Antioch

  The sailors chuckled again. Ditch had a wide grin. “Oh yeah? It’s good a one huh?”

  Harold’s manner took on some strut. “Well, that depends on who’s shooting of course, but I’ve been known to keep my shaft in a hay bale at sixty paces.”

  The sailors laughed. Harold had offered himself up as the butt of the joke, in more ways than he knew. The mood lightened some.

  Welles reined the cows in to a stop. “Whoa there, whoa! Time to milk these two. Whose turn is it?” They all got out of the wagon, some with buckets and some to stretch their legs.

  Ditch leapt out and said, “Thing’s kind a’ like a dinghy, you know, but you gotta milk it a couple times a day.”

  Harold said, “Whatever is a ding-gee? That sounds perverse.”

  Ditch laughed, took out his rifle and motioned for Harold to follow. “It’s a little boat. Come on, man. I’m a’ show you somethin’ cool.”

  Andalynn had just taken a seat at the milking stool. She popped up and said, “No shooting!” Ditch gave her the thumbs up, as did Harold - a stiff, metal man with a smile - and the two walked off the track into the woods together.

  Ditch said, “We gotta find a spot where we can see real far.” They could tell the trees broke a little way to the south so they headed in that direction. When they stepped out of the forest, they looked down on a vast, grassy slope that descended into the valley, dotted with white rocks under a clear sky. The great expanse of blue meeting green was a reminder to them that the whole world still existed.

  Ditch whistled, impressed. “Man, that’s somethin.” Harold had to agree. It was a spectacular view. They were unaccustomed to such space, having been confined in the city for so long.

  Ditch pointed out and said, “Alright, see that big rock over there all by itself? That’s like, what, about four hundred yards?”

  Harold said, “Impossible. Nothing can shoot that far.”

  “Pfft, we could shoot way past that if we wanted to. I’m just givin’ you somethin’ to look at.” Ditch put the rock in his scope and looked for a distinguishable mark on it so he could brag about how a BOSS could hit that mark at that distance accurately, over and over. He planned to explain that he’d never even fired one before Biggs had taught him how on the Grace, showing how easy a BOSS is to use, and therefore making it a whole lot better than some old-timey-crossbow-shooter. But, at the base of the stone, Ditch saw a human skeleton in the moss and the grass and all of his plans changed. “Oop, found a bauran.”

  Harold drew his sword.

  “Nah man, it’s dead. It’s all the way out at that rock. Here, take a look.” Ditch offered him the rifle.

  Harold had never looked through a telescope before and found it awkward to shoulder the rifle in his armor. It took him a few moments of confusion and wonder before he found the remains. “Ooh, I see it!” He looked without the scope for comparison and then through it again. “This is amazing!”

  “Yeah, let’s go get Andalynn. She’s been waitin’ for one a’ these.”

  Not long after, Andalynn and Biggs went down the slope toward the corpse. He was carrying a pail of milk. When they were almost there, she said, “You might not want to see this.”

  “Woman, I’s guttin’ n’ skinnin’ deer ‘fore you were born. Some ol’ bones aint gon’ bother me none.”

  Andalynn knelt next to the remains, took off her glove and stroked her finger through the inside of the fallow rib cage. It came out coated with a grimy residue. She put that finger into her mouth.

  Biggs put his hand over his stomach and turned away, blowing out a breath on the edge of sick. He hadn’t known she was going to do that.

  She felt the infection take root in her tongue and fizzle against the riin. It was a bitter victory. “Captain was right. The spores are still active, even with the rest of it in this advanced stage of decomposition. We cannot be sure of the bauran’s dormant lifespan.”

  Biggs shivered. “Eeeuh... You done?” He hadn’t turned back around yet.

  “I am.”

  He offered the pail. “Here, wanna take a swig a’ this?”

  She did and then dumped the rest of the milk out into the skeleton’s chest. “I apologize if I have disturbed you.”

  He shook his head. “Nope, nope. You were right. Should a’ listened.” As they started back up the slope, he tried to shake away the image of what she’d done. Then he said, “I did not want to see that.”

