The Last Refuge: A Dystopian Society in a Post Apocalyptic World
Author: Bobby Adair; T. W. Piperbrook
Date: 2016-04-14 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fiction; Fantasy; Dark Fantasy
Description: Haven't started THE LAST SURVIVORS? Get Book 1 FREE at: amazon.com/dp/B00O2PB03U _____ Not all ancient secrets are lost. Father Winthrop’s insanity and eloquence turn a rabble of starving militiamen into an army with a new purpose. With the spore eating away at William’s humanity, he finds a new place in the world as the survivors from the Ancient City expeditions discover a remnant of the past that could change everything.
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

Contents

TITLE PAGE

CREDITS

PREFACE

THE LAST SURVIVORS - BOOKS 1, 2, 3, & 4 RECAP

Chapter 1 - Franklin

Chapter 2 - Melora

Chapter 3 - Tenbrook

Chapter 4 - Melora

Chapter 5 - Franklin

Chapter 6 - Oliver

Chapter 7 - Winthrop

Chapter 8 - Melora

Chapter 9 - Fitzgerald

Chapter 10 - Ivory

Chapter 11 - Oliver

Chapter 12 - Fitzgerald

Chapter 13 - Ivory

Chapter 14 - Winthrop

Chapter 15 - Ella

Chapter 16 - Ella

Chapter 17 - Ivory

Chapter 18 - Melora

Chapter 19 - Melora

Chapter 20 - Franklin

Chapter 21 - Melora

Chapter 22 - Oliver

Chapter 23 - Tenbrook

Chapter 24 - Fitzgerald

Chapter 25 - Ella

Chapter 26 - Fitzgerald

Chapter 27 - Fitzgerald

Chapter 28 - Ella

Chapter 29 - Oliver

Chapter 30 - Franklin

Chapter 31 - Ella

Chapter 32 - Ivory

Chapter 33 - Winthrop

Chapter 34 - Franklin

Chapter 35 - Ella

Chapter 36 - Franklin

Chapter 37 - Ella

Chapter 38 - Franklin

Chapter 39 - Fitzgerald

Chapter 40 - Bray

Chapter 41 - Winthrop

Chapter 42 - Ivory

Chapter 43 - Ivory

Chapter 44 - Franklin

Chapter 45 - Ivory

Chapter 46 - Tenbrook

Chapter 47 - Ivory

Chapter 48 - Melora

Chapter 49 - Melora

Chapter 50 - Bray

Chapter 51 - Melora

Chapter 52 - William

Chapter 53 - Melora

Chapter 54 - Bray

Chapter 55 - Melora

Chapter 56 - Franklin

Chapter 57 - Oliver

Chapter 58 - Ivory

Chapter 59 - Franklin

Chapter 60 - Oliver

Chapter 61 - Franklin

Chapter 62 - Oliver

Chapter 63 - Franklin

Chapter 64 - Fitzgerald

Chapter 65 - Beck

Chapter 66 - Bray

Chapter 67 - Bray

Chapter 68 - William

Chapter 69 - Beck

Chapter 70 - Beck

Chapter 71 - Franklin

Chapter 72 - Franklin

Chapter 73 - Beck

Chapter 74 - Franklin

Chapter 75 - Franklin

Chapter 76 - Beck

Chapter 77 - Franklin

Chapter 78 - Franklin

Chapter 79 - Franklin

Chapter 80 - Fitzgerald

Chapter 81 - Tenbrook

Chapter 82 - Fitzgerald

Chapter 83 - Franklin

Chapter 84 - Tenbrook

Chapter 85 - Fitzgerald

Chapter 86 - Beck

Chapter 87 - Fitzgerald

Chapter 88 - Fitzgerald

Chapter 89 - Fitzgerald

Chapter 90 - Fitzgerald

Chapter 91 - Fitzgerald

Chapter 92 - Tenbrook

Chapter 93 - Fitzgerald

Chapter 94 - Fitzgerald

Chapter 95 - Tenbrook

Chapter 96 - Tenbrook

Chapter 97 - Fitzgerald

Chapter 98 - Oliver

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The Last Refuge

A Dystopian Society in a Post-Apocalyptic World

Book 5 of The Last Survivors Series

By

Bobby Adair & T.W. Piperbrook

Find us at

T.W. Piperbrook
www.twpiperbrook.com
www.facebook.com/twpiperbrook

Bobby Adair
http://www.bobbyadair.com
http://www.facebook.com/BobbyAdairAuthor

©2016 Ancient City Publishing

Cover Design and Layout

Alex Saskalidis, a.k.a. 187designz

Editing & Proofreading

Cathy Moeschet & Kat Kramer-Adair

Technical Consultant

John Cummings

Preface

Hey everyone!

We're steering toward a conclusion of THE LAST SURVIVORS series (Book 6 will be the final). As always, we hope you're enjoying the ride. THE LAST COMMAND was a trying book for the characters both in and out of Brighton, and THE LAST REFUGE will be no different.

We've been calling this book "the answers book".  Some of our characters learn things that no one in Brighton has ever known. As you can expect, this has significant outcomes for the characters, both good and bad.

Expect many things to change. And wish our characters luck.

They're going to need it.

Tyler Piperbrook & Bobby Adair

March 2016

The Last Survivors – Book 1 Recap

Three hundred years after the fall of society, the last fragments of civilization are clinging to life, living in the ruins of the ancient cities in nearly-medieval conditions. Technology has been reduced to legend, monsters roam the forests, and fear reigns supreme. But that is just the beginning.

The wind-borne spores are spreading, disfiguring men and twisting their minds, turning them into creatures that threaten to destroy the townships. Among the townsfolk—the political and the religious—dissension is spreading.

Ella Barrow has discovered that her son is infected with the spore and has spirited him out of Brighton before he can be burned on the pyre. General Blackthorn's soldiers are in pursuit. She has fallen into the company of an unscrupulous Warden named Bray, who for the moment is helping her and her son on the journey.

Minister Beck and his scholars have discovered that through poor management of town resources a famine is inevitable, but Beck is frustrated by his inability to convince the other ministers to do something about it.

Father Winthrop comes to the realization that a council of three ministers led by a brutal General Blackthorn is a form of government that has outlived its ability to rule. His desire to lead a rebellion is growing. He doesn't understand that his pompous, selfish ways have lost the loyalty of his novices Franklin and Oliver, who are unlikely to follow his lead.

Ivory—the son of a man named Muldoon who was taken to the pyre at the last Cleansing—has traveled to the Ancient City where he has met his teacher, an enigmatic man infected by the spore.

The Last Escape – Book 2 Recap

After the massacre in Davenport, Ella, Bray, and William flee into the forest to escape pursuing soldiers while at the same time trying to find Melora, Ella's daughter who might still be alive. William starts to exhibit aberrant behavior due to the spore growing in his body. After a violent encounter with soldiers, Ella, Bray, and William find a disheveled, frightened Melora, clinging to the body of her dead friend.

Ivory learns that his father Muldoon was burned on the pyre on Cleansing Day. Beck, having discovered books on Ivory's person, offers to take Ivory into the Academy as a Scholar if Ivory provides him with more books. Beck believes Ivory has found them in the Ancient City. Confused and disturbed by his father's death, Ivory flees back to the Ancient City to talk to Jingo. He is pursued by the Warden Jeremiah, who Beck has sent after him.

Franklin struggles under Father Winthrop's growing cruelty while he develops a relationship with a girl from The House of Barren Women named Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald later gets caught stealing a priceless relic from Father Winthrop's personal collection, and Franklin steps in to save her from the pyre.

Blackthorn grooms Tenbrook to take his place as the leader of Brighton. Meanwhile, Blackthorn prepares the army to march to the Ancient City for a battle that seems destined to be the death of them all.

Beck and Evan begin to plot to overthrow the government, or to escape west and start anew with a group of educated settlers. They recruit Oliver as a messenger boy, sending him on several errands.  All goes well until Oliver is stopped by a few guards who eventually report back to Father Winthrop. Fed up with Oliver's antics, Winthrop threatens Oliver's life.

The Last Humanity - Book 3 Recap

Father Winthrop forces Franklin to beat Oliver. Franklin reluctantly complies. Initially angry with Franklin, Fitzgerald comes to the realization that Winthrop is evil, and she and Franklin devise a plan to ensure Winthrop goes out with Blackthorn's army.

The plan succeeds, but not without its unexpected outcomes. Franklin becomes the new appointed Bishop, but only after burning Father Nelson in a decision forced on him by Blackthorn. Fitzgerald is brutally attacked by Tenbrook, who agrees to trade political favors in exchange for sexual favors.

Beck and Evan continue their plot to overthrow the Brighton government. Beck is to abscond after the army leaves. Evan is to manage the recruit of insurgents, led by Tommy and Timmy Dunlow. Just before the army leaves, Tommy Dunlow reveals the plan to Tenbrook and gives up Scholar Evan's name. As the newly appointed General of Brighton, Tenbrook swears to uncover the plot and punish all involved.

Ivory escapes the warden Jeremiah and reunites with Jingo in the Ancient City. Ivory tells Jingo about Muldoon's (Ivory's father's) death, and also that Beck has offered to make him a Scholar. Afterward, Jingo gifts Ivory a compound bow and takes him into the Ancient City to reveal a secret. They evade Jeremiah, who finds them, but they escape in Jingo's secret—a sailboat.

Melora bonds with her new family—Ella and William—and Bray, as they travel away from Davenport. William is acting more strangely as he succumbs to the spore. They decide to head to the Ancient City to seek refuge. Bray splits off and heads to Coventry to get supplies. While in Coventry, he realizes he's developed feelings for Ella. He rejoins the group and they reach the Ancient City.

Tired of being abused in Brighton, Oliver decides to flee into the wild. He secures knives, coin, and chainmail to assist in his journey. At the last moment, he decides to go out with the army, with the goal of murdering Father Winthrop.

The Last Command - Book 4 Recap

Oliver heads out with Blackthorn's army, intent on killing Father Winthrop. Winthrop's incoherent babbling is mistaken as god-speak. Over the course of several days, an army of several thousand gathers behind Winthrop and begins killing demons in his name. Winthrop becomes convinced he is a god. His followers brand themselves with the bloodied handprints of the demons and threaten Blackthorn's leadership. Blackthorn leads several bloody battles against the demons while trying to distill the growing threat from Winthrop.

Ivory and Jingo sail away from the Ancient City on Jingo's boat. During the trip, Jingo tells Ivory about the death of his wife and daughter several hundred years earlier at the hands of the infected. Before returning, Ivory and Jingo notice smoke near the Ancient City. Ivory insists they should seek out the source, but Jingo dissuades Ivory with a cryptic warning.

Franklin and Fitzgerald come to terms with the burning of Father Nelson. Fitzgerald's anger flares when she finds out Franklin has let Oliver go out with the army, but Franklin convinces her that Oliver's success in killing Winthrop might ensure his permanence as Bishop.

While trying to sneak a night's rest at the army's camp, Oliver unwittingly runs into Beck, gaining an unlikely ally.

A fall from a horse accelerates Blackthorn's already-failing health. On the eve of the army's final battle, Blackthorn admits his plan to kill the nineteen thousand to Beck. Beck is reluctant to lead the doomed army. As the battle grows fierce, Oliver disguises himself as one of Winthrop's followers and makes an attempt on Winthrop's life, but is unable to follow through with it due to his guilt. Before Beck can rally with the remaining captains, Winthrop, believing Blackthorn is the devil, sneaks into Blackthorn's tent and murders him with his own sword. The remnants of the fractured army engage in a bitter battle while demons continue to attack. Beck and Oliver escape in the fray by jumping in a river.

In an attempt to uncover the plot against him, Tenbrook gathers the names of the two hundred insurgents. He calls in Evan, the purported leader, and pretends to recruit him. A nervous Evan talks with the Dunlows. The Dunlows wait for word from Tenbrook, who cuts off communication with them. Fearing for their lives, the Dunlows to go to Tenbrook, where he reveals he's been torturing their family. Evan, convinced that Oliver is the rat and certain he is about to die, goes to Franklin and Fitzgerald in a last-ditch attempt for help.

Melora, Ella, William, and Bray settle down in the Ancient City. Bray's attempts to get closer to Ella are unsuccessful. William begins sneaking out at night and consorting with demons. Melora discovers his secret and confronts him, but William makes excuses. After catching him a second time, Melora follows him into the Ancient City and loses him in the streets. She is surrounded by demons, but a strange man named Ivory rescues her.

After losing track of Ivory and Jingo in the boat, Jeremiah discovers a secret cache of books and decides to take them back to Brighton and sell them. Before he can enact his plan, he discovers William wandering in the streets. He corners and threatens a scared William, but William kills him when he commands a group of demons to attack.

Franklin's first sermon goes surprising well, but his celebration is cut short by the arrival of Evan, who informs him of the plot against Tenbrook. Franklin, Fitzgerald, and Evan are shocked when Tenbrook calls a sudden meeting with the entire town. In front of all of Brighton, Tenbrook burns the leaders of the revolt, as well as a shocked Evan.

Franklin and Fitzgerald come to the terrifying realization that they are next.

Chapter 1:  Franklin

Candles flickered, casting ominous shadows on the walls, deepening the dread that had settled over the Sanctuary since the burnings. The hallway outside the room was silent. Normally, Franklin heard murmured conversations, or the scuff of shoes from passing clergymen. Not tonight. His brothers were huddled in their rooms, clutching old books, worry stones, or talismans, praying they wouldn't be the next on the fire.

Nervous sweat dripped down Franklin's back as he sat on the edge of the bed, a kitchen knife clutched in one hand and his arm around Fitz, holding her close.

"I keep waiting for footsteps in the hallway," Franklin whispered, trembling.

"Me too," Fitz admitted, swallowing her terror. "They'll take us both."

"No, they won't." Franklin tried reassuring her, but his words lacked conviction. He turned the knife in his hand. "They only want me."

"Tenbrook saw us together. He knows Evan was meeting with both of us."

"Why don't you go somewhere safe, Fitz? Hide in one of the servants' quarters," Franklin suggested.

"I won't leave you. Besides, I wouldn't get farther than two steps out the door, if that's what he wants."

Franklin swallowed. He knew she was right.

He couldn't believe Evan was dead.

Evan's gurgling screams were seared into Franklin's brain. So was Tenbrook's icy stare. Something merciless and dark lurked behind Tenbrook's eyes—an ancient devil in the body of a man, a monster, worse than Blackthorn, worse than a nightmare. It was just as Evan had said. But Evan had warned them too late.

Franklin clutched Fitz tighter and asked, "Why are we alive? Why not burn us, too?"

Fitz's eyes flitted around the room. "Tenbrook is biding his time. This was a message meant for Brighton, not just for us."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes. He could've killed you. Or he could've set you up, like he set up Evan. He probably figured he couldn't burn both of you at once." Fitzgerald bit her lip as she groped for an answer. "Maybe there's something about you that makes him afraid."

"Like what?"

"I don't know yet," said Fitz. "Whatever the reason, we're still here."

"But for how long?" Franklin looked at his smooth hands. "My skill is in reciting The Word, not battling soldiers."

"Maybe that's what Tenbrook's afraid of."

"I already tried saving Evan with my words," Franklin said, staving off tears. "They didn't work."

"You did what you could." Fitz patted his leg.

"I can't stop seeing it in my head. I wish I could have done something that made a difference."

"There's nothing to be done now," Fitz said, shaking her head. "Evan's with the gods."

"He shouldn't have died like that. No Elder should've." Franklin watched the walls, as if they might come alive and grab him.

Fitz lowered her head. The memory of Evan's tortured screams replayed in her mind. Franklin knew because he was thinking the same thing. Each passing minute was a reminder of their fragility.

Anyone who might've been sympathetic to their cause was either dead or gone: Evan, the rebel leaders, Oliver. The clergymen? There'd be no loyalty there. Some might respect Franklin, but only out of fear. A few might've appreciated his sermon, but Franklin had said the words that put Father Nelson, their brother, on the pyre. They wouldn't remember Blackthorn forcing his hand. They'd remember Franklin, and in their hearts, they'd think of him as a cold-eyed killer.

Franklin and Fitz were alone.

"What are we going to do?" Franklin asked.

"I don't know," she whispered, "but if we don't think of something, Tenbrook will, and then we'll both burn."

Chapter 2:  Melora

"I think they're leaving," Ivory whispered to Melora.

Melora peered out the window, startling a fat pigeon. A few demons scattered in the morning sun, chasing a rat into a nearby alley. Others slunk through the street and made off toward whatever destination might deliver a meal. Animal grunts and screeches faded as the demons wandered farther away from the building.

Melora stretched her stiff, cold legs. She'd spent the last two nights and the previous day in the building with the strange man, conversing in hushed whispers and gestures while they waited out the threat. In that time, she'd learned that Ivory was a rabbit hunter from Brighton, exploring the Ancient City. He'd been walking nearby when he'd heard the commotion and pulled her into the building.

Though she had trouble admitting it, his intervention had saved her life.

Melora appraised Ivory. His brown eyes matched his skin. He was handsome. He reminded her of one of the boys she'd hunted with in Davenport, though she'd never laid eyes on a bow like the one he carried.

"Do you want some more water?" Ivory asked, pulling the flask from his bag, speaking a little louder now that the demons had left.

Melora nodded. "Thanks," she said, reaching out for the flask and taking a swig.

"I bet your family wonders where you are," Ivory said.

"I'm sure."

"Almost two days without seeing them."

"They're probably worried and searching for me, or they think I'm dead."

After slowly gaining each other's trust, Melora had told Ivory of the massacre in Davenport and the slaughter of her relatives. She'd also mentioned that she was staying with Ella, William, and a man named Bray they had met on the way.

She hadn't mentioned that Ella and William were from Brighton.

She also hadn't mentioned William's condition.

What if Ivory had heard about Ella's escape and decided to turn them in?

She believed Ivory's story, but Melora was smart enough to be cautious. Her gaze wandered to the door, which was still blocked with the pieces of stone she and Ivory had put there as a barricade.

"Should we wait just a little longer?" she asked Ivory.

"Probably smart."

Her eyes shot back to his bow. She hadn't been able to take her eyes off the weapon the entire time, and she was anxious to give it a try.

"I still can't believe you found that in one of the buildings," she said.

A look of pride crossed Ivory's face as he held it up, running his fingers down the smooth, metal contour. "It's probably one of the most amazing things I've found here." Ivory pulled an arrow from his quiver, demonstrating. "The wheels help you build up force without having to use as much strength. It works well against the demons."

"I want to use it," she said, the words leaving her mouth before she knew she'd said them.

"I'll show you after the demons leave."

Melora bit her lip. "Can I hold it?"

Ivory hesitated a moment, watching her. Melora understood his trepidation—they'd only just met, and he was cautious, too.

Ivory scooted over the floor, next to her. He held up the bow, allowing Melora to run her fingers over the metal. She examined the wheels and strings, marveling at the sleek composition. She tried to envision battles of the past, but the faces of the Ancients were blurry images that lived in stories, rather than reality.

"I'd give anything for a bow like that."

Ivory nodded. "For all I know, this is the only one."

"You must have come across other treasures while you've been exploring the Ancient City," Melora said with wonder in her eyes. When Ivory didn't answer right away, she asked, "Have you?"

A smile crossed Ivory's face. "I'd have to be sure I trusted you before I told you more."

Melora shook her head as she inspected the ancient construction. "My family won't believe it when they see this bow."  She was captivated so deeply she had almost forgotten she needed to get back to her family. "We need to leave." She cocked her head, listening to the sound of distant, screeching demons.

She prayed William was okay. She hadn't seen him since his disappearance several nights ago.

"I know some shortcuts, so we won't have to travel in the open," Ivory said. "Your family is staying in the building with the smooth floors and pedestals, right? That's what you told me?"

"Yes. That's the one."

"That area is less-traveled by demons. It's one of the safer places to stay."

"How do you know?"

"The demons tend to roam certain areas more than others. Rumors say they're afraid of certain places."

"Why?"

"They have instincts dating back to the wars with the Ancients."

Melora nodded, unsure of whether to believe it. Her boots crunched on broken, fragmented stones as they stood and peered into the city, checking for demons. Melora feared that a horde of twisted men would make their way back to the building, trapping them. To her relief, the street was empty. They walked over to the stones he'd used to block the entrance and started moving them.

"You seem to know the Ancient City well," she remarked to Ivory.

"I used to come here all the time with my uncle, before he died."

"I'm sorry."

Ivory's face grew sad. "My father was taken in the last Cleansing. I was in the Ancient City when it happened." Ivory paused as he looked down. "I found out when I got back."

Melora gave a sympathetic smile as they continued moving stones. She knew his pain, having lost Frederick, Jean, and everyone else in Davenport.

"I don't really have anyone left in Brighton," he continued. "No one except…" Ivory's voice trailed off and he looked at the ceiling.

"What were you going to say?"

"Nothing, I was just thinking we should get back to your family before the demons come back."

Chapter 3:  Tenbrook

Tenbrook walked through the square, shielding his face from the early morning sun. He smiled as he looked over the row of a dozen blackened, crumbled pyre poles. The smell of smoke and charred skin lingered in the air. He'd instructed his men to leave the piles of ashes burning through the night. Those stinking, smoldering remains were a warning to anyone else who might try to best him.

He'd slept near the dais in one of the armories instead of his usual quarters. Throughout the night, the insurgents' weak women had crept into the square, pointlessly sobbing and praying, falling into wailing and forlorn dirges. From his bed in the armory, with that song in his ears, Tenbrook had nodded pleasantly off to sleep.

Let them grieve.

That will keep my lessons alive through stories to their children.

Tenbrook approached one of the pyre poles. He recalled the pained faces of Tommy and Timmy Dunlow as they screamed into their gags. That image was almost as satisfying as Evan, uttering useless sounds as the flames burned his legs, his chest, and then his arrogant lips. Tenbrook had condemned the Scholar to silence. That was as ironic as it was fitting. Tenbrook would cherish that memory forever. His only regret was that he hadn't been able to keep the Scholar's tongue.

He unslung a bag from his shoulder, knelt on the ground, and opened it.

"Sir?" a man next to him asked. "Do you need help?"

Tenbrook turned to face Captain Sinko. He'd almost forgotten he was there.

"No. I need time, Sinko."

"How much?"

"Tell your men to have breakfast and come back," Tenbrook said.

Sinko nodded and strode off to a group of confused soldiers who were awaiting orders to clean up the square. They cast anxious glances over their shoulders as they walked away.

Let the burnings be a lesson to them as well, Tenbrook thought.

He paused before digging in his bag. He recalled how Franklin had stood up to him on the dais. Franklin's power was growing among the parishioners. The weak-kneed Bishop had gathered a momentary dose of courage on the dais and the people had responded. They didn't cheer or taunt, but Tenbrook noticed their backs stiffen, he saw defiance in their eyes. None of that would do Franklin any good, though. For the moment, he was too lovesick over that whore of a servant, Fitzgerald. Franklin kept her in the Temple like a sickly pet. He was overwhelmed by responsibilities too complex for his clergyman's mind, spending his days in the world of old fairy tales and his nights praying for an ever after that didn't exist.

Only the world existed, and the world was full of demons to be killed, men to be subjugated, and young women to be put to use.

Franklin knew none of that. That's why he didn't see a spark of obstinate fire in those peasants' eyes.  But Tenbrook knew it wouldn't last. Even oblivious Franklin couldn't miss it for long, because that fire was power, and power tempted a man's soul as surely as a young woman's naked skin. And when Franklin finally saw it, Franklin would be a danger, the kind of danger that could take the meek peasants' unhappiness with their lot in life and focus it into anger and rebellion.

Tenbrook would figure something out. And he'd make sure Franklin's death was as satisfying as what he'd just done to Evan and the insurgents.

He'd knock Fitzgerald aside again on his way to get to him.

Maybe he'd have some more fun and kill her.

Sucking in the smell of ash, Tenbrook dug in his bag and removed a glass jar, an old thing from ancient times. Tenbrook had convinced the previous owner to give up the expensive jars, each fashioned with a leather-wrapped piece of wood as a stopper to keep them sealed, which made them perfect for Tenbrook's purpose. He removed the stopper from one jar and scooped in a handful of ash.

It was a pity he couldn't have gotten the insurgents' tongues.

But he needed something for his mantle.

Chapter 4:  Melora

Ivory and Melora made their way back through the city, sneaking through alleys and passageways Melora hadn't seen when she'd been running through the streets. In one such passageway, they had to creep on their knees to avoid scraping their backs against the ceiling. In another, a crumbled, round arch towered above them, holding up what used to be an ancient road. Dying weeds snaked through the cracks wherever there was light. Demon footprints were captured in hardened mud. They emerged to a bright sun and a sky devoid of clouds.

Melora surveyed the buildings around her. One of them caught her eye. It was taller than the rest, with a rectangular base and a long, narrowing spire that rose high above the center. Most of the top was fractured, but she could tell how beautiful it must have looked when it was new.

"What do you think that was?" she asked.

"A worship building," Ivory said matter-of-factly.

"How do you know?"

Ivory smiled. "My uncle told me."

Melora watched him with wonder. She assumed he'd never had the occasion to talk about these things with anyone else. How could he have? The Ancient City was forbidden for both of them.

And yet here they were.

Ivory beckoned between two buildings. "Have you seen the ocean yet?" In the distance, the never-ending river stretched as far as she could see.

"Yes. Bray—the man we met outside Davenport—took us there the other day, a little while after we arrived. It's beautiful," she remarked.

"I've floated over it."

"You mean you've swam in it," Melora corrected him.

"No. I've floated over it."

"I don't understand."

Ivory immediately looked away, the color draining from his face. "I shouldn't have said that."

Melora stopped in the street, temporarily forgetting the danger. "You have to tell me, now that you've started. How did you float in it?"

Ivory looked around the street, as if someone might overhear him. The only witnesses were circling birds and scuttling rats. "I'll tell you later. I promise."

Melora couldn't conceal her excitement. "Do you swear you won't forget?"

"How can I be sure I can trust you?" Ivory asked, a sly smile on his face.

"I won't tell a soul." Melora clenched a fist, holding it to her chest. "I swear by The Word."

Chapter 5:  Franklin

Franklin didn't realize he'd slept until thin rays of morning light crept through the window high up on the walls of his new quarters. His heart pounded from fading nightmares. Those were quickly replaced by the memory of the burnings. He bolted upright and startled Fitzgerald, bumping her out of bed and onto the stone floor.

"Franklin! You scared me." Fitz got back on the bed, rubbing a mark on her arm that would surely be a bruise. Her face showed she hadn't gotten much rest.

"I'm sorry." Franklin patted her arm, looking around the room incredulously. Measuring his words, he said, "We're still alive."

He looked around as if that might change.

Maybe I'm dreaming and we're already dead.

But the room looked the same as it had the night before. Several waxy, burnt-out candles remained on his desk. The hallway was no longer silent. Murmurs of conversation floated through the doorway. He imagined the deacons and the servants walking quietly through the Sanctuary, going about their business with the memory of their burnt brothers on their shoulders. In a few days, it would pass.

But not for Franklin.

Tenbrook was going to kill him, and probably Fitzgerald. Franklin let that thought drive him as he sprang out of bed and brushed the wrinkles from his robe. They needed to figure out a way to stay alive.

"What are you doing?" Fitzgerald asked.

"I need to talk to the clergymen. I need to do something." He retrieved his kitchen knife, looking for a fold in his robe to tuck it into.

"Franklin," Fitz said tersely, grabbing his arm. He stopped and watched her. "We can't do something rash that will get us killed."

"But we need to—" Franklin stared at the door, his heart pounding. His body was moving faster than his brain was working. He knew that.

"Tenbrook's men will be watching," Fitz cautioned.

Franklin turned the knife in his hands. "Since we came in here last night, I've felt trapped. I can't sit in this room any longer. I have to do something."

"Sit and talk," Fitz said, her firm tone convincing him to comply.

Franklin returned to the bed, his legs shaking as he turned to sit down. The situation had him more anxious and frightened than he realized.

"I thought about a lot of things while you slept," Fitz said. "I spent most of the night going through the details of what happened at the square."

"Why didn't you wake me?" Franklin asked, feeling guilty for having dozed off and slept through the night.

"You needed your rest," Fitz said, with a grim smile. "Anyway, I have some ideas. The fact that we survived the night gives me hope."

"What are your ideas?" Franklin asked.

Fitzgerald fell quiet for a moment. It looked like she was preparing her own sermon. Fitzgerald was as beautiful as ever. Her raven-dark hair was gorgeous, even though she hadn't brushed it. Her eyes were bright despite her admission that she hadn't slept.

"I'm going to tell you something I don't think you're going to believe."

Franklin pursed his lips and looked at Fitz, not sure whether to encourage her to proceed or not, not sure he wanted to hear it. Finally he asked, "What?"

"First," she said, "We talked about how The People respond to you, right?"

Franklin nodded. "You mean when I'm proclaiming The Word in the service?"

"Of course." Fitz laid a hand on Franklin's thigh.

Franklin looked down at her hand—perilously close to his manhood—and for a moment, her touch made him think only of her beauty, her raven hair, her bright blue eyes, and how it felt when they embraced in the sheets after making love, her sweaty skin pressed to his. Did it matter what she was going to tell him, what she was going to ask? He'd do anything for her.

"It might not be true yet, but The People might love you in a way they never loved Father Winthrop."

"Love?" Franklin was unconvinced. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"People will do almost anything for love."

Franklin started to speak, but looking down at Fitz's hand, he realized she was right. "Maybe if they grow to love hearing my words, they'll develop an affection for me. But what of it? Love will not save me from the fire."

"Perhaps it already did," Fitz told him.

Franklin coughed through a harsh laugh. He jumped off the bed, ready to rail at Fitz for such a ridiculous assertion. "How can you even say that? People loved Evan, I'm sure. At least, the other Scholars did. And look at him—he's dead. Everybody who goes on the pyre is loved by somebody, and it doesn't do them any good."

Shaking her head, Fitz said, "You're both right and wrong." She reached over and took Franklin's hand, pulling him closer.

Distracted, Franklin took a moment to find his voice. "How can I be right and wrong? The love of a mother does nothing to save her child from the pyre."

"The love of a few won't do anything. You're right about that."

"But if all the mothers protested together, the same way they act alone, they might be able to save one child."

Franklin thought about all those thousands of people in the square on Cleansing Day. Surely they could save a person if they acted together.

"When we were on the dais trying to save Evan, I was watching you and watching Tenbrook. I was also watching The People."

"You say that like you witnessed something."

"I did," said Fitz. "I saw how The People reacted when Tenbrook spoke harshly to you. I think Tenbrook saw it, too. That's why Tenbrook didn't put you on the pyre with the others. I think he saw that love and he knew he didn't have enough men to fight the crowd."

Shaking his head, Franklin recalled the painful event. "Do you truly believe that, or are you saying this to take away my fright?"

Fitz pulled Franklin down on the bed to sit beside her. "I'm telling the truth." She took Franklin's hand and laid it on her breast. "I swear with all my heart I'm telling the truth. The People love you, Franklin. The more you speak to them, the more they'll come to love you, until one day, their love for you will be so strong Tenbrook won't be able to hurt you."

Franklin reluctantly pulled his hand away and folded it with his other on his lap. He couldn't think straight while his hand was on her chest. "Before the army marched out, Father Winthrop instructed me to ask Scholar Evan how many men in Brighton were truly devoted to The Word. At the time, I didn't understand why the number was important to him. I wonder now if he was trying to get a measure of how many people would do his bidding."

"That's probably right," said Fitz. "Men like Father Winthrop will never understand how all of us lowly people who till the fields and tend the pigs don't love The Word. To us, The Word is the bludgeon that the Council beats us with and burns our children. The Word is a set of rules people fear breaking. Father Winthrop has never understood anything about people's hearts. He only cares about himself."

"But he was looking for the love you speak of," asked Franklin, "is that right?"

"Yes," said Fitz, "because he understood there was power there to be tapped. The way you speak The Word, you have transformed its meaning for people, and that is why they now are coming to love you, not The Word."

"And the power of their devotion to me will protect us both from Tenbrook?" asked Franklin, not quite willing to accept it.

"That is exactly what I believe."

"When the time comes," asked Franklin, "will their devotion to me be strong enough to make them fight Tenbrook's men?"

"If it comes to that. I don't think it has to, but if it does—" Fitz said.

"Most of the people left in Brighton are women. Women can't fight."

Fitz furrowed her brow. "A large mob can easily overpower four hundred men, women or not. "

Franklin held up his hands. "Tenbrook's men have swords and training."

"We won't need swords."

"I'm not sure we'd be able to best them, even if we were able to get the rest of Brighton's support. Are you saying we should organize a rebellion like Evan did? My life has been devoted to The Word. A soldier, or even a member of the Academy, would be more suited to lead something like that than me."

"I'm not saying we fight Tenbrook, exactly." Fitz chewed on her lip. "There's been enough violence in Brighton. We both know that."

"What, then?"

"The illusion of strength might be enough to ward off Tenbrook. It might be enough to keep us safe."

"Evan was killed because Tenbrook discovered his plan. What if the same happens to us?"

"Winning the devotion of The People will give us security," said Fitz. "That is my belief."

"These ideas are all so foreign to me. I don't know what to think," said Franklin. "And you're willing to bet your life on that?"

"Yes."

Franklin paced around the room, scratching his head and thinking. "I'm not convinced we can defeat Tenbrook without violence."

"Even if we kill him, someone worse will take his place. Look at what happened with Blackthorn and Tenbrook."

Franklin sighed, unconvinced. "What if it doesn't work, Fitz?" He looked around the room, feeling a little more secure in the daylight. At the same time, he wasn't foolish enough to believe they were safe.

"It's either we try something or we stay in this room, waiting to die." Fitz tossed up her hands. "Is that what you want to do, Franklin? Because I don't."

Fitzgerald's courage was inspiring. He needed to protect her. He needed to protect them both. "No, I don't want to give up."

"Just think of Lady and Bruce. What would've happened if they had bowed down to the demons instead of establishing Brighton?" Fitzgerald argued.

"We wouldn't exist," Franklin replied.

"Lady and Bruce turned fifty-seven people into three townships and twenty-seven named villages. If they can do that, why can't we keep ourselves—and Brighton—safe?" Fitz smiled through her fear. She patted his leg. "We've both made mistakes, Franklin. People have died, and people have suffered. But we have a chance to build something here."

Franklin's mouth opened and closed as he thought through her analogy of Lady and Bruce. It certainly made him feel better than whipping Oliver or burning Father Nelson.

"A few weeks ago, I'd never have believed you could become the Bishop. And here you are. That must mean something. Whether it's the work of the gods or some higher power, I'm not sure, but we need to use your position and the talent you've got," Fitz concluded.

