The Immortal Crown

I told you I would provide you with the means to make this journey. You must make the most of them, the voice told her.

  She returned to the rock, and the world’s brilliance dimmed back to reality and a nervous looking Cecile who shot to her feet when Mae blinked.

  “You’re back!” exclaimed the girl. “I mean, you weren’t gone, but I thought—”

  “I know,” said Mae, getting gingerly to her feet. The sun told her a little over an hour had passed. At least the girls couldn’t complain about getting a long enough break. “And I’m sorry if I—”

  She cut herself off and stared in amazement at the hand she’d sliced. The wound hadn’t healed. In fact, it didn’t even have the scabbed over look from last time. The cut had congealed and wasn’t openly bleeding but still looked fresh and wet, as though it had indeed happened that day. Mae had no explanations nor time to find one and instead hastily wrapped it in a piece of cloth torn from her shirt.

  She gathered up the girls, pleased to see there’d been no crisis in her absence. They continued on through the woods, finding a relatively cleared trail that confirmed the habitation shown to her in the vision. A little less than a mile from where she expected the house to be, she called another halt, something none of the girls had a problem with.

  Mae pulled aside her three leaders: Monica, Cecile, and a girl who’d made her Gemman name Clara.

  “I’m going to get us some food,” she told them. “Stay here, and do the usual. Keep them in line. Keep an eye on that water. I’m taking one of the empty jugs in the hopes of getting a refill, but there are no guarantees, and we’re running low.”

  “Shouldn’t one of us come with you?” asked Cecile.

  Mae grimaced. “Not for this. I’m hoping it’ll go smoothly, but if not, I don’t want any of you nearby.” Seeing the fear that struck in them, she attempted a lighter tone. “But everything’ll be fine, and we’ll be eating tonight.”

  She left them behind and set off down the trail, which soon led to the old orchard and shack from her vision. Mae’s secret, improbable hope was that someone had left a feast behind and would be gone for days, relieving her of the guilt of taking their food. In the event of face to face confrontation, she was hoping for a peaceful negotiation. She’d found some Arcadian currency in the van, and although it wasn’t much, surely it was enough to buy scant rations.

  As she approached the house, she found an older man chopping wood. His back was to her, but there was no way she could sneak into the house unseen. Negotiation it was.

  “Excuse me,” she called.

  He spun around with impressive speed, axe poised menacingly as he regarded her with wild eyes. Mae was a bit more startled than she’d expected. His face was almost completely covered in Cain acne, and yellow and brown teeth only added to the monstrous appearance. Not monstrous, she told herself. Just a man who hasn’t had access to adequate medical care.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, “but I was hoping to buy some of your food. I have money.” She held out the currency and waited. When he didn’t speak or move right away, she wondered if he could understand her. There were slight accent differences between Gemman and Arcadian English, and it was possible they were more pronounced away from the country’s urban centers.

  Then, with a roar, the old man came charging at her with the axe. Mae easily sidestepped him and continued dodging his subsequent attacks. Finally, frustrated, she put distance between them and pulled out her gun.

  “Enough,” she said. “Don’t move. I don’t want to hurt you.” The man halted his attack.

  “Drop the axe and walk inside the house. Slowly.”

  Again, there was hesitation, but he complied, so at least communication was working. “I have no intention of harming you,” she reiterated. “I’m going to pick out some food, and then I’ll leave money behind for you.”

  The shack consisted of only one room, containing a cold fireplace, straw pallet, and table. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, but aside from those and the picked over bones of some small animal on the table, she saw no other signs of supplies.

  “Where’s your food?” she asked.

  By way of response, the man grabbed a knife from the table and charged her again. The close quarters prevented her from completely dodging the attack, and they wrestled briefly. Shooting him would’ve been simple, but Mae didn’t want to kill him if she didn’t have to. He didn’t seem like the kind of person with much outside contact who was likely to report on seeing her, and even if he did, a lone woman wouldn’t raise the red flags that one with a host of girls in tow would.