  ***

  Though the nights were frightening, they were confident in one another. They took turns standing watch and were able to get some sleep. Harold became an honorary sailor along the way. They were ten miles from Sawmill Proper on the morning of the fourth day, rolling up the track not knowing what to expect when they got there.

  Harold said, “We’d thought this was a more important town, actually. Antioch doesn’t produce anything, you see, and the Circle, well, certainly sounds like a fairy tale, doesn’t it? We really could have ignored the fellowship not paying its taxes. Tabor, however, supplies lumber to a few communities of note in the north. Or, at least they did. The place was built around its sawmill. That’s why it’s called Sawmill Proper in the books. Tabor is the name of the mountain.”

  “Been here before?”

  “No, but I’ve been told you can hear the whine of the sawmill blades from miles away. They’re somehow powered by the mountain’s stream.”

  They never heard the sawmill blades and when they arrived on the outskirts of Sawmill Proper, they didn’t see a wall, which would have been a primary goal for Samuel or Abraham there. They decided to back up quietly, leave their wagon out of sight and get a better view of everything from a ridgeway trail. It was after noon. Looking down through their scopes and spyglass, the tiny town appeared to be deserted. It was one dirt lane with wood plank buildings in rows on either side.

  They spoke in close whispers.

  Biggs said, “Wanna let out a clear-call n’ see what happens?”

  Andalynn said, “No. We should wait a little longer before we… there, one o’ clock.”

  Harold noticed them all aim in unison at her mention of the time. He followed their line of sight. Something in a suit of armor had stumbled out of the town’s south side, partially hidden behind a sign that read, “Logan’s Tavern.”

  “Is it bauran?”

  “Don’t know. Look, he’s do’n somethin. What’s he do’n?”

  “Is he drinking? I think it is a King’s Man.”

  “Let me see! Let me see!”

  “Shh!”

  “Give him the spyglass.”

  Harold looked down with hope that turned into disgust. The man below tilted so far into his drink that he fell backwards. Then there was a pathetic struggle to get up. Harold saw the beard of a slob and armor that was filthy, dented and piecemeal. One of the man’s hairy legs was bare.

  Harold said, “That’s no King’s Man. That’s a drunk.”

  “What’s he do’n down there?”

  “I believe we can rule out bauran at this point.”

  “Maybe the King’s Men stayed here with Abraham or Samuel.”

  “That is not a King’s Man.”

  “But if Abraham or Samuel’s down there, why isn’t there a wall around the place?”

  “Maybe they didn’t…”

  Harold raised his voice just enough to gain their attention while remaining within the whisper range. “Hold! I am telling you, that is - not - a King’s Man.”

  Biggs said, “How do you know? Y’all all look the same to me.”

  Harold opened his arms. “Do you not see the dignity of my bearing?”

  The sailors’ expressions ranged from amusement to impatience, but any of them would have admitted Harold was immaculate. He’d traveled for four days through the woods in a wagon, wearing his armor the entire time, and that armor sparkled. So did his teeth. He was clean-shaven and completely confident he was saying the truth.

  Harold said, “I represent the king. I do no
t conduct myself like that.” He pointed into town.

  Biggs laughed.

  Harold’s face went flat. “Yes, well. I think he’s one of those outlaws.” The sailors passed glances around, considering it. “And, since I am an officer of the law, I should go down there and have a word with him. So,” He saluted and started down.

  Biggs stopped him. “Hold on now, that aint such a bad idea. Bein’ a local boy n’ all, maybe you can find out a lil’ sump’n too. Maybe even get ol’ Abraham to come on out into the street?”

  Harold said, “Certainly,” impatient to head down.

  Andalynn said, “Be careful, Harold. If that man is an outlaw, I doubt there are any King’s Men in town. They would not stand for such an imposter, would they?”

  “Certainly not.”

  Ditch started loading the grenade launcher. “Don’t worry, man. If a bunch a’ goons jumps you, we got your back.”

  Harold gave him two metallic thumbs up and then clanked down the trail. When he arrived in the street, the suspect was still on his back but no longer trying to get up. Harold leaned over him, blocking out the sun, opened his visor and smiled.

  “Hellooo! You’re quite drunk aren’t you? From whom did you steal that armor, my good man?” Harold kicked the bare leg - clank.

