But it wasn’t over. Time only slowed, minutes crawling like hours. He couldn’t take any more. “Stop,” he screamed as his flesh cooked. “Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.”
Samuel’s father stirred once more, his shoulders arching. Jax didn’t wait. He raised the butt of his rifle and swiped it across his father’s skull.
The sound of his father’s harsh gagging followed. His wheezing morphed into hard chokes, and his battered body began to tremor.
The blacksmith pulled the pick to his side. “The cleric. He’s seizing.”
His father’s limbs shook, and bloodied spit oozed from his mouth.
“Help!” Samuel yelled as his father’s body thrashed on the ground.
Everyone in the room went still. The foreigner arched his head back.
“I said he’s seizing. Lift up the man’s skull and hold the tongue back! Else he might choke on it.”
Jax ambled over to Samuel’s father, reaching down to help him.
“Leave him,” the mayor said.
Jax obeyed. The foreigner glanced at the mayor for a moment, but then put his eyes back on Samuel’s arm.
Samuel pulled back, digging his heels into the ground, his arm writhing as all of the muscles stretched. He strained to free himself from his captives, but couldn’t break away. He watched in horror as his father’s face went to blue. He couldn’t breathe. He needed to breathe.
“Help him! Somebody. Please!”
This wasn’t fair. Samuel needed his father to know that he was sorry for everything: for his mother, for leaving him, for sending him to the jailhouse on a fool’s quest, for putting him here. He needed to ask him about the exorcism and tell him about Zei. He couldn’t let him die like this. Tears blanketed his eyes, and his sight became more hazed.
“Father, please! Stop. Can you hear me? You have to stop. Breathe. Please.”
His father’s shaking grew more and more extreme, his body and limbs hitting the ground like bullets being fired into the dirt. Samuel wrenched his limbs back and forth, trying to break free. He couldn’t get loose. His captors wouldn’t let him go. His father’s convulsions continued for another minute before they ceased entirely, and he went limp.
“Let me go,” he begged, drool oozing. “Please.”
“His body has taken too much,” the foreigner said in a hushed tone. “He can’t come back from this. I’m sorry, lad.”
“Is he dead?” the blacksmith asked.
The mayor clicked his shoes together, knocking up a cloud of dirt.
“Enough talk. Get back to work.”
The foreigner closed his eyes, his brows furrowing. He seemed to be lost in thought. When he opened his eyes, his demeanor instantly brightened. “How would you all like to hear a song? I do not mean to boast, but I am quite a gifted singer. There’s one particular ditty I’m quite fond of.”
Samuel curled into himself, angered by the foreigner’s levity. He imagined that he was back inside his father’s cabin, sitting beside the fireplace reading the scriptures. Only this time, he was passionate about the ancient writings and longed for more insight into Azhuel’s character; the desire to be anything other than a cleric was gone. If only he could’ve been happy with his destiny and not plagued by doubts and insecurities. He wouldn’t be here. His father wouldn’t be dying. He wasn’t able to dwell on the thought long. When the blacksmith burned the roots near the side of his arm, the pain increased. Samuel rocked backward into the patrolman, pretending he was able to pull his arm away.
“Fine,” the mayor said coldly. “Let’s hear it.”
The foreigner’s grip tightened, and he cleared his throat before beginning.
Upon the shores of Briston Rock
I came upon a lass
With hair as black as ravens’ wings
And eyes as clear as glass
I dropped down on a bended knee
And asked her for her hand
For I’d never seen a finer beauty
In all the southern land
The blacksmith switched picks, his hand remaining steady as he carved more roots into Samuel. The redlands soldier bobbed his head to the melody as he sang.
She embraced me with tender arms
And with regret she said,
“I can’t give you my heart, dear lad,
For another I must wed
My betrothed is a wicked man
Whose hands deliver strife
He’s paid my father handsomely
To take me as his wife”
“I can’t,” Samuel cried. He needed the pain to stop.
My body ached with maddening rage
That I could not control
I said, “Fear not, my dearest one
I’ll rescue your sweet soul”
I waited ’til the dead of night
Before I made my move
I visited this villain’s house
My love I had to prove
“Please,” Samuel begged. He was sure he was going to die. “Stop.”
The foreigner continued, his voice loud and boisterous.
I crept into his chambers
And while he was asleep
My blade cut through his fleshy throat
He never made a peep
My heart sung with joy
For my beauty I had freed
And although I’d killed a sleeping man
I regretted not my deed
Samuel’s arm jolted, and he began to mouth his pleas. More and more the mark was beginning to resemble his father’s, only his was being crafted with burns. He couldn’t stare at his arm for long; looking made the pain worse.
The patrolman holding Samuel squeezed hard. “My muscles,” he said as he shifted his knees. “I don’t know how long I can keep holding him.”
Jax rushed over, interjecting his hand. “Move, then. I’ve got him.”
“It’s coming together quite nicely,” the mayor said. “The holy roots.”
Samuel sobbed as Jax took hold of him. He couldn’t do it anymore. It had to stop. It was too much. “Kill me. Please. I can’t. I can’t.”
