Samuel’s chest burned.
“Who else knows?”
The sheriff wiped his mustache.
“Who knows what?”
“Does Charles know?”
“I told my boys to keep their mouths shut if they didn’t want to end up like that fat dead mayor. Not like that’s a guarantee. Nobody listens to me.” The sheriff took another swig from his flask and smacked his lips. “Honestly? Didn’t think you had it in you.”
Samuel breathed deep. “I killed him.”
“The little mayor isn’t crying over his dead daddy,” the sheriff said. “If that’s what you’re thinking. He’s the new mayor of Haid. As is his birthright.” He tapped his boots onto the floor. “A thank-you would be nice.”
“Huh?”
“Me helping you. A thank-you would be nice.”
Samuel leaned into the cushions. “My father is dead. You didn’t help me.”
The sheriff huffed.
“You’re here. Alive. Which is a hell of a lot more than you deserve after the shit you pulled. Who do you think let out that monster? Who do you think single-handedly brought this town to its knees by setting that monster loose?”
Samuel tried sitting up, but the pain of his leg stopped him.
“What?”
The sheriff laughed to himself, smacking his thigh.
“Do you know what some of the citizens are saying? That death, the dark servant of Azhuel, came to Haid in the form of a red-haired child to enact vengeance on the citizens, because some of them had broken the law by touching your old man and murdering him in the dead of night. Now that’s really funny. Almost as good as that demon theory. But it gets better. The latest rumor is that you’re the one that summoned her.” He wriggled his fingers over Samuel’s face. He laughed again. “Death. Demon. Monster. Little shit. Whatever that thing is, it’s good at killing. Really good. Really fucking good.”
Samuel arched his spine, the bones popping. “Why did you let her out?”
The sheriff nodded to himself, fiddling with his flask. He offered Samuel a sip, but he refused. “Maybe I just wanted my jailhouse back. Or maybe I’d had enough of our fat mayor. Maybe that little brat came banging on my door in the middle of the night telling me that you’d gotten caught, crying and saying he’d do anything to save you. Saying he needed my help. Saying that we could stage a coup in the process. Saying I could have my wages doubled as well as more control over my patrolmen. Anything I wanted if I saved you.”
“Why would Charles do that?”
The sheriff smirked. “You’re not that stupid, are you?” He laughed. “Anyway. It was his idea to set the little beast free, because he said she’d rescue you. I told him he was out of his damn mind, but he insisted. Said that monster wouldn’t hurt you, and he’d take the blame if it didn’t work. I said I’d kill him myself if it didn’t.”
“You hate her.”
“Damn right.” The sheriff closed the flask and stashed it in his pocket. “I know what that thing is capable of. Told the men I trusted to sneak through the neighborhoods and spread the word that something bad was coming. Tell the citizens not to leave their houses or open the shops or head to the woods. Most everyone listened. Those that didn’t went to the grounds for military training. They would’ve sold their souls to make a few extra coins.”
“People died.”
“Coming from you? That’s rich. None of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for you.”
Samuel’s burned arm twitched, and a wave of pain forced his eyes closed. “I know that.”
The sheriff sighed. “I let the monster out myself. Undid the locks and chains. Told her I’d shoot her dead if she so much as made a move at me. Told her where you were and that you needed help. And I let her go.”
Samuel remembered how Zei had burst into the blacksmith’s shed, the way she’d slain the foreigner and Jax as if it were nothing. He remembered the way she looked at him, her hands stained wet with blood.
“Did she help you?”
“Yes.”
The sheriff shook his head, rubbing his hands over his face. “No shit?”
“How long am I stuck here for?”
“Right now, we’re keeping you hidden.” The sheriff stood, jamming his fingers into his belt. “There’s been some grumblings about how you’re the one to blame for all the carnage. Simple minds. Superstitions and all that. The little mayor wants you to stay in Haid, but I think it’s a bad idea. My opinion? You need to get out of this town.”
