Purgatory's Shore

by Taylor Anderson

  “Yes,” she said lowly, “but he was hit by a Dom ball as Reverend Harkin and Father Orno were getting him on his horse.”

  Lewis’s racing thoughts and plans blanked for a moment as he pushed his way through to the carriage. Orno was in there, supporting his friend, and De Russy was hovering over him, hat gone and wispy, blood-spiked hair astray. He looked slightly deranged when he met Lewis’s gaze. Ominously, the healers had withdrawn. “If Dr. Newlin was here . . .” De Russy began.

  “He could do nothing,” gasped Alcalde Periz.

  Lewis knew it was true at once. The gold scale armor had done little to slow the ball that slammed into Periz’s chest. If anything, it only flattened it into a wider missile that made a bigger wound, joined by the golden scales themselves. It hadn’t hit anything immediately vital, but there’d be no stopping the blood from such a gaping hole. De Russy was trying to slow it at least, pressing the stuffed pillow-like top of his hat hard against it.

  “Don’t try to talk, my friend,” Orno admonished, but Periz only snorted at him. “Would you have me die with things unsaid? Necessary things?” He looked at Lewis. “I know you feared I’d abandon you and accept Don Frutos’s terms.” He squeezed Father Orno’s arm. “As did you—and you weren’t wrong.” He looked back at Lewis. “If we could’ve built the Union you sought from the start, I would’ve been more confident. I loved the idea of it but feared it as well. More than I believed the Doms would really come. I thought Uxmal would diminish within it.” He gave a gurgling sigh. “Actually, Sira feared that more than I, but even as I encouraged the other alcaldes to preserve a looser alliance, Sira came around to my original thinking. By then it was too late, and though our alliance grew stronger than I ever dreamed—making me think the Union would’ve succeeded after all—I held no hope it could prevail against the might of the Dominion.” He pursed his bloody lips. “So yes, if I could’ve been certain things would go back to the way they were before you came, even with the unending strife against Holcanos and Grik, I would’ve betrayed you to preserve that.” He shook his head. “These last weeks, and particularly these final days, knowing what was coming—what it would mean for my people—I prepared for treachery and war at the same time.” He looked away, gasping from the effort of speaking. “But after actually meeting the Doms and hearing Don Frutos, seeing what I saw, I know peace was never possible.” He reached for Lewis’s hand and clasped it weakly. “War is here, and I’m resigned to it. I only wish I could fight it with you, but you’ll find a steadier, more reliable ally and friend to your Union in my beloved Sira than you did in me. I only beg you to remember I didn’t betray you in the end, and that you’ll build your Union and protect it—and my Sira—as if they were your own.”

  Lewis squeezed the weakening hand. “I suspected you were tempted,” he confirmed. “Who wouldn’t be, under the circumstances? But I never believed you would. I don’t believe it now.” He smiled. “And even if you had, I still would’ve protected your people as best I could since I already think of them as mine. Rest easy, Alcalde Periz. All will be well. Rest easy, my friend.”

  Stepping back from the carriage, he heard Father Orno praying aloud, possibly conferring his version of the last rites. Lewis pushed a couple of healers back toward the door, saying, “Stay with him. You too, Colonel De Russy, if you please. Sira may need you no matter what occurs. Do you need Barca? Good. I’d like to keep him.” He called sharply to the driver who’d resumed his post. “Get him back to Uxmal as quick as you can. Lieutenant Hernandez, detail a dozen escorts, but the rest of us are pressing on before the enemy gathers their wits.”

  “What about me, Major Cayce?” Reverend Harkin asked.

  Lewis considered, watching the dragoons and riflemen finish re-forming their column and the guns pull in near the front. Anson had already remounted and galloped forward to lead with the Ocelomeh Rangers and Espinoza’s lancers. Leonor was still mounted, waiting for him, and now Willis and Barca joined her. What a strange staff I’ve assembled, he thought. “Return in the carriage or ride with us, Reverend,” Lewis finally answered. “Wherever you feel called to be.”