The foreigner sang louder:
But soon the word had spread of how
I’d murdered that cruel beast
The soldiers came upon the shores
And plucked me from the east
They put my wrists in iron chains
To Zian I was sent
And found guilty for my crime
Yet I would not repent
Samuel’s cries weren’t enough to interrupt the song. The foreigner’s voice was unfazed. It was as if his song had taken him away to another place.
The guillotine was raised for me
My neck under the blade
And so I met my end
My life and love did fade
Now lads, please heed this simple truth
Love glistens more than gold
But it makes fools of us all
No matter young or old
Daylight broke as Samuel lay beside his father’s lifeless body. His red eyes were as swollen as his burned arm. A pool of saliva had fallen from his lips down to the dirt floor, the dribbled mud still touching his cheek. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying there, his mind both alert and vacant. It was as if he were suspended from his own skin, a spirit hovering over the scene. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dark-pink lines twisting around his forearm. He stared at the mark mindlessly.
The shop was silent. All the patrolmen, except for Jax, had gone back into the neighborhoods to rest. The mayor had ordered a fresh set of patrolmen to stand guard outside of the shop. Jax slept beside the blacksmith’s tool table, his rifle resting in his lap. The foreigner sat on top of the large table, his legs swinging as he twirled Samuel’s hunting knife between his fingers.
Samuel wanted to sleep, but he worried of nightmares. He grimaced as he moved his bound wrists. The foreigner had
given Samuel a bucket filled with snow to cool his skin. After a while, it stopped helping.
“Some things never leave you,” the foreigner said as he twirled the knife effortlessly. “I served for fifteen years. Retired with honors. But I got tired of it all. I wanted to work on my own terms.”
Samuel flexed his arm, and pain shot up. He tried ignoring his father’s corpse.
“But the problem,” the foreigner continued, “is that I was really only ever good at one thing. I went to work as a private contractor. I am a soldier for hire. Of course, I’m not permitted to murder law-abiding citizens. But if a criminal has a bounty on their head, I can do whatever I see fit. Killing isn’t all I do. Sometimes I’m hired to give my protection. But I’ve never had a job like this. Training an entire town of loggers to be soldiers. Odd request, but the money was right, and I couldn’t refuse. Don’t you agree?”
Samuel imagined himself as Zei.
The foreigner cleaned his fingernails with the blade. “A lot of people, redlands soldiers mind you, are afraid to travel through greenlands territory. Riots and murders in the streets. Me? I have no fear of mobs.”
Samuel said nothing.
The foreigner clicked his tongue. “Thing is, I’m not afraid of the common man. I’m including myself in that realm, of course. I know how I think, and I know that most others think and feel and rationalize along the same scale. We all have the same needs: food, shelter, pleasure. In the end, we merely want to go through life with as little pain as possible.”
The foreigner pointed his knife to the front door. “But the politicians? Those who are elite either by station or birth? Those are the men I fear. It’s not their privilege or their influence. It’s what’s inside their minds. Their education is the real power. They access knowledge that we, as common citizens, cannot. They will always have that over us. They’re human. I can discover their intentions or decipher whether or not they’re telling the truth. But I’ll never be able to truly know what they know.”
“Why are you saying this?” Samuel whispered. He couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”
The foreigner threw the knife into the air and caught it between his fingers as it fell. “I’m trying to comfort you. Your father died, but it was an honorable death. And you learned that you’ve got the blood of a master swordsman running through your veins. Isn’t that something? I knew I liked you, boy. We share a kinship. You and I.”
Samuel ignored him.
“You are right to question the mayor’s intentions. I see the disdain you hold for the man. It’s all over your face. You see what many others here don’t; that mayor thinks he’s playing us all for fools. If I was a different sort of man, I would cut you free. I would pack up my belongings, and leave this town, and never look back.” He paused. “But, the mayor has money. And I need money. Adapt or die. That is the redlander way.”
Samuel swallowed. He forced himself to sit up, his chest rising. He motioned to his backpack. The bag had been shoved in the corner near the disposal pail, and no one had paid it any mind.
“I have money.”
The foreigner giggled. “Oh, lad. Not enough. I’m sure.”
But the mysterious prospect must have piqued the foreigner’s curiosity. He rose and snatched up Samuel’s bag. He walked across the room, sitting in front of Samuel. The foreigner guided the bag’s zipper down. He eased open the flaps.
The foreigner turned to the side, assuring himself that Jax was unconscious. He pulled the bag up to his face. His eyebrows rose. “Oh. Now this is interesting. Banned technology. How did someone like you find something like this?”
Samuel said nothing.
“Do you know who this belongs to?”
Samuel shook his head.
“You’re lying,” the foreigner said as he coiled the bag behind him. “This is military-grade. Pre-blackout. Do you know what someone might pay for this?”
Samuel looked up. “Will you help me?”
“You’re a criminal and a thief. Why would I help you? You’re a bound captive. I can take it myself, and no one will be the wiser.”