Finished with her plan, Fitzgerald waited.

"You're right, Fitz," Franklin said, smoothing the silk robe. For the first time, it felt more earned than borrowed.

"Let's do this together." Fitz smiled. "I have confidence you can rally support through your sermons. I'll go out there and continue my chores. We'll pretend everything is normal until we build The People's devotion. Then we'll figure out what to do. We'll make Brighton safe."

Hit with a burst of courage, Franklin said, "You're right. I'm through hiding. I'll go say good morning to the clergymen. Then I'll work on my next sermon."

Franklin started for the door. He'd only gotten a step when Fitz grabbed his arm.

"I love you, Franklin," Fitz said, leaning over to kiss him.

"I love you, too."

Chapter 6:  Oliver

Oliver was exhausted and cold. He and Beck had spent the night following the course of the river until it branched out into a delta of swamps and creeks as it neared the eastern ocean. The path of the river was the only guide they'd had in the dark to keep them moving away from Father Winthrop, the hill, and the battle.

Through the night, they hadn't run, and they hadn't spoken. Only brief whispers passed between them when it was necessary. They'd snuck from one hiding place to the next, leapfrogging their way between scraggly bushes and tall clusters of skunk cabbage, scanning from each spot, looking for lurking demons. At first, they'd seen the twisted men in every shadow, not because they were afraid and imagining phantoms, but because demons were there, all running toward the sound of the battle on the hill. As the night wore on, they'd come across fewer and fewer, and it bolstered Oliver's belief that he and Beck would survive.

Now, with the sun having finally chased away the night, they found themselves in a forest with as many ruined walls, pillars, and mounds of rubble as trees. The ground was scattered with all shapes and sizes of ancient rocks, covered over by layers of grass just thick enough to tempt a foot to come down at the wrong angle and break an ankle.

As a way out of the graveyard of derelict structures, Beck led Oliver up a little gravelly hill not much taller than a two-story house back in Brighton. "Maybe we can spot a path through from up here."

Oliver followed, happy to be on solid ground.

When Beck stopped at the peak, he pointed across a field of cylinders made of Ancient Stone, all lined in neat rows and surrounded by tall brown grass and trees, all in an area bigger than the square in Brighton. Each of the cylinders was perfectly round and about fifteen feet long, open at both ends, at least where the ends weren't clogged with grass and bushes. Each was tall enough that Beck could stand up inside them without bumping his head.

Beyond the row of large cylinders were more cylinders of various sizes and various lengths, mostly in good order, just as the Ancients had left them all those years ago. Oliver could only guess that their purpose was as strange as their appearance. Far on the other side of the cylinder yard stood the remains of buildings and hulks of machinery so rusted and twisted by time that Oliver didn't think even an Ancient would be able to guess what they'd once been.

"Have you ever seen anything like that?" Beck whispered.

"I was going to ask you," said Oliver.

"It seems at every turn, we see something fantastical."

Oliver agreed, but he was getting too tired to expend much thought on it. "Do you think demons live in these? Are these demon houses?"

Beck shook his head, stopped, and looked down at Oliver. "I don't know. I haven't heard any stories of where the demons live. I suppose anyone who had the misfortune of coming across their lairs didn't live long enough to bring the story back to Brighton."

Oliver looked to his left and right, hoping to spot some structure that might be a good place to hide, though he wasn't wholly against climbing into a thicket far off the game trails, pulling his blanket over his head, and trying to sleep.

"They appear deserted," said Beck. He pointed at a thin trail through the grass, probably used by rabbits and raccoons. "This is similar to the game trail we've been following. Do you suppose we'd see more evidence of the demons if they lived in these cylinders?"

Oliver followed the path of the game trail as it paralleled the line of the cylinders. There didn't seem to be any branches leading into any cylinder mouth. Surely, if demons lived inside them there'd be some evidence of their passing, as Beck had suggested. Oliver took a long sniff but didn't smell anything.

Beck watched him do it, then did the same. "They do have a pungent odor, the demons. I'm sure we'd smell it."

Oliver knew the smell well, having breathed it in up close. "I think we're safe. We should go inside one and try to rest."

"We can take turns sleeping," said Beck. "You sleep first."

Oliver raised his eyes to look toward the mountains, gauging how far he and Beck had traveled. A zigzagging discoloration down the face of a steep side marked the road the army had followed on their way down to the coastal plain. Halfway across the plain, Oliver gazed at the hill where he'd been too fearful to put an end to Winthrop. The price of that decision was Winthrop's murder of General Blackthorn.

"Your young eyes are sharper than mine," said Beck, looking at the distant hill as well. "I still see fires on there, but I can't tell if anything is moving."

"It's too far," said Oliver. "I can't tell either. Do you think any of them survived?"

"I don't see how."

"Me, neither."

Beck led the way down the mound of dirt and headed toward the empty pipes. "If you see one you like more than the others, feel free to claim it."

Chapter 7:  Winthrop

The defensive ring of trenches and ramparts was buried under piles of bodies ten feet tall. On top of those corpses, men stood shoulder-to-shoulder, the strongest of Winthrop's army, ready to slay any spore-twisted beast still brave enough to come. They chanted a god-speak dirge. Below the wall of the carcasses, no dirt was visible beneath the carpet of the dead. Out in the savannah, as the sun rose in the east, few demons moved. None came toward the hill.

Winthrop saw those demons for what they were—animals full of fear. They'd witnessed what a god of war could do, and now the bodies of their brothers formed the foundation of a temple to that god.

My temple.

"What will you have us do, Father?"

Winthrop turned away from the beautiful carnage on the hill's sides and noticed a familiar semicircle of men standing on the slope beneath him. Their faces were those of the faithful from that first night beyond Brighton's walls—they were his truest followers.

The tallest of them waited for an answer to his question.

"My son," said Winthrop, abandoning god-speak for the sake of his inferiors, "you and these men shall be my priests. It will be your privilege to carry my wishes to ears too distant to hear."

"Thank you, Father."

Other men added their thanks.

"Faith is always rewarded, if not in this life, then tenfold in the next." Winthrop turned to the sky to bask for a moment in his own divine glow. "Tell the men to rest. We have many nights of killing to come."

The tall man pointed at the few demons left in the plain. "We may have killed most of them."

Winthrop turned away from the tall man and looked down the coast. Far in that direction lay the rugged gray spires of the Ancient City, the cradle of demons. He pointed. "We'll kill them in their homes. We'll slaughter their young in their nurseries. We'll kill until no demon has blood left to sacrifice."

"What about food?" one of the new priests asked. "The demons overran the stores last night. We have nothing left."

Winthrop laughed. "My son, my son." Winthrop beckoned the man closer. When the new priest was within reach, Winthrop laid his hands on the red prints on the man's chest. His hands fit perfectly. "Your faith and the blood of the demon has made you invincible. If your faith is pure, then fill your belly with demon flesh, and I can grant you the gift of immortality." Winthrop turned back to the carnage on the hill's slopes. "Bring me a warm, bleeding heart. I'll show you the way."

Chapter 8:  Melora

Melora's heart fluttered as she and Ivory reached the ancient building where she'd stayed with Ella, William, and Bray. She searched for evidence that the building had been compromised. Anything could've happened in the time she was gone. The entrance was blocked with the same stones they'd used before. A morning shadow blanketed the doorstep. She smelled the air for signs of the twisted men, but found only the cold, damp odor that had become the building's familiar essence.

"That's the one, right?" Ivory asked.

"Yes," Melora said, biting her lip.

She clenched her sword. She assumed anyone looking for her at night would've given up and retired when it got too dark. She looked around for demons, but she hadn't seen any in several blocks that they'd had to hide from. She thought back to what Ivory had told her. Perhaps he was right about the demons avoiding certain areas.

She'd only gone a few steps toward the entrance when a voice whispered, "Melora!"

Her heart flooded with relief as William's pale face appeared behind the stones. He peeled them away and peered out at her, as if he'd been waiting the whole time. He held his sword and called for Ella. Ella appeared behind him, puffy circles beneath her eyes.

"Melora!" Ella exclaimed. She removed the rest of the barricade and started through the doorway. She halted when she saw Ivory. "Who's this?"

"A friend," Melora said.

Ella's face was torn between relief and suspicion. "Where did he come from?"

"He helped me when I was trapped by demons. He's a rabbit hunter from Brighton," Melora explained.

Ella pursed her lips and watched Ivory.

"I don't mean anyone harm," Ivory said.

Ella instinctively pushed William into the building behind her. "Stay back," she whispered.

"His name's Ivory. I told him what happened in Davenport," Melora said. "I told him we escaped the massacre and fled." She gave Ella a look she hoped would cement the lie.

Ella's face softened. "We should get inside, then. It's not safe here."

"I haven't seen any demons in the area for a while. Ivory says this area is usually pretty safe, compared to the rest of the Ancient City."

Ella looked around, as if she wasn't sure. Then she walked out and clutched Melora. Without warning, her face changed and she snapped, "We searched all day yesterday for you, Melora! I swore you'd been killed! Where were you?"

Melora stepped back, appraising her mother. William lingered in the doorway.

"I don't need anyone to keep watch over me," Melora said, taken aback.

"I thought you were dead," Ella said with an accusatory look.

"I'm not. I'm fine."

Ella opened her mouth and closed it, biting back harsher words. "You shouldn't have gone out without telling anyone, especially at night. What if something happened to you? What if the demons or the soldiers came?"

"I've survived my whole life just fine, Mom. I don't need you or anyone else to protect me." Melora took a step away from her mother.

Ella's eyes welled up. William tried to slip out of the doorway, but Ella walked back and stopped him.

"Stay back, William," she said.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because it's not safe out here."

"I'm sick of you telling me that. I want to see Melora. Let me out!" he yelled through gritted teeth.

Grunting, he pushed past her and ran to Melora and Ivory. Gaining strength from Melora's words, he said, "I'm not little anymore either, Mom! Both of us can take care of ourselves!"

Ella looked between Melora and William, her cheeks stinging red with hurt.

A cough drew their attention to the building's entrance.

Bray walked from inside, wiping the remnants of his breakfast on his pants. "Welcome back, Melora," he said casually. "I thought you were demon food."

"It'll be a long time before that happens," Melora retorted.

"Don't be upset by your mother," Bray said, waving a hand. "It was no big deal searching for you. I told her you'd be fine. Besides, I comforted her while you were gone."

"You wish," Ella said. Without another word, she turned and walked back into the building. Melora watched her go. She felt a sting of guilt, but quickly dismissed it. Beside her, Ivory shifted from foot to foot.

"Who's your friend?" Bray raised his chin at Ivory. His eyes immediately wandered to the bow.

"I'm Ivory. I met Melora further in the city."

"He helped me out when some demons came," Melora explained.

Bray scrutinized the weapon. "Is that a bow?"

Ivory nodded, clutching it tight. "Yes, I found it in the city."

"I've never seen one like it." Bray's demeanor softened into wonder as he marveled at the contraption. "How does that even work, with all those wheels and strings? There's no way it could work better than the ones we have."

"It took me a while to figure it out," Ivory said, grabbing an arrow from his quiver. "I'll show you."

Before anyone could answer, he nocked an arrow and spun, aiming at a scraggly cottonwood a hundred yards away. He fired. The arrow sailed through the air, embedding into the wood with a satisfying thud.

"By the gods!" Melora exclaimed.

"Unbelievable," Bray muttered. "Did you see how fast and true it sailed?"

Melora nodded. William's eyes were wide with amazement.

"I've killed demons with it, too," Ivory said proudly.

"Are you a Warden?" Bray asked.

"No, a rabbit hunter."

"He's from Brighton," Melora clarified, shooting Bray a look in hopes he wouldn't give away Ella and William's secret.

"A rabbit hunter roaming the Ancient City?" Bray frowned, as he looked Ivory up and down.

"Yes," Ivory said.

"Rabbit hunters don't come to the Ancient City." Bray cocked his head with a smile, studying Ivory. He looked from his clothes to his bag. "You're a metal smuggler."

Ivory swallowed but didn't answer.

Bray nodded, reinforcing his proclamation. "Definitely a metal smuggler."

"No, I'm not," Ivory said, but his face betrayed his secret.

They fell into silence, scrutinizing each other. After a moment, Bray's face softened and he looked at the bow again. "Whoever you are, we could use someone with a weapon like that around. And Melora's obviously taken a liking to you. Why don't you come inside and have some breakfast?"

Ivory looked from Bray to Melora, hesitating.

"Do you have somewhere else to be?" Bray asked.

"No," Ivory said after a pause. "I guess I can come in."

Chapter 9:  Fitzgerald

The streets reeked of sweat and ash as Fitz opened the door of the Sanctuary and looked around. Or maybe it was the memory of the burnings. She held her breath and looked in all directions for soldiers, worried she might have been wrong about what she told Franklin, fearing someone might race up and grab her. Instead, she noticed only a few passersby walking with their heads bowed. Thrusting the awful details of the burnings from her mind, Fitz departed into the streets with a basket in her hand.

She thought of the words Franklin had spoken in his room. He doubted the women in Brighton could make a difference. But that was the way with most in Brighton. She couldn't fault him for it. Still, if she could find a way to rally those women and ensure they went to the sermons, maybe she could use that power.

She just wasn't sure how to do it yet.

She walked past a cluster of tall, stone buildings. During her stay in the Sanctuary, she'd learned that those buildings were used to house visitors when they came to ask Father Winthrop for favors, or to grovel for his forgiveness.

Walking several streets further, those buildings turned into squalid, filthy hovels and roads filled with people. The smell of cooked pig laced the air. Conversation surrounded her. The street was stuffed with merchants stocking their wares. Most were women, the wives of the men who had gone off to war, left behind to take care of their business. The customers were a blend of people from other townships or villages, mostly female, and the children they were left to tend. Fitz found her way between shoulders, waving hands, and youthful cries of children playing street games.

Normally, the task of getting fresh vegetables and meats from the market was reserved for the novices, but she'd convinced Franklin she'd be careful if he allowed her to go. Her hope was that she could observe the townsfolk and figure out something that would convince herself her argument was valid.

Between the customers spending coin, she found a few women huddling in corners or holding distraught conversations. Some were mourning the deaths of their husbands; others were celebrating their men going off to war by purchasing more than they could afford.

Stopping at a produce stand, she picked up an apple and turned it in her hand.

A lady merchant asked, "Looking for anything in particular?"

"Just a few apples for the Sanctuary," Fitz said. The woman's face fell as she realized she wouldn't be getting paid.

"Take what you need, but please go easy on me," the lady merchant pleaded. "With the early cold, we lost some of our crops, and my husband is off to the war."

"Of course," Fitz answered.

The merchant moved on to the next customer, hoping for more coin. As Fitz placed some apples in her basket, she noticed four women standing in an alleyway. One was a woman with a kerchief tied around her head, waving her hands. She talked angrily while others listened. Fitzgerald thanked the merchant and stepped into the alley, hoping she might eavesdrop.

The woman raised her fist at the sky. "The gods took my husband to war. They took my brothers in the burning. What do I have left?"

Fitzgerald edged closer to the circle, a sympathetic look on her face. She looked around at the women, whose faces were dirt-stained and whose clothes were ripped. It looked like they were only a few mouthfuls above starving. Fitz felt out of place in her clean merchant's dress. She'd sewn it back together after Tenbrook's attack. Though one could notice a few tears, if they looked closely, it was still nicer than what these women were wearing. Acknowledging her presence, one of the women eyed her with a suspicious glance.

"What's going on?" Fitz whispered.

The woman took a second to answer, judging Fitz's dress. "She lost her brothers in the burnings," she finally whispered. "And her husband was called out with Blackthorn's army."

"That's awful," Fitzgerald said.

Blinking tears from her eyes, the angry woman's voice grew louder. "How am I supposed to manage my house? My children will starve. I have no one to help me. The gods have forgotten my children. The Word has failed!"

A few of the women gave nervous looks around the alley. Their sympathy went only as far as doubting The Word. They took a few steps backward, contemplating scattering.

Fitzgerald took a step forward.

"I'm sorry to hear about your husband and brothers," she said.

The angry woman surveyed Fitz, noticing her for the first time. Studying Fitz with a scowl, the woman took a bold step forward. "I appreciate your concern. But those words won't feed my children, or help us afford clothes as nice as yours."

Fitz said, "That doesn't have to be true. We can all help each other."

"My neighbors offered the same help. But their kindness will only go as far as the next burning or until their own families can't be fed."

"The Word guides us through these tough times. Our faith will see us through."

Growing suspicious, the woman became bolder. "Who are you?"

"I'm a servant at the Sanctuary."

The woman gasped and threw her hands up in despair. "Of course! You're here to tell the guards! You're here to see me burned! I should've known by your dress."

The other women panicked. They raced for the end of the alley.

"Wait!" Fitzgerald said, stopping them with an insistent wave. "I'm not here to see anyone burned."

"How can we believe you?" one of the women called over her shoulder.

Fitzgerald reached into her basket and held out an apple. A couple of the women furrowed their brows, confused and distrustful. They stopped moving.

"A gesture of my goodwill. I have one for each of you."

"You want a favor," one of the women said, a guarded expression on her face.

"No favor. Come back over and I'll share what I have."

With some coaxing, she convinced the women to return. She gave them the apples from her basket. The angry woman tucked hers away, eyeing Fitz warily as if she might take it back.

"I could be burned for giving away Sanctuary food." Fitz said. She took out an apple and bit into it. "That should prove I'm not here to trick you."

The women huddled around Fitz, eating. They watched Fitzgerald with eyes that said they wanted to believe.

"I just overheard what you were saying," Fitz added. "I want to help."

"No one does that. People talk about helping when they're in the pews. After that, The Word fades and we're on our own."

"Lady and Bruce had the same doubts," Fitz said.

The angry woman grew visibly afraid at the names of Lady and Bruce. "I shouldn't have doubted The Word. I'm sorry."

Fitz smiled grimly. Directing her words to all the women, she said, "I'm just a servant at the Sanctuary. You don't have to worry about me. But you're right. There seem to be two versions of The Word: the things people say behind the Sanctuary doors, and the things they do after they leave. We need to learn to bring our same faith outside, if we want to survive."

The other women nodded. They watched Fitzgerald intently.

"Most of the men are gone," Fitz added. "We need to look out for ourselves."

"There are more of us than there are of them, now that the army is gone," the woman with the kerchief said with a shrug.

"That may be true," another woman conceded. "But what can women do? The burnings yesterday are proof things are getting worse. People are afraid, and only concerned for themselves. We'll burn whether the men are here or not."

"It's Tenbrook," one of the women whispered, looking around the alley. "He's worse than Blackthorn."

"That's true," Fitzgerald said, fighting back her emotions.

"He never goes to sermons," one of the women said with a scoff. "He condemns and burns people, and he doesn't even pray with the rest of us."

"He burned my brothers in the square." The woman with the kerchief wiped her eyes and stepped forward, watching Fitz.

"Tenbrook has no power over The Word. But Father Franklin does," Fitz said. "What do you think of him?"

"I heard his last sermon," the woman continued. "I believe he's different. He seems to believe some of the things you're saying, about helping each other outside of the Sanctuary. Winthrop was only concerned with rules. Still, I'm not sure that will be enough to convince everybody. And it certainly won't stop Tenbrook from burning whoever he wants."

"What if there was nothing for Tenbrook to hear?" Fitz asked. "What if we were all to keep silent?"

The woman paused. The rest thought on it. "There's no guarantee anyone would follow that rule. The soldiers find things out."

"They find things out because we tell them. If we keep gathering at the sermons and practicing The Word, we'll gain the trust of others. We'll start to grow stronger. I think that's what Father Franklin was trying to say at his last sermon."

The woman with the kerchief frowned. The others whispered amongst themselves and a couple gave disbelieving looks.

"I want to believe him," she said.

"I can attest that he means it, having worked for him. Give him time," Fitzgerald said. She reached out and gently placed her hand on the woman's shoulder. "Come to the next sermon. Tell everyone you know to come. We'll sit together in the pews."

The woman looked around at the others in the group, then slowly nodded.

Fitzgerald smiled, then turned and headed back down the alley to look for others.

Chapter 10:  Ivory

Ivory followed Melora, Bray, and William into the building, keeping a wary eye on Bray. Bray also seemed fascinated by the bow. And who wouldn't be? Ivory vowed to keep his weapon close during his stay.

He looked for Ella, but she wasn't nearby.

The building looked the same as the last time he'd entered it. He'd been in the building a few times with his uncle and Jingo, but hadn't found anything of value. Broken glass was ground into the floor and partially buried. Fractured, crumbling pedestals dotted the room. Jingo had told him it was a museum—a place the Ancients used to display archaic, preserved treasures, though most had been looted or destroyed.

Ivory walked up the flight of stairs, skirting around the divots and gaps in the stone and following Melora. When they entered the first room, he saw Ella tidying up several blankets and bags. The look on her face showed she was still upset by what had happened outside.

Ivory couldn't help but smile. Melora was independent. Her strong words reminded him of similar encounters he'd had with Muldoon when Muldoon was still alive.

"Would you like something to eat?" Melora asked, grabbing a bag from the floor and pulling out a slice of dried pork.

"Thanks," Ivory said appreciatively.

He watched as Melora, Bray, and William pulled out flasks, setting down their belongings, eating in whatever position they'd crouched in. The meal reminded him of many he'd had in the wild, on an empty stomach, accompanied by furtive glances. It was a life not many in Brighton knew.

He hunched on the ground next to Melora and had breakfast, holding his bow on his lap. Ella remained standing.

"How long have you been here?" Bray asked Ivory.

"A few days," Ivory said. That wasn't a lie.

"Is that when you found the bow?" Bray asked, as he traced the path of the string around the wheels.

Ivory shifted uncomfortably. "I got it on my last trip."

"It's in remarkable shape, for such a find. Where did you say you got it?"

"In one of the buildings near the water," Ivory said vaguely. "I had to restring it. It took me a lot of time to figure that out, and how the wheels worked."

"You said you've killed demons with it?"

"Yes," Ivory said, unable to contain his pride. "Two, so far."

"I noticed you had no trouble pulling back the arrow, and yet it flew farther and faster than I would've expected. How does that work?"

"The wheels help take some of the pressure off your hand, once you get it to a certain position. That lets you aim better, and hold the bow steadier. Or at least that's what I think, after using it a few days."

"I'd like to try it myself, after you finish breakfast." Bray shrugged. "That is, if you wouldn't mind showing me."

"I'd like to try, too," Melora chimed in.

Ivory nodded but didn't commit to anything.

Although he didn't quite trust Bray, he was looking forward to firing the bow again. Before finding Melora, he'd been headed back to the tower with Jingo to practice. They'd seen no sign of the bear-man since returning on the boat. He wondered if the man had gone back to Brighton, or if he was still lying in wait somewhere.

Changing the subject, he asked, "Have you seen anyone else in the city?"

Bray grunted. "No. The Ancient City isn't a place for men."

"Well, you picked one of the safer places to hide."

"What do you mean?"

"The demons don't come around this part of the city as much as the others."

Bray grunted. "I've seen demons everywhere in the city, so I doubt that's true."

"It's not a rule, of course," Ivory said. "Some of them will go anywhere. And they'll follow a human wherever they find them. But this area is less traveled than others. It dates back to some of the wars the Ancients had. That's what I was telling Melora."

Bray didn't look convinced.

Ivory changed the subject again. "Melora told me you fled from what happened in Davenport. I'm sorry to hear about your relatives."

"They weren't mine." Bray shrugged and chewed his meat.

Ella dropped a flask on the floor and it landed with a clatter. Ivory glanced up and noticed her watching him. "Have you heard anything about the massacre while you were in Brighton?" Ella asked.

"Nothing, other than what Melora explained," Ivory said. "I was in Brighton a few days ago, but only long enough to learn the news about my father."

Ella furrowed her brow. "What happened to him?"

"Ivory's father was taken in the last Cleansing in Brighton," Melora explained.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Ella bent down to retrieve her flask. She looked back at her bag, nervous.

Ivory lowered his head. Though he liked Melora's company, something didn't seem right with these people. What was it? He knew they had sought refuge in the city, but there was something else. He needed time to figure it out. Realizing the others were still watching, he said, "My father was a good man. He was a rabbit hunter, too."

Bray cleared his throat. He lowered his head. "The Cleansing takes too many of the best of us."

Ivory nodded his agreement and finished his pork. He wiped his face with his sleeve.

"Would you like more?" Melora asked.

Ivory looked at her outstretched hand. A sour look from Ella convinced him he shouldn't take any more of these people's rations. "I'm fine."

With the meal done, Ivory felt the anticipation in the room. Everyone was watching his bow. He suddenly felt the need to keep the weapon close to him. "You know what? I'm pretty tired right now. I wouldn't mind resting, if that'd be okay with you."

The disappointment on Bray's face was evident. He covered it up. "Of course," he said. "Maybe we can try out the bow when you wake up?"

"Sure." Ivory made a show of wiping his eyes. In truth, he was exhausted. Several days and nights of being awake had worn him down. He and Melora had tried napping in shifts, but the carousing, screeching demons had kept them mostly awake in the building where they'd hidden.

"Do you need a blanket?" Melora asked.

"I have one in my bag," Ivory said.

He glanced around for a quiet corner.

"You can sleep in my room, if you'd like," William offered, pointing through an archway that led into a second room.

"William," Ella cut in. "That's not a good idea."

"Why not? The room will be empty. It's still daylight, and I'm not tired."

"What about Melora?" Ella asked. "She'll be staying in there."

"I can stay in this room," Melora said. "He can use that one."

Stripped of an argument, Ella fell silent and resumed looking through the belongings in her bag.

"I'll show you the best spot," William offered, darting into the other room before Ella could stop him.

"Sounds good. Thank you for the breakfast." Ivory stood. Walking out of the circle of penetrating eyes, he felt relieved.

"That's where I sleep," William said to Ivory as he entered the room. He pointed to a small bag on the ground, a blanket spilling out of the top. "Melora usually sleeps closer to the wall."

"That looks comfortable."

"We only had one room back at home," William confessed. "This place is much bigger."

Ivory was thinking of a polite response when Ella called William from the other room. "William! Let the young man sleep."

"But I want to show him my sword!" William complained.

"Sword?" Ivory asked.

Ivory frowned as William hurried over to a blanket in the corner, pulling a large sword with a worn handle from underneath. It was much bigger than the one William had scabbarded at his side. William smiled and hoisted it in the air.

"William, be careful!" Ella scolded, walking into the room.

"I know how to use it, Mom," William retorted.

"Where'd you get that?" Ivory asked, furrowing his brow. It looked like a large man must've used it.

"I found it in an alley next to the building," William explained. "Someone must've left it behind."

"Bray thinks they might've been killed," Ella said with a concerned expression. "He said it looks like a Warden's sword."

"Either way, it's mine now," William said. "Finders keepers!"

Ivory frowned as Ella herded William from the room.

Chapter 11:  Oliver

"What now?" Beck asked.

Leaning against the curved wall of the cylinder as he sat, Oliver looked up at Beck and tried to guess what it was he was getting at. If there was one thing Oliver knew about Beck, he was always thinking about where his conversations were leading, rather than what he was currently saying. "I don't want to discuss it."

"Why not?" asked Beck.

"I'm reluctant."

"People only say that when they want you to ask them a second time." Beck smiled to show off his brilliant deduction.

Oliver sighed. "I had ideas of how life would be outside the wall, you know, before I lost my bravery and failed to kill Father Winthrop."

"I dare say your mistake was short-lived." Beck chuckled. "I have little doubt the demons killed him, along with the rest of the wretches on that hill."

Oliver accepted that as true.

"Tell me more about these ideas of yours," Beck said.

Oliver shook his head. "They were silly boyhood ideas, adventurous and unrealistic. I'm not that old, you know."

"I've noticed," said Beck, "but talking to you most times is like talking to an adult. You're an exceptional young man, Oliver."

"I don't know about that."

"Yes you do," said Beck. "You can pretend around other men so they won't know what you are, but I know. Let's dispense with the charade, okay?"

"I'll try," said Oliver. "But you need to understand that even if you think I mostly speak like an adult, I'm still a boy. I'm still prone to doing boyish things and making boyish mistakes."

"Everybody makes mistakes." Beck laughed. "Don't judge yourself too harshly."

Oliver crinkled his brow and fidgeted, not wanting to admit his most foolish mistake. "I thought I'd do well out here in the wild. I thought I'd evade the demons with ease, or kill them when I needed to."

"So far, true on both counts," interjected Beck.

"I don't know."

"Here we are," said Beck. "The truth is self-evident. And you have killed demons."

"Okay," admitted Oliver. "I didn't think I'd be so hungry. I thought I'd be able to find food before I ran out of my supplies. Now after jumping in the river to save our lives, everything I brought with me is ruined, and I don't yet know how to hunt for animals. I don't know what plants I can eat."

"You're afraid we'll starve?" asked Beck.

Nodding, Oliver said, "The only thing I'm not afraid of is dying of thirst."

"Because the river is so close?" Beck asked.

"That, and the ocean," said Oliver, pointing east. "As long as I'm on this side of the mountains, it'll never be more than a day or two away."

"You want to drink from the ocean?" asked Beck.

"Sure," Oliver confirmed. "But it seems like you think that's a bad idea."

"Perhaps," said Beck. "Like you, I've never seen the ocean before this expedition. All I know about it I read in ancient books, or heard in stories from people who have been to this side of the mountain. I don't know for sure, but it seems to me the water in the ocean is not drinkable."

"Why?" asked Oliver. "Did the Ancients poison it?"

"I don't know," said Beck. "All I've heard is the water is too salty to drink."

"That doesn't make sense." Oliver lifted his canteen and shook it to show Beck it was empty. "If salt is all I have to worry about, I'm going to try it."

"Later today or tomorrow," said Beck, "when we're rested enough to venture out, we'll go to the ocean, if for no other reason than to one day say we did." Beck smiled broadly and looked at Oliver. "Do you know anyone who has seen the ocean?"

"I've only talked to a few people who know it exists. That is, outside of childhood stories nobody believes."

"We'll do it, then," said Beck. "After that, what do you think? Will you go back to Brighton?"

"I don't know," said Oliver. "I don't know that going back is a choice I have. I don't think I can get through the pass. It's sure to be full of demons following the trail of the army, don't you think?"

"You may be right about that," said Beck, putting some thought into it. "I've heard tell of paths through the mountains both south and north of here. They're the paths taken by metal smugglers because they are shorter. The army had to take the long way because it needed the road. If we could find one of the paths, would you travel back with me? It will be safer for us both to go together than to go by ourselves."

"I don't know."

"You don't have to return to Brighton, if you don't want," said Beck. "I won't force you, but at least if we get back to the other side of the mountains, you'll be back among civilized men again. Even if you don't return to Brighton, you can settle in one of the smaller towns or villages. What do you say?"

"I don't know what's going to happen to me," Oliver said, weighing his options. "But I definitely want to see the ocean."

Chapter 12:  Fitzgerald

Returning from the marketplace, Fitz found Franklin sitting in the front pew of the congregation room, staring at the pulpit. His hand was poised above a notebook.

"I looked all over the Sanctuary for you," Fitz said, worry in her voice.

"I'm sorry. I was just making some notes. I thought a lot about our conversation about The Word and The People's devotion. I'm not convinced you're right, but I'm trying to get a new perspective on how the townspeople hear sermons." Franklin furrowed his brow and jotted something down. "I'm trying to understand what it is about what I say that bonds us together. Maybe that will also protect us."

"Have you seen Tenbrook?" Fitz asked, lowering her voice to a whisper.

"No. And no soldiers, either."

"That's good." Fitz blew a relieved breath. She sat down next to Franklin. She smiled.

"Most of my life, I've listened to Winthrop talk from up there," Franklin gestured toward the pulpit. "I've sat apart from the congregates. I was lucky, or unlucky, to have that privilege from a young age." Franklin grimaced as he thought that statement through. "When I was just a child, my parents were taken in the Cleansing. I remember standing on the dais while they were led away, too shocked to cry."

"Is that why Winthrop took you in?"

Franklin nodded. "He mistook my shock for a heart of stone.  I didn't figure it out until later. If I'd cried, I probably would have gone to the orphanages like the others on that day."

Franklin lowered his head.

"I'm sorry, Franklin. Do you remember much about your parents?"

"Only that they were farmers. I remember running in the fields with bare feet, thinking I could fly. I have a few memories of my mother and father tending the field, but not many. I think the distance has separated me from some of the people I'm talking to. I need to understand the parishioners better."

"This sounds like a good way to do it." Fitz patted his leg. "I've been finding things out at the market."

"I get nervous about you leaving the Sanctuary." Franklin furrowed his brow.

"If the novices went, I wouldn't be able to find anything out." Fitz looked behind her, verifying that no one was lurking by the door. Speaking in a whisper, she said, "I've been talking to some people, Franklin. I've been trying to understand the power of your transformation of The Word, and how that affects people. The burnings weakened people's spirit, but I think the next sermon might be your biggest yet."

"What do you mean?" Franklin asked, setting down his notebook.

"I've been gathering up some people," she whispered.

Franklin's eyes widened. "Already? You shouldn't be doing that so soon after the burnings, Fitz."

"Our discussions are about The Word," Fitz returned. "Tenbrook can't fault us for that. As you know, most people are compelled to come to the Sanctuary out of fear. But I'm trying a new approach. I think this one will work better."

"What have you been telling them?" Franklin asked.

"I'm trying to earn their trust, so they continue attending because they want to, rather than out of guilt or fear," Fitzgerald said. "We need people to participate—even the people from the other towns and villages, who might have never been to the Brighton sermons."

Franklin nodded, still nervous. He looked around the room again, a habit since the burnings. "The quiet from Tenbrook makes me uneasy. He hasn't called any Elders' meetings yet. I assumed he would send for me."

Fitz bit her lip. "Maybe he forgot about you."

The look on Franklin's face told her that he didn't believe that. "I'm the only other Elder alive in town. I don't trust him, Fitz."

"Me neither. But for now, we should focus on making the next sermon the best one yet." Fitz smiled and brushed Franklin's shoulder. "I'll tidy up some rooms while you take notes."

"Okay, thanks," Franklin said, trying to quell his worry.

Chapter 13:  Ivory

Ivory was dozing, but he couldn't keep from peering through the archway at Melora, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the next room. She pulled out a brush, quietly taking a few tangles from her hair. She didn't notice he was awake. Ivory recalled some of Melora's stories about her family's encounters with demons in the woods. She seemed as tough as anyone he'd met. He smiled. Sensing his gaze, she turned and caught him staring.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" she called through the archway.

"No, I was just dozing."