  “Then I’ll stay with you,” Harkin replied, hauling his bulk up on an unhappy local horse. “Alcalde Periz has Orno to pray for him. All of Uxmal will be blanketed in prayer. But who will pray for you?”

  Lewis smiled. “Who indeed?”

  Harkin grinned back, then called out loudly in his far-carrying pulpit voice, “Be strong in the Lord, lads, and in His mighty power! Our struggle is not against flesh and blood alone, but the very spiritual forces of Evil in this dark, unholy world. Tonight, tomorrow, and forevermore, we stand against the Devil himself!”

  There was a ragged chorus of “Amen!” and Lewis called for the small force to advance.

  “That wasn’t straight from Ephesians,” Leonor accused as the column set out.

  “True,” Harkin serenely agreed, “I may have edited it just a bit, but the sentiment remains intact. All the best prayers and sermons are reinforced by the meaning of scripture as it applies to the moment, if not the actual word for word.”

  “Ain’t that what the Doms have done?”

  Even in the darkness, more complete now that the marquee had burned away, Lewis knew Harkin was struggling for control, especially when Varaa kakked behind him. “Not at all, my dear,” Harkin said at last, voice the same as before. “I’ve never seen a Dom Bible. I don’t know if it exists. If so, I imagine a vile, vomitous manifesto, entirely fabricated to justify their evil ways. But even if it were the same as ours and they validate their hideous acts with words taken directly from it—which I suppose they could, selecting a phrase or sentence out of context here and there—it’s still the holy sentiment, the essence of the words they’ve perverted to their barbarous ends. I’d never do that.” He paused reflectively. “Though God alone knows how much blood’s been spilled on the world we came from because two people read the exact same words and came to different understandings!”

  They’d crested the corpse-strewn rise, and Anson and some of his Rangers—visible as dark, mounted shapes under the three-quarter moon that turned the long grass around them almost silver—abruptly disappeared in the gloom of the far tree line. There was no shooting. All the Doms there must’ve raced into action or fallen back with Don Frutos.

  “Let’s pick up the pace, Lieutenant Burton!” Lewis called, and the column broke into a canter, the only sounds the rumble of hooves, the creak and pop of cannon carriages amid the rattle and jangle of traces, and the crackle of fluttering guidons as they plunged down into the forbidding forest on the enemy leader’s heels.

  Lewis had less than four hundred men under his direct command. They were good men, some of his best, and they’d drive forward as far and strong as they could. But there were bound to be enemies along the track, now ready and waiting, and at the washboard glade just four miles away was an army of twenty thousand. Numbers wouldn’t count for as much as speed, determination, and firepower on the confined forest track, but they’d matter a great deal in the open when they were deployed and arrayed to face him. Still, now that the thing was set in motion, Lewis was content, almost cheerful. After long months of training, waiting, and preparation for what they’d expected to happen, they’d quickly, professionally improvised for what they hadn’t as best they could. The results of the bizarre meeting with the enemy would lay to rest any lingering political reluctance or opposition among the people of this land, and its army would know the stakes and consequences of failure. Suddenly all was clear at last—or would be once Father Orno got Alcalde Periz back to Uxmal, and messengers went to Lewis’s other forces. Necessity would turn support for the cause, perhaps the Union, universal. There’d be no more doubts or equivocation, no more thought of appeasement, and all the people would recognize the simple choices between good and evil, fight or die. The “cause” would become as stark and unencumbered as battle itself.
/>   Lewis had seen his share of war and battle and hated the horror of it, particularly the tragic loss or maiming of young men with such promise, but as complex as battles often were—and their hasty deployments would make this one more complex than usual—they were often simplicity itself compared to the political maneuvers that set them in motion. The Doms seemed too arrogant to realize it, but Lewis hoped and believed the perversity, cruelty, and treachery they’d exhibited at the parley, designed to divide and intimidate, would have the opposite effect. The clear-cut choices represented by the cause would reach his whole army before it fought. Any lingering doubts his men might’ve carried, old hands and new, would be cast away. They’d be afraid. He was afraid. But they’d fight even harder than they would’ve before the parley was held.