“Wait,” Samuel called out before the sheriff made his exit. “Mikael. The foreigner. He called Zei … he called the demon a Halyre. Do you know the word?”
“Are you serious?” The sheriff snorted. “Like I speak redlander.”
Samuel fumbled around the room, searching for his clothes. Instead, he found a stash of Charles’s clothes stuffed inside the large dresser. He picked a pair of fitted jeans, which he assumed Charles had outgrown several years before. He guided his bandaged leg inside of the pants, doing his best to avoid rubbing the wound.
He shoved his other leg in without as much effort, then wriggled the jeans up to his waist. He rolled up the pants twice, trying to prevent the bottoms from covering his feet. Dressing was an odd sensation. He’d been naked underneath the bedsheets for over a week, leaving them only to relieve himself. He slipped on a thick shirt and an oversized sweater before slowly making his way back to the lounge chair.
Samuel pushed his newly repaired glasses farther up his nose. Charles had paid a craftsman in Lehles not only to repair the damaged frames, but also to slightly increase the prescription strength of the lenses. Because of it, Samuel had never seen things more clearly.
He winced. His arm prickled with irritation, so he carefully patted the burned skin with the back of his palm. Not only did the burns ache, but they itched as well. He braced himself against the wall before snatching his coat up from the floor.
After he’d finished dressing, Samuel took cautious steps back to the bed. He got down on his knees and rummaged underneath the bed until he found his leather boots. He sat on the bed, lethargically slipping the shoes on and lacing up the strings.
Charles burst into the room, Samuel’s backpack draped over his shoulder. He smiled. “I bought you fresh clothes, you know. You can totally have those too. It looks good on you.”
Samuel smirked. “Thanks. It’s better than a uniform. What happened to my old clothes? The ones I was wearing?”
“Oh. Tossed them out. They were filthy.” Charles paused. “Covered in blood.”
Samuel picked at sweater sleeves. “Thank you, Charles.”
Charles blushed. He whipped Samuel’s backpack onto the bed. “Your money’s all there. Put in a little extra for you. Oh, and the blacksmith gave you some new throwing knives and sharpened your hunting knife. He says he’s sorry about what happened.”
Samuel nodded. He wasn’t angry with the blacksmith anymore. The man responsible was dead.
Charles got closer. He brushed back Samuel’s hair, his fingers lingering. “You should fix your hair. It’s a mess.”
Samuel nodded.
Charles cleared his throat, pulling away. He straightened his suit jacket and popped the stem of his smoking pipe between his teeth. “You ready?”
A soft rapping came from outside the hallway. Samuel turned. Claudette stood by the doorframe, her arms slung around it. Her four-cord braids fell down her shoulders like a still painting. Her brown eyes stayed downcast.
Samuel dug his fingers into his palm. His muscles tightened.
“Can we have a minute?”
Charles glanced at Claudette. He nodded, took his exit, and closed the door behind him.
Soft light peeked through the lace curtains. Samuel shifted his weight, the floor creaking below his feet. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She was beautiful. Inside and out. Pure. He never deserved her.
“Where
are you going?” she asked with a tinge of sadness.
Samuel rubbed his thumb across his jacket. “I don’t know.”
Claudette’s voice got sharper. She held herself. “What does that even mean? I don’t understand. Every time I come to see you … ” She paused. “It’s not your fault, Samuel. None of this is your fault. You don’t have to run away.”
“I killed him,” Samuel said.
“What?”
“The mayor. I killed him. I did it.”
“You killed him?”
Samuel nodded.
Claudette came closer. She took his face into her hands, her touch sending chills. “I don’t care,” she said evenly. “He was a bad man. He was cruel. What he did to my father? To yours? He deserved to die.”
She embraced him.
“I’m glad you did it, Sam. Can’t you see? I’m happy. Please. Don’t leave me.”
Samuel’s mouth puckered. He tasted bile, his jaw clenched. He didn’t know if he had the strength to do it. He didn’t want to leave her. He wanted her to hold him. He wanted a life with her. But none of those things were possible. He couldn’t lie to her anymore. She needed to know the truth. To see him for what he really was.
