keep going,” she says. “If Noah is here, he will be on the outskirts. He’ll have no business in the village hub.”
“But someone here will know him. We need to ask around. You said everyone here will know him.”
“As you can see, Hansel, those here don’t seem willing to talk to with people strange to them. You can see that, right? We’ll have to get beyond the hub. North to the wider section of town.”
“But you don’t know where he is. Is it your intention to knock on every door in Zanpie until Noah answers?”
“We don’t need to knock on every door. As you have just pointed out, if he’s here, it will be known, so we only need to knock on one door.”
I stay quiet, nodding at Maja’s logic, feeling a bit outplayed.
“But not here. This place feels wrong for many reasons. You’re not from the Koudeheuvals, Hansel, so you don’t know all the ways of these people, but you must see it. On a day such as this, the city center should be a picture of activity. Families and children shopping and playing together. But there is only madness here. Faces of lunacy and desperation.”
“No more to take?” I repeat, throwing the words out as a question, quietly emphasizing Maja’s point, hoping she’ll give me her thoughts on my theory of Gromus being the cause of this scene. She doesn’t bite.
We move a few paces forward, away from the valley opening, and step off the cobblestone walking area that borders the hub and forms a square path, allowing pedestrians to pass in front of each store as they make their way around the shopping district.
We take several more steps, quickly now, and soon make our way to the center of the square. I look up for a moment and stop suddenly next to a large stone fountain. The structure was likely once the centerpiece of this town, but on this day it moves no water through its pipes, instead acting as an ornate cauldron for a thick mixture of old, rusty liquids.
“Let’s go, Hansel,” Maja says without breaking stride, not hiding the urgency in her voice.
“Look Maja,” I reply, my voice cracking slightly. “Look at them?”
“Who?” Maja stops and turns to her left, and her eyes widen instantly as a look of fear and confusion begins to drip from them. She turns to her right now and then all the way around to her original position.
Standing in front of most of the stores are small groups of men and women, each with weapons consisting of either farm tools or actual firearms, shotguns and rifles from what I can see.
“What are they doing?” Maja asks, taking a few steps backwards and joining me at the fountain.
“I don’t know exactly. They’re armed, so they’re ready to fight, but they’re not approaching us. If they wanted to, they could kill us at any time. I think they’re just protecting themselves.”
“Look at their eyes, Hansel. Look how scared they are.”
I can see the fear in their eyes, and their looks of terror are as frightening to me as if they were stares of evil.
“We should just keep going. Look, to the left there, the alley past the bakery.” Maja keeps her hands down, but nods in the direction of a gap between a bakery—which is signaled by a large cake adorning the roof of the establishment—and another store which I judge to be some type of hardware store. The owners of the bakery seem not to be participating in this showdown, as there is no one outside their door, but the hardware merchants are armed to the teeth.
“Are you sure that’s the way?”
“It’s a way. And we have to get out before one of them decides to get aggressive. Once one person moves on us, they’ll all come. We need to get out before it escalates. Don’t run, but keep your pace steady. Now, Hansel, let’s go.”
Maja’s command instantly reminds me of Gretel, so definitive and sure, with just the right trace of insecurity to be respected.
“I’m behind you,” I assure her. “Hold your hands up as you pass. With your palms open.”
“What? Why?”
“Trust me, Maja. It’s a sign of deference. It shows that you have no intention to harm them, and nothing to harm them with.”
Maja and I walk toward the gap in the buildings with our hands high, like prisoners being escorted through some ancient city. We don’t look back or to the sides, but as we pass the hardware merchants, nearing the safety of the outer perimeter, I see a woman place her hands together against her mouth and bow. It looks like a prayer.
“Nadjz gi,” she says, her voice crackling on the last word. “Prosz nadjz gi.”
We’re fifty yards outside the perimeter when I ask Maja what the woman said.
“Nadjz gi,” Maja repeats. “Find him. Please find him.”
We’re about a hundred yards from the opening to the city center when I finally stop and turn back. The exit is blocked now with men, the pitchforks and shovels in their hands conspicuous. There is no turning back to Zanpie. Whether we find Noah or not, Maja and I have no choice but to keep going.
THE PATH FROM THE CITY center leads up a sharp grade that gradually ascends for over a mile before eventually leveling off to a long, straight, tree-lined road which appears to lead to the edge of the world.
“I think we’re leaving Zanpie,” I say to Maja.
Maja shakes her head. “This is the residential area of the town, still Zanpie proper. The homes will be spread out along this road; most of them you will never see until you reach the pathways leading to the property. Many of the Koudeheuval towns are designed this way.
“Not your town.”
“No, we are not as old as many of the other villages in the range. The architects of Stedwick wanted to design a town where people would live and work in the same community, hoping to create a more cohesive society. But that was not customary at the time. Before then, people came together to work and participate in trade, and that was where the trust ended. Otherwise, people kept to their families.”