"I'm going to nap, too," Melora admitted. She replaced the brush in her bag, pulled out a blanket, and spread it on the ground.

"Where are the others?"

"Downstairs."

"I bet it's nice to be with your family." Ivory smiled.

"It is," Melora said, but she averted her eyes. Was she hiding something? Or was she just tired?

"William showed me the sword he found."

"I heard him showing you from the other room. He demonstrated for me while I was with him on the lower floor. It's almost as big as he is." Melora smiled. "He's becoming quite intelligent about the woods. He's learned a lot while we were traveling."

"He definitely seems smart." Ivory watched Melora settle underneath her blanket. "Your mother is nice. And Bray, too. Did you say you were related to him?"

Melora shifted under the blanket so he couldn't see her eyes. "No, we met him outside of Davenport. We've been traveling together."

"I see. For a second I confused him for your father."

"No." Melora bit back a laugh. Changing the subject, she asked, "Can I still try your bow when we wake up?"

"Sure."

"It's a little more comfortable here without demons surrounding the building," Melora said with a smile, rolling to face the doorway to the hall. "Maybe you were right about this area being safer."

"I wouldn't lie to you."

"Well, I'm going to nap. Sleep well, Ivory."

"You, too."

Ivory pulled his bow and his bag close to him. Then he closed his eyes.

Chapter 14:  Winthrop

With no place shallow enough to ford, Winthrop's army worked their way down the river until it spread out into a delta of swamps and shallow fingers of water all flowing toward the endless sea.

"Our scouts tell me we can cross here," one of Winthrop's nameless priests told him as he stood looking across a brackish pool of stinking water. "There are plenty of demons in the swamp that way."

"Then we'll have plenty of meat to fill our bellies," said Winthrop as he looked at the murky brown water, imagining what manner of greedy monsters might be living beneath the surface, anxious to sink their teeth into his divine flesh.

Pointing up and down the shore at the army, all standing on the shore, the nameless priest said, "We wait for you to lead us, Father."

Winthrop balked. That cold, clear water in the canyon in which he'd been immersed was one thing. In that water, he'd been able to see. If any monsters had come to take a bite of him, he'd have spotted them and been able to call on his disciples to slay them. In this soup, he'd have no such opportunity. He'd lose a foot or a leg before he knew what was attacking him. Winthrop's bowels threatened to spill.

I'm a god.

Still, the brown water.

"Father?" the nameless man persisted.

Winthrop looked left and right. Nothing but more brown water. He looked over the tall trees across the bank and saw the tips of the Ancient City's crumbling spires. He had to take his army there to fulfill his godly destiny. He had to.

Surely there must be something to avoid the brown water.

Wait!

I'm a god.

I can walk on it.

I need only to will it.

"We shall all go together," Winthrop told his priest. "Tell my people to proceed."

The priest stepped into the water, walking until he was waist deep before he turned to face Winthrop's army. He pointed at the far bank and addressed the men. "The demons are there. Our god commands us to cross the water and slay them. Let's go!"

Everyone on the bank shouted their war chant, took a few moments to get in sync, and then the mass of them lurched forward, stepping into the brown water without the slightest hesitation.

Winthrop looked toward his brothers in the heavens, then looked at the water ahead of him, already full of his faithful minions. They flowed off the bank beside and from behind him. Winthrop was in the midst of all of them, lost to any lurking river monster that might be waiting. With so many tempting feet down in the water, how would a long-toothed monster find his divine feet walking on the surface?

No chance. No monster could.

That was the faith Winthrop needed. He walked down the sloping bank. Once at the water's edge, he raised his chin, focused on the far shore, and took a long, confident stride out onto the water's surface.

A strange thing happened.

The water was too evil to support Winthrop's weight, and it gave way under his foot, throwing him off balance. He fell face first into the murk and mud.

Chapter 15:  Ella

"William, come here a minute," Ella said, watching his curious face as he explored one of the walls in the lower floor of the building. Every so often, he stopped to knock on it with the big sword he'd found, admiring the ancient material. He looked at her for several seconds as if she'd appeared there, even though she'd been following him for a while. She felt guilty for the way they'd argued outside.

Looking around to make sure no one else was near, she asked, "What are you thinking about?"

"I was just thinking how nice it would've been to have traveled here a hundred years ago."

Ella furrowed her brow, confused. "Why a hundred?"

William waved his sword at the wall. He beckoned at the rooms upstairs. "In Brighton, we fix a stone when it falls out of place. We scrape the green, fuzzy plants that grow outside the walls. No one did that here."

"That's because no one lives here," Ella said with a shrug.

"But that's exactly my point," William said. "We could've taken care of them, if we lived here. Each year, the condition of the city gets worse. If we'd been born earlier, we would've seen so much more. And if we'd lived during the times of the Ancients, we would've seen everything!"

Ella laughed warmly at his reasoning. She couldn't dispute it. "That's a nice dream, William. But we can always imagine."

"That's what I've been doing." William's reflective face turned into a smile. "I imagine this is my house, and all the pedestals downstairs are protecting the things I own."

"What would you keep down there?" Ella asked, playing along. For a minute, she was able to pretend they were back in Brighton, walking home from the marketplace like they'd done so many times before.

"I'd have all manner of weapons," William said, holding up his sword. "But not like these. I'd have devices that could stop a man with a touch. Devices that would compel men to tell the truth. And objects to take me from here to Brighton in less time than it takes to prepare a meal."

"Wow. You'd be the most powerful man in the Ancient City." Ella grinned.

"I'd be the most powerful man in all of the townships, never mind here."

"What would you do in Brighton?"

William puzzled on it for a moment. "I'd bring back some of my belongings, just to show them off. But I wouldn't sell them. I'd already have all the coin I needed."

Ella reached over and ruffled his hair. "I hope I'd be allowed to stay with you."

"Of course," William said, his expression darkening. "But all the people in Brighton wouldn't come near us, or touch us."

"No, they wouldn't," Ella said, a pit growing in her stomach as the playful game turned serious.

"No one would burn anyone. No one would be in pain. They would listen to me, and do what I said." His voice turned stern.

"That'd be nice, William." Ella pulled William close. She kissed his forehead. To her relief, he allowed her. She leaned back, watching his eyes wander across her face.

"It's fun to pretend, isn't it?" she asked, blinking back tears, trying to calm her nervousness.

"Yes, it is, Mom."

"I need you to do something for me, William."

William's expression turned serious. "What is it?"

"I need you to hide the lump on your neck from Ivory."

William nodded. "Okay."

Ella pulled his shirt higher on his body, ensuring he was covered. "We don't know much about him yet. We don't know who he might tell."

"I'll hide it, Mom," William said. "I promise."

William smiled, then broke away and resumed inspecting the wall.

Chapter 16:  Ella

Ella sat next to Bray on the steps of the ancient building, chewing her nails. The warmth of the mid-day sun couldn't erase the nervous chill in her bones. She studied the cracked, upheaved road. A squirrel skittered over a vine-covered wall, appraising them before dipping out of sight. They'd left the barrier behind them partially uncovered.

"Maybe Ivory's right about the demons in this area," Ella said. "I haven't seen as many here as I thought I would."

"Maybe," Bray admitted with a shrug.

"What do you think of him?" she asked Bray.

Bray smiled. "He seems all right. I like his bow."

"I know you do," Ella frowned and scowled. "I'm sure that's your primary concern. But I don't trust him."

"He's not a rabbit hunter. Or at least, that's not all he is."

"How do you know?"

"I saw him in Brighton. He was selling metals to the blacksmiths."

Panic and anger rose in Ella's heart. "You know him? And you didn't tell me?"

Bray shrugged and spat in the dirt. "When would I have said something? In front of him?"

Ella searched for a plausible reason for her anger, but couldn't find one. Her anger turned to palpable fear. "Does he know you?"

"No." Bray stared off into the distance. "I don't think so."

"You're not sure." Ella couldn't hide the tremor in her voice. "What if he recognizes us? What if he figures out we're from Brighton? He could give us up."

"I'd be able to tell, Ella. He thinks we're from Davenport, just like Melora told him. I don't think he questioned our story."

"And you're willing to risk William's life on that guess?" Ella looked through the partially exposed doorway behind them, as if William might be standing there, even though she heard him playing deeper in the building. "What if Ivory is collecting information so he can tell someone in Brighton? What if he knows the soldiers are looking for Melora?"

"He's a metal smuggler, Ella. Traveling to the Ancient City is as forbidden for him as it is for us."

"He could say he followed us from the woods."

"There's no reward in turning in a woman and child on the run." Bray grinned sideways at her. "If there was, I'd be headed in a different direction."

"That's not funny." Ella closed her eyes and reopened them. When she did, she noticed Bray had moved closer. She instinctively moved away. She knew her anger at Bray was misdirected, but her frustration about Ivory needed an outlet.

"You're letting your mind explore all the worst outcomes," Bray said. "You're worrying too much."

"I'm a mother. I can't help it."

They fell silent for a few moments, listening to the squawk of birds and the shrieks of distant demons.

"If it comes down to it, I'll take care of Ivory. But we're safe. Trust me."

"My children are all I have left," Ella said matter-of-factly.

"I understand."

"Do you?" Ella stared at him. "Motherhood isn't a job you can abandon. No matter how far I have to go, whether it's the Ancient City or the edge of the flat earth, I'll protect them."

Bray sighed and looked off into the street. "You can't protect them forever, Ella. They're growing up."

Ella looked at Bray, wondering how much of the argument he'd heard between her and her children. To her surprise, he didn't appear to be chastising her. His face was sympathetic.

"I admire your devotion," Bray said honestly. "But the best thing you can do is to teach them for when you're not around. They'll need your good sense to fall back on. That's the way to keep them safe. Like my father did for me. Like your parents did for you."

Ella opened her mouth and closed it. She thought of the angered look on Melora's face, the determined look on William's. Then she recalled Frederick and Jean's worry when she'd set off to marry Ethan and move to Brighton. She'd survived. She wanted to be angry at Bray for what he was telling her, but she knew he was telling the truth.

"Letting go is a hard thing," she admitted.

Bray reached over and patted her leg.

"I know it's hard," Bray agreed. "But you need to take care of yourself, too."

Ella looked down, realizing Bray's hand was still on her. For some reason, she didn't pull away. She looked at him, noting the cut on his ear from where he'd fought the soldiers for her and William.

"You should clean your ear." She looked down at his pants. "How's your leg?"

Bray shrugged. "I'll live. At the worst, I'll have another few scars to brag to the ladies about."

"You don't need to embellish. I was there." Ella smiled.

Before she realized what she was doing, Ella leaned toward Bray. Surprise lit his face as he moved to meet her. She embraced him, pressing her lips against his. He smelled of the wild, the breakfast they'd eaten, and the experiences they'd shared. She closed her eyes, forgetting the anxieties that felt like they'd been sewn into her skin.

Maybe Bray was right. Maybe she needed to let go.

They kissed for several seconds, holding each other. She moved her hands up and down his shirt, running her hands from his shoulders to his arms to his neck. For a moment, Ella felt like she was in some alternate reality, where no one was sick and no one was in danger. What was she doing?

A voice from behind Ella ripped her to the present. She broke away from Bray, instinctively recoiling. She turned.

"William?"

"Are you okay, Mom?"

"I'm fine, honey. We were just talking."

Ella stood, wiped her lips, and hurried away from Bray. "I'll talk to you later," she whispered.

Chapter 17:  Ivory

Ivory awoke with a start, casting aside the thin blanket draped over him, looking for his bag and bow. To his relief, they were next to him. He pulled them close, as if someone might be trying to snatch them.

Melora wasn't in the next room. He heard voices in the room downstairs, but it was impossible to discern whose they were.

He hadn't meant to sleep for long. His goal had been to close his eyes for a few moments of peace. He wanted to check on Jingo, but he was enjoying Melora's company, and he wasn't ready to leave. She was one of the most beautiful girls he'd seen in a while, and it seemed like he'd impressed her.

He was surprised when a voice rang from the doorway. "You're up?" Melora was there, smiling and watching him.

"How long was I out?"

"A few hours, I think," Melora answered. "You slept longer than me."

"Is everyone still downstairs?"

"Ella and William are keeping watch. Bray went out in the city."

"What's he doing?"

Melora shrugged. "Hunting, I guess. Doing whatever it is he does."

Ivory scooted up and pulled his bow onto his lap. Melora's eyes roamed over the weapon. He could tell she wanted to ask about it again. "Do you want to try it now?" he asked, grateful Bray wasn't around.

Melora nodded, her eyes growing wide. "I'd like that."

"We'll check and make sure no demons are about." Ivory watched her. "If they aren't, you can shoot it."

"Why can't we shoot it downstairs?"

Ivory looked around, as if Ella might be watching. "We'll have more room outside. And besides, there are some cool buildings nearby I can show you."

Melora's eyes lit up at the offer. She scrambled to her feet. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Ivory followed her. They descended the stairs to the first floor of the ancient building. Ella was talking with William as they inspected one of the broken pedestals. They broke their conversation when they saw Ivory and Melora coming. William ran up to greet them.

"How'd you sleep?" William asked.

"Well, thanks," Ivory said.

Melora called to her mother, "We're going out."

Ella's face remained stoic as she tried to conceal an emotion. "How long will you be?"

"Not long."

Ella didn't ask for details, though it was clear she wanted to, and Melora didn't offer any. Reaching the doorway, Ivory and Melora started moving the barricade. William tailed behind, watching.

"Can I come?" he asked.

"Not this time, William," Melora said.

"Why not?" William asked, his face turning sour.

In a whisper loud enough that only Ivory and William could hear, Melora said, "I need you to stay here and protect Mom."

William frowned. He continued watching them as they moved the last of barricade. When they were through the threshold, he argued, "I'd rather shoot the bow."

Melora turned, squeezing his arm. "Another time, William," she said. "I promise."

**

Melora and Ivory walked several cross streets past the ancient building, leaving Ella and William behind. They traveled far enough they could maintain privacy, but close enough they could assist in case there was trouble.

"I'm surprised William didn't chase after us," Ivory said.

"Me, too," Melora said, her eyes roaming back and forth across the fragmented buildings and scattered stones. "He's very strong-willed."

"That must be a family trait."

Melora smiled at the compliment. "He's grown up a lot. We've all changed, after what happened in Davenport."

Motioning to the building, Ivory said, "You got lucky picking this place to stay."

"I wonder what it used to be?" Melora asked.

"It was a museum."

"A museum?" Melora frowned at the unfamiliar word. "What's that?"

"A place where the Ancients stored things of value. They put things into glass cases so they could admire them without ruining them."

"William guessed that," Melora said, her eyes filling with wonder. "How do you know? Did your uncle tell you?"

Ivory smiled. "I'm good at figuring things out."

"You still need to tell me about floating on the water."

"I will," Ivory said. "In time. But why don't we try the bow first?"

Melora's excitement made it easy to change the subject. Ivory halted next to an enormous ancient building with a roof so collapsed that it hung diagonally from the structure it used to protect. Mounds of rubble had collected at the bottom. Seeing the giant, sloping building reminded him of some of the sharp hills on the outskirts of Brighton. On the side of the slope were several soggy, weather-beaten boards, propped at angles to protect against the weather. It looked like settlers had used them at some point as shelters.

"What do you think about shooting here?" Ivory asked Melora. "We might have luck getting the arrows to stick."

"That's exactly what I was thinking," Melora agreed.

Without another word, Ivory readied the bow and nocked an arrow. He aimed at one of the boards about twenty yards away, focusing on his target. Melora watched in awe as he pulled back the string, the wheels of the bow turning as they complemented his force.

"You hardly have to pull it back," he told her. "And it shoots much faster. Watch."

He let go of the arrow. It flew through the air, thunking into the target, splintering the wet wood. He smiled with confidence. Melora studied the landed arrow. She looked at Ivory.

"You're already quite good. I'll have to see how I do," she said.

"Okay." Ivory smiled and handed her the bow, guiding her hands over the metal. He saw excitement pass through her face as he gave her an arrow. For a moment, the dangers of the Ancient City and the slaughter of Davenport faded for both of them.

"Much of it works the same as what you're used to," Ivory explained. "But it might take a few shots to get the hang of it."

Melora drew back the arrow.

"I can't believe I'm holding Tech Magic," she whispered.

"Yes," Ivory affirmed, unable to resist a smile. "A real weapon of the Ancients."

She smiled back and looked away, concentrating on Ivory's arrow. She let go. Her arrow whisked through the air, grazing the end of Ivory's and landing in the wood just above it. Ivory watched her with astonishment.

"You're better than—"

"Any girl you've met?" she finished for him.

"No. Anyone I've met." Ivory's eyes were wide.

He saw Melora watching his face for insincerity, but Ivory had only true admiration. She smiled and lowered the bow. Watching the two arrows hanging from the wood, Ivory recalled afternoons spent in the woods outside Brighton, shooting bundles of grass with his uncle, or practicing in the Ancient City with Jingo.

"Do you want to get back to the building?" Ivory asked.

"No," Melora said with a full smile. "I'd rather shoot some more."

"Okay," Ivory said, reaching down to his quiver.

"I'll split your arrow with my next shot." Melora grinned.

Chapter 18:  Melora

Ivory and Melora smiled and joked as they made their way back to the ancient building, skirting around several flattened, dried animal carcasses that had become little more than landmarks, watching for demons. Melora was becoming more accustomed to the Ancient City, so much so she envisioned it becoming her home, with Davenport gone.

When they reached the building, Melora found Bray sitting on the steps, several dead rabbits next to him. There was no sign of Ella or William.

"You shot the bow," Bray guessed, disappointment coloring his face as he watched them approach.

"I didn't know when you'd be back," Melora answered.

"You were asleep when I left." Bray grunted and nodded at the bounty he'd brought back. "I was waiting."

"Maybe we can shoot later." Ivory shrugged.

Bray contorted his face, trying to think of an argument. Before he could say anything further, Ella appeared at the doorway. "You have lunch?"

"Yep, I got some rabbits," Bray said, motioning with his chin toward the rabbits on the step next to him.

"I'm starving," Ella admitted.

"Okay," Bray said. "I'll cook them." Grabbing the rabbits, he started toward the back of the building.

Melora and Ivory followed.

Chapter 19:  Melora

"Melora!" William hissed.

Melora stopped and peered out over the balcony of the ancient building, certain a band of demons were breaking through the door downstairs. Instead, she saw her brother lurking behind one of the stone platforms. Her intent had been to sneak down and relieve herself. She hadn't expected to find William. She peeked behind her, listening to the hushed voices of Ella, Bray, and Ivory as they ate their meal. No one must've seen him leave.

William waved her down the stairs.

She kept quiet as she walked down to join him. William watched the staircase, his face pale and suspicious. For a second, Melora envisioned him as one of the demons, wart-covered and swaying, ready to pounce. She shuddered as she reached his side.

"Is everything all right, William?" she asked.

William nodded and swallowed hard. He was nervous.

"I saw something before you left to shoot the bow," he whispered, his eyes wide. He watched her with an expression that she couldn't interpret.

Melora felt a surge of dread. Was William having delusions again? She tapped the handle of her sword, wondering if this was the moment she'd have to draw it and call for the others. "What did you see, William?"

"Bray kissed Mom."

Melora's fear found a new source. "What do you mean?"

"They were sitting on the steps outside the building, talking. I was practicing with the sword I found. I came to ask Mom a question and saw what happened."

"What did Mom do?"

"She pulled away. When she saw me, she whispered something and came inside. I think she told Bray to leave her alone."

Melora bit her lip and clenched the handle of her sword, wanting to run upstairs and confront the Warden, to stick her sword under his chin and threaten him. Maybe she'd do worse than that. Ella had been right. They couldn't trust Bray. He wasn't here to help them. He was here for his own lascivious purposes.

I knew he was bothering her the other night.

He probably meant to rob them after he was done wiping his dirty paws on Ella.

Her anger flared. She took a step toward the stairs, but William halted her. She flinched at his touch.

"It wouldn't be smart to do anything," William said, his face suddenly stoic.

"Why not?"

"The commotion might raise the demons. Talking might be one thing, but a battle can grow loud quickly. We've seen that in the woods."

"Who cares about the demons when the danger is among us?"

"He won't try it again."

"How can you know that, William?" Melora flung up her hands in frustration. "Men like him don't stop until they get what they want. Surely, you understand that."

William's face grew hard as he appraised her. He patted the sword at his side. "Trust me, Melora, he won't do it again. Because if he does, I'll kill him in his sleep."

Chapter 20:  Franklin

Morning light peeled through one of the high windows, casting bands of brilliance on the Sanctuary floor. Franklin steeled his nerves as he prepared for his sermon. What Fitzgerald had told him made the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach more pronounced.

This will be your most important sermon yet.

Regardless of Franklin's anxiety, he needed every advantage to gain safety from Tenbrook. Franklin straightened his robe and looked around at the other clergymen. Novice Joseph waited by the door, taking up a position that was becoming a little more comfortable. Deacon Abbot nodded, forcing himself to smile through some of the fear on his face. The clergymen were more confident in Franklin's abilities than they had been before, though they still seemed afraid after what he'd done to Father Nelson.

Franklin was surprised to find himself just as anxious for his second sermon as his first.

Did Father Winthrop feel the way I do now? Winthrop never seemed nervous. He was too busy barking orders and looking down his nose at everyone to seem frightened.

Perhaps presiding over the congregation is a skill much like learning recitations, Franklin thought. Perhaps it will get better over time.

Thinking of Winthrop sleeping in a ditch, Franklin smiled. At least he was in a better place than that. He let that thought soothe him as the harps and woodwinds started playing. The soothing melody meant mass was about to begin. If Fitz were to be believed, he needed a succinct sermon. That meant Franklin had to focus.

He smiled as he thought about Fitzgerald, waiting in one of the pews to support him.

The doors opened.

The music grew louder.

Franklin walked across the threshold, leading his procession of clergymen. He was halfway to the pulpit when he realized something was different than his last sermon.

The usual rows of filled pews were mostly empty. A few clusters of women sat spaced out from one another, looking at each other, strange expressions on their faces. Several old codgers were hunched over in the back.  One of the clergymen coughed. Another cleared his throat.

Franklin kept walking, having no choice but to keep going. He studied the mostly vacant church as he made his way to the pulpit. What was going on?

Where was everyone?

He'd spoken to twice this many people last time. And he was sure he'd won them over. He recalled the congratulations he'd received.

Had those been lies? Maybe he wasn't as successful as he'd thought.

Franklin caught a glimpse of Fitz's downcast face as she watched him from the back. The disappointment in her eyes was enough to make him want to retreat for the door. Forcing himself to speak, Franklin said, "Good morning, people of Brighton."

A few half-hearted responses floated up to the pulpit.

"We are gathered here because of our devotion to The Word, our devotion to each other, and our devotion to Brighton. The spirit of faith is strong in each of your hearts."

"So sayeth The Word," a few women mumbled.

Franklin's heart sank. One of the old codgers in the back row sneezed.

Chapter 21:  Melora

When Melora awoke, William was standing over her. She instinctively reached for her sword. Her heart pounded as she tried to discern what was happening.

"We're trying Ivory's bow!" he said, his face lit with a smile.

Melora blinked herself awake and blew a calming breath. After what William had told her about Ella and Bray, she'd barely slept. She'd moved her blanket close to the archway to keep an eye on what was going on, though she hadn't heard anything. Ivory walked past, shouldering his bag and his weapon. William scurried away with a smile on his face.

"How'd you sleep?" Ivory asked.

"Okay," she lied, still feeling unsettled.

She rubbed her eyes and watched the daylight through one of the cracks in the ceiling. To her right, she saw Ella and Bray waiting in the next room. Melora got to her feet, threw on her boots, and strapped her sword to her waist.

"I'm ready."

"Don't you want to eat first?" Ivory asked her.

Melora shook her head insistently. "I'm fine. I'll have something later."

She walked with Ivory into the other room, said good morning to her mother, and shot daggers with her eyes at Bray. Bray didn't seem to notice. His pants were stained with the remnants of the rabbits he'd skinned the night before. She couldn't help picturing him pawing at Ella, finding the best way into her dress. A filthy pig. That's what he was.

Taking up next to her mother, Melora engaged her in conversation, keeping Ella and William close as Bray and Ivory led the way downstairs. Together they moved the stones and exited the building.

Outside, the sun lanced over the early morning dew that had settled over the ruined buildings and the rubble in the street. The air was cold, but several degrees warmer than when Melora had pulled the blanket over her body the night before.

"Where are we going?" she asked the group.

Bray took the lead next to Ivory, admiring his bow. "What do you think, Ivory?" he asked, looking around for demons.

Melora huffed in a breath. She half expected to smell the fetid odor of the twisted men, but the area was clear.

Ivory bit his lip. "We could go to the place where Melora and I shot yesterday." He paused. "Or, I know of a place that might be better."

"Where?" Bray asked.

"A few streets east," Ivory said, pointing. "It's worth the trip. I'll take you."

Bray watched Ivory curiously. "Lead the way."

As they continued walking, William scooted up near Bray and Ivory. Melora hung back next to Ella. They skirted past brown, faltering weeds and crushed rubble, cutting through areas they hadn't traveled before. Many-windowed buildings sat on either side of the road, each the same height and shape.

William and Bray chatted with Ivory in anticipation of using the bow. Melora slowed her pace, letting them get further ahead so she could speak with Ella.

"I talked with William last night," she said, watching her mother.

Ella bit her lip. "About Bray?"

"Yes," Melora said, surprised.

"I knew he'd speak to you about it."

"I heard what Bray was trying to do. I heard you pushed him off."

Ella sighed and lowered her head. "You don't have to worry about him."

"Why not? We're in danger, Mom. We should threaten him to leave. We shouldn't be traveling with him anymore."

Ella watched Bray, William, and Ivory in the distance. She sighed again as she thought through an answer. "He's a Warden, Melora. They operate under different rules than the men in Brighton." She looked at the ground.

"Really? Because I don't think he acted differently at all," Melora countered, getting frustrated. "The women in Brighton and Davenport might be stuck with the men they marry. They might not have a choice about the company they keep, but we do. Out here, we can make him go."

"There's more to it than that, Melora."

"Like what?"

Ella watched Melora in silence for a minute before answering. "He's been good to William."

"I know he helped you get to Davenport, and here to the Ancient City, but we can take care of ourselves," Melora said. "We don't owe him anything."

Ella sighed. "What I'm trying to say is, you don't need to worry about me." She reached over, putting a hand on Melora's shoulder. "I was a little harsh on you and William yesterday. I know you can take care of yourselves. I need you to believe that I can, too." Ella smiled and met Melora's eyes. "I already had words with Bray. He won't try anything again."

"I still don't trust him."

"If I thought we were in danger, I'd tell you," Ella said. "I promise."

Chapter 22:  Oliver

After staying another night in the cylinders and traveling most of the day, Oliver and Beck finally got close to the ocean. Once they got through the dunes, the beach was wide and flat, stretching for a hundred yards down to the water. The mist turned everything gray, making the beach and the ocean disappear in the distance.

Oliver said, "It feels like I'm living in a cloud."

"Except cloud people wouldn't have sand in their shoes," said Beck with a chuckle.

"I'm going to the ocean," Oliver announced, running across the sand toward the water. A flock of white birds with black-tipped wings—a hundred or more—took flight in front of him, squawking loudly and floating on the wind that carried them down the beach.

The rolling water fascinated Oliver. He'd never seen or suspected anything like it. The intermittent, crashing water rumbled like thunder as it rolled on and off the beach, washing over all the land on the great flat earth, pulling back into itself before the ocean ate it with another crash.

Once on the edge of the dry sand, Oliver watched the water come and go a few times before he sprinted forward to kneel down, cup his hand, and scoop a palm full of water into his mouth. He immediately spit it out as he ran away from the rolling water.

Beck looked up and down the beach as he laughed and proceeded toward Oliver. "Salty?"

Drinking from his canteen to rinse out his mouth, happy that he'd filled it earlier from a stream they'd crossed, Oliver said, "Terrible. Saltier than you'd think."

"I don't think I'll try it," said Beck. "I don't mind learning from the experiences of others."

"You should taste it, just the same," said Oliver. "Hearing about something can never be as powerful as experiencing it." Oliver gazed up and down the beach again. "How will either of us ever describe this place in words? How will anyone understand what it's like to be here?"

"I don't have an answer for that," said Beck, "but you have a good point."

"I wonder how many beautiful places are in the world that we'll never know about," mused Oliver. "I wonder if all those magical places and things they tell us in the legends are true." Oliver looked Beck in the eye. "I always took them to be fantasies, made up by parents to entertain gullible children."

"As did I," said Beck. "But there are grains of truth in all of them, I suspect."

"Now I believe that," said Oliver. He looked back at the ocean. "How far do you think it goes?"

Beck followed his gaze to the water. "People in Brighton believe the earth is flat."

"Yes," said Oliver, "but how far does it go? Where is the edge? Wait. You said people in Brighton believe the earth is flat. Do you believe it?"

Beck was uncharacteristically quiet.

"Everybody says it." Oliver waved a hand at the flat ocean spreading out in front of him. "I've heard you say it, too."

"Habit," Beck sighed. "When people cling too strongly to their beliefs, it's better to pretend you share those beliefs than it is to try to convince them otherwise."

"Are you saying the great flat earth is not flat?" asked Oliver.

"I don't know," said Beck. "You've not seen our library in the Academy. Nor have you seen our archives."

"What's the difference?" asked Oliver.

"In our library, we keep a meager collection of books and partial books. In our archive, we have countless items. Anything with a word on it, we collect and store."

"Why?" asked Oliver.

"To learn. All words are clues to the Ancient world. Because we have so little, we often make guesses, but we're ignorant about most things. The shape of the earth is one such area."

"So, it's not flat," Oliver persisted.

"Some ancient texts make allusions to a round earth, shaped like a ball."

Oliver laughed. "I'm not stupid."

"I'm serious." Beck pointed across the water. "If you go far enough in that direction," he turned and pointed over the dunes, "one day, you'll come back from that way. I don't understand why that's true. I have no idea how it could be, but then, there is so much about the Ancients that I don't understand. I simply present the idea. You don't have to accept it. You may continue to believe the earth is flat."

"What do you believe?" asked Oliver.

"Whenever the concept comes up in the ancient texts, it is consistent. So despite what my intuition tells me, I believe it."

Oliver took a long look at the water before saying, "I will, too."

"You'd make a good Scholar, Oliver. Perhaps when we get back to Brighton, you'll consider joining the Academy."

Chapter 23:  Tenbrook

"Did you see Franklin's sermon?" Tenbrook asked Captain Sinko, unable to conceal his smile.

"The turnout was…sparse," Sinko confirmed.

Tenbrook recalled his most recent orders. Before the sermon was to start, he'd had soldiers guard the road leading to the Sanctuary. The townsfolk had been interrupted on their way to the building and instructed of a new guideline. Due to the early freezes, they were strongly encouraged to return home and continue harvesting.

"How many parishioners were in attendance?" Tenbrook asked, feeling a spark of joy that rivaled the burnings.

"Thirty, at most. The pews were empty except for a handful of women and old men. I glanced inside halfway through the ceremony and the echo of the door gave me away," Sinko said. "Most of the townsfolk returned home as the soldiers suggested. Those who attended seemed nervous and confused."

"Good," Tenbrook said. "The fewer people in that building, the better. How did Father Franklin do?"

"He was rattled, but he performed his duties."

"As he should." Tenbrook was unable to suppress his elation. "Tell your men to keep guard of the road before and after every sermon."

"Will do, sir."

Chapter 24:  Fitzgerald

Fitz watched Franklin pace the room.

"It wasn't a failure," she said, trying to cheer him up. "The people who were there were eager to hear what you were saying."

"A handful of women and old men won't change anything," Franklin said, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"They'll bring The Word home with them," Fitz said. "They'll tell others."

Even Fitz didn't believe what she was saying. There weren't enough people. She recalled the nervous expressions of the parishioners in the room. Even the woman with the kerchief hadn't shown up. The soldiers outside the Sanctuary had rattled the townsfolk so much they were hardly listening to the sermon.

"I knew things were too quiet with Tenbrook," Franklin said, pounding his fist in his hand. "I knew he was up to something. This new guideline ruins any chance we had at building something."

Fitz sighed and sat. She watched Franklin shake his head as he weaved back and forth. "I don't know what to do, Fitz."

"Sit," Fitz said, patting the bed. "Think."

"I'm tired of sitting. I'm tired of thinking." Franklin's face suddenly grew angry. "Do you know how embarrassing it is speaking to an empty room, Fitz? It's like standing in the middle of the wild and screaming when no one is listening."

"Franklin—"

Franklin's face reddened with shame and anger. "I knew being the Bishop was going to be difficult. But what can I do with an empty Sanctuary?"

"Things will get better," Fitz tried. "More people will come."

"No, they won't." Franklin's face fought between anger and defeat. "Not with Tenbrook's guideline in place." Finally, he seemed to settle on something.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm talking to Tenbrook. I'm repealing his guideline and telling him to keep his soldiers away."

Franklin made for the door.

"Franklin, wait!" Fitz leapt from the bed and grabbed his arm. "You can't go to his house! You can't tell him that! He might have you killed!"

"What else am I supposed to do?" Franklin asked desperately, shaking free of her grasp. "Wait until he makes me irrelevant, and then kills me? Those sermons are the only small power I have. That's what you told me, Fitz, what you convinced me of. Once I'm out of people's sight, they'll forget I'm the Bishop. They'll forget about The Word. They'll barely bat an eye when Tenbrook brings me to the pyre and burns me."

"You're still an Elder, even if no one is attending the sermons."

Franklin shook his head. "Am I? I've ceased to matter, Fitz. You were right about what you said before. Lady and Bruce would have faced this with courage. I'm not going to hide in a room, waiting for the soldiers to pull me away. I'm going to go see Tenbrook, and I'm going to force him to repeal his stupid guideline."

Before Fitz could stop him, Franklin stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Chapter 25:  Ella

Ivory brought them to a massive structure that stood out from the other buildings on the street, as if the other, smaller buildings had been built to stand guard around it. Ella's eyes widened as she looked up at the enormous, rectangular building. The smooth cement walls rose up forty feet high. In front was a gaping entrance. Had it contained glass? Ella couldn't imagine anyone, especially the Ancients, leaving such a large area exposed.

Past the massive opening and inside the structure was a huge, expansive floor, now covered mostly with dirt, but speckled with glass that must have been buried for hundreds of years by the passage of critters' and demons' feet. The sun reflected off the glass shards, creating a magnificent glare. Support beams were spaced out evenly throughout the building. Most were tattered with age, but all of them led to an enormous, domed ceiling with square panels that had probably once contained brightly colored glass. All around the perimeter of the main room were smaller rooms.