“No,” Samuel said firmly. “I have to.”
“Don’t say that!”
“I lied about your father. I was there. I watched him die.”
Claudette released her hold. Samuel stepped back and slouched his shoulders. He couldn’t bear to look at her. “That day. The mayor brought him to the jailhouse. I was there.” Samuel nibbled on his tongue. “I watched him die.”
Claudette put her hands near her stomach. “What?”
“I didn’t do anything to stop them. I didn’t try.”
“You didn’t kill him,” Claudette said. She shook her head forcefully, tears running down her cheeks. “I know you didn’t. That’s not who you are. I know it was the mayor. What did he do? Tell me.”
Samuel couldn’t say anything else. Zei was the one who held the knife, but that blood was on his hands. He owned it.
Claudette’s lip trembled. “Tell me. Please. Just tell me.”
The room grew silent until Claudette’s feet struck the floor. She reached her hand back and slapped it across Samuel’s face. Her eyes sweltered with a fresh wave of tears.
“Tell me!”
Samuel’s cheek throbbed. He wanted to throw his arms around her waist and beg her forgiveness. He wanted to confess everything. But she deserved better. It didn’t matter what he wanted. He knew he couldn’t stay with her. He couldn’t stay in Haid. It was more than the sheriff’s warnings about superstitious citizens. There were too many ghosts. This town had brought out something dark in him. He tried not thinking about it, but his mind always found its way back to death. She couldn’t understand that. He hoped she never would have to.
The snow-laden graveyard was littered with rows of erect wooden sticks. Some of the stripped branches had fallen over, while more had been buried underneath the white powder. Samuel followed Charles, his backpack bouncing. His boots stepped on snow and dried wood. His arms dangled by his sides as he tried not to move any of the sticks still mounted in place.
Samuel hadn’t said a word since leaving Claudette alone at the estate. Charles allowed him time to sit in silence on the drive to the burial grounds. The 250 acres of reserved land was deep on the north side of Haid. The grounds were far away from the neighborhoods and square and tucked between the eastern and western woods.
“It’s a little farther back,” Charles said, zigzagging in between the posts.
“How do you know?”
“I oversaw the burial.”
Samuel nibbled on his cheek. “You sure you’ll remember where it is?”
Charles sighed loudly. “I marked the stick. Trust me.”
Samuel wasn’t paying attention, and his elbow accidentally struck the tips of several mounted sticks, knocking two of them over. Samuel stopped. He bent down, and his body tingled with pain. He repositioned the sticks, turned around, and continued following Charles. This time, he shoved his hands inside his pockets. The sun’s rays managed to seep through his jacket, and his arm throbbed wildly. He tried not to contort his face. It was almost like it was being burned all over again.
No one was supposed to mark grave posts. It was specified in the Laevis Creed. Politicians, citizens, clerics, even foreigners were to be buried with one another in the same communal burial grounds. If Charles had marked his father’s stick, then he’d willfully broken the law on Samuel’s behalf. He swore to himself he’d never forget that.
Charles stopped by a cluster of sticks. He bent down and nodded. Samuel tried widening his strides, ignoring the pain in his leg. The stick in front of him was stripped of its outer bark. He thought of his father’s frozen body underneath the snow and hard dirt. He squatted beside Charles, slid off the backpack, and placed it beside the post. He retrieved the hunting knife.
“Thank you,” Samuel said. “For everything.”
“It’s no trouble when you’re the mayor,” Charles bragged. He kicked up a bit of snow. “Crazy how things happen. I always hated my dad. But now that he’s gone. I don’t know. It’s weird. I didn’t think your pet monster would actually kill him. I mean. I guess it had to happen one way or the other.”
Samuel swallowed. “Yeah.”
“I know what my dad did to yours. And I’m sorry. I don’t want you to hate me. I care a lot about you.” Charles looked down. “I love you.”