  She was easily stronger than him, but the flailing of his wild attack made it hard to immediately disengage from him. At last, she threw him off her, toward the far side of the room. Her throw wasn’t that hard, but he landed wrong, his foot slipping on a wet spot on the floor. Fumbling, he tried to get his balance but instead fell against the fireplace—the back of his head hitting a jagged stone in its border with a sickening crack.

  “No!” yelled Mae, running over to the hearth. Blank, staring eyes met her from that hideous face, and she swore in Finnish. For someone who’d wanted to achieve this rescue with as little death as possible, she seemed to be causing it everywhere. After ascertaining there really was no hope of resuscitation, she left him there for the time being and performed a more thorough search of the premises. Her examination concluded two things: he lived alone, and there was no extra food.

  What had he done? Had he just hunted as-needed? Had he been about to journey to civilization and obtain some? Or was there a cache hidden away somewhere? He had no answers to give, and Mae tried to work off her frustration by digging a shallow grave for him with a shovel she’d found. It wasn’t what he deserved, but it was all she could offer for what had fallen out between them. The one bright spot on the property was an active well, and Mae wanted to bring the girls here to resupply and sterilize new water. That would require getting him out of sight.

  The crude shovel wasn’t that efficient, and by the time she’d buried the man, she was covered in sweat, and her cut had opened and begun bleeding. She’d have to use the thin blanket she’d seen on the pallet as a bandage and then do a thorough washing. Before heading off to retrieve the girls, she made one more sweep of the property, just in case she’d missed something.

  She hadn’t, and that realization made her anger grow. She was tired and hungry, weighed down by an impossible task that she’d been promised divine help on—and hadn’t received.

  “You promised me food!” she yelled to the dormant orchard. “Where is it? How am I supposed to feed them? How are we supposed to make it to the border without food?”

  No answer came, but of course it wouldn’t, she thought furiously. Gods didn’t like to talk directly to mortals. They did it in dreams and other inconvenient ways—like blood-induced trances. Mae stared at her bleeding hand, but apparently it had already served its purpose. Fully aware she was acting out of frustration, Mae cut her other palm with the amber knife and demanded, “Here’s what you wanted, right? You said I had to give something to get something. Where are my answers? Where’s the help you promised?”

  No answers came. No vision came either. This is what it comes to, she thought. This is why gods are no good for humans. They only let us down. Justin was right about everything. I shouldn’t have gotten involved.

  A wave of dizziness struck her, and she put her freshly cut hand out to support herself on a tree, wincing at the pain. She pulled her hand back and then stared openmouthed at what she saw. The tree’s trunk was scaled and corroded with disease. That and drought had prevented the tree from producing fruit this season. But where her blood touched the trunk, the scaling disappeared, and a healthy patch of bark spread out, stopping when it was about twice the size of her palm.

  I’m hallucinating. It was the obvious explanation . . . but it didn’t stop her from unwrapping her other hand and placing both bleeding palms against the bark. A sense of warmth
and lightness spread out from her, through her hands, and through her blood, sending her life into the dying tree. It was a heady, exhilarating feeling, reminding her of the sensation she sometimes had in the goddess’s presence in her visions, that glorious feeling of being alive and connecting to all things living. At the same time, it was an excruciating feeling, drawing on every bit of Mae’s core of strength, a core that had been tapped considerably these last few days through both mental and physical hardship.

  Despite that exertion, she kept her palms on the tree and continued focusing her energy. The healthy bark spread farther and farther until it consumed the entire trunk and branches. Green leaves burst into life, soon followed by delicate pink and white blossoms. The world reeled around Mae, and she nearly let go.

  No, no, she thought. The cycle isn’t complete yet.

  The blossoms grew and then fell apart, showering her in fragrant petals, far sweeter and richer than any perfume of hers could manage. And in the flowers’ places, fruit began to grow, starting small and green and soon developing into full, red apples that weighed down the limbs. It was then that Mae finally broke away, gasping at the strange mix of pain and pleasure coursing through her. There was blood on her palms and blood on the tree, but it was alive and healthy, ready to feed a group of hungry girls.