"What is this place?" she asked Ivory.

Ivory smiled. "Rumors say it is an Ancient marketplace."

Ella's mouth hung open as they inspected the inside of the building from the road. "There are probably a hundred rooms inside," she marveled.

"Probably a hundred demons, too," Bray muttered. "It's not exactly a safe place to shoot."

"There are plenty of ways out," Ivory said. "I've been here before. I know the exits."

"Are you sure?" Bray frowned, still cautious.

"You could get lost exploring it," Ivory admitted. "But if we stick close to the front of the building, we won't lose our way."

"It's impressive to look at," Bray admitted with a shrug.

"Come inside and I'll show you around," Ivory suggested.

Ella's gaze wandered from the building to another attached to it. The neighboring building had a floor that sloped up several levels, with wide openings in between. It reminded Ella of the first building she and William had seen in the wild.

"That other building looks familiar. Right, William?" she asked.

William's mouth hung open as he appraised the structure. "Yes. We've seen a building like that one before."

"That's where the Ancients kept the devices that carried them from one place to another," Ivory said with certainty.

"Like the object we saw in the woods," Ella said, looking at Bray and William. "The one we hid behind when the soldiers were after us."

William's excitement grew as the recognition hit. "Yes—the piece of metal with the windows on all sides. I remember."

Ivory beamed. He gestured to the building. "The Ancients came from all over to shop for goods. They left the devices that carried them from one place to another in the building next door. Then they walked around and purchased things."

"How could you know all this?" Bray asked, unable to contain his suspicion.

"My uncle took me here several times, before he passed away," Ivory said. "We figured it out by exploring it. There are a few ancient contraptions in the building next door. That's how we figured that part out."

Before they could question him further, Ivory headed for the entrance. Ella and the others watched, enthralled. They stared as Ivory crunched over the dirt floor. He walked through the opening, waving them in.

Finally, curiosity got the better of caution and they followed.

Ella grabbed for William's hand, but he slipped from her grasp, running ahead to join Ivory. His head swiveled from side to side as he took in the sights. She couldn't help but smile at the curiosity on his face.

Crossing the gaping threshold, they entered the building. The building smelled like the oldest ones in Brighton—damp and unused. Broken beams and debris littered the floor. Ella couldn't help but stare at the multitudes of rooms that lined either side of the vast building, most without walls, most filled with dusty fragments of ancient stone. In the middle of the enormous main room was a steep set of metal stairs that descended into a dark rectangle, an abyss of blackness that extended far out of sight.

"That leads to a lower level," Ivory called back to them. "The Ancients had a device that carried them up and down."

"Unbelievable," Melora whispered, coming up beside Ella. "A secret, hidden level beneath the first."

"And one upstairs," Ella said, pointing to a similar set of metal stairs that climbed to a second floor. A similar number of rooms lined the entire perimeter of the upper floor of the building. In each room, Ella envisioned the Ancients greeting her at the door, waving an assortment of merchandise, or selling fruits and vegetables. She imagined a line of people navigating up and down the strange stairs, sifting through their purchases.

"I can hardly fathom what this must've looked like with people in it." Melora shook her head.

"This building is big enough to contain most of the people in the townships," Ella agreed.

Melora said, "When the rains came, I bet they didn't have to cover their pushcarts or seek shelter."

Ivory nodded, his face lit with a smile as he showed them around. Ella watched William run close to the stairs that descended to the lower level, as he thought about stepping onto them.

"William, stay here," she called. To her relief, William obeyed.

Ivory said, "I've traveled the stairs a few times, but I've always been leery about falling. I'm not sure if there are exits downstairs. We're probably safest staying up here. Take a look around. I'm sure you'll be amazed."

"Stay with me while we look around, William," Ella said.

"Okay," William said simply, changing direction and walking close to Ella.

Chapter 26:  Fitzgerald

Fitz sat staring at the floor after Franklin stormed out of his quarters. She couldn't give up. She couldn't let him get to Tenbrook. Fitz had seen what Tenbrook was capable of. By walking into his house, Franklin would be entering a situation from which he might never return. Fitz sprang to her feet. Once in the hallway, she ran to catch up. Franklin was almost to the Sanctuary door. She watched him thrust it open with a purpose he hadn't possessed before.

It wasn't purpose, Fitz knew. It was reckless anger. And it would get him killed.

"Franklin!" she called.

Her words might as well have been whispers. He didn't turn, and he didn't stop. She rushed through the hall, catching the door before it closed, emerging into the daylight, even as the bitter chill bit at her skin and made her shiver. The area outside the Sanctuary was empty. The parishioners were gone.

Franklin kept going across the square, striding faster. He veered down one of the streets. It seemed as if he were intentionally leaving her behind. Fitz didn't care if she caused a scene; her only thought was to get Franklin to safety. She fought for breath as she ran after him.

She caught up to Franklin further down the road. He'd rounded a bend. Several soldiers hung in the distance, laughing and chatting, probably on their way back to Tenbrook's. Reaching Franklin, she grabbed his arm and forced him to a halt. The soldiers looked up and noticed.

"Franklin!" Fitz hissed.

"Let go of me," Franklin hissed back. "I'm meeting with Tenbrook."

"You can't do this!"

Walking close enough to be within earshot, one of the soldiers yelled, "Where are you going, Father? Aren't you getting ready for your next sermon?"

The soldiers chuckled.

A seething look crossed Franklin's face.

"I want to meet with Tenbrook," Franklin yelled loudly.

The soldiers went silent. They looked at him with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "We can bring you there, if you'd like. But you'll have to leave the wench behind."

Franklin took an angry step forward.

Fitz pulled on Franklin's arm. "Don't do this, Franklin," she whispered. "Stay with me, please! I thought of another plan. Give me the chance to tell you about it."

Franklin paused, torn between her words and the conversation he'd started. The soldiers hung in the road, waiting.

Sensing she was getting through to him, Fitz continued. "Tenbrook won't listen. He'll use whatever you say to burn you. That will be a useless death. There's another way. You have to trust me."

The soldiers pivoted, impatient. "Are you coming or not, Father Franklin?"

Franklin stared at them for a minute. He shook his head. "No. I have other matters to attend to," he said finally.

Fitz breathed a sigh of relief and pulled him back toward the Sanctuary.

Chapter 27:  Fitzgerald

"Did you hear them? They were laughing at me!" Franklin said, anger still flashing in his eyes. "Aren't they afraid of being burned? I'm an Elder!"

"Tenbrook is playing a game," she said. "He's using his soldiers to undermine your position."

Franklin shook his head in disbelief. "They never would've treated Winthrop this way."

"The soldiers have picked up on Tenbrook's lack of respect. They're trying to get away with things."

"I used to watch the expressions on their faces when they were standing next to Blackthorn, watching Winthrop. They knew Winthrop would never last a day in the battlefield. But they never said anything. Nobody could get away with disrespecting Winthrop."

"Things are different now," Fitz explained. "Tenbrook might've confused some of The People, but the soldiers know exactly what is going on. They know about the revolt. They know about Evan. They sense a change coming, Franklin, and they're aligning with the power in Brighton. That power right now is Tenbrook."

Franklin clenched his hands in frustration. "But I need to punish them. If I don't, then others will sense their disrespect. They laughed at me in public, Fitz!"

"How will you punish them, without Tenbrook's help?" Fitz asked. "Will you have your clergy carry them to the pyre? Or will you carry them yourself?"

Franklin fell silent. He hung his head, running his fingers through his hair. Defeat crossed his face. "I don't know what to do." Franklin breathed a heavy sigh. "Everything I feared is coming true. He's making me irrelevant."

"We need a better plan, Franklin. Rushing into something is an easy way to get killed. That's probably what Tenbrook wants. We'll never win over Tenbrook's soldiers. But we have a chance at winning over The People."

Franklin looked at her. "Outside, you said you had another plan. Were you just trying to lure me back here?"

"At the time," Fitz said with a sigh, looking out the window. "But while we were talking, I had an idea. I thought of another way we can get to The People."

"Something we haven't thought of before?" Franklin's expression showed his disbelief.

Fitz took a moment to formulate her thoughts. "What did Tenbrook's soldiers tell The People before the sermon?"

"They should tend to their work instead of going to the Sanctuary."

"They're discouraged from going to mass," Fitz repeated.

"Yes. Exactly."

"What if we were to hold mass somewhere other than the Sanctuary?" Fitz smiled, the idea becoming clearer as she spoke. "Why not deliver the message to them in the fields, instead of the Sanctuary? That way they'll be able to do their work, but they'll be able to listen."

Franklin opened his mouth, as if he might find fault with the suggestion. He couldn't. After a moment, he said, "You know what, Fitz? That might work. That won't break Tenbrook's guideline. At least, not technically," Franklin said, his hope rising.

"Winthrop would hate that idea." Fitz smiled at the irony.

Franklin sprang for his notes. "We'll start with one of the smaller farms near the Sanctuary. We can test it there."

"Great idea."

"If we hurry, we might be able to round up a few clergymen while we have daylight. I don't want to waste any more time. Come on, Fitz."

Chapter 28:  Ella

Ella walked behind William into one of the smaller rooms. It looked like he was trying to get ahead of her, though she couldn't tell for sure. Through cracks in various walls, she saw Bray, Melora, and Ivory exploring a different room. They were chatting in low tones as they pointed at the ceiling.

"William, wait up!" Ella hissed.

The floor was uneven with lumps of dirt, as though animals had called it their home at one time. Thankfully, she didn't see anything now. Ella stepped around the mounds, afraid that she might twist an ankle as she kept close to William. William stopped and examined a hole in the center of a mound of dirt.

"Be careful," she warned. "You never know what type of animal might spring out of there."

William stepped back, shooting her a glance she couldn't interpret. "Whatever it is, we're bigger than it," he said, patting his sword. "I can take care of it."

"I'm sure you can," Ella said, not wanting to argue.

"I can take care of a lot of things." William looked back down at the hole.

"What's wrong, William?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said quietly.

"Are you still upset about what you saw between me and Bray?" Ella said, taking a guess.

William heaved a loud sigh. "He'd better not try it again. If he does, I'll take care of him, too."

"William," Ella said, reaching for his arm. "I should've talked to you earlier. I apologize for not doing that."

William went silent. He stared at the hole in the dirt.

"I already talked to Melora," Ella said, "I know you told her. She was concerned. I told her that she doesn't have to worry. I don't want you to worry, either, William."

"I'm not worried. I'm just watching him. That's all."

William stood rigidly, his hands at his sides. Ella chewed her lip as she tried to think of another approach. She let the silence hang before continuing. "I've been thinking about what you said the other day, about you taking care of yourself."

William's eyes wandered upward as he prepared an argument.

She disarmed him with a smile. "I think you're right. I think you're growing up. You're turning into a young man, just like you said."

"You really think so?" William asked in surprise.

"Yes, I do. Ever since we left Brighton, you've grown up so much. The way you helped us track and find Melora was unbelievable. You're getting so smart. And you've never complained, even though things are a lot harder here than in Brighton." William's body seemed to relax, and she saw a puff of pride in his small shoulders. "I think you're old enough that you can understand what you saw. That's why I want you to believe me that Bray wasn't bothering me."

"But I saw what he did to you."

"I didn't mind," Ella assured him. "I need you to believe that."

"You didn't mind?" William's face turned confused. "But you whispered for him to leave you alone."

"I didn't say that," Ella said, shaking her head. "Maybe you misheard me. I told him we'd talk later. What I really should've done is gone inside and talked to you instead."

William went quiet again, torn between several emotions.

"I'm sorry I didn't speak to you about it earlier, William," Ella said. "That was my fault."

William stood quietly, and she tried to gauge whether her words were getting through to him.

"Will you forgive me?" she asked.

William shrugged noncommittally. The crunch of a footstep distracted them. Ivory was walking over to the room's entrance, the bow in his hand.

"Do you want to try it now?" Ivory called through the mostly broken doorway.

"Yes!" William said, distracted. Before Ella could stop William, he ran ahead of her again.

**

"I was thinking we can shoot at one of the walls," Ivory said, pointing to a distant room in the ancient marketplace that seemed intact.

"The walls will muffle the echo," Bray agreed.

"I'll keep watch on the door. You go first, William," Ella said.

William, Melora, Bray, and Ivory went to the room. Ella hung at the building's front entrance, splitting her attention between the massive room and Bray and her children huddled around Ivory. Ivory unslung his bag and placed it on the ground. He pulled out an arrow.

Ella was still uncertain about Ivory. It was strange, the way he knew so much about the Ancient City. And was it too convenient, the way he'd met Melora? What if he'd been following them?

She still wasn't positive what his motivations were. One of these mornings, she wouldn't be surprised to wake up and find him gone. I'll keep an eye on him, she thought. I won't make the same mistake I made with Bray in the beginning.

When she looked back at Ivory, she noticed that he had dropped an arrow. He reached down to scoop it up.

William crouched down to retrieve it. "I've got it!"

Ella was so caught up in her thoughts that she almost didn't notice William's shirt sagging, revealing the hard knot on his neck. Ivory's eyes flicked to William's lump. His face changed. Ella opened her mouth, as if she might shout a warning, even though she was too late.

Ivory had discovered William's secret.

Chapter 29:  Oliver

Oliver wasn't sure that hiking up the beach was the best idea, but he'd rationalized it anyway, and Beck did little to dissuade him. On the beach, they were able to walk on flat ground without the risk of all the hazards that seemed to be in the ruins nearby, making the ground sometimes too rough to safely cross.

What's more, they were able to see far up and down the beach, so there was no risk they'd stumble on demons without seeing them first. There might be some in the dunes, but they hadn't seen one, nor had they seen any since coming down to the water. Beck speculated that perhaps demons stayed away from the ocean for some reason.

"I meant to ask you," said Oliver, "when we were talking about the round earth, you said the Academy has an archive. You said you had countless items in your archive. What sorts of things do you have?"

"Plastic, mostly," said Beck. "Do you know what plastic is?"

"I used to have a piece before my parents were burned," said Oliver. "Lots of kids do."

"Most of our pieces were given to us by children who found them or who had received them as gifts. When children get older and realize the plastic is worthless, they often donate the pieces to the Academy."

"They're worthless?" Oliver asked.

"Collectors don't want them," said Beck. "Kids collect them because they're unusual, but there's too many of them around. Farmers find pieces in the field all the time. Hunters come across pieces in the forest sometimes. Even smugglers bring in pieces after they've pried the bits of metal out."

"The metal?"

"They find inexplicable things made of a combination of different kinds of plastics and different kinds of metals."

"I didn't know that," said Oliver.

"Most people don't."

After walking for a while longer, Oliver asked, "What is plastic? Where does it come from?"

"The Ancients, of course."

"I know that," said Oliver. "But what's it made from? Is it from a kind of plant that doesn't grow anymore?"

"That's a mystery," said Beck. "Nobody knows."

"Why do you archive them?" asked Oliver.

"The words," said Beck. "Many pieces have words on them, sometimes in a different color than the plastic, sometimes scratched in. It's not uncommon. You've probably seen bits yourself that have words."

Oliver nodded. "I never thought of it as important."

"I don't know if it is," said Beck. "But it's unusual, you have to admit that, right?"

"Sure," said Oliver, though he wasn't sure if he agreed.

"I think it has to be one of two things," said Beck. "Either the words on the plastic are important, although no one at the Academy has any clue why, or the writing is of no importance whatsoever. In the absence of context, the words make no sense. In truth, the context would probably make no sense, either. Or, the Ancients wrote trivial things because it was easy for them to do so, and perhaps everybody could read."

Oliver laughed. "Everybody could read? I only know a handful of people who can."

"As I said, both possibilities seem unlikely."

Chapter 30:  Franklin

"All true things come from the gods. The Word is true. We hold The Word close, in hopes that our hard hearts accept the things we must suffer," Franklin called, throwing his voice over the wind and into the field. "We toil hard for our families, just as we work hard for Brighton and for each other. That is the true purpose of The Word: to be a community. To help one another."

A group of women, old men, and children grunted as they salvaged the last of their crops in the field. Franklin balanced on the bumpy, frost-burnt soil as he read through his notes. The farmers collected fruits and vegetables, cocking their heads every so often to listen. Franklin watched them as they tucked the produce into their baskets.

At first, the farmers were confused, even a little nervous at having an Elder among them. But after he'd started speaking, they'd fallen into their normal routines, glancing at him less and repeating their catechisms. The children were the first to lose their fear. In between helping their family, they gazed at the clergymen, hope flickering in their eyes.

It was Franklin's intention to capture that hope.

If things went well, he'd move to the next farm. Then the next.

Franklin would reach The People, one frigid field at a time.

He changed his notes from one hand to the other, trying to warm up his fingers. He was cold, but the fact that he'd skirted Tenbrook's law filled him with warmth he hadn't felt since before the burnings.

I'm getting through to them. This is working.

He looked over at Fitz, who was standing next to him. Novice Joseph and several other clergymen were at her side, heads bowed. They shuffled nervously from one foot to the other, not yet used to the cold or the idea of preaching outside the Sanctuary.

This was new for all of them.

"Our toil is what brings us together," Franklin continued. "We should not only share the triumphs, but the difficult times, as well. We work together so that we might rejoice together."

"So sayeth The Word," one of the women said over the wind.

The farmers seemed to work harder as they listened to Franklin's words. He felt a swell of pride. If Winthrop had been here, he would've scoffed at standing next to the pig chasers and dirt scratchers. But standing in the field, Franklin felt a sense of unity with these women, old men, and children that he hadn't found in the Sanctuary. Maybe I'm not so different from the people in Brighton, after all. He continued his sermon as the sun sank lower in the sky. When it was dark enough that he could barely read, he concluded with a passage from his reference books.

"And Lady looked over the laborers and the children, who were tired after a long day of harvesting, and said, 'One day you will look on your children, and your children's children, and you will realize the miracle of what we've built. The soil will grow richer with each year of crops. The sustenance we reap today will feed all of us for years to come. We will rejoice in what we have built: a town made of a piece of each of us. A town called Brighton." Satisfied, Franklin lowered his notes and finished his sermon. He watched as a few of the people broke from their work.

"Can we approach, Father?" asked a heavyset woman, with tanned skin and a red face.

"Yes, please do," Franklin said.

"We appreciate you coming out here, Father Franklin," said the woman. "We were disappointed that we couldn't attend the sermon earlier. But the soldiers…" the woman waved her hands and her voice trailed off.

"I understand."

An old man with white hair sidled up next to her. "It was nice to have some faith to do our work with," he added, with a smile that seemed genuine.

Franklin smiled back and waved at the children, who were skipping away over the field, rounding up baskets and tools, waiting for their relatives. Several other farmers—probably aunts, cousins, and grandparents—were herding them back to the house.

The heavyset woman gestured to another field next door. "Tomorrow you can speak to Henrietta and her clan, if you want. I'm sure they'll appreciate it, just as we have."

"That sounds like a great idea," Franklin said. "May The Word be with you."

"And with you, Father."

The woman and the old man bade him farewell as Franklin started back up the road with Fitz, Joseph, and his clergymen in tow. Looking over at his companions, he saw a purpose in their stride that he'd never seen in the halls of the Sanctuary.

Chapter 31:  Ella

Ella clung to William as they headed back to the ancient building where they were staying. She watched Ivory, but he didn't give any clue that anything was wrong.

Maybe he didn't see it, Ella told herself.

But she knew that wasn't true.

Try as she might, she couldn't convince herself that Ivory hadn't uncovered William's secret. Ivory smiled and chatted with Bray and Melora, as if he hadn't seen anything alarming. He wasn't acting any differently. But why would he?

Why would he do anything that gave him away?

She recalled the moment his expression had changed. That was the moment she'd seen her son dying under someone's fearful blade or bow.

She knew William was sick. She knew what the spores would lead to. But that decision was hers to make.

Not Ivory's. Not Brighton's.

Hers.

What if Ivory pieced together the reasons they had fled? What if he told the soldiers where they were? Anything was possible. She'd seen the fear that lived in Brighton, and Ivory was part of that fear.

"Mom, are you listening?" William asked, looking up at her. "I'm telling you about the bow."

"I am. I saw how good you did!" she said, afraid he might hear the crack in her voice.

Swallowing her panic, she kept William close, as if Ivory might turn and attack him in the middle of the street. She knew they shouldn't have been so quick to accept Ivory.

She should have trusted her intuition.

She needed to talk to Bray. She needed to figure out what to do. Whether it meant running, talking, or something else, she'd make whatever decision was needed to protect her family.

Chapter 32:  Ivory

Ivory kept his discovery quiet as he walked back to the ancient museum with Melora, Bray, William, and Ella. He didn't want to alarm them. He'd seen the hard, calcified knot on the back of William's neck.

He didn't care.

He'd seen enough knots on Jingo to know what one looked like, and they didn't always lead to violence. At least, not right away. From what Jingo had told him, the spore took effect at different rates in different people. Ivory suspected it might take a while for the boy to fully turn. The boy seemed strange, sure, but then a lot of people did. It was hard to tell how much of that was related to the spore.

The family had obviously been through a lot. That was bound to have an effect on him.

That simple discovery explained a lot. Ivory recalled the cautious looks Ella had given him and Melora's strange worry when she talked about her family. Any mother would be cautious when meeting a stranger in the wild, and so would a sister with a secret to hide.

Whether they were truly Davenport survivors, or a band of people seeking refuge from a burning, Ivory didn't know. But he didn't care.

He wasn't especially worried about William. Maybe Ivory would talk with Jingo about William when he saw him again.

He took a few furtive looks at Ella as he chatted with the others, but she didn't seem to notice.

Ivory vowed to keep his discovery quiet. When the time was right, he'd broach the subject with Melora. He'd just have to make it clear that he meant the family no harm.

Chapter 33:  Winthrop

Winthrop, a war god, marched along with his malevolent swarm, men and women thriving in the maw of the demon, fearlessly ignoring the wails of those too weak to stand against the onslaught of bloody steel and bared teeth. These few, these thousands, were his dark disciples, his hunters, his killers, his children, the invincible, the immortals.

The demons feared the war god and his people.

No longer did they attack in twos and threes, not even in packs of a few dozen. They ran when they heard the chanting and saw Winthrop's blood army marching through the seemingly endless maze of ruins, always toward the crumbling spires, the heart of the Ancient City, still in the distance but getting closer.

When the demons did fight, they rushed out of crumbled old buildings in mobs of hundreds, and they died, just as they'd perished by the thousands on that hill below the mountains with the Ancient City—a tall temptation—far down the coast. Their bodies lay in piles, and their blood flowed into creeks and stained the water red.

"Father." The tall, nameless priest was now spattered in new blood.

Winthrop reached out and ran his fingers through the splatters, pulled his hands away, and reveled for a moment at the feel of the demon blood rubbing between his fingertips.

"Father," the priest asked again, looking to catch Winthrop's attention.

Winthrop looked at his red fingers. So many pleasures were his for the taking. No trembling virgin, no hungry harlot could compare to the simple pleasure of blood. The former were mere delights of dirty men. Winthrop had transcended that mortal plain. He was a god as surely as any had ever been. He had godly desires and godly ambitions.

"The day is getting late, Father," the nameless priest told him. He pointed at the far-off towers. "Shall we march on to the spires? Or shall we sleep tonight? The men are tired. Not all are gods like you. We need rest."

Winthrop looked up at his brother, the sun god in the sky, and tried to put together in his mind whether it was late, early, or midday. He didn't know anymore. Time was a concept that enslaved mortal men. Winthrop had no need of it, and so he had forgotten all he had once known. Still, the nameless priest was right. Mortal men needed to sleep.

Winthrop made an effort to speak the mortal tongue. "Find them a place to rest."

Chapter 34:  Franklin

The early morning sun glanced off Franklin's face, filling him with warmth that matched the hope in his heart. Under his arms were several reference books and notes that he'd tailored to the sermon. Fitz, Joseph, and several clergymen strode next to him again, looking slightly less nervous than they had the day before. Franklin had slept only a little, but that sleep was better than none.

"Still no sign of the soldiers," Franklin said, looking around the empty street. He knew they'd be back. But he didn't want to dampen the mood. "We'll have more time to preach to Henrietta and her clan today. An early start will allow us to visit a few more farms. Maybe we can even hit the larger ones."

"I think that's our best bet," Fitz suggested.

They passed several large, old buildings that preceded the neighborhood of farms they'd visited yesterday. The day before, Franklin had barely glanced at the buildings. His fear of Tenbrook had ruled his thoughts. His neck craned upward as he took in the crumbling balconies and the withered peaks, enjoying the architecture.

"I don't think I've appreciated the beauty of these buildings in a while," Franklin said. "They're a sight to behold."

"They're beautiful," Fitz said. Pointing to a few that had been broken down and scavenged to fix other buildings, she said, "It'd be great to restore them and turn them into meeting houses one day."

"I like that idea," Franklin said with a smile.

His optimism was contagious as they passed the old buildings and the other clergymen smiled and chatted. Soon they neared the small cluster of farms where they'd preached the day before. In the distance, Franklin spotted the farm belonging to the heavyset woman and her family.

"We'll cut through and say hello," Franklin suggested.

They cut across a barren patch of dirt, heading for the simple stone structure that stood in the middle of the property. Behind it were the family's fields.

Franklin gazed through the windowless openings on the side of the modest building. Did the entire family live in one room? His most recent memories were of days spent surrounded by treasures and wealth. The meals he ate—if not wholly satisfying—were at least given out regularly. He made a note to incorporate his observation into his next sermon.

He'd only walked a few more steps when Fitz screamed. Fitz and Joseph broke into a run. They headed toward something in the middle of the field.

Franklin followed, heart hammering. His robe blew in the wind as he struggled to catch up. The clergymen panted and ran behind. When he reached Fitz's and Joseph's side, Franklin recoiled.

Lying on her back, a pitchfork shoved into her belly, was the heavyset woman with the red cheeks with whom he'd spoken the day before. Next to her was the old man, a hoe buried in the back of his neck. Their relatives lay in dead heaps around them.

"No!" Fitz sobbed.

Scratch marks and bruises showed the family had struggled. Pitchforks and shovels protruded from their bodies. Soldiers' boot prints littered the ground. Fitz checked the family members for signs of life, even though she knew they were dead.

"The children?" Franklin asked, hardly able to breathe.

Another scream gave him the answer he dreaded. One of the clergymen found them near the house, tossed into a heap and burned. Franklin sank to his knees, dropping his books and his notes. This was his fault. He'd caused this.

"Franklin, we need to get out of here," Fitz said, tugging on his arm.

Franklin's guilt was a crashing wave, sapping him of strength and leaving him motionless. The clergymen looked in all directions, as if soldiers were waiting to finish them off. They chattered in nervous bursts.

"We have to get out of here," one of them echoed.

"Tenbrook will kill us."

Another voice interrupted them.

"Get out of here! Leave!" someone shouted.

Franklin's head snapped up to find a woman running into the yard. Her long, scraggly hair fell over her face as she frantically waved her arms.

"We don't want your sermon!" the woman shrieked. "Get out of here! All of you!"

Henrietta, Franklin thought numbly, the woman whose family they were supposed to speak with.

Franklin barely registered what she was saying.

"Get out of here, before my family dies like the others!"

"What happened?" Fitz called between sobs.

"The soldiers!" the woman screamed. "They came and butchered them!"

"We didn't know this would happen," Franklin said hopelessly, wringing his hands. "We didn't intend this."

"Get out of here, before my children are killed! Please!"

Before they could ask the woman anything further, she turned and ran. Her nervous gasps faded from earshot as she reached a dwelling in the distance and slammed the door. Franklin forced himself to his feet, heeding Fitz's frantic warnings. They collected the others.

"We have to go, before the soldiers return," he heard Fitz say.

"Someone should bury these people," Joseph sobbed.

"We'll send someone back for them," Fitz whispered. "I promise."

Chapter 35:  Ella

"What's wrong?" Bray asked, looking at Ella's hand on his sleeve. "Are you trying to lure me in for another kiss?"

"No." Ella's eyes were wide and terrified. She'd barely slept the night before, watching over William more than sleeping. "We need to talk."

"What about?"

"Ivory." Ella looked all around. "Where are Ivory and Melora?"

"Upstairs."

"William?"

"He's still behind you, in the building."

Ella looked over her shoulder into the building, verifying that William was still wandering among the pedestals. He didn't appear to be listening.

"William, stay down here," she called behind her.

"Okay, Mom," he called back.

She tugged Bray out onto the steps, sucking in a nervous breath.

Keeping her voice low, she said, "Ivory saw the lump on William's neck."

Bray's expression turned serious as the statement sunk in. "How do you know?"

Ella ignored the question. Her thoughts ran away from her as her panic grew. "I told William to hide his condition. I shouldn't have let him shoot that bow. But he was so excited."

"Ella, slow down. How do you know Ivory found out?"

"When we were in the building yesterday, Ivory dropped an arrow. William picked it up. Do you remember?"

"I think so. But that doesn't mean he saw."

"Ivory saw the lump. I saw his face change."

"Are you sure?" Bray asked, stroking his chin.

"I'm sure," Ella whispered. Even as the words left her mouth, she found herself questioning what she had seen, replaying the moment in her head. Even if she hadn't been certain, she would've said she was. She needed to protect William.

"He didn't seem any different on the walk back," Bray noted. "At least, not that I noticed."

"We need to talk to him and find out what his motives are."

"We might have to do more than that," Bray said with a grim shrug, looking down at his sword. "If he goes back to Brighton and tells someone where we are, the soldiers might come."

Wrapping her mind around the idea as she spoke, Ella said, "What will we do, then?

Bray bit his lip. "Let's start out by talking to him. Maybe it will go no further."

Chapter 36:  Franklin

"Tenbrook is an invisible snake, coiled at our heels," Fitzgerald said, drying her tears. "Striking when our backs are turned."

Franklin bowed his head and stared at the floor in his room. He nodded. Hours of mourning and regret had segued into a defeated silence. After returning to the Sanctuary, Franklin had dismissed Joseph and the clergymen. He imagined they were huddled somewhere in the Sanctuary, discussing Tenbrook's brutality with anyone who would listen. The story would spread around the Temple and make its way into town, undermining any authority Franklin had left.

That was Tenbrook's intention.

How long until Franklin's sermons were completely empty? How long until he was sitting in a vacant room, waiting for the sword to strike him down?

Tenbrook's game would end in his death.

"We need to do something," Fitz tried, but even her voice sounded hopeless.

"We can't go out there again," Franklin said simply. "I won't have others killed for my actions. Not again."

Fitz opened her mouth, but her protest died.

"Those farmers were killed because we were there," he continued. "That was the only reason."

"They didn't break his guideline," Fitz said, as if she might argue them back to life. "Neither did we."

"Tenbrook doesn't need a reason to kill," Franklin said. "He makes up reasons. How can we fight brutality like that with words?" Thinking of the butchered children, Franklin shook his head. "If I could do it again, I'd spend years training as a soldier instead of praying in the Sanctuary. I'd stick a blade in his neck."

Fitz grabbed his arm, but she didn't disagree.

Franklin sighed. He closed his eyes. What would they do? He hugged her even as his thoughts roamed to the dead people in the field, for whose deaths he was responsible.

"We need to find another way," Fitz whispered. Franklin sighed and embraced her, inhaling the scent of her hair and drawing comfort in her presence, trying to think of one.

But he couldn't.

Instead he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if their time together was running out.

Chapter 37:  Ella

"William, can you stay downstairs for a minute?" Ella asked, taking hold of his arm.

"Why? What's going on, Mom?"

"We have to talk upstairs. We'll send Melora down to keep you company."

William's face wandered from Ella's to Bray's. Bray reinforced the statement with a firm nod.

"Why are you talking without me?" William asked.

Realizing the implication behind that question, Ella projected as much honesty as she could into her answer. "We're trying to protect you, William." Ella looked up the stairs, afraid that the voices would cease and someone would be listening. "It's Ivory. We need to make sure he's trustworthy."

"But he was so nice to me when he showed me the bow," William argued.

"We're just talking, that's all," Ella reinforced. "Stay here and we'll come get you when we're done."

Ella swallowed as she said the words. One day, they'd be having a different discussion, but not now. She hugged William tightly, kissed him on the head, and followed Bray up the stairs. The voices in the upstairs room continued. She heard Melora laughing as Ivory told a joke. Her heart pounded as she kept walking. She noticed Bray occasionally running a hand over his sword.

"Call Melora out first," he whispered.

Ella nodded. When they crossed the threshold of the first room, Ivory and Melora were sitting with their backs against one of the walls, holding their knees, smiling.

"Melora, can you watch William downstairs for a moment?"

Melora sat up straight. "Sure. Is everything all right?"

"It's fine. William wanted to stay there while we came upstairs to check on something. We'll be back down in a few minutes."

Ella put on the most harmless expression she could convey. Melora got to her feet, giving a quick glance at Ivory.

"I'll be right back," she told Ivory.

"Okay," he said.

"Thanks," Ella replied, as Melora walked past her and out into the hallway.

Ella waited until Melora descended the stairs before she looked back at Ivory, who was sitting against the wall, waiting. He looked down at his bow for a moment, running his hands across the smooth metal. He looked back when he realized Ella and Bray were still watching him.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

"No," Ella said, hoping to prevent a bad situation. "We just want to ask you some things."

Ivory tensed. "What things?"

"We want to make sure you're being honest with us."

Ivory's eyes narrowed as the discussion took a turn he didn't like. He slowly got to his feet, watching Bray and Ella, clutching his bow. "Everything I've said is the truth," he said. "I'm a rabbit hunter from Brighton. Sometimes I come to the Ancient City."

He watched Bray, as if Bray might correct him, but he didn't.

"Did you really come across Melora by accident?" Ella asked.

Ivory looked at the empty doorway, as if Melora might have something to do with the line of questioning. "I saw Melora in danger. I helped."

Bray frowned.

"I don't understand what this is about," Ivory said, watching all of them. "If you want me to leave, I'll go. I appreciate you letting me stay for a while. But if your kindness ends here, so be it."

Ella swallowed, wishing it were that easy. After a long pause, she said, "I know what you saw at the Ancient marketplace."

Ivory said nothing.

"I saw you looking at William's neck," Ella said, removing any doubt as to the subject of the discussion.

Ivory paused, thinking about his answer. Deciding on something, he admitted, "Yes, I saw something when he bent down to pick up an arrow."

"What?" Bray asked.

"A lump." Ivory stuck a thumb over his shoulder. "On the back of William's neck. I know he's infected."

Hearing the words filled Ella with the same dread she'd had in the woods in Brighton all those days ago, when she'd first discovered William's condition herself. Her arms and legs went weak.