Samuel tightened his fists and his burned arm felt new pains. He winced before speaking. “I’ll scream. I’ll tell the patrolmen you stole it.”
“Another lie,” the foreigner said with a smirk. “Your eyes shift when you speak. And you’re throwing out toothless threats. Speak truths, lad. Besides, what would you do if you somehow managed to escape here? You’re too weak. You wouldn’t last more than a day in your condition.”
Samuel nursed his arm mindlessly. The foreigner was right. He was weak in every way: physically, mentally, emotionally. Weak.
The foreigner ran his hand through his dark hair, his cheeks forming dimples. He zipped the bag shut and returned it to its previous location, only he tucked it farther behind the disposal pail. Jax shifted his shoulder, but his eyes remained shut. The foreigner lifted his index finger to Samuel and drew it across his own lips before sitting back down. Was he letting him in on a silent agreement?
A fist rapped on the door.
“Jax?”
Samuel awoke abruptly, his skin and eyes burning.
“What?”
“The loggers are gathering for their training,” the faceless voice called out from behind the closed doors. “The mayor is there too. He’s asking for Mikael.”
Jax tapped the sleeping Mikael with the heel of his boot. “Get up.”
“Coming,” the foreigner said with a yawn.
Both the foreigner and Jax took their time rising to their feet. They shuffled around the shop, lazily gathering their belongings. Samuel’s bag remained right where the foreigner had left it.
“I’m going home,” Jax said. “Do you need an escort?”
“I can find my own way.”
“Good.” Jax draped the rifle over his shoulder, his hands steadying it behind his back. “I’ll send a few more patrolmen this way after I track down the sheriff.”
“Don’t bother,” the foreigner said as he dusted his pants. He put Samuel’s throwing knife down on the table. “Sending men inside the shop, I mean. The cleric’s bastard is not going anywhere.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
A loud scream from outside made Samuel jerk. Both the foreigner and Jax froze, their eyes looking to one another. The scream was followed by more screams, and the sound of banging from the outside walls filled the shop. It was almost as if someone was repeatedly punching the doors. Several shots were fired. Samuel’s lips opened, but he didn’t move. The foreigner pointed a finger at Jax, signaling him to move back.
“What is that?” Jax asked. He took up his rifle, cocking back the hammer.
Samuel dragged himself into a sitting position, bumps growing over his skin. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but the foreigner’s face looked troubled. The banging stopped, but Samuel could hear distant yells. Had someone been attacked outside? He put his hands to his chest, the burn on his arm tingling.
“Greenland natives?” Jax asked. “Are they here? Is this real?”
The foreigner’s eyes widened, his stare authoritative. His fierce gaze was enough to silence Jax immediately.
They waited silently, watching the wooden doors. Nothing happened.
The foreigner gave Jax a nod.
Jax walked forward, his face full of apprehension as he approached the door. He looked back at the foreigner. The foreigner nodded again. Jax threw the door open, and the morning light entered the shop. He aimed his rifle up and down, his motions jerky. The snow had stopped, but an inch or so of white powder covered the ground.
Samuel edged his busted frames farther up his nose, allowing his eyes to dilate. He saw a splash of red over the white powder. Could the mayor be right about war? Had greenland citizens infiltrated the north? How could they have moved up so fast? And why would they do this? What could they gain from attacking a
town like Haid?
“What do you see?” the foreigner asked. He stepped past the furnace and into the center of the room.
Jax cautiously stepped outside the shed. He lifted his rifle to the roof before turning it back in front of him. “Blood. And … no. They’re dead. Three patrolmen. I see three of them. They’re dead.”
“Nothing else?”
“No!” He craned his neck. “I can’t see the western woods well enough. But the loggers are running. This is bad.”
Samuel rounded his shoulders and tucked his hands into his chest. He didn’t care if he died in the shop, if foreigners sprinted inside and gunned him down. But he remembered Claudette and Laura. Were they all right, safe inside the butcher’s shop? Was it war? Where was the sheriff?
The foreigner leaned forward. “What else do you see?”
Jax took another step, turning from left to right. “The square is empty. No one is in the street. No. Wait. I see a girl.”
“A child?” the foreigner asked.
“She’s bleeding. She’s coming.”
Before Jax could say anything else, a figure darted across the doorway and pounced on him. Red hair danced behind the intruder as she pressed her knees into Jax’s chest. She slammed a hatchet between his eyes, his skull splitting as the blade sank.
Samuel curled into his body. It couldn’t be. He was immobile, his muscles having turned to liquid.
Zei got up slowly, her bare feet anchored to the snow-covered ground. Blood covered her legs and arms and face, her black dress stained red, hem swaying in the wind. She yanked the hatchet from Jax’s limp head and looked around the shed. She ignored Samuel, instead locking eyes with the foreigner. She had become the demon once more, and he was terrified.
The foreigner didn’t move, but an uneasy smile crept over his lips. He studied Zei carefully as he edged his blades up. “You must be the owner. Coming to reclaim what is theirs?”
Demon in the Whitelands Page 23