  The goddess’s voice reverberated in Mae’s head: This is the kind of power you have in service to me, the power of life and love and fertility. As my priestess, you will bring life where you choose. As my warrior, you will bring death when necessary. You will bring comfort and healing. You will ignite desire. And always, always, I will have my hand upon you, empowering you.

  Mae staggered back, and black spots danced before her vision. Praetorians might not sleep, but they could certainly pass out from injury, and she fought for her consciousness. All of this would be for nothing if she couldn’t get the girls here. Not bothering to rewrap her hands, she stumbled down the path back to where she’d left her charges. The journey was unwieldy, and she had to stop a number of times to catch her breath. At last, she reached the clearing she’d left them in, where they sat waiting in a small, nervous cluster. Cecile and Clara ran to her side, faces shocked at her appearance.

  “Come on,” Mae said, gesturing them forward with bloody hands.

  “I have food.”

  Not waiting to see if they followed, she turned back toward the shack and plunged down the trail, vaguely aware of others following in her wake. Each step was harder than the last, but Mae refused to rest until she was back at the tree.

  If I didn’t imagine it, she thought with a panic. In her current state, barely able to stand, with the world spinning, it was possible the entire thing had been a hallucination. But when she reached the ragged orchard, the thriving tree was still there. At least, she thought it was. She turned to look at the girls hurrying behind her, and their overjoyed faces told her that this was indeed a reality.

  “Your dinner,” she declared grandly. And then she passed out.

  She came to a couple hours later, as sunset was darkening the sky. She was lying in the grass beside the tree she’d revived, and someone had made a makeshift pillow out of a coat for her. She tried to sit up, and Clara hurried to her side with a jug of water.

  “Drink this,” she said. “We got more from the well and boiled it inside while you slept. Probably it was fine, but—well, just in case.”

  “Smart thinking,” Mae managed to say hoarsely. After a few sips of the water, she pulled herself upright and took in her surroundings. A crude ladder that must’ve belonged to the dead man was propped up against the tree, and Mae counted at least three girls up in the limbs, picking and throwing down apples.

  “We can leave some for the owner,” said Monica, coming to sit down. “But we thought we should get as many down as we could. And, uh, we didn’t really ration them at first. We just kind of went on a binge.”

  Mae smiled weakly. “That’s okay. Get your fill now. We’ll ration when we leave.” An apple descended from the tree and rolled toward her. She picked it up and bit into it, pleased that it was indeed a real apple and not something insubstantial. When she finished, she ate a second but turned down the third when Clara offered it to her.

  “It seems like a lot right now, but these need to get us through at least two more days, and thirteen mouths is a lot to feed,” Mae explained.

  The two girls exchanged uneasy looks. “Twelve,” said Monica. “Dawn ran off while we were waiting for you back there. We tried to stop her, and then we didn’t know if we should follow her or stay where you’d left us.”

  “No, you did right,” said Mae. “She didn’t want to be here anyway.”

  One less mouth to feed lightened Mae’s load, but Dawn was a witness to what had happened. It was a cruel thought, but with as inept as she was at living off the land, Dawn might not very well survive to find anyone to tell her tale to. Or, if she found someone like Mae had encountered, Dawn might find herself caught and forced to be some hermit’s wife. Again, not a pleasant thought, but one that would make Mae’s life easier. For now, there was no further point in worrying. Getting to the border was all that mattered.

  They spent the night there, eating apples and drinking from the well unchecked. Everyone was in better spirits in the morning, and even if not all of them had come around to trusting Mae, they at least responded more favorably, now that she’d tended to their basic needs. Their final count gave them eighty-seven apples, which initially seemed like a bounty until Mae looked ahead to their next two days. They split the apples up between some supply sacks found in the shack and then, with newly filled water bottles, set out on the rest of their journey. Mae gave the apple tree one last, lingering look, etching its details into her memory, wondering if she’d ever create such a thing again. Wondering if she’d want to.