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Ivory added hastily. "I don't care about that."

"How can we trust you're not going to tell someone?" Bray asked.

"I'm not supposed to be in the Ancient City. I could be killed for admitting it."

"Most people would be tempted to say something when they got back to town. They'd tell a friend. Or maybe a soldier."

"Not me. I have no reason to give you up. My father was infected. If I had been in Brighton before he confessed, I would've persuaded him to keep his secret." Ivory shook his head. "I don't believe in Brighton's methods. They're unnecessarily cruel."

"But you're afraid of catching the spore, like everyone else," Bray said.

Ivory breathed heavily. "It's not flowering season among the spores. I can't be infected."

Bray bit his lip. "You know more than most. I'll give you that."

"I don't care whether your story about Davenport is true. You can believe me, or not. Maybe I should head back home now."

"You mean back to Brighton," Bray said, a suspicious look crossing his face.

Bray and Ivory appraised each other. A tension settled over the room that usually resulted in swords and blows. Ella's heart galloped as she considered the possibility that she might have to intervene in a bloody duel. Before the conversation turned harsh, a voice called from the doorway.

"He's telling the truth."

Ella spun to find Melora and William standing at the threshold.

"How long have you been there?" Ella asked.

"Long enough to hear most of what's been said," Melora answered. "I've been with Ivory for days, and he's never lied to me. He helped me when the demons came. He won't hurt William."

Ella watched William. She watched Ivory. She wanted to believe Ivory. She really did. How much easier would it be if she didn't have to carry an extra worry?

"I believe him, too," William said, breaking the silence.

Some of the tension deflated from the room. Bray took a step backward.

Ivory held up his bow and looked at Ella. "Look, you're only trying to protect your son. I understand that. I'd be as wary as you are. You seem like good people. You've been charitable with me. You've given me food and a place to rest. In the wild, those things aren't easily shared. I know how hard it is to lose someone to the infection, or to the burnings." Ivory looked away as a tinge of emotion hit him. He glanced at Melora, and she gave him a supportive smile. "That's why I'm going to tell you something. I know something that might help William."

"Help him?" Ella asked, confusion written on her face.

"I have a friend."

"A friend?" Bray watched him, furrowing his brow. "I thought you were alone."

"I am, right now. But I know a person who lives in the Ancient City. I was with this person before I came across Melora. He was infected by the spore, but he never turned."

"You mean a demon," Bray grunted, disbelief crossing his face.

"Technically, yes. But he's not like the rest of them. He's survived, and he's living out his days in peace. He's the smartest man I know. He might have some insight or advice for William."

"A smart demon? A human demon?" Bray blew a disbelieving breath. The corners of his mouth creased into a laugh.

"Yes. Everything I've told you about the Ancient City I've learned from him." Ivory paused, studying their reaction. "I can introduce you to him. I can't guarantee he'll be able to help, but it's worth a try."

"Where is this smart demon?" Bray asked.

"In the Ancient City. He lives in one of the towers overlooking the ocean."

Bray shook his head in disbelief. "No one lives in the Ancient City by choice. Why would he live here?"

"He hides because people fear his grotesque appearance. He looks like the demons, but he's not one of them. It was he who found this bow." Ivory held up the ancient weapon, prompting everyone in the room to look at it again. "It was he who restrung it and taught me how to use it."

Ella searched Ivory's face for insincerity. Ivory looked between Ella and Melora. A surge of hope overrode Ella's fear. What if Ivory was telling the truth? She wasn't naive; she knew Ivory was trying to impress Melora. Maybe this was another story to earn her adulation.

But if his story was true, it certainly explained how he could know all the things he'd shared with them. What if there really was help for William? She bit back tears as she thought about the ramifications of what he was saying. She'd always suspected people had lived through the disease, but the Elders of Brighton had burned that evidence to ash.

What if William could have a life, after all?

"We should listen to him," William said again from the doorway, prompting everyone to turn and look at him. He stood next to Melora with a stoic face, nodding at Ivory.

Bray looked skeptical. "This might be a trap, and you're leading us somewhere so you can rob us."

"I swear by The Word that it's not." Ivory held their gaze. "I'm only trying to help."

"There's only one way to prove it," Bray said. "If you're telling the truth, take us to this demon."

Chapter 38:  Franklin

Franklin sat up suddenly. He startled Fitz, who was still lying on the bed next to him.

"We can't preach in the Sanctuary," Franklin reiterated.

"No. Not while Tenbrook is discouraging attendance," Fitz agreed.

"But what if we could go somewhere that gave us enough of a crowd that not everyone could be punished? A place where Tenbrook had no way of isolating who was listening and who was not?"

"Where would that be?" Fitz asked, sitting up.

Franklin fell silent for a few moments before the idea materialized. "How about the marketplace? If we pick a time when the crowds are big enough, Tenbrook won't be able to punish everyone."

Fitz furrowed her brow. "People will be reluctant to listen, after what happened to the farmers."

"Of course," Franklin said. "But they'll be there, and that might give us a chance to affect them."

Fitz thought on it. "You have a point. The People might be afraid to chant or recite words, but we can probably get them to stop and listen. Maybe we can build on that somehow."

Franklin asked, "How can we get them to participate?"

"That's the difficult part that I'm struggling with." Fitz sat up and concentrated. "They're all afraid of Tenbrook, and that will keep them quiet."

"Half the power of the sermons is the parishioners responding to what I'm saying. I didn't realize how important that was until I preached to an empty room."

"You're right about that," Fitz agreed. "We need them to overcome their fear so they'll speak."

"I wish Evan were here," Franklin said, lowering his head. "He had a strange ability to understand people. If he were still alive, maybe we could work together."

"You know what, Franklin? I just thought of something." Fitz's eyes grew hopeful. "I remembered what we were talking about before. Remember what I was saying to you earlier, about the power of The People, standing together to protect us?"

Franklin nodded.

"Maybe that same power can protect them, as well. There is a great power in a crowd, Franklin."

"How will we force people to react, when the threat of death is so strong?"

"I've watched a lot of the crowds between the town gatherings and the sermons. I've noticed the way people react when they're standing with others. A lot of times, the crowd is just waiting for a loud, energetic few to bolster their courage. We just need to create a spark that will ignite the rest of the crowd into saying their catechisms. Once that happens, you can build on that energy."

"But who will be the first to speak, and risk being punished?"

"I have an idea, Franklin. This might work."

Chapter 39:  Fitzgerald

Fitz found Joseph in the main room of the Sanctuary, scrubbing stains from the pews like Oliver used to do. He startled as she came in. She held up her hands and smiled to soothe his nerves.

"How are you doing, Joseph?"

Joseph looked over his shoulder at the Sanctuary doors. "I'm all right."

He bent down and kept scrubbing the pews. His eyes flitted nervously from the bench to Fitz. Fitz took up next to the edge of the pew, watching him with a sympathetic smile.

"It's hard concentrating on my work, after what happened to those farmers," Fitz admitted.

Joseph paused. "I know." He looked over his shoulder at the doors again and said, "I keep thinking soldiers are going to come in and rip us away."

Fitz swallowed. "It's hard not to think that, isn't it?"

"Those farmers didn't deserve a malicious death like that."

"Nobody does," Fitz agreed.

Joseph returned to his work. He shut his mouth, as if he'd already spoken too much.

Fitz looked around the room. Noticing Joseph was only half finished, she asked, "Do you need help?"

Joseph stopped and looked at her, as if no one had ever asked him that question. He looked back at the bucket of water. Fitz saw a dry rag hanging on the edge. Without waiting for an answer, she reached for it and went to work on the pew next to him.

"Don't you have other work to do?" Joseph asked.

"I don't mind helping," Fitz said, scrubbing intently. "Working helps me take my mind off things."

"It does for me, too," Joseph admitted.

"Sometimes the work is the only thing that seems like it doesn't change." Fitz sighed.

Joseph paused for a moment, reflecting on that thought. "I never thought I'd see Winthrop leave Brighton."

"Me, neither," Fitz said. She paused for a moment before speaking again. "When I was emptying his buckets, I used to think he was one of the worst things I had to worry about. I wish that was the truth."

"But things must be better for you. Aren't they?"

Fitz watched Joseph for a moment. "It's no secret that I've spent a lot of time with Father Franklin. It's also no secret that I believe in the message he's trying to spread. I think the clergy feels the same way as I do, even though they still fear him for what he did to Father Nelson."

"That's true," Joseph said with a nod.

Fitz said, "But I also believe that he is trying to make things better in Brighton. Do you?"

Joseph nodded. "He's been very fair with me, so far."

"I was just talking to him about his next sermon. He mentioned how loyal you've been, Joseph. He's going to need our help again."

Joseph stopped scrubbing the pew, focusing on Fitz. His eyes grew wide with fear. "What do you mean?"

"He's going to need our support when he speaks again."

"Another sermon?" Joseph asked. "You mean at the Sanctuary, right?"

He stared at Fitz while he waited for an answer.

"No," Fitz said, smiling through her own nervousness. "At the marketplace."

"The marketplace?" Joseph stood and scooted away from Fitz as if he'd just been told he might die.  "If we do that, we might be killed."

"It won't be like last time. We don't have to stand up there with him."

"We don't?"

"No. We have something else to do."

"What?"

"Listen, and I'll tell you."

Chapter 40:  Bray

Bray suppressed a laugh as he walked through the Ancient City streets next to Ivory and the others. How could he believe Ivory's story? In all his years in the wild, Bray had never encountered a smart demon, and definitely not one that could talk. Sure, some were a little more agile, or a little more devious than the rest, but by the time he sank his blade into them, they squealed and squirmed the same. They were foul, stinking beasts, worth only a few coin at the nearest township for their scalps.

Of course, he understood Ella's hope.

"Are you sure this demon lives in the tower alone?" Bray asked Ivory, looking sideways at him.

Ivory nodded. "Yes."

"Maybe he has his own harem of Barren Women. Demon women." Bray let out a raucous laugh.

Ivory bit his lip, but didn't answer.

Bray looked toward Melora, Ella, and William, but none of them said a word. They all held the same hopeful look. They walked through a narrow street filled with tall, narrow buildings made of ancient stone, buildings that seemed too tall to be functional. Bray decided to test more of Ivory's knowledge.

"I wonder how the Ancients got to the top floors of these buildings," Bray mused. "That must've taken some work." Turning to Ivory, he asked, "Why did they build these buildings so high, anyway?"

"A lot of people lived in the Ancient City," Ivory said. "They had to accommodate them all."

"Why not build further into the woods?"

"They did a lot of important things here," Ivory said. "I guess everyone wanted to be in the same proximity as each other."

"Didn't it take them all day to get to the top?"

"The Ancients had devices that carried them from the bottom to the highest levels. They didn't have to worry about that as much."

Bray grunted. "That still seems like a waste. They should've spread out more in the wild. Who'd want to live close enough to smell someone else's chamber pot?"

Ivory shrugged. "It's not that different in Brighton."

"Good point."

Ivory looked apprehensive. Bray wondered if he was reconsidering his story about the demon man. As soon as we get to this tower, his lie will be exposed. He probably told it to get in Melora's pants.

Bray was still thinking about that when a screeching demon ran out of a nearby doorway. He drew his sword, intercepting the thing.

"Watch out!" he yelled at Ella.

Bray stared down the advancing demon as it snarled and hissed. The creature's lopsided head sagged to one side. One of its legs was wounded. Its arms were dotted with warts. Bray raised his sword and slashed through the meat of its shoulder. He used his boot to stave off its still-swinging arms, kicking it over and wrenching his blade free. When it hit the ground, he speared it in the stomach, watching it kick and squirm in a final battle against death. When it stopped moving, Bray leaned down and went to work on its scalp. His blood raced with adrenaline. He looked at Ivory.

Talking demon, my ass.

Chapter 41:  Winthrop

Winthrop looked up at the decaying, ancient stone towers, layers and layers of them, with pillars in between, standing as tall as mountains, covered with all manner of plants and trees. Birds flew off the towers in great flocks as his army approached, squawking and filling the slivers of sky between the ancient monoliths.

They'd reached the home of the beasts.

"They're running from us, Father."

Winthrop looked at his disciples, far ahead on the street fighting demons. He looked left, right, and behind. It was the same all around. "You're lying, my son."

"No, Father. Some of them are fighting, but many of them flee. How will we kill the demons if they run away?" the nameless priest asked.

Winthrop hated when his followers asked questions that were beyond their comprehension. So, he answered in god-speak, raising his hands to praise the grandeur of the monoliths, finding an inspiration for a new chant. There was something to these massive stone monsters that made his soul sing. Of course, it wasn't a song with the clarity and satisfaction of a dirge, inspired by the slaughter of mindless demons, but it satisfied in its way.

"Shall we go into the towers to chase them when they run?" asked the nameless priest.

"If we're to find their nests," said Winthrop, slipping into human speech without realizing he had, "how else are we to find their progeny and slay them at the breast? All of them must die—their old, their young, their women, their sick, and their warriors. All. Do you understand, my son?"

"Yes, Father."

"Kill them all. Give me a carpet of their corpses to walk upon as I stroll the streets of their city. That is the way it must be. For they must know I am their conqueror. I am the god who rules their hell, come to take their souls. Bring me their souls, my son!"

Chapter 42:  Ivory

As they walked toward Jingo's tower, Ivory reconsidered his decision to bring the others. He still wanted to help William, but he could tell Bray didn't believe him. Melora, Ella, and William were hopeful, but wary.

What if the meeting didn't go as well as he intended? Besides, he hadn't consulted Jingo. He hoped his teacher wouldn't be angry.

Ivory wasn't lying. He really did think that Jingo could help William, or at the very least, offer some advice. He reflected on the conversations he'd had over the years with Jingo. Jingo expected something of him. He'd always known that. For years, he'd learned under Jingo's tutelage. But what good was the knowledge if it couldn't be shared? Maybe this was the start of something that would make Jingo proud.

He told himself that once the group met Jingo, they'd believe what he had been telling them, even though part of him wanted to turn around and head back to the museum.

He looked over at Melora, who smiled. She'd come to his defense in the ancient building.

It will all work out, he told himself, as he caught sight of Jingo's tower in the distance.

Chapter 43:  Ivory

Ivory peered into the dark lower floor of the tower, even though he knew Jingo wouldn't be there. Rarely was Jingo on the ground level unless he was coming in or out of the building, or cleaning up one of the splattered demons that had taken a misstep on one of the numerous flights of stairs. That was one of the reasons Jingo kept to his quarters or on the roof. Even though the area was one of the safer ones, demons sometimes wandered in.

As Ivory looked into the building, he realized that he smelled the cloying, pungent odor of the twisted men. Surprisingly, Jingo didn't possess the same odor. Ivory swallowed.

"I smell demons," Bray noted. "Are you leading us into a trap?"

"Why would I do that?" Ivory asked. "I'd be at as much risk as you."

"Good point," Bray grunted, but he drew his sword anyway. "We should be careful."

Ivory looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Ella, Melora, and William. They looked nervous.

"Hang behind us," Bray told them.

Ivory stepped into the building, listening for sounds of his teacher as he clutched his bow. The only sound he heard was a distant rumble. Looking up and behind him, he saw storm clouds gathering in the distance.

"Looks like rain is coming," Bray said. "Hurry up, before we get soaked."

Ivory proceeded further into the building. Dusty, broken rubble littered their path. The air smelled of decayed metals. He stepped over several piles of ancient stone—stone that Jingo had left there intentionally to trip up unwanted visitors—and made his way to the stairs. Operating on muscle memory, Ivory climbed the steps, skirting holes and steep edges that dropped into the building's dark middle. Bray and the others followed closely behind. Ivory's bag shifted on his back as he made progress.

"Be careful," he warned Bray. "There are a lot of places to fall here."

"Watch your step," Bray relayed to the others.

They remained quiet and anxious.

Ivory recalled his first meeting with Jingo. He'd been terrified. His uncle had introduced them after a long trek from Brighton. Jingo's appearance had horrified him, at first. Between the warts and his oddly shaped head, Jingo had seemed more suited for nightmares than friendship. Young Ivory had hidden behind his uncle, certain the strange creature would screech and attack. Instead, Jingo had spoken, and it was through those gentle words that Ivory learned to look past Jingo's frightening appearance and accept him as a teacher.

He hoped the same thing would happen for the others.

They'd traveled about halfway up the building when Bray halted, stopping Ivory. He gestured out of a hole in the side of the building that was the size of a man. Ivory tensed.

"I hear something," Bray grunted.

"Thunder," Ivory reiterated.

"Not thunder. Something else."

Ivory stopped and listened. A low rumble was drawing closer. Were those demon cries? Bray was right—it didn't sound like any thunder he had ever heard. Ivory stared down at the streets and around some of the lower buildings, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise.

"Over there!" Bray hissed, pointing a finger.

Far below them, about a dozen blocks up the street, an army of bodies spilled forward. Ivory stared incredulously, unable to believe he was seeing something real. As the mob approached, he realized that what he thought was thunder was actually shouting and shrieking.

It was people, fighting demons.

He wiped his eyes. The men were bare-chested, covered in blood. The women were bedraggled and screaming. As they got closer, he saw them striking at demons that were pouring out of adjacent buildings and chasing them. The men and women slashed at them with swords and spears.

"By the gods," Ivory whispered.

"Who are those people?" Bray asked, his voice cracking with unease that Ivory had never heard.

"I don't know," Ivory said. "I've seen a few people in the Ancient City—another scavenger, occasionally—but never as many as this."

"Me, neither. Whoever they are, we need to make sure they don't see us," Bray said.

Ivory glanced over his shoulder. Ella, Melora, and William had stopped. Their stiff postures showed that they were equally afraid. Suddenly, the situation with Jingo seemed less urgent than getting to safety.

"Let's get upstairs. There are plenty of places to hide, if we need them," Ivory said.

All at once, Ivory was leading the way, running around holes and divots, pointing out obstacles. Bray followed him without another word. The others kept a steady pace as they forged up the stairs, their breath heaving.

"Stay away from the walls," Ivory instructed.

The last thing he needed was for the people outside to spot them. Whether it was a lunatic gang of settlers or some army from Brighton, he wasn't sure. What kind of people covered themselves in blood, screaming and drawing up demons? And there were so many. A thousand. Maybe more. Disbelief caused him to keep racing up the stairs, hoping Jingo was at the top and that he'd know what to do.

Ivory tried convincing himself the people wouldn't come into the tower, but he couldn't be certain. He patted the quiver at his side, prepared to nock an arrow. Soon they were mounting the last few rows of stairs. The noise abated. Looking out of a glassless window, Ivory saw the mysterious army take a turn and momentarily disappear from sight.

"Where'd they go?" Bray asked, stopping and scanning the streets.

"I don't know. Follow me." Ivory stepped off the stairwell into a large, secluded room with intact walls—the highest floor, other than the roof. Unlike the damp floors beneath them, this one smelled faintly of the spices that Jingo used to prepare meals. Ivory looked around at several blocks of concrete on which Jingo usually perched, noting a few wrinkled blankets draped over one of them, but he didn't see many of his teacher's usual belongings. The reading books that Jingo normally kept out were hidden. Normally Jingo tucked away his belongings if he wasn't going to be home.

"Is this where your demon friend lives?" Bray asked, disbelief on his face.

"Yes." Ivory crept through the room, noticing a few cooking utensils, but he saw no sign of Jingo.

"Maybe these are your things," Bray muttered as he examined a spoon.

What if something had happened to Jingo? Ivory hadn't seen him in days. What if the vicious mob had made off with him? What if he'd been killed, or fled the Ancient City?

"He might be on the roof," Ivory said, his stomach dropping as he considered the very real possibility that he'd never see his teacher again.

"The army's coming this way," Bray noticed, as he followed Ivory to the staircase, glancing out of a small window in the side of the stairwell.

Mounting the last few steps, Ivory skirted the stones and fallen debris that preceded the roof. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm as he stepped out under a gray, cloudy sky.

"Jingo?" Ivory called across the roof.

No answer. He looked in all directions. The roof was vacant. Lifeless. Blocks of cracked, ancient stone were arranged in various places across the roof where Jingo had moved them to get better views of the city. Or had Ivory?

For a moment, Ivory considered the possibility that Jingo had never existed. What if my lonely mind, desperate for company, constructed a pale, wart-covered companion? He'd read books about types of illnesses that could affect the brain, other than the accepted threat of the demon spore. Ivory shook off the ridiculous thought.

He looked across the bulky stones where he or Jingo used to sit or rest. His teacher was nowhere in sight. Ella, Melora, and William lingered at the top of the stairs as the cries from the streets grew louder. Looking over at Bray, Ivory saw the look of mistrust solidify.

"There's no demon," Bray said. "Is there?"

"Yes. He lives—" Ivory started to speak, then went quiet. In the distance, a demon emitted a dying screech. The men and women whooped unintelligibly.

Ivory took a few steps across the roof, peering out over the city, finding the mass of screaming lunatics a few blocks away. They had made it to the top of the street.

Bray stared at Ivory. It took a moment for Ivory to realize Bray wasn't staring at him, but at something else. Ivory spun to find Jingo emerging from behind a piece of ancient stone. Jingo cocked his wart-covered head as he appraised his visitors.

"You brought others," Jingo said simply.

Chapter 44:  Franklin

Franklin walked through the throngs of women, old men, and children in the marketplace as he approached the center of town.

Some of the townsfolk were chatting; others were dealing or trading wares. Children weaved in and out of the crowds, laughing and swatting at each other. Merchants' wives waved their hands as they tried to sell whatever products they were peddling. A few passersby recognized Franklin and fell into hushed whispers. Before his appointment as Bishop, he'd only received looks of disdain. Now he received plenty of notice.

He looked around for Tenbrook's soldiers, but didn't see any. Franklin swallowed and looked at the sky. In the time he'd been walking, it had turned ominous with thick, gray clouds, threatening a storm. Hopefully he could beat the rain.

Walking in the midst of the marketers, he stopped at a busy corner next to a stone building. He glanced at the nearest merchant, who was a half a building away. The woman paused in the middle of a deal and watched him. Heads turned as more people recognized Franklin; those people told others. A few people stopped in the middle of the road, realizing something was about to happen.

Franklin looked around, feeling naked without his pulpit and his clergy. He swallowed.

Forcing back the same nervousness that he felt at the Sanctuary, he cleared his throat and spoke.

Projecting his voice above the crowds, he said, "The Word welcomes all who walk among the people of Brighton. Whether we are toiling in the fields, passing the ways of The Word to our children, or visiting from other towns and villages, we trust in our faith to lead us. We offer limitless praise to the gods."

More people stopped talking, their conversations trailing off.

They watched Franklin in silence.

"The Word says we should worship, no matter where we are, or what we are doing. It follows us from the pews of the Sanctuary to the streets of Brighton. It follows us through all the towns and villages, and through all the chores and tasks we must do." He paused for breath. "It follows all our soldiers and militia in the wild, as they do battle with the demons."

Franklin paused, watching the curious but frightened faces of the crowd. No one responded. No one nodded. No one called out catechisms. The silence had become so deep that for a second, Franklin was convinced Tenbrook was standing behind him, waiting to strike him down.

Out of nowhere, a woman shouted, "Praised be our brothers in battle!"

Franklin's heart leapt as he recognized the voice.

Fitz.

Emboldened, Franklin grew louder. "Our brothers, sisters, and relatives need our strength as they roam the wild while we remain in Brighton. We support them through our belief in The Word. It is up to us to keep our faith strong and our hearts hard. We all face hardships, but together we conquer them, using our spirit and our devotion to The Word."

"So sayeth The Word!" someone else yelled.

Joseph.

A few cheers erupted in the crowd from people Franklin didn't recognize.

The women in the front row nodded, swaying with building excitement. They clutched their children, slowly losing their fear. The old men grunted agreement. A few more people started yelling from the middle of the crowd, picking up on the energy of the others. The same power that Franklin had felt in the Sanctuary trickled back, filling him with a burst of righteousness. He continued talking with more fervor, as thunder rumbled in the clouds overhead and the first few patters of rain splashed into the street around him.

Soon the crowd filtered from the surrounding streets, growing in number and surrounding Franklin. They shouted along with Franklin when they recognized familiar words. Even the merchants seemed to have stopped conducting business. Franklin's confidence grew with each phrase, as if Tenbrook had never existed, as if he'd never killed those farmers or burned those men in the square. The crowd's enthusiasm was a rising power that felt unstoppable.

When the crowd cheered, Franklin spoke more loudly. When the crowd responded, he used their energy to guide him. Soon the rain was pelting them and Franklin was talking louder than before, throwing his words over the downpour with more force than he ever had in the Sanctuary. The women covered their heads with their shawls, listening instead of retreating. The children smiled and laughed in the rain. Franklin never wanted to let go of that moment.

It wasn't until Franklin's words were masked with rain that he realized how wet he was. He looked at the sky, acknowledging the torrential downpour.

"Go and get cover and finish your business in the market!" he shouted. "I'll talk to you again soon! Together we'll celebrate the joy of The Word! No one can tend fields in the foul weather! We won't be breaking any guidelines!"

Smiles lit the faces of the crowd as they dispersed, chatting excitedly. Franklin felt a burst of joy as he looked for Joseph and Fitz.

**

"You did it!" Fitz said, beaming as they made their way back to the Sanctuary.

"I can't believe it worked," Franklin said, blinking the rain from his eyes as if he was breaking from a trance. He clutched his stack of books and notes under his robe, shaking from the cold. "I can't believe they listened."

"That was one of the biggest crowds I've ever seen at a single sermon!" Joseph said with a wide smile.

Fitz pulled Franklin's arm protectively, leading him faster. "Come on, Franklin! Let's get back to the Sanctuary, before your books get too wet!"

Chapter 45:  Ivory

Jingo's eyes passed over Bray, Ella, Melora, and William. He looked back at Ivory. Jingo's coat was too big for his body. He held a knife in his hand.

"Who are these people?" he asked Ivory.

"People I met in the city," Ivory said.

"I was wondering where you went," Jingo replied. "I was afraid something happened to you. Seeing all those people and demons made me worried. And it looks like it's about to storm." Jingo raised a bony arm and gestured off the rooftop.

Behind Ivory, he heard a gasp. Ivory turned to find Ella, Melora, and William in a state of shock, their eyes wide as they surveyed Jingo's bulbous head. They were standing at the top of the last staircase. Bray appeared as if he was frozen in place several steps in front of them. Ivory was so used to Jingo's appearance that he'd forgotten how others might act in front of him.

Ivory held up his hands. "It's okay. No one will harm you here."

"Though I can't say the same for the people in the streets," Jingo added.

Jingo might as well not have spoken. No one heard him. No one reacted. They stared as if he was a ghost come to life.

Cries floated from somewhere below the building. "I was watching those people before I heard you coming up the stairs," Jingo said. "They're hunting demons. They think they can eradicate them. What they don't realize is that they're attracting all of them from the area with the noise. The city will be overrun soon. That is the way this has gone in the past."

Ella walked slowly from the stairs to stand on the other side of Bray, her mouth agape. She couldn't take her eyes off of Jingo.

"You can speak," she whispered, as if she'd misheard Jingo.

"Yes," Jingo said, a half-smile on his face. He looked at Ella as if he was greeting an old friend. "I don't get any visitors, other than Ivory. One would think I'd forget how."

"B-but you're a demon."

"I suppose you could call me that, although I don't associate with them. I prefer to remain in my tower, passing my time alone. I was infected. But that doesn't mean I'm not human."

"But I don't—" Ella's sentence cut off as she tried to formulate a question. There were too many. Ivory knew the feeling.

"Stay back, Ella," Bray warned, grabbing Ella's arm. Tension spread over the roof as he glared at Jingo. "He's got a knife."

"I only grabbed it because I heard voices," Jingo explained. "I mean you no harm."

"It's okay," Ivory repeated. "No one's here to fight." Ivory watched Bray, hoping to get the conversation back on track. "He's the one I told you about—the one who can help William."

"William," Jingo mused, looking over at the top of the stairs. He pointed a finger at the boy. "Is that you?"

William nodded and swallowed.

"You don't look infected. Although I suppose I didn't, either, at first."

William opened and closed his mouth, still in shock as he remained by Melora's side. Melora held onto William's sleeve. Jingo took a step toward William, holding up his hands and the knife.

"If you want, I can—"

Bray charged. One minute he was standing next to Ella, the next he was hoisting his sword in the air and yelling.

"No!" Ella screamed.

Ella snagged Bray, catching hold of his sleeve and dragging behind him. She fell. Bray swung at Jingo, but Ella's intervention caused him to miss. Jingo cried out and scooted backward, bumping up against the ancient stone he'd emerged from behind. And then Ella was on her feet in between Bray and Jingo, waving her hands, trying to stop Bray. Bray's eyes stung with violence as he pushed Ella aside and swung again.

Ella dove in the way.

Ivory watched in horror as the blade sliced into Ella's neck. Her eyes went wide as she realized she'd been deeply cut. Screams and panic filled the air. Bray tried wrenching the blade free from Ella as she fell to the ground. The world became a chaotic, red mess of screaming and cries and threats as Melora and William ran for their mother, waving their swords.

"Ella!" Ivory screamed, his warning a beat behind.

Jingo skirted away, taking refuge. Bray fell to his knees, pulling his sword free and screaming Ella's name as her blood spewed from her neck and soaked the rooftop around her. Melora and William reached him, shouting and waving their weapons. Sensing danger, Bray scooted to his feet, backing away from the already-lifeless woman.

In an instant, Ivory realized the terrible mistake he'd made in bringing these people here.

Chapter 46:  Tenbrook

"You're soaked," Tenbrook observed, watching Sinko enter the dining room.

Sinko looked down at his clothes as if he hadn't noticed.

"I've been listening to the thunder," Tenbrook continued.

"I have news to report, sir."

Tenbrook nodded. "Speak."

"I came from the marketplace. Franklin was speaking there."

"Did he see you?"

"No," Sinko affirmed. "I don't think so. There was a large crowd."

Tenbrook furrowed his brow. "Were you able to hear him?"

"Everyone did."

"What do you mean?"

"He was sermonizing to the merchants and the peasants in the market. He had everyone gathered around him."

A reflexive anger passed through Tenbrook's face. He fought to conceal it. Hoping for a distraction, he speared a piece of meat on his plate and turned it over in his hand.

He asked, "Were The People responding, or watching?"

"They stopped what they were doing and formed a half-circle. It was like a sermon in the Sanctuary. Only outside."

Tenbrook stuck the food in his mouth, forcing himself to chew.

"We'll spike them," Tenbrook said over his meat. "What are their names, Captain Sinko?"

"I'm not sure," Sinko admitted. "The market was so busy that I'm not sure we could determine that. To get all their names would be a difficult task, without census-takers and soldiers to guide them."

Tenbrook clenched his fork. If not for Sinko, he might've hurled the utensil across the room. His anger was deepened by his surprise. He'd expected Franklin to cower in the Sanctuary after the farmers had been killed, huddled with his wench.

At least, that's what Tenbrook fantasized about while other men dreamed of loose women.

"Send for Franklin. Tell him to meet me here."

"Right away, sir." Sinko moved for the door.

"Wait." Tenbrook paused a moment, forcing away his haste. "Give it a few hours. Then tell him to meet me in the morning. Let him have another sleepless night." Tenbrook dismissed Sinko, then speared another piece of meat on his plate, chewing without tasting.

Chapter 47:  Ivory

"You killed her! You killed her!" Melora's face was wild and red with spit and rage as she swung her sword at Bray, prompting him to retreat from Ella's collapsed body.

"Kill him! Kill him!" William screamed, looking around in all directions. His eyes were narrow and rabid. He looked as if he'd lost his sanity.

Bray backpedaled, smacking into a large hunk of ancient stone, almost losing his balance as Melora swung again. He skirted to the side just in time to avoid the attack. Her sword clashed with the ancient stone. He opened his mouth to speak, but Melora's cries drowned him out.

"You killed her on purpose! You did it because she wouldn't be with you!" Melora shouted, gritting her teeth in rage. "You filthy son of a bitch! You murderer!"

"Kill him!" William screamed again, spinning in circles.

Bray got his sword up in time to defend himself, but not before another swing from Melora's blade tore his shirt. He cried out as the blade sliced his arm.

"Stop it! Stop it!" Ivory screamed, frantically trying to intercede. He reached Melora in time to stop her from taking a swing, giving Bray the opportunity to plunge down the stairs before Melora and William could reach him.

"Kill him!" William shrieked wildly, pointing and ranting. "Kill him!"

Melora tried to run after Bray, but Ivory pulled her back.

"You'll be killed if you go down there!" Ivory yelled, listening to the loud commotion in the streets.

"I don't care!" Melora screamed back. She turned, tears streaming down her face, appraising Ivory with anger as she held up her sword. He held up his bow to protect himself, as if she might strike him. She spun back to face her mother. There was nothing left to do. Ella's face was contorted in the same expression she'd had when she'd fallen. Blood flowed and puddled on the rooftop. She was dead.

"I'm so sorry," Ivory said to Melora, competing with William's crazed shouts. He leaned down next to Ella as if he might be able to help. "I did this. I shouldn't have brought you here."

"She's dead," Melora said, her eyes wide and disbelieving.

Remembering his teacher, Ivory spun in all directions, as if Jingo might work some miracle. "Jingo!"

Jingo appeared from behind a distant rock. He watched Melora and William, as if they might be waiting to attack or blame him. Neither moved toward him.

Jingo crossed the rooftop and knelt next to Ivory, Melora, and William. He leaned over Ella, a pained expression in his eyes.

"She's beyond help," Jingo said, shaking his head with pity.

"She's dead?" Melora whispered again, as if someone might argue with her.

Jingo lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Ivory's head snapped up as a particularly loud demon screech drifted from somewhere below them.

"We should hide," Ivory said, looking around frantically as if someone might be coming in the building.

Jingo shook his head as a man's scream pierced the air. "No. We might be able to hide for a while. But I've seen the way these things go. The demons will linger in this part of the city for a while. More will come. Soon, the city will be overrun, and we'll be trapped in the building. Then we'll die."

"We have plenty of floors to hide on. We should be able to find a safe place to wait them out," Ivory argued.

"But for how long? Some will come in here, eventually," Jingo said firmly. "The better idea is to leave before the streets are too thick with demons. We need to get out of the city, Ivory."

Ivory opened his mouth to argue, but the look on Jingo's face kept him quiet.

"We can use the route in back that I showed you," Jingo said.

Melora's eyes brimmed with tears as she looked from Ella to Ivory, then to William. William's face was red with anger. He spun in all directions, as if he was still looking for Bray.

"We have to go, William," Melora said, barely able to get out the words.

William stared at Melora as if she was a stranger. "I'll kill him!" he whispered. "We all will! All of us in the city!"