“I know.” Samuel forced a grin, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. He didn’t know if the sheriff was rambling nonsense or telling truth. Either way, he loved Charles. He was a better person than his father. And he didn’t want to hurt him. “I don’t hate you. I swear. I care about you a lot. That’s why you need to stay away from me.”
Charles tsked. “You’re so dramatic.”
He lit the tobacco inside of his pipe and sucked. His face seemed somewhat older as he allowed the cloud of smoke to roll out his open mouth. It reminded Samuel of the last mayor, but he pushed the thought aside.
“Guess I’ll go ahead. Be waiting for you with the sheriff.”
“Okay.”
“Take your time. Do what you have to do.”
Samuel bowed, and Charles waved as he made his way back to the sheriff’s jeep.
For a long while, Samuel stood still, his ungloved hand gripping the knife’s handle. The weight felt heavy. The last time he held a knife, he slit a man’s throat with it. He curled the blade up and looked at his father’s grave.
There was so much he could have said. His cheeks started aching. He blinked heavily, refusing to let out the tears. Words and tears wouldn’t bring him back or right all the wrongs. He sniffled as he raised his open palm. “We are but dirt,” he mumbled as he slid the blade across his hand. The blood came slowly at first, but then gushed out freely in between the creases of his fingers. He’d made the cut too deep. He should’ve known better than to slice the skin that way. He didn’t care. He deserved to bleed. “To dirt we shall return.”
Samuel paused. It was as if he’d forgotten everything. He’d watched his father perform the rites a hundred times over, but this time was different. This time, he was the one holding the knife. He knew he was supposed to read a passage, but he didn’t have the scriptures with him. He closed his eyes.
“What am I supposed to do?”
He waited for a voice, or at least some sort of inward reassurance he wasn’t speaking to nothing. But nothing came. Samuel opened his eyes.
The old butcher.
The verse came back to him. He dribbled the blood over his father’s grave before folding his hands together.
“‘For Azhuel will draw out your flesh and pain, and in Him you will grow again, connected to His roots. In Him, there is always life.’ Azhuel, lord of all, I ask that your roots would wrap around my father. Draw him back into you. Give him peace.
Please. Just give him peace now.”
Samuel rested the side of his head on the passenger window. His bandaged hand clutched the strap of his backpack. They made their way past the neighborhoods and over the railroad tracks. The sheriff edged the jeep up to the cabin, parking near the front of the wooden shed. He petted his mustache, and his glazed eyes stared at Samuel through the front mirror.
“Don’t do this.”
Samuel picked his head up. Charles was leaning over the center console, his slicked-back hair glistening. “I could drive you to another town. Somewhere you’d be safe. I’ll even take you to the border if that’s what you want. Let me help you.”
Samuel looked away, watching through the window. The limbs from the pine trees danced in the breeze, their piney branches swaying. He couldn’t hear their rustling over the rumbling engine.
“I have to do this alone.”
“No, you don’t,” Charles said authoritatively. It sounded forced. “You’re not some martyr, you know.”
Samuel didn’t answer.
Charles tapped Samuel’s leg. They looked into each other’s eyes. Heat rose in Samuel’s chest, but he kept a hard face. He couldn’t admit it to himself before, but he could now. He loved Charles as much as he loved Claudette and Zei. He loved things he couldn’t have.
“Charles.”
“I’m the mayor of Haid. I can protect you. You’d be safest with me. Don’t you see that? The dumb citizens will get over their stupid ideas about you. Just give it time. I can have a dozen patrolmen guarding you at all times. At least until things calm down.”
“No,” the sheriff said abruptly. “You’re not about to ask that of my men. Or me. Everyone’s already spooked after what happened. I’m trying to maintain trust and respect. You know that can’t happen with him still around here, mayor.”
Charles let out a groan. He pointed to Samuel’s leg. “What about that wound? You’re still hobbling. We’re just supposed to drop you off and let you stagger out of town like that? What about that butcher girl? You going to leave her too?”
Demon in the Whitelands Page 26