This Koudeheuval way of living doesn’t strike me as surprising; after hearing the story of Gromus and his generational history of terrorizing the region, keeping to one’s self must have seemed like a pretty good idea at the time of the town’s development.
“Where do we start?” I ask. “Do you think there’s a place like Cesar’s out here? A hotel or something?”
“No, that’s not likely in these parts. If there was a hotel it would have been back in the city center. But he wouldn’t be in lodging like that anyway. If Noah is here, he’s here as a boarder. The rumors of him are that he doesn’t stay in any one place long enough to purchase a property, but long enough to set up a residence. He moves on about every few months, so it may be that he’s gone; but as I said, even if he’s not here now, people will know when he left. Perhaps where he went.”
We begin our walk down the dirt path, I a step behind Maja, who passes up the first three driveways we encounter.
“What’s wrong with these places?” I ask, but Maja keeps going, focused on the road ahead.
The first pedestrian we pass is a man whose age is so indeterminate that he could have been as young as thirty or as old as seventy. His face is a mask of dirt and saliva, and his beard so unruly that it seems to extend past his cheeks to just below his eye sockets. He is conscious, but clearly intoxicated, the puddle of vomit next to him seems freshly eliminated. He raises a finger as if to say something to us, but the words don’t materialize.
“Lovely place,” I say.
“I’m sure it once was. Look.”
Ahead of us, about fifty yards or so, is a group of four men standing on the road just at the tree line. Their arms are either raised or splayed out to the side
, and from our vantage point, they appear to be looking into the forest, gesturing to some lost companion perhaps. We continue towards them, tentatively, and as we approach them, we can see they are being held in their poses by the barrel of a shotgun.
“Maybe we should go,” I say, just as one of the men spots us.
“We should try, but that may not be an immediate option.” Maja is calm in her declaration, curious. “But we haven’t done anything wrong, so stay relaxed.”
“I can’t stay relaxed, because I wasn’t relaxed before, but I’ll try to put on a good front.”
“Whatever is happening here has nothing to do with us.”
“Looks like we’re not the only ones Noah,” one of the men says, not looking our way. “Seems a few others have made the pilgrimage. You can’t keep everyone away.”
Noah.
Maja’s and my vision are still blocked by the dense foliage that flanks the driveway, so all we can see of Noah are his hands and fingers, one of which is lightly caressing the trigger guard of the shotgun he’s holding. But we’ve found him, Noah, with as little trouble as Maja seemed to suspect. I begin to take my first step closer toward the gang of men, trying to position myself to get a look at Noah’s face, to get a first impression of the man who is going to guide us to Gretel.
The barrel of the gun swings wildly down toward the ground and to our left, and an explosion of buckshot rattles the base of a tree, sending bark and leaves and dirt flying into the air.
All of us—Maja and I and the four men—instinctively throw our hands above the tops of our heads and stoop down to the ground. The last of the four men, the one who had been a few yards behind the others and seemed far less eager to be in Noah’s presence, lies flat on the ground for only an instant before jumping to his feet and sprinting down the road, passing Maja and I without looking toward us, heading back in the direction of the city center.
Noah’s shotgun was already pumped and reloaded before the man hit the ground; if he had wanted, he could have easily removed any limb from the man’s body.
Maja stands tall now and looks over at me, a disapproving look of have you learned your lesson on her face. I show her my palms, indicating I won’t be moving anywhere again until this is all settled.
“Noah?” Maja’s voice is comforting, and she says the man’s name the way a sister might to her brother, hoping to get a moment to talk.
“Who are you?” Noah replies in a way that would suggest he’s been asking that question quite a bit more than usual lately.
“My name is Maja. My companion is—”
“We’re not here for treasure,” I interrupt. “We’re here because we need your help in finding someone. A girl.”
The three remaining men turn to us almost in unison, their faces quizzical and disgusted.
“You think we’re treasure hunters?” the first one asks. “You think we want Noah to help us find some ancient city buried by avalanche a thousand years ago? Or to guide us to the Charms of Atrozure?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, feeling stupid for unleashing such an obvious insult. I haven’t a clue what the Charms of Atrozure are, but by the sounds of it, a quest for them is almost precisely what I suspected. “I wasn’t trying to be rude, I just—”
“We’re all looking for someone,” a second man replies, his voice somber, desperate. “He’s taken so many now.”
“Gromus?” I say. The sound comes from me without thought, like a cry of pain.
The first man closes his eyes and I see the glisten of tears on the edges of the lids.
“Don’t speak it,” Noah replies, his face and body still shrouded in the brush. “Don’t speak that name in my presence.”
“Is that who you’re all here about?” I ask the group of men, ignoring Noah’s warning. “How can that be?”
No replies.
“How long?”
The first man opens his eyes and looks at me, the pleading look of his stare forcing me to drop my eyes to the dirt.
“It only started a few months ago. But to hear the elders tell it, this has happened before. He’s happened before. The last time was before any of us here were born.”