Melora grabbed William's arm. "Please, William! We have to leave. If we don't go, we'll die! You heard what they said."

William looked over all of them. He looked at the stairwell. A curious expression took over his face as his eyes roamed back to Ella and settled there. Melora took the opportunity and reached for his arm, tugging him to his feet. She led him toward the stairs next to Ivory and Jingo.

"Follow us!" Ivory said, as he and Jingo led the way.

Chapter 48:  Melora

Grief and fear filled Melora's stomach as she plunged down the steps of the ancient tower after Jingo and Ivory. She kept a firm grip on William's hand. She tried to convince herself that Ella's death was an awful, horrible lie, spun by nightmares instead of reality, even though she knew that wasn't true. Her anger and disbelief were tempered by the cries and screeches echoing up the staircase, which promised a similar death to Melora and William if they couldn't escape the tower.

She listened for sounds of the Warden, hoping to take another swing at him, but his footsteps had already faded into the shouts and cries of battle. She hoped the crazed men outside had buried their swords in his gut. She hoped the demons had sunk their teeth into his flesh.

Son of a bitch. Filthy, rotten pig chaser.

He deserved whatever they would do if they got to him, and worse. She wanted him dead. But that would have to wait.

"You know another way out?" she asked Ivory, drying her tears.

"Yes. There's a hole in the back of the building. We can jump out. There's an alley in back that they might not be able to reach."

"We'll follow you," she said.

"I'll kill him," William whispered to Melora.

Melora glanced at her brother. Did William even know what he was saying anymore? He seemed to have settled into a strange trance. Whatever it was allowed her to lead him out of the tower, and for that she was grateful.

The screams of men and women outside grew louder, as if they were intent on pulling the city to the ground. Through holes in the side of the building, Melora caught intermittent glimpses of the battle raging on the streets outside: shirtless men wrestling demons, women screaming. She kept hold of William as they descended. Ivory led them off the steps and onto one of the lower floors.

Melora skirted around a rectangular section of floor that was missing, revealing crisscrossing girders and ancient beams.

"Be careful!" Ivory warned.

Melora wove around the gap, pulling William after her. She crunched over hunks of stone the size of men's heads, and pebbles that threatened to trip her up. They reached a gap in the back wall that was wide enough to fit all of them side by side. Melora peered cautiously from the tower. They were two levels above the street. She looked from side to side, expecting to see an army and a slew of demons waiting for them in the back alley, but the alley was clear. Below them was a mound of sand, piled high enough to cover the height of the bottom of the building. The mound was a ten-foot drop from where they were standing.

"If we can get to the ground, we can steal away without them seeing us," Ivory said with certainty.

"Be careful you don't sprain an ankle when you jump onto the sand pile," Jingo said.

Melora nodded, tears in her eyes. "Are you ready, William?" she whispered.

William didn't answer. She scabbarded her sword. She clenched his hand, guiding him as he put away his. And then they were in the air, landing on the mound and sliding to the ground in an avalanche of sand and dust. Melora lost her grip on William. Her boots kicked up debris as she skidded toward the ground, sticking out her palms to slow her down. The debris stung her hands. Her eyes watered. She landed on the ground in the alley, William next to her, and pulled herself to her feet. Both she and William had made it safely. She looked up to find Ivory in the air. He landed with ease, as if he'd practiced the maneuver.

Jingo was last. He looked small and frail as he landed on the sand, letting out a muted cry as he slid down to where they were standing. Ivory caught him, worry written across his face as he helped his teacher to his feet.

"Are you all right, Jingo?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Jingo said, patting his arms and pulling his hood over his head. "Now let's get out of here. We'll use the route I showed you."

Chapter 49:  Melora

The noise faded into the distance as Melora and William followed Ivory and Jingo through the decayed, cracked streets. Every so often, they ducked into a building, avoiding a running demon that was headed in their direction. Melora glanced back, searching for Jingo's tower, finding it among the other tall buildings. She pictured Ella's lifeless body lying on the roof. How long would it be before demons discovered her mother? Or the birds and rodents?

She'd never forget Ella's vacant eyes or William's hateful screams.

Looking at William, she noticed he was already hanging back, walking and mumbling. She opened her mouth to call out, but Jingo stopped her.

"He needs space," Jingo said. "He's upset."

"But the demons—"

"We're far enough away that we should be safe. We'll keep an eye on him."

They walked until the noise had become a distant commotion. Melora wiped her face.

"I'm so sorry," Ivory said, looking at Melora.

Melora swallowed. "Sorry for what? You didn't do this," she said, her sorrow turning to anger. "Bray did."

"I feel responsible. I introduced you to Jingo. I brought you here."

Melora looked behind her to make sure no demons were near. "It's my fault. I should've known what Bray was planning. Ella wouldn't accept his advances, and he took the opportunity to kill her. I should've done something about him. If Ella hadn't assured me she was all right, I might've."

"Your mother died trying to protect me," Jingo said. "I owe her my life."

Melora's face grew curious as she looked over at Jingo. In the frenzy of the encounter, she'd somehow accepted that she was traveling with a demon. She studied his wart-covered face, his oversized head. Most of his body was covered in human clothing. He was still wearing his hood.

By all appearances, he was one of the beasts. But he had the voice of a man. And he'd made the argument that had probably kept them alive.

"I just met my mother recently," she said, feeling the sudden need to explain to Jingo and Ivory.

"What do you mean?" Ivory asked.

"My mother came to Davenport to get me, right around the time the massacre happened." The truth felt good as it tumbled from her mouth, and she made no attempts to stop it. "My mother fled Brighton to protect William after he was afflicted. I hadn't seen her since I was three years old."

Jingo nodded his understanding. "She was a good mother. She didn't want him to burn."

"What mother would?" Melora asked, momentarily surprised that Jingo had agreed. "The rituals of Brighton and the townships are overly cruel. Most know it, but most aren't strong enough to do anything about it. Ella was." Melora lowered her head. "And now she's dead."

Melora bit her lip, working through the grief and the anger, wishing Bray were here so she could release her rage. She looked around, thinking she'd see either him or a demon, but they were still safe.

"How did you meet Bray?" Ivory asked.

"My mother met him on the way to Davenport. He helped her and William get there, and then he helped us escape Blackthorn's soldiers." Melora sucked in a breath. She filled them in on the rest of the details of how she'd met Ella. Then she told of their trip to the Ancient City. Several times while she was speaking, she broke conversation at the sound of a distant demon screech. She ensured that they were safe before continuing.

"Now you know the truth," she said.

"You came here to escape," Jingo surmised. "You aren't the first to do that."

"We didn't have anywhere else to go." Melora tossed up her hands. She studied Jingo. "How long have you lived in the Ancient City?"

"A long time." Jingo bit his lip. "Too long, it feels like, sometimes."

"You're a demon, but you aren't like the others. You talk. You can reason. You aren't trying to kill us. How is that possible?"

"It took me a long time to figure that out," Jingo said. "It's very difficult to explain, without confusing you with ancient terms that you wouldn't understand."

Melora traded her attention between Jingo and the streets while he elaborated.

"The science of the demon spore—or the knowledge of its emergence—is something that can only be explained with much time. The shortest explanation is that the fungus that twists men's minds doesn't work on everyone." Pausing to look back at William, Jingo added, "It made me smarter, rather than driving me to madness."

"And that's the reason you don't kill like the rest of them do?"

"That is one of the reasons."

"What is the other?"

"I stay away from the demons. Men descend into depravity after being infected, but some are able to avoid that madness by keeping their distance."

"If you went near them, you'd lose the things that make you human," Melora concluded, her eyes widening as she thought through those implications.

"That's why I isolate myself in the tower." Jingo nodded sagely.

"Does that work for everyone?" Shuddering, Melora glanced over her shoulder at William. He was holding his sword at the sky, talking to himself.

"I wish it did," Jingo said. "Most of the people in Brighton are burned, so we never get a chance to determine how many might've ended up like me."

"Have you seen others like you?"

"A few, over the years. But most end up consorting with demons. Their minds are lost."

Melora swallowed as she recalled William's nighttime wanderings. Who knew what he'd been doing? "You need to help William," she told Jingo.

"I'll do what we can for him. But first, we need to escape this place. More demons are coming from the commotion. The entire city will be swarmed. And they'll stay a while, searching for people to feast on. To remain here is to die, as I said in the tower."

"Where are we going?" Melora asked. She looked around the city street as if it might provide an answer. The far-away wails of demons filled the air.

Jingo watched her for a while before replying. "To the ocean."

Chapter 50:  Bray

Bray crept through the rubble-strewn building, peering through the cracks in the walls as he followed Melora, William, Ivory, and Jingo through the Ancient City. After battling his way out of the tower, he'd made his way to the back of the building, picking up their trail. He winced at the pain in his arm from where Melora had slashed him, and the cuts and scrapes he'd gotten while battling several demons and men to get out of the tower. His leg had been torn open. His head was cut from scraping an alley wall.

The sting of those injuries weren't even close to the guilt he felt for what he'd done to Ella.

Killing her had been an awful, horrible accident.

Bray had never seen a smart demon before. He'd been so convinced Ivory's story was a lie that he'd refused to believe what his eyes and ears told him.

If he had, Ella might still be alive.

Even now, he could see the pool of blood around Ella's body as she'd lain on the ancient rooftop. He closed his eyes and opened them, wishing he could take back the horrible mistake he'd made. Bray's heart stung with remorse, even though he hated that emotion. This was a tragedy about which he couldn't stop thinking. He'd made other mistakes, sure, but none that had bothered him for more than a night's rest.

He wasn't naïve enough to think Ella had loved him, but whatever they'd shared together was over. Over because of me.

Bray bit his lips to quell the emotion building up inside him as he listened to the demon-man speak with Melora and Ivory in the streets. He hid behind a wall to make sure they wouldn't see him.

He watched William hanging behind the others, alternating between dragging his sword on the ground and hoisting it in the air.

William's eyes were haunted and cold.

I've left him motherless.

"Men descend into depravity after being infected, but some are able to avoid that madness by keeping their distance," Bray heard Jingo say.

Bray looked at William. He thought back through the short time he'd known him. William's strange actions were a symptom of his deteriorating mind.

Maybe I can keep him from the demons, he thought.

He owed that much to Ella.

If he could do that, maybe he could preserve what little sanity he had left. Maybe he could watch over William.

He'd just have to make sure Melora, Ivory, and Jingo didn't see him.

I'll keep following him, in hopes of making up for what I've done.

Chapter 51:  Melora

"When I first met you, you told me you floated over the ocean," Melora put together. "Is that where we're going now?"

She watched Ivory and Jingo exchange a glance before speaking. She couldn't imagine they'd shared their secrets with anyone before.

"We have a device that will take us over the water," Jingo confirmed.

"A device?"

"A contraption that the Ancients called a boat," Jingo said.

"A boat," Melora said, rolling the foreign word over her tongue.

"You'll see when we get to it. Using the boat to get away from the Ancient City will give us our best chance at survival."

"You won't believe it, Melora," Ivory said. "The ocean is beautiful. And the feeling you get when you are floating over it is impossible to describe."

A crack of thunder interrupted them.

Since they'd been walking, the sky had soured even more. Thick, swirling clouds swallowed the last traces of the sun. The heavens looked like they were about to burst. The entire day felt like she was living some dream, or some nightmare.

"We should hurry," Jingo warned. "The sky is darkening. We'll have rain soon."

Melora looked over her shoulder, finding William. He was even further back. He eyed her with a look that seemed like disdain. But that didn't make sense. Why was he angry with her?

When we get on the boat, I'll talk to him, she thought.  Somehow, I'll pull him out of this. I have to.

Chapter 52:  William

William slowed his footsteps, watching the others get farther ahead. He had no desire to catch up to Melora, Ivory, or Jingo. They were nothing to him now, anyway. Melora wasn't his sister; she was a stranger who'd conspired to take away his mother's love. And now Ella was dead.

His and Melora's relationship was doomed to an end.

And Ivory. Who knew what his intentions were? He was as much to blame for Ella's death as anybody.

William didn't know what to think about Jingo.

He associates with humans.

That means he's as evil as the rest of them.

William cocked his head, listening to voices in the air. Some of the voices belonged to Ivory, Melora, and Jingo. He caught bits and pieces of their conversation—something about floating on the ocean and away from the Ancient City.

More than likely, they were going to take him out on the water and drown him.

Just like they killed Ella. Just like people killed others in Brighton. Humans were each other's playthings, good for spikings and burnings, and nothing more. That was what the demons had taught him. That was what the Ancient City had revealed.

And now, the buildings were whispering the truth about the people he kept company with.

A rumble reached William's ears. Looking upward, he saw clouds gathering. Thunder split the air. It was going to storm. Other noises were calling him, too. He heard faint voices from the opening of a giant, square building to his left. William furrowed his brow and peered inside, catching sight of one of the demons staring at him. It lurked next to a slab of ancient stone, watching.

Not running. Not trying to hurt him.

Of course it wasn't.

I'm one with the Ancient City, William thought. I'm one with the demons. Just like I'm one with the forest and the trees.

William smiled as he veered from the road, walking toward the tattered structure and toward the demon. The demon slunk through the building and met him at the entrance. William lowered his sword and reached out to touch it. The creature's knobby, rough skin was strangely comforting. He ran his hands over the demon, wondering if it might change its mind and kill him, but it didn't.

"You won't hurt me," he told the demon assuredly.

Another creature skulked in a nearby alleyway. William looked up at it and smiled. He called out for it and waved it over. It crept out into the open as if it was an old friend meeting him for a walk in the marketplace, rather than a bloodthirsty beast that might feed on his flesh. Brighton is wrong about them. They always have been. Having gathered two of his brethren, William stared through the openings in the buildings around him, looking for more of his brothers and sisters.

He'd find them. He'd find them all.

And when he did, they'd stay together so no one would hurt them. Looking in the distance, he watched Ivory, Melora, and Jingo disappear down an incline in the road.

Good, he thought. Let them go.

Chapter 53:  Melora

"Is that it?" Melora asked, peering through the entrance of the dark building and at the strange object sitting on the water. "Is that the boat?"

"Yes!" Ivory said, beckoning inside. "That's it!"

"I've kept it inside to protect it from the elements," Jingo explained.

Melora couldn't stop staring. Pieces of fabric hung from metal poles stuck in the center of the crescent-shaped object. Ropes dangled from the fabric. There was enough room on board for all of them, and yet Melora couldn't imagine getting on the contraption, sailing across the water and away from the Ancient City. Maybe its magnificence would perk up William.

"William!" she called, looking over her shoulder.

He was gone. She looked right, up the long, sloping road they'd just traveled to get to the building next to the ocean. Then she looked left, where dark waves lapped at a muddy beach. The wind kicked up the water, heaving in thick gusts.

"Where is he?" she cried, frantic. "I just saw him."

"He was right behind us a moment ago," Ivory confirmed, concern growing in his voice. "At least, I thought he was."

Melora felt a burst of panic. Had demons come and snatched him when they weren't looking? The hissing wind might've hidden his call of distress. Ivory, Melora, and Jingo scanned the road as thunder erupted from the clouds.

"The storm is almost upon us!" Jingo warned.

"I'm not leaving without William," Melora said resolutely. She forged up the street and away from Ivory and Jingo, looking for her brother. She called his name, searching for him in empty doorways and peering through glassless windows as she started back up the incline. All she saw were brown plants creeping from cracks in the buildings, as if they'd snatched him and tucked him away.

"William!" she yelled, her panic turning to desperation.

She walked faster, fighting against the wind, her hair blowing behind her as she ran up the road. Ivory and Jingo followed. The screech of a demon made Melora's heart stammer. She clenched her sword, prepared to fight it off.

Where was William?

They were halfway up the steep, sloping road when William appeared over the top of the hill a few hundred feet away. He held his sword, appraising them. He was surrounded by demons. Melora gasped as the creatures watched her, Ivory, and Jingo.

"What's going on?" Ivory asked.

"I'm not sure," Melora said. "William!"

William stood at the top of the hill, watching them without speaking. The demons' shoulders heaved as they watched her. They were waiting. But for what? William eyed Melora with a blank expression, as if she were a stranger.

"It's me, William! Come down here with us!" she said.

William didn't acknowledge her.

"He's standing among them, but they're not attacking," Melora said incredulously to Ivory and Jingo, as if they might have some explanation. "Why is he doing that?"

She looked at Jingo long enough to see his grave expression.

"I don't understand," Melora said.

But she did.

She thought back to the time in the woods, when William had screamed at the demons, convinced he could communicate with them. Or the times he'd snuck from the ancient building and run off. He couldn't have survived on his own. And then there was the sword he'd taken. From whom?

"William!" she yelled, taking a step closer.

A few of the demons screeched and raised their long, claw-like fingernails. Melora shuddered at her brother's blank expression. She might as well be a stranger. He didn't move. He didn't tell his demons to stop. Ivory drew his bow, nocking an arrow and aiming it at one of the demons.

"We're going to have to fight, if they run at us," Ivory said.

"It isn't safe to stay," Jingo said.

"I'm not leaving my brother!" Melora said defiantly, as if saying the words might convince William to drop some act and come with them.

William cocked his head sideways, as if he might've understood her. His expression seemed to change. Was he smiling? Melora took a tentative step forward. A demon snarled.

"Jingo!" Ivory shouted suddenly, turning to his teacher. "You can talk to them like you did the other day in the city! You can send them away!"

Melora didn't know what Ivory was talking about, but she looked at Jingo for an answer, desperate for any solution.

Jingo looked nervous. He watched Ivory, fiddling with his knife. "I'm not sure it will work."

"You have to try!" Ivory insisted.

Turning to the demons, Jingo took a step forward. "Leave the boy alone!" he cried. Neither William nor the demons responded. Taking another step forward, he knocked the hood from his face, revealing the knobby, rounded warts that covered his head. "Leave him alone!" he screamed again.

Jingo projected strength in his voice as he stared down the demons.

William muttered something, prompting one of the demons to rake the air, gnashing its teeth. Jingo took a nervous step backward. His face became grave. More demons appeared at the top of the hill.

"It's too late," Jingo warned, his voice wavering. "I don't think there's anything we can do."

"What does that mean?" Melora asked. "We can't leave him!"

"If I'd met him earlier, I might've been able to do something." Jingo shook his head fruitlessly. "But he's surrounded himself with the beasts. If we try to step in, we'll be killed. We have to leave before the storm hits, or we won't be able to get away from the Ancient City in time to save ourselves."

"William!" Melora called, tears wetting her cheeks.

Jingo backed up a step. Ivory touched her arm. "I'm sorry, Melora. If it means anything, I don't think he knows what he's doing. Not anymore."

A bolt of lightning split the sky, illuminating the nearby buildings. Ivory and Jingo tugged her in the opposite direction.

"We have to go, Melora!" Ivory insisted, his face contorted in sympathetic pain.

Melora couldn't stop staring at William as Ivory and Jingo pulled her backward. She glared at the demons with hatred in her eyes, as if she might break William free of their trance. But he remained where he was, holding her eyes with a smile as his lips moved, muttering something.

Without warning, one of the demons lunged toward them. Another followed. Soon they were chasing Ivory, Melora, and Jingo down the street, and Melora was running, her boots pounding the pavement as hisses cut over the wind.

"Hurry, Melora!" Ivory said.

Somewhere behind her, Melora heard William scream, "Kill them!"

Melora poured all of her effort into getting away. She couldn't think about what was happening. The urgent need to save William had been replaced by the dire impulse to get away from him. He'd kill her. He'd kill them all.

She knew it now.

Ella's mission had died with her.

Melora's lungs burned with exertion and tears spackled her face. They raced to the building at the end of the road. Ivory pulled her through the doorway. She looked around, her eyes adjusting as she frantically made her way down a walkway that led to the boat. Ivory helped her over the side of the metal contraption.

"Get in and hold on!" he yelled.

She fought for balance as Ivory and Jingo untied the ropes that held the ancient object in place. The cries of demons filled the air, their foul stench carrying with the wind as they reached the building. Ivory and Jingo pulled wooden sticks from the boat's interior, pushing the boat from the walkway.

Several beasts burst through the entrance. Melora held on to the side of the boat, wobbling as she held up her sword.

"I'll hold them back!" she screamed to Ivory and Jingo. "Keep going!"

She slashed at a leaping demon as it leapt over the water, knocking it down with a splash. She struck another, slicing its arm and sending it careening to join its brother.

Soon they were far enough away that the demons couldn't reach them, floating out of the building and into the ocean.

They exited to a dark sky. Thunder rumbled ominously overhead; streaks of lightning flashed over the water. Melora watched more demons racing down to the muddy banks and toward the ocean. Several leaped into the water, thrashing wildly as they sank with useless hopes of reaching the boat. The rest went no further. They stayed on the shore and swiped the air as if they might reach Melora, Ivory, and Jingo, their hungry, frustrated cries filling Melora with dread.

They floated away from the building and further out on the ocean.

She caught a glimpse of her brother at the top of the street. William was in the midst of the demons on the shore, raising his sword in the air as angry beasts paraded around him. Their screeches and yowls faded as the boat floated further away.

Chapter 54:  Bray

Bray's arm was bleeding again. He stopped, untied the strip of blanket he'd wrapped around it, and unslung his pack. He took out another strip of fabric and rewrapped his bicep.

A flesh wound, that's all it was. But it was nasty enough to make a mess.

He'd fallen behind in his pursuit of William, Melora, Ivory, and Jingo. He was in a building with hunks of ancient stone littering the floor. The far wall was barricaded by debris. For a while, he'd gotten lucky, following the group through cracked walls and broken buildings, but he'd lost sight of them a while ago, rather than risk being exposed.

He needed to catch up.

Backtracking to the building's entrance, Bray craned his head around the corner. In the time he'd bandaged himself, a familiar, foul stench filled the air. When had that arrived? Bray wrinkled his nose as he snuck into the open, looking for the closest cross street, finding it fifty yards away. He snuck onto it and made his way down a parallel road, hastening his stride.

A scream that sounded like Melora echoed in the distance. He heard shouts that might've been Jingo.

Bray kept going, skirting dead plants and upheaved earth, weaving down several streets until he spotted a group of demons racing down a long, sloping street that led down the ocean.

Something was wrong.

Bray halted. His mouth hung open in horror. William was in the middle of them. A group of twenty demons charged down the road, mouths agape, their bulbous heads tilted as they listened to William's barked commands.

What was going on?

Bray's pulse climbed as he ducked behind the nearest wall, assessing the situation. He blinked hard, ensuring that he wasn't dreaming. The demons were still there, and so was William.

Bray clenched his sword, his instincts to get William out of danger overridden by the number of demons. The mob was growing. Bray watched as handfuls of demons ran from the adjacent building and joined William, charging toward the shore. There were enough that Bray wasn't confident he could battle them off by himself.

Movement on the distant water called his attention. Something was floating out there. Bray squinted as he noticed three shapes that he thought were Melora, Ivory, and Jingo.

More of Ivory's Tech Magic.

Before Bray could decipher any more, hisses filled the air. He looked back at William's mob, noticing a few creatures breaking off from the group, surveying the streets.

They'd find him soon, if he didn't leave.

I'll come back, William, he thought. I promise.

Chapter 55:  Melora

Heavy gusts of wind dried Melora's tears as the boat floated further down the coastline. Cracks of thunder and lightning split the air. She watched Ivory and Jingo operating the fabric and the ropes of the strange device while the first pelts of rain splashed into the water around them.

She searched the coastline for William, but he had already vanished. The Ancient City had swallowed him up, intent on twisting his brain while his body lived on. The worst part was that he wasn't dead. He'd wander among the demons, scavenging and killing, doing awful things. She wouldn't wish that fate on anyone.

Except Bray, she thought angrily.

Over the course of a day, she'd lost relatives that she never thought she'd find. She'd lost Ella, and Ella's death had snapped William's fragile mind. And now she'd lost him, too.

Melora clung to the side of the boat, thinking thoughts of revenge as she looked over the water. The ocean was as beautiful as Ivory had said, but she could already see its danger. The heavy piece of fabric above her rippled with the wind as Ivory and Jingo fought to keep them on course. A wrong turn could send them spiraling out into the ocean, or barreling into rocks that lined the shore.

"What if the fabric rips?" she heard Ivory yell to Jingo.

"Don't pull the ropes too taut!" Jingo answered. "Work with the wind! If it gets worse, we'll lower the sail!"

"Where are we heading?" Ivory asked.

"Far enough away from the Ancient City!" Jingo yelled. "The battle is going to get worse. More demons will come from farther away as they hear the screams and the shrieks."

As if to prove his point, several shapes ran along the distant beach. Their harried strides gave them away as demons. They stopped every so often to watch the boat.

The raindrops grew fatter as they bounced off the boat's hull. Several glanced off the side of Melora's face. She tucked her sword in her scabbard and held her hands over her forehead, blocking the rain so she could see.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she yelled, needing to take her mind off the awful events that had happened.

"Make sure our belongings don't fall over the side!" Jingo shouted back, pointing at their bags and weapons.

Melora looped the bags around her feet. The wind screamed past her as she grabbed Ivory's bow. She clung to the handle as the sky broke open and the fat raindrops turned to a downpour. The boat churned through the water. The piece of fabric flapped and groaned against the metal pole. Rain battered the craft, plastering her clothes to her skin.

"Steer that way!" she heard Jingo yell to Ivory as he pointed toward the coastline. "We don't want to lose sight of shore!"

Despite Jingo's instruction, Melora felt the boat taking a direction of its own. Ivory pulled on a handle attached to something in the water, straining to hold onto it. Waves crashed over the edge of the boat. The ancient device rose and fell with the swells of a sea over which Melora still couldn't believe she was floating. Melora clung to the edge of the boat. Pitching off and falling into the ocean was a very real fear. She'd drown before anyone could rescue her.

"Be careful!" she heard Ivory shout.

The rain thickened, doing its best to throw them off course, obscuring their vision. Melora blinked away running water that felt like the saliva of a monster trying to swallow her whole. She caught a glimpse of Jingo in time to see him lose hold of a rope.

"Dammit!" he yelled.

All of a sudden, the sail was billowing madly and Jingo was scrabbling in her direction. The fierce wind flung the rope into the air. Jingo leapt for it, but missed. Melora reached out to help, but the wet rope slid through her hands and flapped further away. Letting go of the boat's edge, she crawled across the boat, reaching out for it as she tried to keep hold of the bow and their bags and help Jingo. A gust of wind blasted her with rainwater.

Jingo screamed something indecipherable.

Melora blinked. When she could see again, she noticed that he'd recovered the rope and was fighting with the sail. She was crawling back for her seat when the boat tipped. Melora screamed and slid across the interior, grasping for something to hold her in place.

Frantically, she caught hold of an edge of the boat and clung to it. She pressed her body to the floor as a gigantic wave burst over the edge, pummeling her face. When she opened her eyes, one of the bags slid past her. She made a grab for it, but missed. Another wave ripped more of their belongings into the ocean.

Dammit! No!

The boat tipped and righted, tipped and righted. She heard Ivory's and Jingo's voices, but couldn't decipher words. Melora could only hold on and pray she wasn't knocked over the edge and into the ocean.

She pictured her body washing up on the shore of the Ancient City, food for William and the demons.

She gritted her teeth, closed her eyes, and clung tighter. She remained in the same position for what seemed like days, even though it was probably much shorter than that.

Shouts from Ivory made her open her eyes. The rumble of the sky had been replaced by a grinding noise. What was happening? The fabric flapped and flapped around the metal pole. The bottom of the boat creaked and complained. All at once, the boat jolted violently and stopped.

"We've hit land!" Ivory screamed.

Melora let go of the boat's edge and felt Ivory tugging her. When she got to her feet, she searched for the bags, but only one of them remained. She grabbed it and followed Ivory, jumping off the edge of the boat and splashing into ankle-deep water.

They'd landed. Somehow, they'd landed.

She followed Ivory around several jutting rocks as rain soaked through their clothes and into their skin. Jingo was waiting on the beach, calling out to them. Melora took several steps and collapsed. She looked at the boat, trying to determine how she was still alive. It rocked back and forth between two boulders where it had gotten stuck.

They were on shore. They were alive.

But where were they?

Chapter 56:  Franklin

Franklin lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of rain pelting the roof. Fitz rested on top of him. For the first time in several nights, she'd fallen asleep before him. His heart hammered against his ribcage even as he tried not to wake her.

His success at the marketplace had been diminished by the appearance of Captain Sinko.

A few hours after his sermon, Captain Sinko had surprised Franklin in the Sanctuary. The man's wicked grin had told him all the news he needed to know. Tenbrook had heard about the sermon. He'd requested Franklin's presence.

Franklin was to meet him in the morning.

Franklin hadn't told Fitz. He closed his eyes and reopened them, wishing he could take back what he'd done. He needed to harden his heart. He needed to act the way Lady and Bruce did, just like Fitz had said.

He couldn't let Fitz be punished for what he'd done.

He wouldn't tell her a thing about the meeting.

He looked down at her outline in the candlelight—sweet, beautiful Fitz. This might be the last time he'd see her. He swallowed and closed his eyes, taking comfort in her presence.

Watching the window in the top of his room, Franklin waited for the sky to signal morning before sucking in a breath and wriggling sideways, slipping out from underneath her. He waited a moment, verifying that he hadn't woken her, then headed for the door.

Chapter 57:  Oliver

The rain had been coming down all through the night and on and off through the morning. Now, it was pouring steadily and with no respite in sight. Oliver looked into the gray distance. "I don't think the rain will stop today. There's an ancient building up there. Maybe we can shelter there to get dry tonight."

Beck looked.

"Way up past those trees." Oliver pointed.

"It's as good as any, I suppose."

Oliver laughed. "Most have crumbled roofs with a few standing walls. That place looks like its made of solid ancient stone. I'll bet its roof doesn't leak."

"You're an optimist," said Beck. "After the rain clears, we should leave the coast and head for the mountains to look for a way through and back to Brighton."

Oliver shrugged and walked on. "Do you think your revolt succeeded?"

"How long have you been wanting to ask that question?"

"I just thought of it," said Oliver. "I guess it's not as important to me as to you."

"And now it is?" asked Beck. "Is that because you're thinking of coming back to Brighton?"

"Yes," answered Oliver. "I guess that's it. I miss my friend, Franklin, and I miss Fitz. But I don't want to go back to Brighton the way it was. If your revolt succeeded, then I think I'd like to live in a city ruled by you."

"So you've finally decided that you like me?" Beck laughed.

"I hadn't thought of it exactly like that, but I guess so."

"Well, I don't know if the revolution happened, or if they're awaiting my return. Either way, I have to go back and do my part. I hope my part will be to make Brighton a better place than it is."

"What would you change?" Oliver asked. "It seems like a complicated problem. I mean, getting rid of Blackthorn and the blue shirts will be something significant. I always thought they were bullies. Everybody believes that. But if you take away the bullies, don't more bullies take their place?"

"I'm afraid taking away the bullies isn't the whole answer," said Beck.

"What is?" asked Oliver.

"I think the simple answer is better decisions," said Beck. "On the council, we make all manner of choices about how to run Brighton, everything from how many pyres to construct prior to a Cleansing, to deciding when to call up the militia and send them to war. At least in theory."

"In theory?" asked Oliver.

"In practice, General Blackthorn dominated the council. He bullied Father Winthrop to agree with him on everything, and when he didn't feel like going through the formality of the council, he simply did what he wanted."

"Why didn't you stop him?" asked Oliver.

"Because everybody in Brighton knows the real power always rested with General Blackthorn. He controlled the cavalry and the blue shirts."

"I can see that this gets complicated."

"It does," agreed Beck. He pointed at the ancient building. "Perhaps we'll talk more about it later, when we get to shelter."

Chapter 58:  Ivory

Ivory, Melora, and Jingo stood on the shore, watching the waves roll the sailboat up on its side, over and over, grinding the hull against the rocks. The mainsail flapped in the wind, only partially attached to the mast. The morning sun was hidden behind dark clouds. The rain still pelted them. They'd spent the previous night catching shelter under some thick trees, hiding from the storm. Thankfully, no demons had crossed paths with them.

"Where are we?" Ivory asked.

Jingo looked from the boat to the ocean. He furrowed his deep, wart-covered brow. "I'm not sure, exactly, but I think the storm carried us up north. We'll have to figure that out."

"At least we're away from the Ancient City," remarked Ivory. "I'm sorry about the boat."

"Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have taken it out with the storm coming," said Jingo. "As it was, it saved us. Our lives are worth more than a boat." He looked at Melora. "You've not said a word since we came ashore."

Melora said, "I'm overwhelmed."

Ivory put an arm around Melora and pulled her to him. "She lost her mother and her brother. And now she's been shipwrecked."

Melora peeled Ivory's arm off her shoulder and took a safe step away. "I don't need your sympathy."

Ivory was put off. He'd thought they were getting along well. He'd thought something romantic might be developing, even though it was the worst possible time. "I'm just saying that the—"

"Don't," Melora told him. "I appreciate what you did for me when you saved me from those monsters, but don't pretend that you're my hero. I was taking care of myself long before you came along and before Ella found me. Don't pretend I'm fragile."

Ivory didn't know what to say. He felt hurt.

Jingo laughed. "You've got a strong-willed girl, Ivory." He started to smile again, but caught himself and looked at Melora with a guilty expression. "I apologize. I didn't mean to imply that you were his property, or anyone else's."

"That's okay," said Melora, staring at Jingo.

He stared back for a second before reaching up and touching the warts on his skull, realizing his hood had blown off in the wind. He reached to pull it back up.

"Don't," Melora said, much more gently than she'd spoken to Ivory. "You're one of the overwhelming surprises that has kept me quiet and thinking. All my life, you… demons…"

"We're monsters," Jingo finished for her. "I know that's what you think of us."

Melora looked away, guilty. "Yes."

"That's okay," said Jingo. "Most people believe we're monsters, because most of us are." He straightened up and dropped his hands to his side. "Look as much as you like."

Melora stared, stepped closer, and raised a hand to touch the bulbous warts. "May I?"

"Yes," said Jingo.

"Do they hurt?" she asked.

"No," said Jingo, "not the ones on my head." He rubbed a hand across his elbow. "When they get into the joints, they're painful."

"He's three hundred years old," said Ivory, trying to get himself back into the conversation.

"No," said Melora. "That can't be true."

Jingo's face turned sad. "I'm afraid it is."

"He was an Ancient," said Ivory. "He lived when the Ancient City was alive, when all the buildings were full of people and they were covered with glass and they glimmered in the sun. He knows everything about Tech Magic."

Melora scrutinized Ivory, looking for evidence of the lie in his features. "That can't be true."