  “Aaah!” The drunk winced and groaned, tried to get up and failed.

  Harold kicked him again - clank!

  “Aaah! Stop!”

  Clank!

  “Stop! Stop it!”

  Biggs had them in his crosshairs. “Looks like Harold’s gon’ beat it out of him.”

  Andalynn said, “Four more have exited the tavern. There appear to be five… six now. More…”

  Ditch watched through the grenade launcher’s scope. “Uh oh, Harold’s in trouble, man.”

  Biggs flinched when he caught sight of the launcher beside him. It looked like one of Andalynn’s Three-Fifty-Seven Pythons had swollen up into a bazooka. “Dadgum, Ditch! Careful with that! You even know what you’re do’n?”

  “Yeah, Cap showed me. You just put the thing in the thing and pull the trigger, man. It’s not rocket surgery.”

  “Well, don’t point it around him! You… you know what? All y’all just back up. I’ll cover Harold. One a’ you crazies gon’ put a hole in the boy. Or blow him up.”

  The drunk groaned at Harold’s feet. Fifteen men, all of them filthy and some in dented pieces of king’s-issue plate, had come out to have a word with Harold. Both Harold and Andalynn had been right; none of them were King’s Men.

  Harold put his fists on his hips, proudly displaying his wolf’s head shield, and stared those men down. “The Carter-Miller gang, I presume?”

  The biggest, dirtiest one in the middle couldn’t help but laugh at how this lawman would kick a helpless drunk in the street in front of everyone and without any fear of reprisal. There was a double-headed woodsman’s axe over his shoulder. “It’s my gang, now, eh. Carter’s dead.”

  “I’m glad to hear it! Where did you steal all of this armor from, you great oaf?”

  Miller and his men looked at each other in disbelief. Then Miller said, “I gotta respect your grain, fella, but we don’t like the king’s men around here. We kill the king’s men around here.” He brought his axe down into both hands.

  Harold drew his sword. “Blackguard! Where is Cumberland?”

  Miller had said enough. He charged.

  Harold swept away with a grace that defied the encumbrance of his armor and flicked out his sword at the same time. The stroke was barely more than a gesture but it left a cut three inches deep in Miller’s throat. Miller had just enough time to notice a spilling sensation over his chest before he collapsed. The gang was shocked.

  “He… he killed Miller…”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know, get him?”

  Harold closed his visor and lowered his posture, almost into a crouch. He intended to slaughter every single one of those outlaws. It baffled him how such a group of disorganized miscreants could have defeated even one King’s Man, let alone Cumberland and a force of fifty. Then he noticed the other two hundred former lumberjacks that had come out up and down the street, many of them wearing pieces of the king’s-issue. A crowd of townsfolk gathered to watch as well.

  The outlaws murmured, “What are we waiting for? Kill him!” in a hundred different ways. The ones closest to Harold advanced, axes in hand.

  A bullet slipped through the air. An outlaw’s shoulder exploded a few yards from Harold and a roaring call like distant thunder came down from the mountain. The man screamed in the blood, his arm hanging from his body by the meat. Then, in an explosion of bone and brain, the man next to him was headless. High thunder rumbled from the mountain again.

  Andalynn looked away from her spyglass to Biggs. He was completely committed. He’d never taken a person’s life before having just done it twice in the space of five seconds.

  Biggs locked in a third round and waited to see what the others would do. He’d come to kill Abraham, not a bunch of lumberjacks. If he had to, though, he’d imagine them as mindless zombies to make it easier.

  Harold straightened up, having to guess that he’d just witnessed one of the sailors’ rifles in action. Everyone backed away from him, thinking he’d made those men explode. The screamer bled into shock. Some people said, “Witchcraft…” Others shouted, “Get away from him! Shoot him!”

  All along the street and on the porches, the outlaws brought out king’s-issue crossbows and were aiming to loose. Harold ducked under his shield and braced himself. The bolts, six inch iron spikes, came in a rain. Most skipped and glanced off of him, many missing entirely, but a few hit the right angles to get through. One nailed his shield to his forearm - ptank! Another pierced his armor at the ankle - ptank - and lodged in that cluster of bones like a horrible hinge. Harold cried out and fell to one knee.