“Is it children?” Maja asks. “Does he take the children?”
“Usually, but not always.” The man puts his hand on the left shoulder of the man next to him, the oldest one in the group. “Dawid’s son was taken two days ago. Right from in front of the bakery where he worked. He was nineteen.”
“Has anyone done anything about it?” My tone is challenging, though it didn’t organize that way in my mind. “Did anyone see it happen?”
The tears on Dawid flow in full now, though he maintains a steely composure in his voice. “Have you seen him?”
I shake my head and the man then looks to Maja, who follows my lead.
“It is almost impossible to describe him.”
I think of Gus and his story of the Night of Gromus. His description of the sickness the patrons felt at the sight of him. And the fear in Gus’ face and voice, the face and voice of a man who appeared as fearless as anyone when it came to the challenge of another human.
But maybe that was the point. Maybe Gromus wasn’t human at all.
“Who are you looking for?” Dawid asks, a thin smile just beginning to emerge.
“My sister,” I say, my voice cracking on the last syllable, and I clear my throat. “She was taken from Stedwick Village a few weeks ago.”
Dawid frowns and blinks several times before looking away, a new sadness emerging on his face.
“What is it?”
“Stedwick?” he asks. “A few weeks ago?”
I nod, confirming.
“The trail goes cold very quickly, son. Even if you were to convince a man like Noah to help you, it’s not likely you’ll ever find your sister. I’m sorry.”
I understand the man’s pessimism but ignore it. They don’t know Gretel. They don’t know about the things she’s capable of or the battles she’s won.
Or her possible importance to Gromus. This thought I consider in full for the first time.
“Have you found anyone? Has it made a difference how quickly after you began looking?” I make no attempt to hide my tone this time.
“Yes. We’ve found three, actually. Two were alive. We tracked them down to Grom...to his lair—and make no mistake, a lair is what it was—and we were able to rescue them before they were...used. One of the girls couldn’t be saved, her wounds were too severe, but two were brought home and nursed back to health.”
“Physical health,” the third man in the group corrects, never looking at Maja or me.
“What does that mean?” I ask, having some idea.
The first man speaks. “They’ve not spoken about the experience since they came—”
“They’ve not spoken at all! Nobody has even seen those children since they came home. They’ve been locked away for...what has it been? Six weeks now?”
I let the impact of the third man’s frustration fill the air and then ask, “How long had they been gone before you found them?”
“Three days. A little more, I guess. They were taken from the schoolhouse. The teacher had gone for a lesson plan—she’d been gone less than a minute to hear her tell it—and when she returned, they were gone. The rest of the children in the room were stunned, frozen with fear. Nothing they could do.”
“They were the second batch to be taken, so we knew we do something, make a stand of some kind. There were a few witnesses who said a man like the monster we were seeking had been seen in their parts, and we tracked him to an abandoned barn just a few miles from here. We were prepared to kill him. Armed with the best weapons we had. There were nine of us when we arrived. The kids were there and a couple of us took them home. But the remaining seven of us waited for him to return. Waited four days, taking shifts, but he never came back. It was like he could sense the danger and so just moved on.”
“But then he came back?”
; “Yes he did. Three more times. The third time he took eight...” The man can’t contain his weeping at the number he’s just said.
“We don’t know for sure it was him that time,” Dawid says without an ounce of conviction in his voice. “How could he have taken so many? Those kids were a group of friends...and not the best kids in the village. They may have just decided to leave this place for good, get out of this godforsaken place before Gromus came back.”
I note the name being spoken aloud, the superstition gone from the conversation. Noah stands silently without issuing a second warning.
“Even if he didn’t take them, if they left because of him, it’s the same impact.”
Dawid nods.
“As Dawid rightly points out, we never did know exactly what happened to them. We returned to his original lair, but, of course, he wasn’t there and there was no sign that he’d been back. And every other tip fizzled or led us to the wrong place, and each day that passed was just another one wasted and more miles between us and the children.”
“I’m sorry, young man. But I can’t imagine with this much time and distance between your sister that you’ll ever find her. That’s hard to hear, I understand, but it’s what I know to be true.”
Buoyed now by a sense of hopelessness and nothing to lose, I finish my walk toward the men, stopping in front of the first before turning toward the path to see Noah.
He’s a hulk of a man, larger than anyone I’ve seen since arriving in the Old World, six and a half feet for sure, and arms like a horse’s thighs. But there is a kindness in his face, an expression of understanding at the pain that was just passed between the men before him.
“I appreciate your stories men,” I say, still looking at Noah, who has let his gaze wander slightly, “but I believe our friend Noah will help us.”
Noah lowers the shotgun and holds it in one hand along his right leg. He looks in my face, studying it, a furrow of recognition developing on his forehead. “Who are you?” he asks. “You say your sister was taken from Stedwick, but that’s not where you are from.”
“No.”
The Gretel Series: Books 1-3 (Gretel #1-3) Page 67