"I don't know everything," said Jingo, "but I know a lot." He turned and looked up and down the beach. "We should talk about these things after we find some shelter, though. If we stay out in this cold rain too long, we'll all freeze to death. We certainly shouldn't stay out here another night."

Ivory looked up the beach. "I saw a building up the beach that way, when we were on the boat. At least I think I did. We may be able to find a dry place to sleep there."

Jingo and Melora both looked.

"You can't see it now," Ivory told them. "The rain is coming down too hard."

"Lead the way, then," said Jingo.

Melora remained in place.

Ivory turned back to her. "What?"

Melora pointed at the boat. "If we leave it, the waves will destroy it."

"There's nothing we can do for it," said Jingo, "not anymore."

Chapter 59:  Franklin

Franklin crossed the square through the morning drizzle. On the edges of the plaza, women walked timidly near the walls of the surrounding buildings, as though the doorways and side streets might provide a place to hide, should the evil of the plaza awaken to reach out and snatch them.

And the square was evil.

What else could it be?

Did anything happen in the square that didn't cause harm, even if it was wrapped in the guise of the greater good?

No.

Sure, the spring festival and the fall harvest feast always took place in the square. Men and women danced. Kids competed in games. The old people told stories around a bonfire big enough to light the whole square. But even in those good times, the fire always glimmered with the memories of the wretched faces of the unclean.

Too many Cleansings had passed. Too many innocent people—people with a few smudges, warts, or no warts at all—were frightened out of their minds over the painful fire that was going to sear away their flesh. They always seemed normal. Not twisted and maniacal like one might expect from the demons, but normal.

Franklin shivered at the thought.

All those screams told a story of the unbearable pain the unclean felt when bound to a pyre pole.

Did so many have to die? Was that truly the greater good?

Franklin's feet grew heavier as he trudged up to the front doors of Blackthorn's house, now Tenbrook's residence. He was wet from the lingering rain.

"You're here to see the General?" a guard asked.

Franklin looked up from his feet, disappointed but not surprised that the guard didn't address him as his position required. The other guard looked on without protest.

Resisting the temptation to admonish the guard, as Father Winthrop would have done without a second thought, Franklin simply nodded. A rebuke would be a waste of effort. The guard likely knew why Franklin was at Tenbrook's door. Both guards knew how Franklin's morning was going to end, just as Franklin did.

"Not much to say today, eh?" the guard asked. "You forget The Word when you left the Temple?"

The other guard chuckled and opened the door.

Franklin silently marched through into the banquet room that he'd entered countless times, attending meetings with General Blackthorn as Father Winthrop's novice. In all of those gatherings, Franklin had the luxury of standing invisibly against the wall while the most prominent men of Brighton sniped and argued. Those first meetings were distressing, but as subsequent meetings passed, Franklin's fear subsided enough that he could watch with amusement as Minister Beck skewered Father Winthrop over his hypocrisies and superstitions.

Now it was Franklin's turn to sit at the table and try to browbeat an arrogant man with four hundred armed goons to enforce his will. Franklin's only hope, the only way he saw the meeting working out, was to fake enough strength to make Tenbrook believe nineteen thousand women, children, and old men would stand behind Franklin no matter what, that they'd do Franklin's bidding, that they'd stand united against Tenbrook's tyranny. Franklin had to make Tenbrook believe that he was the weaker of them both.

Franklin wished he could believe the lie with a little more conviction. Because it was only that lie that would keep Tenbrook at bay.

A serving girl standing beside the fireplace stepped away from the wall as Franklin entered. She walked toward a chair to the left of the head of the table. She pulled it out. "Please sit, Father, and dry off."

Franklin walked over and seated himself, feeling a little hope at the formality of being seated in Father Winthrop's chair, the one he used in his private meetings with Blackthorn and Beck.

"Would you like a drink?" the girl asked. "Perhaps something to eat?"

"Water," Franklin told her, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep any food down.

The water came and the waiting started.

And it went on and on.

Franklin sipped at his cup as time dragged.

He watched the fire burn down in the hearth as his clothes grew warm.

He politely told the girl when she periodically checked on him that he needed nothing else.

He stared at the grain of the wood on the table and fidgeted. He squirmed in his seat as he grew uncomfortable sitting in one place for so long.

When his cup was empty, the girl came and offered to fill it again several times before Franklin accepted. He asked whether anyone had alerted Tenbrook that he'd arrived. "Yes, of course," was the answer.

Still, Franklin waited.

He looked at a collection of jars on the mantle, a long row of them stretching from one end to the other, each looking about large enough to hold a ladle of soup, each a perfect match for the one beside it. Only the Ancients produced goods with such precision. The collection of glass had to be worth an enormous sum.

That made Franklin wonder. How had Tenbrook come up with the coin to acquire such a collection? He was a cavalry captain until, what, a week ago? Cavalry captains weren't wealthy men. Merchants were, and that's where a collection like the one on the mantle belonged, in a merchant's house.

Had it been a bribe? Had Tenbrook stolen it? Franklin doubted that Tenbrook had any qualms about using his new position for such corrupt purposes. Given Tenbrook's brutality, Franklin didn't doubt that he'd had a merchant tossed on the pyre for the mere sake of stealing the man's collection of ancient glass.

And what about the contents? Most of the jars were empty, but some, starting on the left, were full of ashes. Ashes of what? Dead relatives? Maybe Tenbrook's clan? Perhaps the men of his line going all the way back to the first fifty-seven? That was possible. Franklin knew that some people revered their ancestors to a superstitious degree. Perhaps the jars had been passed down from father to son since those ancient days.

"The jars fascinate you?"

Franklin jumped at Tenbrook's voice.

Tenbrook, seemingly pleased with himself for the insignificant cruelty of startling Franklin, swept across the room from stairs to fireside, as though a thousand eyes were in awe of his arrival. Tenbrook propped an elbow on the mantle, clinked a few of the empty jars together, and then leaned with all the confidence of a father about to whip a disobedient child.

He reached up with his free hand, selected a jar, and gazed at it for a moment. He held it up to look at the morning light shining through the glass. Then, without warning, he tossed the jar at Franklin.

Surprised, Franklin grabbed at the jar. He fumbled the catch as the jar hit his fingertips. He watched helplessly as it tumbled, hit the edge of the heavy wooden table, and shattered. Shards—some tiny and sparkling, others large and glimmering—scattered on the table and the floor. Franklin's mouth fell open and his eyes went wide, shocked that Tenbrook would treat a valuable antiquity with such recklessness.

"You're a nervous boy," said Tenbrook.

A boy? Franklin felt insulted. Sure, he often saw himself as a boy, a young man at best, but he was the Bishop of Brighton as well, Speaker of The Word, Councilman of the three townships.

Rather than lower himself to the insult, he put on an air of haughtiness that seemed to be a comfortable disguise for Winthrop's true personality. And it occurred to Franklin in a moment of insight that maybe that's why Winthrop had worn the disguise of superiority. Maybe he'd clung to it with such ferocity because Winthrop didn't want anyone to see any of what he truly was. Maybe Winthrop was a boy, in his way. Maybe he and Franklin had the same dilemma.

Tenbrook walked to the other end of the fireplace, stopped, and selected another of the jars. This one was packed with ashes.

Franklin repressed a grimace. The jar most likely held the hundred-year-old stinking ashes of one of Tenbrook's ancestors. He didn't want Tenbrook to toss it. Franklin's confidence at catching was shaken after his first attempt. He didn't want the broken glass and ash all over him.

But would Tenbrook disrespect his ancestors that way, just to emphasize whatever childish point he was trying to make?

As if in answer to Franklin's thought, Tenbrook tossed the jar in the air above him, caught it in one hand, once, twice, and then a third time.

Franklin made a guess at to what was about to happen. He started to bring his hands back up just as Tenbrook tossed the jar.

Franklin leaned forward, grasped, and nearly fell out of his chair as he snatched the jar from the air. He cradled it in his palms, releasing a breath he didn't know he'd held as he sat the jar gently on the table and gave Tenbrook a cross look. "I'll not catch another. If you don't value the trinkets or your ancestors' ashes, then don't expect me to value them either."

Tenbrook barked a laugh and seemed genuinely amused.

That threw Franklin off. Either Tenbrook was outwitting Franklin with disturbing ease, or Tenbrook was unbalanced and playing a game by rules that only existed in his mind.

Tenbrook stepped over, dragged the heavy chair away from the head of the table, brushed some shards of glass onto the floor, and draped himself over the chair. He looked as casual as a man waiting for a girl in The House of Barren Women.

He stared at Franklin with a cocky smile.

Franklin sat in his chair, back straight, lips pursed and head tilted back, snobbish and silent. He'd match Tenbrook step for step in this stupid little contest of confidence.

Without preamble, Tenbrook leaned forward, reached across the table, and grasped the top edge of the plugged jar in his fingers. He gently turned the jar until a little leather tag tied around the jar's mouth came to face Franklin. "You can read, can't you?"

"Of course." Franklin tried to keep Tenbrook's eye, resisting the urge to turn his attention to the label.

Tenbrook let go of the jar and leaned back to his comfortable position in his chair. "Then read it. You may find it interesting."

Franklin pretended boredom with a sigh as he slowly reached for the jar, still holding Tenbrook's gaze. He took the label between his fingers, angled up, and glanced down.

It read, "EVAN".

Evan's ashes?

No!

Franklin felt a terrible urge to pee.

Chapter 60:  Oliver

Oliver sat atop a pile of broken stones, looking out at what had once been a window on the third floor of the building they'd taken shelter in. The window faced down the beach, sparing him from some of the rain being blown off the ocean. From the window, Oliver saw the beach, the dunes, and the direction they'd come from. The beach was empty.

After climbing up stairs made of ancient stones that seemed, despite their age, to be as sturdy as any Oliver had ever climbed back in Brighton, he'd wondered about the Ancient's Tech Magic. To be able to form stone so perfectly and to have it stand for hundreds of years, still useful, amazed him. But the amazement was tempered by the general state of the building. It was built in the shape of an enormous rectangular house facing the ocean, five layers tall. Half the building had collapsed, as if stepped on by a gargantuan beast and crushed flat.

"See anything out there?" Beck asked as he sat by the fire they'd built, plucking the feathers out of the large bird he'd killed.

"Nothing but rain," said Oliver. "I still can't believe you caught that thing."

He and Beck had happened upon the bird, along with a dozen more just like it, on the second layer of the building. Most had taken flight into the wind coming off the ocean, but several had blown back into the building right at Beck and Oliver. Since the birds' wingspans were as wide as Oliver could spread his arms, and their beaks were large enough to swallow his entire head, Oliver did exactly what instinct had told him. He dove for the ground.

Beck, apparently thinking more with his stomach than his head, reached out and grabbed one by the wing. It squawked loudly and flapped around, throwing feathers and debris off the floor until Beck had broken its neck. Now they were preparing to cook it.

"It's the strangest bird I've ever seen," said Beck, holding it up and stretching out a large flap of skin on the underside of the beak. "I wonder what purpose this skin serves?"

"Right now," said Oliver, "I only hope it tastes good."

"It better," said Beck. "There's plenty here for both of us."

Oliver smiled. It'd been too long since his last good meal.

Chapter 61:  Franklin

Franklin's heart raced, his palms sweated, and his lips quivered as he stared at the label on the jar of ashes, trying not to pay attention to the question that Tenbrook was repeating.

"I said, it doesn't bear much of a resemblance, does it?" Tenbrook asked.

Franklin shook his head as an answer, not trusting himself to speak just yet. He was, after all, holding some of the remains of Evan, his burned friend, in the jar in his hand. Franklin understood that he'd underestimated Tenbrook's twisted cruelty.

"Why do you think I burned him?"  Tenbrook got up from his chair and sauntered over to the fireplace, making a show of looking at each of the jars as he passed.

"He was smudged," Franklin squeaked, hating the sound of his voice as he heard it, knowing how weak and frightened he sounded, knowing that his words were giving away the emptiness of his bluff. Franklin reached for the empty water cup. He coughed as he brought it to his mouth, as though something was stuck in his throat.

"Are you okay?" Tenbrook asked, his voice overflowing with concern. He rushed over and smacked Franklin hard on the back. "Are you choking?" Tenbrook turned toward the kitchen doorway and called, "Girl! More water for the Bishop." Tenbrook smacked Franklin on the back again much too hard, jarring Franklin forward and knocking the cup out of his hand.

"I—" Franklin started, raising a hand to stop Tenbrook. "I'm fine."

A girl rushed into the room with a cup in hand, splashing water in her haste. She banged it on the table in a hurry to get it to Franklin. She then jumped back and lowered her head, awaiting instructions.

"Thanks," Franklin told her as he grasped the cup.

"Drink, man," Tenbrook commanded. To the girl, he said, "Go."

She hurried off.

Franklin took a big gulp and placed his water cup back on the table next to the jar that contained the remains of Evan.

Tenbrook seated himself back in his chair. He took a slow, silent measure of Franklin before he spoke again. "Smudged, you say."

"Yes. That was the finding in the square, was it not?" Franklin found some courage upon hearing his voice. "You made the accusation yourself."

Tenbrook grinned and nodded. "But you didn't believe it, did you?"

Franklin didn't answer, fearing he was being maneuvered into something, but not seeing what it was.

"Come now," Tenbrook told him, "you said as much, there on the dais. You said Evan wasn't smudged, that there had to be a different explanation."

Franklin ground his teeth and considered his answer, still trying to see the trap. He took a deep breath and decided that if he couldn't see the trap, then he didn't care. He'd meet it with defiance. "Yes, of course, I did. I don't believe he was smudged. His mark was a bruise, that's it."

Tenbrook nodded and relaxed back in his chair again. "And you'd be right."

"What?" Franklin nearly yelled. "How can you admit that you've made such a mistake?" Franklin grabbed the jar, resisting the urge to throw it at Tenbrook's face, resisting the urge to follow that by jumping up and smashing it on Tenbrook's smug grin. Instead, he shoved it hard across the table at him.

Tenbrook effortlessly caught the jar before it went over the edge. "I didn't admit a mistake."

"You burned him."

"Evan was burned according to the law."

"He was burned because you made the accusation, which you now tell me was a lie." Franklin sat up straight, full if indignation. "It had to be a lie if it wasn't a mistake."

"Call it what you will," said Tenbrook. "Lies, truths, meaningless words to describe meaningless rules. Only simple men need simple rules."

"Stop playing games with me," Franklin snapped. "Why did you burn Evan? Tell me!"

"You know why I burned Evan. The smudge was a necessary expediency to burn Evan in front of Brighton as an example. The men and women who were aware of Evan's deceit knew he was put on the pyre for being a traitor. And those that weren't aware, know it now. Women's gossip spreads faster than fire. Evan was a lesson for the whole of Brighton, and any residents of the three townships that haven't snuck away to their empty houses and unprotected gates."

Franklin was appalled and he was angry. He was so torn up that he couldn't form the words he wanted to scream at Tenbrook.

"Drink more of that water," Tenbrook told him dismissively as he stood up and paraded himself in front of the fire and the jars on the mantel. "Tell me, Franklin, or, Father Franklin. Seeing your disapproval, I wonder now if I should have sought your council before handling the Evan situation as I did. What would you have had me do? How would you have suggested I handle a traitor to the three townships?"

Franklin glared at Tenbrook as he seethed.

"Well?" Tenbrook asked, innocently.

Franklin saw the trap then, but he didn't care. He knew Tenbrook was playing a perverse game to force Franklin to select his own method of execution. Franklin knew Tenbrook thought he was some kind of traitor. Franklin knew he had no power, but he wasn't going to face his fate with cowardice in his heart. He was going to defy it with all his strength. "I'd build a pyre in the center of the square, the biggest pyre Brighton has ever seen, and I'd put the traitor on the pile of wood. I wouldn't gag him, though. I'd want him to scream loud enough that the whole town could hear his agony when the fire peeled his blackened skin away." Franklin set his jaw and imagined the words that he'd shout to every woman and man in Brighton as the fire burned at his flesh. He'd give them all the truth they needed to find the strength in their hearts to rise up together and rid themselves of this aspiring, conniving little despot, Captain Tenbrook.

Tenbrook scrutinized Franklin as he leaned on the mantle. He took his time before responding. "Yes. You and I are of the same mind, then. And here I feared we'd disagree. That makes this next part so much more necessary, I think."

Franklin braced himself. He knew what was coming. He only wished he'd not stolen out of his quarters at the Temple so early that morning. He'd have liked to hold and kiss Fitz one last time.

Tenbrook came over and sat back at the head of the table, looking contrite. "I've betrayed you without knowing that I had, and I ask your forgiveness."

Franklin's mouth fell open. Forgiveness?

Chapter 62:  Oliver

Through a break in the rain, Oliver saw three people not far up the beach, close to the line of dunes, far from the pounding surf. "Uh, oh."

"What?" Beck asked, suddenly tense.

"People."

"People?" Beck asked. "Not demons?"

"They're clothed."

"People, then." Beck laid the bird he was eating down near the fire and hurried over to kneel by the window, joining him.

Oliver looked back at the fire. They'd built it far inside, and it wasn't blazing by any means. He hoped it was small enough not to cast much light through the window.

"A woman and two men, I think," said Beck.

"Winthrop's people?" Oliver asked.

"I don't know."

Beck hurried back across the room and stomped on the fire.

"Good idea," said Oliver, staring. "I think they're coming this way."

"They can't be tracking us," said Beck. He looked over at Oliver. "I admit I'm ignorant in the ways of hunters and Wardens, but they can't track us in the storm, can they?"

Oliver shook his head. "I don't see how anyone could."

"Maybe they're just caught in the storm like us, looking for a dry place to stay until it passes."

"I hope so," said Oliver. "What do we do?"

"I don't know," said Beck. "I'm reluctant to run, but these people could be a danger."

"Maybe they'll pass by," said Oliver, knowing he was hoping more than believing.

Beck didn't offer his opinion. He watched. They both did, for a bit, torn between two bad choices.

The wind gusted up outside, screaming through the derelict building and driving the rain horizontal. Down by the dunes, where the three people walked, one of them leaned into the wind. One was knocked over, and the tall one stopped and braced himself.

The gust died down and Oliver and Beck stared. The trio wasn't more than a hundred yards away. The smallest of the three got up off the ground. Her hood had blown off, sending her long hair flying in the wind.

"Definitely a girl," said Oliver. "Men don't wear their hair that long."

Beck didn't respond. He stared as if stunned.

"What?" asked Oliver, looking harder at the three.

"The tall one," said Beck, "I think that's Ivory, Muldoon's son."

"You know him?" Oliver asked. "From the army?"

"No," said Beck. "He didn't go out with the army. I'm sure that's him."

"Is he your friend?" Oliver asked. "Or—"

"Yes, he's a friend," said Beck, standing up and leaning out the window. He hollered, "Over here!"

Chapter 63:  Franklin

Franklin drank his full cup of water and set the empty cup on the table with a thunk. He stammered through a handful of syllables before he managed to put together an intelligible word. "Forgiveness?"

Tenbrook turned to face the fire, some of his confidence seeming to drain away. "This woman, Fitzgerald, the girl you keep in the Temple, you two are lovers?"

Franklin's guard was back up, and he was ready to fight. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh," said Tenbrook, raising his palms, "I don't mean to offend. Many men and women enter into relationships prior to marriage. I don't judge. I simply mention your relationship because it is the reason my betrayal exists."

Franklin was confused again.

"I apologize," said Tenbrook, "but I fear I have bedded your woman."

Franklin shook his head. He knew better than anyone what Fitz had to do when she was in The House of Barren Women. He'd accepted it long ago. That knowledge sparked an anger in him that he kept to himself because he knew what she'd done wasn't her choice. It was Brighton's policy to make her do those things. Everyone had unpleasant duties. That was the way of life. But now she was his, and his alone. He loved her, and she loved him. Her past at The House of Barren Women—and especially her past as Father Winthrop's plaything—was not important.

Tenbrook gently patted the antique table. "I had her right here the first time. Then upstairs in the general's bed. She even stayed with me in the house for a time. I'm sorry, I didn't know that you two were lovers then."

"You're lying." It was an instinctual reaction. Tenbrook had to be lying. There was no other explanation. At the same time, Fitz had disappeared for those days before Franklin had been forced to burn Father Nelson, and before the cavalry and the militia had marched out of Brighton. She'd never said where she'd been. And she'd grown angry when Franklin had pushed her for an answer.

In the end, he'd found out nothing.

In truth, he was still suspicious.

"I do not lie, I'm afraid to say." Tenbrook caressed the wooden table with his fingers, as if touching a woman's skin. "If you choose not to believe it, I'll respect that. I only bring it up so that the issue does not arise later and cause a rift between Brighton's two remaining ministers." Tenbrook heaved a pained sigh that seemed fake. "And I seek your forgiveness."

Franklin watched Tenbrook's fingers slide gently across the fine wood, and he thought of the times in the dark when he'd run his fingers down the curve of Fitzgerald's hip.

"I do not wish to," Tenbrook started and then swallowed, as if nervous, "but if you require me to verify my story, as it's obvious that you don't believe me, I can provide details such as the placement of a mole or a freckle in an intimate place. I have an eye for such details, and I have an impeccable memory. Shall I tell you what I remember?"

Franklin shook his head. Fitz did have a mole—more than one, actually, but at least one that only a lover would see.

If what Tenbrook was saying was true, then it had happened not when Fitz was a Barren Woman, but after she'd whispered her promises to him.

"I must also say that I am envious. You are a lucky man to have such a woman to share your bed. Though I ask your forgiveness once again, I do ask you to accept the compliment, as well."

How could Fitz be in love if she was spending days and nights in Tenbrook's bed? And right there on the table, where anybody, a guard, a maid, General Blackthorn himself could have walked in and seen what had happened?

What if a maid had seen them? The rumor of the tryst would be all over Brighton by now.

Women gossip.

They'd all seen how close Franklin and Fitz were. They all knew the trust that Franklin placed in Fitz, if they hadn't already guessed at the relationship. But they all knew that she'd been Tenbrook's lover, as well. They all knew she'd been a whore in The House of Barren Women, and they'd all known that, as often as she insisted to Franklin that it was only duty that she performed there, she must have liked it; either that, or her ambitions were not to love Franklin, but to use her feminine ways to manipulate him, to make a powerful place for herself in the aftermath of the change in leadership.

Franklin didn't want to believe it, but he couldn't help accepting the truth. Fitz didn't love him. She'd been using him all along, because she was a whore.

Chapter 64:  Fitzgerald

After waking up and finding Franklin gone, Fitz spent most of the morning worrying and searching for him. She asked each of the clergymen she came across. She asked Joseph. No one seemed to have any idea where he was. She searched the streets closest to the Sanctuary, braving the rain, thinking he'd taken a walk and neglected to tell her. She even searched Winthrop's old room, thinking he might be looking for some more reference books. All of her efforts proved fruitless.

She was almost in tears when she finally stumbled on Franklin by accident in the Sanctuary, sitting alone in the pews on the fourth row, staring at the stage. He must've arrived when she was searching somewhere else. Franklin's hands were folded in front of him. He sat quiet and despondent.

"Franklin! Where did you go? I thought the soldiers took you!"

Franklin didn't answer. She walked over to the pew and kissed him, but he didn't respond.

"Franklin!" she said again.

He turned, a vacant look in his eyes.

"I was looking all over for you," she said, distraught even though she'd found him.

Finally, he said, "I met with Tenbrook."

"With Tenbrook? Why didn't you tell me?" Fitz's pulse climbed as she looked him over. She was certain she'd find some injury or wound. After running her hands over Franklin's face, arms, and back, she was relieved to find no bumps or blood. Franklin sat in the same position she'd found him in, neither talking nor elaborating.

"What happened? What did he say?"

"Nothing of consequence."

"What does that mean?"

"It was all pointless small talk. Most of my time was spent waiting for Tenbrook to come into the room."

"When did he call you in?"

"Early this morning," was all Franklin said.

"Why didn't you tell someone? Why didn't you tell me?"

Fitz watched Franklin, but he didn't offer anything further. The effect of Tenbrook's games was written on his face. Tenbrook had probably called the meeting and made Franklin wait on purpose, hoping to cement his authority. Fitz was just thankful he hadn't been hurt, or killed. Things could have been much worse.

"I'm just glad you're alive, Franklin. I was so worried."

Franklin said nothing. He didn't respond or look at her. She'd seen Franklin in similar moods before, when Winthrop had forced him into some pointless punishment, or made him feel inferior in front of the other novices or the clergymen. Fitz wanted to be angry, but she knew that an argument wouldn't be good for either of them.

"I know how that meeting must've made you feel, Franklin. But things are better than they seem. We feared much worse would happen. The fact that you're alive means we can continue our plan. It means there's hope that we can keep safe."

She paused for an answer. When it was clear she wasn't getting one, she kissed Franklin on the forehead and decided to leave him alone with his thoughts. Studious men like Franklin often needed time to think.

**

During her walk to the market, Fitz turned Tenbrook's motives over and over in her mind. The rain had let up, but gray clouds still covered the sky.

Tenbrook had to be plotting. He always was.

She was certain that this morning's meeting was a petty demonstration of power over Franklin. It was part of a bigger plan. And given that Tenbrook hadn't put Franklin on the pyre or done away with him covertly meant that to a small but significant degree, he respected the power that Franklin had, which had only come from his sermons. The People responded to Franklin. Everybody who heard Franklin speak and saw the way the crowd fell in love with his voice and his words knew that.

If others saw it, then Fitz was sure that Tenbrook saw it, too. He may have even feared it.

Fitz decided she'd give Franklin his space for a day or two if needed. He was a sweet and bright boy, but he was also naïve and prone to falling prey to the bluster of powerful men. And why not? He, like everyone else in Brighton, had been victimized by the powerful his whole life. It took an inner spirit of remarkable strength to see oneself as more than a peon, enslaved to other men's wishes, when that was all one had ever known.

Fitz knew she wasn't only a toy or a pet. She was significant. So was Franklin, but he was special. He needed some guidance and some confidence. He didn't understand what he could be.

Fitz quickened her pace as she came to feel like she was seeing the whole picture.

Resolve washed over her. She was on her way to the market to get the daily vegetables, meat, and bread, but she'd spend her time talking with women out of sight of any of Tenbrook's men. She'd continue to build a coalition of women who were looking for a leader to take them toward a better future, women who would understand that Tenbrook was a monster. That shouldn't be hard. Tenbrook's reputation, whispered furtively by every woman in Brighton, made him easy to hate.

Chapter 65:  Beck

Beck listened to the people on the lowest floor of the building as they were coming in. After telling Oliver to work on getting the fire going again, he went down what had once been a hallway to wait at the top of the stairs. He waited excitedly for the people to come up. Ivory had some kind of bow, as did the girl. To Beck, that meant food and security. What's more, it suddenly made total sense to him where Ivory had been getting those ancient books.

He'd happened upon a stash in the Ancient City.

That had to be the truth. It explained why Ivory was on this side of the mountains, and also where the books had come from. It also strongly suggested two positives: Ivory knew how to take care of himself in demon country, and he knew how to get back to Brighton.

Things had taken a distinct turn for the better.

When Ivory came around the last sharp turn on the way up the stairs, Beck's optimism withered. He looked down the length of the building, thinking maybe he'd made a mistake. "Stop there."

Ivory did as he was told, coming to a stop with one foot on the landing and one foot on the first step of the last flight up.

"Where are your friends?" Beck asked, still looking around for an ambush he felt sure was coming. At the same time, he couldn't take his eyes of the odd object the boy was carrying. At first, Beck thought it was a bow, but if so, it was like no bow Beck had ever seen. It was complex and magnificent. It looked like Tech Magic. It looked priceless.

"Downstairs," said Ivory.

"Why aren't they with you?" asked Beck.

"They're as cautious as you now seem to be," Ivory answered.

"I'd feel better if I could see them," said Beck.

"How many are up there with you, Minister Beck?"

Beck wasn't sure he should answer honestly. He was starting to have his doubts. "What is that you have in your hand?"

"A compound bow." Ivory raised the bow to show it to Beck.

"A compound bow?" The words sounded odd mixed together like that. "Is that a bow for shooting arrows?"

"Yes," Ivory answered. "Only better. How many are with you?"

Beck pursed his lips and looked down the hall again. He saw Oliver coming his way, the fire burning heartily behind him. Beck raised a hand to bring Oliver to a halt.

Oliver stopped, looked around cautiously, and drew his dagger.

Beck said, "I suppose we may be at a standstill if we can't reach a measure of trust. Why did your friends stay downstairs?"

"We wanted to be sure it was safe before we risked our lives."

"But you came," said Beck.

"I know you," said Ivory. "I also know you're ruthless, and I don't trust you fully. Did you send that big man to follow me when you sent me to get more books for you?"

"I…" Beck tried to look offended. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"A big man, like a bear."

Beck silently shook his head, wondering if Jeremiah was downstairs, but discarded that notion. None of the three he'd seen outside in the rain was near big enough to be Jeremiah.

Suddenly, Oliver was beside Beck, brandishing his dagger, but making it clear that he'd use it. Oliver said, "There are two of us, me and the Minister. Come up if you want, or go away. I don't care. I want to finish eating my meal."

"Okay," said Ivory. "I'm with a girl named Melora, and a man named Jingo."

Beck sighed. "Tell them to come up."

"You need to know something first," said Ivory. "Jingo isn't like us."

"How so?" Beck asked, his interest piqued.

"He's the smartest man you'll ever meet," said Ivory.

"Doubtful," muttered Beck.

"He's three hundred years old," said Ivory, "and he's a not demon, but he looks like one."

Chapter 66:  Bray

Bray woke up cold and wet. He cracked his eyes, sat up, and peered out the window of the building in which he'd slept for who knew how long. The storm clouds from the night before were gone, but a chill remained in the air. He cursed and got to his feet, squeezing some of the remaining water from his clothes, wincing at the pain from his various wounds. He didn't hear any demons or battling men outside. The storm must have driven them to find shelter.

Maybe they died.

He didn't care either way.

He'd barely avoided them and gotten inside the building to seek shelter before the storm had drowned out the noises of fighting. He huffed the air for demon scent, but all he smelled was mud. Some of the rain had puddled in the building. Some had gotten on him. The rainstorm had been one of the worst he'd seen, drenching anything and everything around him. With the storm over, he remembered William, and that made him wonder if the boy was still alive.

He'd find William later.

There was something else he had to do first.

Chapter 67:  Bray

Fresh demon corpses littered the road as Bray traveled the remaining streets to the tower. He'd made it halfway before he realized where he was going. He'd had no breakfast. He didn't feel like eating. Not now. Maybe not ever.

He noticed a few fallen, crazed men tangled among the demons, their guts torn out and snaked across the roadway.

He stopped to scavenge several backpacks, but most were empty. He found a soggy demon scalp in one man's pack and ferreted it out, tucking it in with his other wares, barely understanding what he was doing. They were just motions, ingrained in him from a life in the wild.

Soon, he was approaching the tower entrance. He walked into the dank building and stopped. For a moment, he almost turned around. The sickness in his stomach seemed to get worse as he got closer.

He climbed the stairs, his feet operating on muscle memory. He kept his sword out, just in case he encountered something, even though the tower was silent. That silence reminded him of the day before, when Ella, Melora, William, and Ivory had been with him. He swallowed as he considered what that meant.

Rainwater had poured through the holes in the walls and puddled on the stairs. He encountered a few corpses struck down in the midst of battle, their faces twisted in a deathly grimace.

By the time he reached the roof, his legs were burning from the exertion of the climb. His mind fought with emotions he'd hoped would disappear. Ella's death at his hands was a curse he'd never shake. Some part of him thought he might encounter Ivory, Melora, William, or Jingo, waiting to exact revenge.

He saw no one except Ella.

Bray bit his lip as he walked over to the pale, storm-drenched body. A few birds took flight as he approached. His stomach twisted in knots. Ella's eyes were glazed over; her arms were limp at her sides. The storm had soaked her clothing and washed away some of the blood, but the gaping neck wound was an awful reminder of what he'd done. He put away his sword and knelt down next to her, as if she might come to life and forgive him.

But that would never happen.

I'll never talk to her again.

Bray wiped his eyes. He tucked his arms beneath Ella, cradling her to his chest as he whispered words of apology, barely understanding his own mumblings. The cold touch of her skin on his arms reminded him of how warm she'd felt when they'd kissed. His body felt limp and weak when he thought about it.

He'd never have another memory with her again.

He remained in that position for who knew how long, until the breeze kicked up and the squawking birds reminded him that he was alive and she wasn't.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, he looked around the rooftop. A circling crow reminded him of the scavengers that were waiting for him to finish so they could take a turn.

He needed to bury her.

He wouldn't do it in the streets. She deserved something better than a place among demons and bloodstained, shirtless men. Bray sucked in a pained breath and set her down, looking around the rubble-strewn rooftop. He saw nothing suitable.

He was about to give up when he spotted a rectangle of ancient rocks. Walking over to it, he noticed a three-foot-high foundation encasing several layers of soggy, brown soil.

A garden. Jingo must've kept one here.

Most of the crops had already been harvested from the early cold. Bray smiled through his pain at the logic of keeping a garden on the roof. If only he'd believed what the man was before he'd acted. That revelation wouldn't help him or Ella now.

The birds and the rodents would find her eventually, but she'd be better off here than down in the street. Returning to Ella, Bray lifted her gently and carried her to the garden. Then he set her down and used his hands to dig away at the dirt until he'd reached the stone roof. He took his time, dreading the inevitable finality of what he was about to do.

It took him several minutes to look at Ella. He recalled the words that settlers and the people of Brighton often said when they buried a relative or a friend. A lump in his throat prevented him from saying them now.

A gentle breeze blew across the rooftop and tickled his face. He couldn't remember using the word goodbye. He'd never needed it, until now. Gathering strength he never thought he'd need, Bray whispered the word softly enough that he could barely hear it.

"Goodbye."

He picked up Ella, placed her in the middle of the garden, and gently covered her with soil.

Chapter 68:  William

William wandered up the roadway. The demons followed. The pain of losing his mother was tempered by the freedom of finally being alone. No more people to fear. No more wondering if he'd wake up with a knife stuck in his back.

There were worse things.

Forcing those decidedly human thoughts from his mind, William walked and walked until the salt air became less prevalent and the demon stench grew more potent. Tall buildings towered on either side of him, whispering secrets. William was no longer afraid of them, or what they held. He was no longer afraid of anything.

He'd send his creatures after anyone who tried to hurt him, just like he'd already sent them after Melora. Let them have their strange, floating Tech Magic.

He'd find even more interesting things in the city.