  The orchard gave way to more deciduous forest, and by the end of the day, they were back in bedraggled open grassland. That made Mae nervous, but the failing light would help obscure them from aircraft, as would some of the taller vegetation. She’d regained a lot of her strength, something made easier by keeping to the girls’ lighter pace. They did a respectable job that day, due largely to the rest and nourishment. She hoped for the same progress tomorrow and finally called a rest by a cluster of scraggly trees near a dried up pond.

  The girls curled up together on the ground, settling themselves for sleep, and Mae watched with fond protectiveness from her spot against a thin tree. To her surprise, Ava came and sat beside her, her fair hair gleaming in the moonlight.

  “How come you never sleep?” asked the girl.

  “I slept yesterday in the orchard,” Mae reminded her. “Yeah, but you don’t sleep when the rest of us do.”

  Mae thought of how to explain it, not really sure the Arcadian- raised girl was ready to learn about Gemman military implants. “I’m a soldier. Part of my training was how to get by without sleep.”

  Ava seemed to accept this and move on. “I didn’t know there were woman soldiers.”

  “There are lots of them where I’m from. Where I’m taking you.”

  ”Why are you taking us there?”

  “Because it’s where you belong,” said Mae fiercely. “You were taken from there when you were young. It’s your home.”

  “Dawn says you’re a demon.”

  Mae laughed at that. “Dawn’s gone. Do I look like a demon?” Ava shook her head. “Will we live with you in the new country?”

  “I don’t know,” said Mae. Certainly the other girls wouldn’t, but Mae didn’t know how Ava’s custody would fall out. The Nordics wouldn’t take her, but there was a chance Ava’s plebeian father might want her, once she was identified. Mae had no clue what kind of man her sister had had her fling with but felt confident of one thing. “Wherever you end up, it’ll be better than where you came from. You’ll be safe. No one will hurt you, and you’ll have all the choices in the world. Now go get some rest.”

  The next day was l
ess upbeat. Strict rationing took its toll once more, as did the mental exhaustion of these long, arduous days. The landscape didn’t change, remaining open grasslands with scattered clusters of small trees. It left Mae on pins and needles, especially since the amount of aircraft increased—and she was almost certain they were military machines. The upside was that the more frequent aircraft and her calculations strongly supported the idea that they were nearing the border. Further confirmation came that night when the girls had made camp again near the best group of trees Mae could find, which wasn’t saying much. She hadn’t seen anything before the sun went down, but now, in darkness, she could make out lights on the horizon.

  A chill ran through her. The border.

  She gathered Monica and three of the oldest girls. They didn’t have the zeal of Clara and Cecile, but they’d warmed up to her, and Mae couldn’t trust this next task to anyone younger. She paired the foursome off and quickly explained a watch schedule, instructing the first pair to stay awake until the moon was at a designated point, then wake the other pair and switch.

  “Where are you going?” asked Monica.

  “To do some scouting. I’ll whistle when I come back. If anyone else comes by, make no noise, even if they call out to you. Stay hidden.”

  Mae didn’t bother giving instructions on what to do if the girls were seized because really, there was no advice to give.

  She set out at a light jog, the implant and hope working together to charge up her tired body. This was it. They were almost there. The lights grew bigger and brighter, and Mae soon had a sense of what she was looking at. There were two military outposts, one on each side of the border, Gemmans and Arcadians mirroring each other. It was what she’d expected—and feared. Each side wanted to watch the other, which made sense but meant she had to get through the enemy to get home. She knew the rest of the border was marked with some kind of nasty fencing, barbed wire or electrically charged, maybe both. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be the cakewalk she’d had at Carl’s or the salon. Both sides wanted that border up, and both would have sensors going off if anyone tried to cut or cross that fencing. There would also likely be random patrols on both sides. She sized up the situation and made her decision, then hurried back to the sleeping girls.