  Now Lewis could go into battle without cares of that sort on his mind, and he was glad for this battle. It would give substance and meaning and hope to the cause, no matter how terrible it might be, because just as his Americans had an affinity for the Ocelomeh they’d already fought beside, nearly everyone in the Alliance of Cities was represented here. All their people, and the army, would become one at last—he prayed. First we have to win, of course, he told himself with a rueful grin.

  Leonor was riding beside him and noted his expression in the growing moonlight. “Looks like you’re actually enjoyin’ yourself.”

  Lewis laughed at her. “I’ve never seen anyone appear to enjoy a fight more than you, except perhaps your father,” he retorted, “so considering the source, that’s a strange accusation.”

  “No accusation. Observation.” They were nearing the trees. “Do you think there’s a chance this half-baked plan’ll work?”

  Lewis nodded at Reverend Harkin, bouncing back and forth in his saddle. “I think in one respect, after what I saw tonight, I have to agree with the good reverend’s theory. Surely the Doms—their leaders, at least—represent pure evil in this land. They may even be the strongest manifestation of it on this entire world, for all we know. So I do believe God’s primary purpose in putting us here must be to oppose them—and He’s on our side.”

  “Why not just smite ’em, then, like he did them Gomorrans an’ nasty Sodomites?”

  Lewis chuckled. “He could, I’m sure, but what good would it do the people here? How long would their faith in Him—and their liberty—endure if they weren’t called to defend it? There are still the Holcanos and Grik.”

  “It might save a bunch from gettin’ killed.”

  “But they wouldn’t have earned it, would they?” Harkin asked, voice jouncing with his bulbous body.

  “I didn’t know you were in the ‘God helps them who help theirselves’ camp,” Leonor countered. “Father says that’s Greek, an’ ain’t in the Bible at all!” She paused. “He does seem to live by it, though.”

  “Thessalonians 3:10 says, ‘The one who is unwilling to work shall not eat,’ ” Harkin went on pedantically.

  “It ain’t the same.”

  “Is it not?”

  “No,” Leonor insisted. “An’ what about us? Why did God pick us to fight the Doms?”

  Lewis cleared his throat to reply as they finally cantered down into the forest. The track was wide and clear, better than it would be later on, and for the first time he noticed the bark on the north sides of the trees emitted a faint phosphorescence and the dense woods glowed with just enough light that they’d have no trouble keeping the road. He’d heard of the phenomenon and counted on it, but they’d used lanterns the only time he’d ever moved troops here at night and he hadn’t seen it himself.

  “We were at hand, and it fell to us,” Barca suddenly said behind them. “ ‘To whomever much is given, of him will much be required; and to whom much was entrusted, of him more will be asked.’ I think the Lord put us here because he trusted us to do the right thing,” he added a little self-consciously.

  “There you are!” Reverend Harkin declared triumphantly.

  “Thank you, Barca,” Lewis said. “I believe so too, and I hope you’re right.”

  “I won’t argue that,” said Leonor.

  CHAPTER 34

  THE WASHBOARD

  Boogerbear returned to the roughly established command post on the southeast side of the washboard accompanied by four of Consul Koaar’s 1st Ocelomeh mounted messengers after leading the Rangers and lancers out on the extreme left of the line on the south end of the big clearing. Boogerbear would go back as soon as he could, but Major Reed had called all commanders to make a report on their dispositions and state of preparations. Boogerbear liked Major Reed and respected his desire to look his subordinates in the eye and make sure there were no misunderstandings before the festivities began. He was able to do so since the 1st Ocelomeh Infantry had erected a large animal-hide tent when it arrived almost two days before and a light could be shone inside without risk of detection.