  The outlaws started winding up their plundered crossbows with cranequins, cranked gear-boxes with a rack and pinion. It was the only way to draw the tremendous weight of those weapons’ cords.

  Before they could release a second volley, Ditch took aim on a group of them with the grenade launcher. “I’m a’ put one in them crossbowers.”

  The launcher kicked hard, like a BOSS. The grenade punched through an outlaw’s body so rapidly he didn’t even shudder and it was deep in the ground behind him before it detonated. That man never really experienced the egg-sized hole it left in his stomach. There wasn’t enough time.

  The blast was a dome of light. It demolished the nearest building, a two story brothel with six rooms - blew it away like dandelion seeds. It left a crater that spanned the street and obliterated twenty-seven people instantly. The shockwave sent Harold crashing through a porch railing on the other side of town. Men and women were shredded and dying everywhere in the debris. Others had their hands over broken ear drums, screaming and running for their lives.

  The sailors stared down, awestruck. Ditch set the launcher on the ground and backed away from it. Captain had warned them not to use it on anything closer than a hundred yards, but none of them had expected it to be so devastating. Andalynn took off down the trail toward the destruction, ignoring Biggs’ shouts for her to come back.

  Biggs decided not to chase her. He’d cover her instead. “Alright, alright, alright… ever’body just stay calm. We’re lookin’ for Abraham now. That oughtta bring him out.”

  Ditch trembled and swallowed. “What’d I just do, man?”

  The crew watching from the ridge, Andalynn sprinted to Harold first and lifted his visor to touch his skin. They’d have to pry the bolts out of him later. There was no time. People were dying everywhere. The closest one from there was the drunk lying in the street. When she opened the way in him she saw that, somehow, in the midst of all that crossfire - bullets, bolts and blast - he’d been completely unharmed. She’d done little more than put him to sleep.

  Andalynn almost kicked him. She
ran to the next body and then to the next, sometimes sealing bloody stumps in golden light, sometimes arriving too late. She didn’t know it, and wouldn’t have congratulated herself for it, but she saved more lives that day than she’d taken on the Grace.

  Abraham didn’t come. Most of town had run for the woods as fast as they could and didn’t look back. When the drunk woke up, he stared at the crater and the empty space where the brothel had been. Others woke up to discover they were missing limbs, friends or family. The blast-site swelled with cries of anguish.

  When she’d done what she could for the wounded, Andalynn decided to interrogate that drunk. At first sight of her he said, “Fwah! Who’re you?” He’d been sobered up by the hospital and completely bewildered by the scene.

  She tried patient lies at first. “A traveler. I require…”

  “What happened to your face?”

  “I was injured in the blast. Tell me…”

  “What blast? What’s go’n on around here? Where’s the cathouse?”

  The wailing sadness around them became too much for her. Andalynn snatched a fistful of his hair, gripping hard enough to scalp him if she wanted to, and growled at him through clenched teeth. “Answer my questions!”

  He grabbed her arm but she was blazing with riin. He couldn’t have budged one of her fingers. She twisted her grip and he felt a pop on top of his head like the flesh was pulling away from his skull. “Ow! Yeah! Ok! Ok!”

  “I am looking for a man in a white sash with a gold circle. Have you seen anyone dressed like that?”

  “Yeah! Yeah! Bout a year ago! Let go! Let go! OoowOOOW! Seen a couple of ‘em like that! Aaah! One caused a bunch a trouble, real old fella, looked a bear’d pawed him! Othern’s a big fella, preacher! Aaah!”

  Andalynn released him. “What about a man named Samuel? He would have come into town last fall with another man named Joseph.”

  The very sober drunk rubbed a patch on his head like he was trying to start a fire there. “Sss! Didn’t meet no Samuel or no Joseph. Old fella had a kid with him. Preacher’s by his self. OooOooh… Lady, you’re a jerk!”

  Andalynn asked him a few more questions. Harold limped over. Later, up on the ridge, she told what she’d learned. The drunk, whose name was Sawyer, had never even heard of anything like a bauran. Abraham had only passed through. Sawmill Proper had survived the plague for an entire year without a wall or a healer.