  It was hot and stuffy in the tent, and it smelled of the smoke that preserved it. The great hide must’ve been fairly fresh as well, since there remained a hint of putrefaction. No one seemed to mind. Boogerbear didn’t. And large as it was, the tent was packed with only fifteen men and one Mi-Anakka (Consul Koaar) gathered around a small table and equally small map, hand-sketched in charcoal on the flesh side of a hide little bigger than a rabbit’s. It depicted the general shape of the washboard glade resembling a wineglass with a broken stem about two miles across in most dimensions, toppling to the west. All around was forest except for the sea to the northwest. The artist had drawn the enemy camp as best he could and even attempted to represent terrain features: the slight little ridges and shallow gullies that, except for a larger central wash, sloped generally upward to their present position. Though they might provide some cover from fire in battle, none would really hide an approach on the enemy. Of course, up until now, the great forest had hidden their approach amazingly well.

  Boogerbear never would’ve believed it. He’d heard stories of great armies of French and Indians moving through forests against the British (or vice versa), never to be seen until they attacked, but despite Koaar’s assurances, he couldn’t see how they’d accumulate almost six thousand men and two batteries of guns right on top of the enemy without being detected. They did it slowly, over several nights of long, dangerous marching, and the enemy hadn’t been here in force, at first, but somehow, they did it. He’d written it off to Dom arrogance at first; no one would dare attack them, especially in such numbers. It never happened before. Incompetence played a role as well; the enemy was in unknown country without Holcano scouts, and their commander probably decided that in their bright-yellow uniforms, Dom scouts would only be seen before they noted any skulking spies in any case. Quite true, actually. They’d never catch a handful of scouts, which they had to be expecting, but they’d missed this massive buildup just as well.

  Boogerbear and the Ocelomeh Rangers had come first, frightening away many of the local animals—capable of being frightened—before the infantry and artillery started trickling in. This so they wouldn’t send animals fleeing onto the plain, compelling the Doms to inspect the surrounding forest more carefully as their army grew. In retrospect, Boogerbear wasn’t sure even that had been necessary, nor had the terrible deaths of some of the following infantrymen, killed by monsters they couldn’t chase away. Except for a cursory inspection of their environs when they first arrived, the Doms appeared content to await their next orders in camp, even dragging firewood up from directly behind them. That made sense, Boogerbear supposed, staying close to the road and even using it to reduce their burden, but he finally decided fear of the woods—not of any human enemy, but the monsters dwelling there—did as much to squelch the initiative of Dom scouts as arrogance or orders.

  “Everyone knows what to do?” Major Reed asked earnestly after they went over their deployments once more. There were nods, but no comments or questions. Everyone was tense but determined. Word of what
happened at the conference had already arrived, first blinkered from the treetops in the simple expected sequence reporting failure, but soon came exhausted messengers on half-dead horses bearing further details—including that Alcalde Periz had been desperately wounded. Now the commanders in the darkened tent were ready for this, even anxious. Reed looked at them all and sighed. “Very well. God be with you all.”

  The lamp was extinguished, and they filed out under the tree-filtered moon and phosphorescent bark. They were still inside the forest, all the army was, but they had a good view of the enemy camp down on the plain by the sea. There were hundreds of campfires guttering there, but it was late and most of the enemy slept.

  “If it was up to me, I’d hit ’em now,” Boogerbear said quietly once most of the others dispersed.

  Reed managed to chuckle. “I’m sure you would. You Rangers have always been a murderous lot. Killing a man in his sleep would make no difference to you.”

  “Not a bit,” Boogerbear replied. “Prob’ly even be a mercy for most.”

  “I’m with you entirely,” Reed said, tone more somber. “I’d be for it myself if it weren’t for the confusion such an assault would bring on ourselves. Deadly confusion, emerging from the forest and bordering brush and crossing the better part of a mile of broken ground. Men—whole regiments—losing alignment, lagging, moving ahead unsupported, falling down, weapons going off . . . some would load them despite the direst warnings. I doubt the enemy would sleep through our bumbling advance.” He paused. “And this will be the very first action for most. For all of us as a combined army.”