William comforted himself with that thought as he wandered farther. The bodies of shirtless, blood-spattered men lay in the road. He frowned as he surveyed them. Their bodies were twisted, overlapping with those of the demons. William paused and leaned down next to one of them. He'd seen these men out the window of Jingo's tower, though he'd been too caught up in what was happening to pay much attention at the time. He studied the body in front of him. The man was facedown in the dirt. William poked him several times with his sword, as if the man might spring to life and grab him, even though he was obviously dead.

The hiss of hot breath through teeth reminded William he wasn't alone. He turned to find the creatures waiting next to him—not screeching or attacking, but standing still. Their eyes flitted back and forth between William and the man, as if they were performing the same inspection.

William rolled the man over.

The remnants of a bloody handprint were smeared on the man's chest. Had the man put it there? William had seen several others like him out the windows of the tower.

William shrugged.

Most men William knew were afraid of the demons, not heading toward them. He recalled a comment Bray had made earlier, about Blackthorn's soldiers going on an expedition. The man in front of him had scraggly hair; his clothing was beaten and torn. He certainly didn't look like a soldier. At least, not any of the soldiers William knew. William pursed his lips and got to his feet, studying a few others.

They were dressed similarly.

The men intrigued him enough for William to follow their boot prints as he walked through the city. Maybe he'd follow these strange, marked men and see what he could find. If he came across Bray on the way, he'd kill him.

Chapter 69:  Beck

With three pelicans cooking over the fire thanks to Ivory's and Melora's hunting skills, Oliver sat by the fire with Beck, Ivory, Melora, and the demon who talked like a man, Jingo.

"Do I frighten you, Oliver?" Jingo asked.

Oliver shook his head. "I'm not very old, but I've learned that monsters can look like men. Why not the opposite?"

"Don't say he looks like a monster," Beck scolded under his breath.

Oliver barely gave Beck a glance, just enough to let Beck know that although he was a Minister of Brighton, out here in the wild, he was a man who'd probably die without help. Of course Oliver was in much the same position.

"I've gotten used to my appearance," said Jingo. "I've met many people through the years. This is not new for me."

"I'm sorry if I offended you," said Oliver.

"I'm not offended," said Jingo.

"Are there many like you?" Beck asked.

"Not anymore," said Jingo. "There were, back at the beginning. Most of us were hunted."

"The Ancients didn't accept that you were still intelligent men, despite the way you looked?" Beck asked.

Jingo glanced at Melora. "There were women like me, too, back when it all started." He glanced at Oliver. "Everybody thought we were monsters. People have always let their fears rule them. A person's appearance has always provided an easy way for a fearful person to label another as good or bad."

Though Oliver heard no animosity in Jingo's tone, he felt bad as he listened, because he had to admit, he was a little guilty of exactly that. If not, he might have used a word other than monster to describe Jingo.

Ivory leaned up and poked his knife into the meat of first one pelican, then the others. "These are ready," he announced, as he sliced a piece of meat off. "Help yourselves."

Oliver, staring at Jingo said, "I have a question that has always bothered me."

"Just one?" Jingo asked.

"Kids in Brighton are told stories of the ancient times," said Oliver. "Lots of them. I never believed any of them, but now that I've come so close to the Ancient City, I've seen things that I never dreamed could exist. I think maybe some of the legends were true."

"Ask me anything," Jingo told him.

"Did Ancients really fly through the air?"

"Yes," said Jingo. "We had machines called airplanes. Mostly. We had lots of machines that could fly. But people back in ancient times often flew in airplanes that could easily travel thousands of miles in a single day."

"Thousands?" Oliver asked.

"The diameter of the circle wall," Beck interrupted, "the distance if you walk straight across the circle, is two miles."

"So thousands of miles is very, very far," said Oliver incredulously. "It's hard to imagine that kind of distance."

Jingo nodded.

"Is the world shaped like a ball?" Oliver asked, looking at Beck because of their earlier conversation.

"Indeed it is," answered Jingo.

"Why don't the people on the bottom fall off?" asked Oliver. "Or do they?"

"That's a very complicated answer to give you over dinner as I'm sure it'll spawn a hundred more questions. The simple answer is gravity. It's what causes things to fall. No matter where you stand on the ball shaped earth, gravity pulls you toward the center of the ball. So nobody falls off."

"Okay," said Oliver, skeptically, "I'll accept that for now, but you're right, I do have more questions about that. What about guns?"

"Guns?" asked Jingo. "What do you know about guns?"

"They were Tech Magic swords used by the Ancients," said Oliver. "Some of the legendary men used them. They spat thunder and lighting and killed everybody you swung at, everybody."

Jingo nodded. "Guns are real, but they aren't anything like a sword, except that they kill. But where a man with a sword can kill other men one at a time, a man with a gun might kill tens, hundreds, or even thousands with relative ease. And where a sword can be used to kill a man who is closer than the length of your arm and the sword, with a gun, you might kill somebody twenty feet away, or two hundred yards away."

"Then," said Oliver, triumphantly, "with weapons like that, how come the Ancients didn't slay all the demons? Why did the demons kill all the Ancients?"

"Because," said Jingo, "most of the Ancients turned into demons. The answer is more complicated than that, but that is the simplest way to put it."

Beck leaned forward to cut off a wing, telling Jingo, "I'm going to have a million questions as well, but I've also got to get back to Brighton. Where are the three of you heading? Brighton, I hope."

Jingo looked at Ivory, and Ivory at Melora.

Witnessing the silent exchange, Oliver laughed. "They're as lost as we are."

"We're not lost," Ivory tried.

"We know where we are," Jingo told Oliver. "We don't know where we're going."

"How's that?" asked Beck.

"We were running from the Ancient City when we left in Jingo's boat," said Melora.

"A boat?" Beck asked, glancing at the shiny compound bow at Ivory's side. "More Tech Magic?"

"To speak in your vernacular," Jingo confirmed.

"Come with us back to Brighton," Beck told them.

Ivory started to agree, but stopped. "I think Jingo would be the greatest thing to ever happen to Brighton, but they'd kill him as soon as they saw him. That's how things are there."

"What if things were different in Brighton?" Beck asked. "What if things changed drastically enough that Jingo could be accepted, and he could even live in the Academy, unharmed? If that's what he wanted, of course."

"Not possible," said Ivory.

"But it is," Beck insisted. "Listen to me, and I'll tell you why. A lot has happened in the last few days. We can stay overnight and leave in the morning."

Chapter 70:  Beck

After talking through the night, the rain had subsided and the morning sun cast tentative rays of light over the beach and into the ancient building. Beck wiped his eyes, realizing he was too fascinated to be tired, even though he should be. Through the night, Oliver, Melora, and Ivory napped intermittently as they listened to Jingo's stories. He never seemed to tire of talking about ancient times.

Now they were awake and walking on the beach, taking advantage of the good weather to continue their journey, though it wasn't entirely certain that they were all going to accompany Beck back to Brighton. For the time being, Ivory was in the lead, fifty or sixty yards ahead, scouting and looking for dangers. His hunter's instincts were attuned to the wilderness, and he would better at spotting a danger than any of the rest of them. Melora and Oliver walked together, trading stories. They'd bonded quickly. That left Beck to walk beside Jingo, not far behind the others.

They'd been walking in silence for some time as Beck mulled over the things Jingo had said before.

"You have more questions," said Jingo as if reading Beck's mind.

"I do," said Beck. "I've been thinking about last night's answers, but I wanted to give you a few hours of peace."

"I've had all the peace and solitude I need for a lifetime," said Jingo, turning to watch the waves. "Ask."

"Last night, as you glossed over the reasons for the death of all the Ancients, it seemed that you were saying the downfall was their fault," said Beck.

"You should know," said Jingo, "the Ancients didn't die. The Ancients are us."

"Us?" Beck shook his head in disbelief. Some part of him had suspected it, when his head was buried in books at the Academy or at night before he went to sleep, but the revelation was shocking just the same. "I don't see how we could be the Ancients."

"The Ancients were men and women, humans no different than any of us. Or I should say, you." Jingo motioned at Beck, Ivory, Melora, and Oliver.

Beck chewed on that thought for a moment. "What happened to us? This disease, this spore that we have grown to fear, was it a natural pitfall, then?"

"On the surface, it was the spore," said Jingo. "In our vanity, we thought we could unlock every secret of nature. We engineered organisms at the genetic level."

Beck's face showed his confusion.

Jingo said, "On Earth, there are organisms so small that a million of them could rest on the tip of your little finger and you'd never know it."

Beck said, "I've come across some of those words in old books, but they're still hard to comprehend."

"Every living thing is made up of cells as small as those tiny organisms. Within each cell, myriad structures exist. Just as a person has hands and feet, lungs, heart, and stomach, a cell contains organelles that perform the functions necessary to keep it alive. One of the things that exist within a cell is the genetic material."

"Is that like the cell's brain?" Beck asked.

Jingo pursed his lips and thought about it for a second. "Perhaps so, perhaps not. Life at that level is different than it is for a complex organism like you and me. In a way, the genetic material is like a book that contains a set of instructions. It tells the cell how to grow, how to reproduce, and how to function."

"I think I understand," said Beck.

"With our Tech Magic, as you call it, we were able to change those instructions to make cells do something different than they were intended."

Beck scratched his head, trying to make the logical jump from changed cellular instructions to anything practical at a human level. "But if there are billions and billions of cells in a single person, did the Ancients have the ability to change every cell in a person's body?"

"Not exactly," said Jingo. "That's a different discussion altogether, though. We might talk on that for days, or maybe the rest of our lives, and never truly understand it."

"It's difficult to believe anything can be that complex."

"Everything is that complex," said Jingo. "In ancient times, the world was full of people who spent their entire lives studying in-depth knowledge that you can only imagine. But getting back to the spore, it wasn't a natural occurrence. Men who sought to make a profit changed the genetic instructions of a particular kind of fungus."

"A fungus?" Beck asked. "Like a mushroom?"

Jingo nodded. "There are many types of fungi."

"How did they hope to profit by that?"

Jingo laughed. "It will seem ridiculous to you."

Beck leaned closer. "Tell me."

"A certain kind of fungus grows under the toenails of some people, causing them to turn yellow. A group of men and women hoped to make money by providing a cure for this."

"Wait?" Beck raised his hands and looked perplexed. "They were going to profit from people's dissatisfaction with the color of their toenails?"

"Yes."

Beck laughed and laughed some more. Then he stopped. He looked at Jingo, as if he might chastise him. "And that was the cause of man's fall?"

"You might say it was the spark that ignited the flame," said Jingo, "and like any spark, that spark turns into a fire that eventually burns a house down. The people who saw the fire when it was small had the opportunity to put it out, but they didn't."

Beck nodded. He thought of the nineteen thousand lives that Blackthorn had sacrificed to avoid a famine, and he knew that was true.

Chapter 71:  Franklin

"May I bring you something to eat, Father Franklin?"

Franklin blinked his eyes and looked up. He'd been staring again at nothing but the pew in front of him. He was not interested in the pew, of course, but the pew was sitting in his line of vision when his eyes had settled, his head had lolled forward, and his posture had slumped. It was his habit now. He'd lost track of how long he'd been there. As he'd sat, he'd watched more and more of the clergy finding reason to come in and sit apart from one another, joining him. He'd accepted that the pews might never seat the townsfolk again, at least not during Franklin's life. That's what Tenbrook wanted. And now, with the raw wound of Fitz's betrayal angering and hurting Franklin every second he was awake, he knew Tenbrook would get what he'd wanted. He'd won.

Novice Joseph asked again, "May I bring you something to eat?"

"No." Franklin hadn't been tempted by the thought of food since he'd spent that morning in Tenbrook's lair.

"You need to eat something."

Franklin said nothing, gestured nothing. He'd already answered the question. Why waste energy repeating words to be nothing but polite? He needed his energy to wallow in his heartache and humiliation.

Joseph walked around the pew and scooted along the front edge of the one on which Franklin sat until he was standing right beside Franklin. He pointed at the seat and whispered, "May I?"

Franklin answered with the slightest of nods.

Joseph seated himself, took a moment to get situated, leaned over, and put his elbows on his knees as though preparing to immerse himself in prayer. He didn't, though. He turned his head and looked up at Franklin, whispering, "You don't need to do this, Father."

Franklin said nothing. His choice to torture himself through the pain in his heart was something he did have to do, not because he felt it would make anything better, but because his heart was aching from Fitz's betrayal, and because somehow the suffering had become all he wanted out of his waking hours.

"Food stores are short because of the early snow," said Novice Joseph, "but I've been doing my best to stockpile extra food in our larder. We still have no trouble getting what we need from the market."

Franklin didn't know what Novice Joseph was talking about.

"I've heard about you fasting," Novice Joseph sat up and pointed across the rows and rows of pews all the way to the back of the Sanctuary, "and one by one, the rest of the clergy has come to join you. Have you not noticed? They all know you are doing it for the good of The People."

Franklin turned around, catching sight of the rows of faces behind him. The clergymen's heads were bowed and they were assuming the same position as Franklin. In his distressed emotional state, he hadn't realized what they were doing.

"No one is eating now. Their novices are in the back row now, doing the same."

Franklin furrowed his brow as he surveyed the rows of clergymen. It felt like he was breaking from a trance. They weren't joining him in the way they believed. In the quietest voice he could muster, Franklin whispered, "I'm not doing this for the good of The People."

Novice Joseph smiled and looked around to check the distance to the nearest clergy, as though one or two of them might have moved. He lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. "I know why you're here, and I understand now what Father Winthrop saw in you. I understand why you're the Bishop of Brighton. You're a genius."

How Novice Joseph concluded that Franklin was a genius for having made the mistake of loving a Barren Woman did nothing but underscore how stupid a novice Joseph must be. It made no logical sense. Not one speck.

Novice Joseph studied Franklin's expression for a moment and said, "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

Franklin asked, "What are you talking about?"

"The fast," answered Novice Joseph. "I don't understand how you knew what had to be done, but you did. You knew the other Fathers would be so shamed by your morality and sacrifice that they'd be compelled by their faith in The Word to join you. In doing so, their hatred of you for burning Father Nelson has been forgotten."

"Forgotten?" Franklin scoffed.

"No, no," Novice Joseph whispered, putting a hand gently on Franklin's arm to calm him. "You're right, not forgotten. Perhaps forgiven. I think in joining you, they've learned to respect you. They hated you after you burned Father Nelson. I believe they'd have eventually plotted to have you done away with, if you hadn't started this fast."

A time existed not so long ago that Franklin would not have believed that any Father would dare conceive of such a sin, but Franklin was learning all about the depths of men's and women's animosities and the things they were capable of doing to one another. Franklin said, "They'll always hate me for Father Nelson."

"No," Novice Joseph shook his head. "Not now. They've all heard you speak. You have the gift to move men's hearts with your words. They've all heard and seen. Because of Father Nelson, they've harbored doubts. Now, because of the fast, they believe that your words aren't empty, that they mean to you as much as they mean to The People. The clergy is with you."

Franklin sat up and looked around. Every clergyman who'd gathered from the townships and villages had remained in Brighton after the army marched. They were all in the pews, silently meditating or praying. "All because of my…" Franklin was reluctant to voice the lie, "my fast for The People?"

"Yes," Novice Joseph confirmed. "Every one of them."

Chapter 72:  Franklin

With a back aching from sitting in a pew for so many long hours, Franklin got up. Most of the clergymen had retired to their quarters already. Some were snoring on the benches. Aside from that, Franklin heard no sounds in the dark Temple.

He pressed his palm to the wood of his bench, testing its softness, deciding whether to spend another night sleeping where he spent his daylight hours sitting. He'd beaten himself down far enough that he felt like he'd reached bottom. It was time to trudge through the coming days under Tenbrook's rule, until the days turned to months and the months to years. He'd worked so hard, traded so much of his integrity away to stay in Winthrop's good graces, just to have a chance to one day sit in Winthrop's seat and make Brighton better than what it was.

But not now.

Fitz had deceived and used him to serve her ambition, a life sharing her bed with one man rather than sharing it with them all; a councilman's wife pulling his strings like a puppeteer. And Franklin had eagerly let her. And that was the seed of the epiphany: Franklin, regardless of his title, was never destined to be a leader. He'd been Winthrop's novice, then Fitz's puppet, and now Tenbrook's servile dog, just as Winthrop had been Blackthorn's barking pet. And if Franklin shucked off Tenbrook's yoke through some miracle, it wouldn't change a thing. Another strong-willed buffoon would appear, see Franklin's inherent flaw, and take advantage of it.

Franklin would always have a master. That was his fate.

So what did it matter whether the master was Winthrop or Tenbrook?

It didn't.

Franklin stretched his stiff knees and ambled out of the dark Temple, headed down the hall toward his quarters. Fitz would be there in the bed they shared. But she'd be asleep, and Franklin would sleep too, under a warm blanket with a pillow under his head. And tomorrow, he'd eat. No, he'd gorge. And he'd send Fitz to The House of Barren Women to fetch him a new whore, and he'd have his way with whomever she brought. And tomorrow night, he'd sleep in the same bed with Fitz again. He'd do the same the following day, and the next. And he'd make Fitz hate him, and in that hate, she'd learn the price of her treachery. And when she finally ran out of false patience and her anger flared, Franklin would tell her to go back to the whorehouse and spend the rest of her life on her back, or else keep his bed warm at night and pretend to be somebody of importance while she fetched new whores at his whim.

That would be her punishment.

Franklin would never be free of Tenbrook, but he'd make sure Fitz got what she deserved for putting him at Tenbrook's mercy, and he'd enjoy the pleasures of the position for which he'd paid so dearly. He'd never be cold again. He'd never be hungry. He'd never labor and sweat. He'd never look at a woman with unfulfilled desire. He'd have whichever ones he pleased, whenever he wanted.

Franklin quietly turned the knob on the door of his quarters and inched the heavy wooden slab open.

The room smelled of smoke and Fitz, and for a second, his heart fluttered painfully to remind him how deep his feelings for her ran.

He closed the door behind him as he stepped inside.

The fire had burned down to embers that glowed dim red, giving Franklin just enough light to find his way to the bed.

He sat down, took off his shoes, and stood back up and removed his Bishop's robe before sitting back on the bed. That's where he stopped, finding it suddenly too painful to lay down in the bed with her.

He wanted to hate her, but it hurt too much.

"I was giving you space," she whispered.

The words, gentle and apologetic in their sound, were nothing but deceit. Franklin knew that now. But knowing made it worse than he realized, because he couldn't discern the falseness in them. Fitz was good with her lies. No wonder Winthrop had taken such a liking to her when Franklin's job had been bringing him nightly harlots.

"Lay down," said Fitz. "You need to sleep. We don't need to talk tonight. Let me hold you."

Franklin shook his head and stared at the shadow of his shoes on the floor, regretting coming into the room in the first place. He wanted to grab his shoes and sleep in the pews again. He wanted to run through the fields in the dark until he reached the gate through the circle wall, and then run into the woods, taking his pain and humiliation with him into the forest. After that, he didn't care what happened. He just wanted to be free.

Why did it have to be Tenbrook she'd bedded? Why did it have to be the man Franklin hated and feared more than any other?

Suddenly he felt her whore's hand on his back. He shuddered.

"Are you sick?" Fitz asked. "You're shivering."

"I'm not shivering," Franklin croaked. "I just don't want you to touch me."

The sound of the blanket being pushed aside and a pillow being knocked to the floor made it clear that Fitz had sat up in bed behind him.

"What?" she asked, angry, challenging. "You don't want me to touch you?"

Franklin shook his head.

She pulled roughly at his shoulder in an attempt to turn him to face her. "You better look at me and tell me what's going on."

Chapter 73:  Beck

Beck and Jingo sat by the fire while Ivory and Melora slept. It had been a long day of walking and only Oliver was still awake with them. As usual, Jingo continued speaking. "The toenail color profiteers chose to change the genetic code of another fungus so that it would kill the fungus that was discoloring the toenails. What they didn't realize at first, what nobody even guessed until a year after they were selling their product, was that that fungus they engineered was the spore that we have today, the one that infects men, twists their bodies and minds and turns them into what you call demons."

"You say it took a year before people realized the fungus was something other than a cure for toenail discoloration. Did they not wonder why demons were running in the streets?" Beck asked.

"That is where we get back to the idea of the spark," said Jingo. "The spark turns into a small fire, which if conditions are right, eventually turns into a large fire. And just like today, no person infected with the spore instantly changes from a human to a demon. It takes months, or even years. Or, in rare cases like me, the person never changes into a demon, but is changed into something else." Jingo rubbed a hand over the fungal lumps on his head. "We all look like monsters, I suppose, but for some of us, the fungus opens our minds to a vast potential rather than twisting it and turning us into beasts."

Beck nodded.

Jingo drew in a deep breath. "In Brighton, as soon as you suspect that a person is infected, you burn them. In ancient times, that was unthinkable."

"What did you do with them, then?" Beck asked.

"At first, nothing. It took a long time for symptoms to show. At first there were what you call the smudges, and people didn't know what to think of them. Our doctors took a long time to discover the cause. At first, nobody knew what the smudges would turn into. By the time the first people looked and acted like the demons we have today, the spore had infected hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions." Jingo put a hand over his mouth and rubbed his lips as though he were trying to capture some particularly vile words before they escaped. "I suppose if we had known at the time where it would lead, we could have done something to stop it. We could have employed the solution you use in Brighton. We could have burned all of the infected and perhaps stopped the spore. But probably not."

"Why not?" asked Beck. "How could that be? If you had guessed, or your scientists had figured it out, then surely you could have done something."

Jingo nodded. "Eventually we did figure it out. We did understand the cause. We did know where the spore infection led. But millions were infected by then. Tens of thousands had died at the hands of the demons. It was a different disease that finished us off."

"Another pitfall?" Beck was shocked. "What was that?"

"Our human nature," said Jingo. "It is hard to send a smudged mother, child, or man to the fire." Jingo paused. "It must be hard for you three ministers—"

Beck nodded. "I've had regrets and uncertainties more times than you could know."

"Imagine what a family would go through if they were to make the decision themselves? How long would the parent of a diseased child wait before putting him in the fire? Would he do it after the warts showed up? Or would he wait until the child killed a sibling? Would he ever do it?"

Beck glanced at a sleeping Melora, having heard the story of her mother and brother as they'd eaten their midday meal during the day's hike. He said, "In some cases, a parent might never do it."

"Imagine the argument?" said Jingo. "A parent wouldn't want to kill an infected child. The neighbors might want to. There would be fights. People would take the law into their own hands. Neighbors would murder neighbors. Others would organize on the side of the infected, in hopes of curing them, or at least handling them humanely. Others would want to destroy them all. Then there'd be the profiteers, looking for ways to make money on the suffering. Worse than that would be the charlatans. They'd profit by selling false cures, and the families of the sick would pay anything."

"And your leaders?" asked Beck. "Why didn't they do the necessary thing? Why didn't that stop the spread of the spore? Why didn't they do something with the sick?"

"For the very same reason leaders often fail," said Jingo. "They are too concerned with protecting their power and fighting with their political rivals. The game of politics consumes them. They lose sight of their purpose, which is to see to the well being of the people."

Beck nodded at that. It was the same in Brighton. It always had been. He feared it always would be.

"Our politicians were never able to come together with a solution, except when it was too late, when billions were infected," Jingo said.

The conversation ceased as Jingo focused on bending and stretching his knee, wincing at some pain that Beck assumed was related to the spore. After that, conversation came to a stop. Beck was overwhelmed by the revelation, and by feeling a weight of guilt because he'd been a participant in a governmental system just as inept as the one the Ancients had, the one that had wiped out their billions through selfishness and incompetence.

Jingo seemed depressed for having relived the memories of all humanity's failures leading up to the fall. Beck was depressed because of the futility that he saw in Brighton's brutal struggle to live. The council inflicted the most painful solutions on The People while doing little to build a better life, at least not in the long run. They were simply bouncing their way from disaster to disaster. As Jingo said, they would think they were succeeding, until a big enough pitfall swallowed them and finished the fall that had started with the Ancients.

They had to think differently. Beck just wasn't sure how.

Chapter 74:  Franklin

Franklin stood up and shuffled toward the door. He paused when his hand grasped the knob, stuck on whether to go, or where. The pew in the Temple seemed worse, in its way, than where he was. He turned and walked over to one of the wooden chairs by the fire. The joints creaked as he sat.

Fitz didn't move. She stayed on the bed, propped up on an arm, a sleeping gown draped over her, barely covering those breasts that Tenbrook's dirty hands had taken such pleasure in squeezing.

Franklin glanced at her, but quickly turned back to the fires. He couldn't bear to watch Fitz any longer.

Fitz scooted to the edge of the bed with her feet hanging down to the floor. "You're frightening me."

Franklin snorted at her vulnerable voice. He imagined her melting men's resolve with that voice, all but stealing coins from their pockets after she'd pleasured them.

"Why do you look so disgusted when I speak to you?" she asked. "What did I do?"

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" Franklin snarled.

"Find out what?" Fitz asked. "Nothing was being hidden."

Franklin laughed harshly. "I suppose not. I'm certain I'm the only one in Brighton who doesn't know."

Fitz hung her head and muttered. "I did it for us."

"For us?" Franklin laughed again through his anger and his hurt, tears burning down his cheeks. "For us? You did it for you."

"That's a lie." Fitz got to her feet. "I risked my life just as you have."

"Risked your life?" Franklin asked, mocking her. "Is that what you were doing?"

"I could end up on the pyre as easily as anyone. More so. I'm just a Barren Woman. I'm nothing." Fitz's tears were starting to flow. "Why are talking to me with such cruelty? Was it so wrong of me to go the market? Was it so wrong of me to seek out allies when you were pouting in the Temple and doing nothing?"

"Allies? Market?" Franklin spat. Fitz was trying to make the conversation about something other than her seduction of Tenbrook. "Pouting?" That part hurt. But why not? Everything else hurt. Why not hurtful words? He'd heard married men and women quarrel before, sometimes in the Temple, sometimes in the market. In the years before he'd been in a relationship, he'd always wondered how people could be so hateful to one another with their words, then find a way to come together and share a bed and raise their children. Now he understood at least some of it.

"Yes, you were pouting," said Fitz, "feeling sorry for yourself because sometimes things are hard."

"I'll have you know," Franklin shot back, "the clergymen have rallied to my side. They all believe in me now. They're not against me."

"Is that what Novice Joseph told you?" Fitz asked.

Franklin looked at the fire. He couldn't face her with the half-truth he was spinning. "They've seen my devotion, and now they believe my words are true when I speak to The People. They believe in me. I haven't given up. I'm doing something."

Fitz shook her head and added a mean laugh to the discourse. "Simple, stupid Novice Joseph. He doesn't know anything I don't tell him. He doesn't have any idea what the clergymen think. And the clergymen are no better than he is. Who do you think told them that you were fasting for The People? Do you think they came up with that idea on their own? No. I told them, because I had to tell them something, so they wouldn't think the leader of their religion was a pouting child."

Franklin wanted to fight back with something, and he grasped at the first thing that came to his mind, a confirmation of a vile thought that had been growing in his heart since Tenbrook had told him what she'd done. "You manipulate men with your lies, because that's what you do. You smile and hypnotize them with your icy, blue bitch eyes, and your big slutty breasts, and that makes men too stupid to think, and they'll do anything you say."

Fitz shook her head. "Where is all this hate coming from?"

"And you let them dream about what you look like with all your clothes on the floor beside the bed, and you encourage them to dream about you, and when that's not enough for you to twist their minds, you let them."

"Let them?" Fitz hollered. "Let them what?"

"You let them touch you and kiss you and bed you to get your way."

"You are a pig! A nasty, sty-rooting, dung-covered, foul-mouthed pig!" she yelled. "You're no different than any of them. Yes, I've laid on my back to beg for coins, because that's what this god-awful town makes me do. I have to live by the rules that the Elders make, that men like you make. And you shame me for it. And why?" Her voice rose to a screech. "Why?"

Fitz crossed the room and planted herself in front of Franklin, glaring down at him, daring him to respond. She shouted, "You didn't mind that I was a whore when your greedy little hands were all over my skin. You didn't care that I came to your bed with Father Winthrop's stink all over me. Not one bit. You couldn't wait to get my dress off. And now that I've risked my life and gone to the market to rally women, hundreds of them, to our cause because you're too busy pouting to do your part, you come in here and sit by the fire like a spoiled little merchant's boy, because you feel threatened by a woman who isn't afraid to stand up and fight after you've given up."

"You're spinning a web of lies to take my eye off the truth," Franklin muttered, not wanting to look away from the passive embers and risk getting burned by Fitz's fiery rage.

"And what truth is that?" Fitz's tears were flowing in full. "What truth has you in such a childish mood that you have to pout in the Temple and then come in here and treat me like a worthless whore?"

Franklin mustered his courage and looked up at Fitz. "The truth is that you bedded Tenbrook to win his favor because you think I'm losing, and he's going to win."

Fitz raised her arm and slapped Franklin across the face with every bit of strength she possessed.

Chapter 75:  Franklin

As Fitz reached back to slap Franklin again, she shouted, "If men didn't think with their cocks they'd do no thinking at all!"

Franklin took the slap across his face and looked at Fitz with no change in his expression. He was more disgusted by her touch than the sting of her hand hitting his face.

Fitz swung her arm to slap again, but Franklin surprised her by catching her wrist. He spat, "Don't hit me again."

"Or what?" Fitz snapped back.

"Or I'll kill you." Franklin didn't know where those words came from. They'd materialized out of his jealousy, out of her betrayal, he supposed.

"Then go ahead." Fitz reached back with her other arm and slapped Franklin across the cheek. "Kill me." She pulled away, but Franklin wouldn't let go. She went anyway and dragged Franklin toward the door. "Take me into the square and put me on the pyre."

Still, Franklin held onto her wrist.

Fitz was crying out loud as she fumbled to get the door open, elbowing back at Franklin, who wouldn't let her go.

Finally, she loosed the latch and swung the door open, putting all her rage into slamming it against the wall. The bang resounded through the Temple as she stormed into the hall, pulling Franklin behind her. "Burn me! Burn me tonight if that's what you want!"

When they entered the Temple's main room, Franklin let go of Fitz's wrist. Dozens of heads were sitting up between the dark pews and staring at him and Fitz. They were aghast.

Fitz stopped at the front of the Sanctuary, just in front of the lectern, where one end of the center aisle led to the giant pair of doors at the other end. She spun on Franklin and shouted in a voice that filled the giant dark space, "Do you want to know what happened? Do you want to know how Tenbrook makes love to a woman?"

Franklin didn't answer because he didn't want to know, not one bit of it. It was bad enough knowing it had happened.

Fitz grabbed the front of her nightgown. "Did you ever think for one moment to ask how my new dress got ripped when you saw me stitching it?"

Again, Franklin didn't know what to say.

"No?" she taunted. "Of course you didn't. All you cared about was what was underneath." Fitz grabbed the cloth of her gown and ripped it apart, sending buttons bouncing across the floor. "He tore my dress just like that." She dropped the gown off her shoulders, exposing her nakedness underneath. The dress slipped down to her hips, and she pushed it past, letting it fall to the floor. She leaned her head back, exposing her throat. She pointed at a yellowish mark below her jawline. "Do you see it?"

Franklin stepped back.

"Look at it!" she demanded. "Is it a smudge? Is it the remains of a bruise? Or is it right where a man's strangling hand would squeeze a woman's neck? It is, isn't it?" Fitz glared at Franklin, whose mouth was hanging open, completely unprepared for everything Fitz was doing.

"Did you ever ask how that got there, or were you too busy kissing and stroking to satisfy yourself to care about the marks on my skin?" Fitz showed Franklin fading bruises on her arms and scabs on her knuckles. "I fought him. I punched him, but it did no good."

She turned around and showed him her back. "What about those scabs in the shape of a man's bite, you selfish imbecile? Did you not care where they came from? No, you didn't. Or the other bruises and cuts." Fitz collapsed to the floor, crying aloud. "You didn't care. Tenbrook attacked me and beat me. Yes, I went there to seduce him for your sake, to get him to force Father Winthrop to go on the expedition. I was trading that for you, even though it disgusted me to do it. And he beat me anyway. He hurt me. He tortured me because he's a twisted man that only gets pleasure through pain. It was General Blackthorn who protected me from him, who nursed me for a week in his house until I was well enough to come back here."

"Do you know why, Franklin?" Fitz's voice lost its steam. "Do you know why I endured that in silence? I did it so you'd never know, because I knew you were such a lovesick puppy you'd have to do something to get your revenge on Tenbrook. And the sickest part is that your revenge would have been for you and your pride, not for what Tenbrook did to me."

Fitz jumped back to her feet. Her sobbing had come to a stop, though her face was thoroughly soaked with tears and her eyes were red and puffy. She glared at Franklin, and then at each of the clergymen in the room. "Look," she ordered them. "Look at me. See my bruises. See my humiliation. This is what your sick-minded rules do to me and every woman in these walls. Your twisted thoughts and unclean souls make this world. It is all of you who are guilty. So don't look on me and judge." Fitz knelt down, picked up her gown and looked at Franklin. "Are you going to burn me?"

Franklin said nothing. He was too ashamed to speak.

She shouldered past him and marched down the hall. "If you're not going to burn me," she called over her shoulder, "find another room to sleep in. You'll not be coming to mine."

Chapter 76:  Beck

It had been a long day of walking followed by a futile attempt to sleep. Finally, Beck sat up and looked around at what he could see in the dim glow of the fire's embers. At the end of the day, they'd found the remnants of another ancient building in a patch of woods near the coastline, a simple, two-story structure with walls and stairs going up the side, and a roof solid enough to trust in case it rained. Oliver, Melora, and Ivory were sleeping. Jingo, however, was not in the room. Had Beck not been getting used to Jingo, he might've been alarmed. But not now. Jingo was an enigma. He looked like a demon, but he was the smartest, most peaceful man Beck had ever met. Just as Ivory had promised that first day they'd met.

Beck stood and carefully placed his feet, wanting to minimize noise as he made his way across the room. He pushed aside a clump of branches, crossed a doorway, and stepped out into the night.

Beck looked east to see the moon rising into a cloudless black sky over a calm ocean. The moon was a magical sight, a white and gray sphere that was round just like the earth, as Jingo had said, but smaller, and so desolate it didn't have air a man could breathe.

Wanting very much to look at the stars, Beck walked to the end of the patio and stepped onto the half crumbled stairs that ran up the side of the ancient house. He climbed, careful not to step where the ancient stone had crumbled away. He'd pay for that mistake with a twenty-five foot fall and a broken bone. Without a healer around, that error might be a death sentence.

Once at the roof, he spied Jingo sitting with legs crossed, looking out at the moon coming up over the distant water. Jingo said, "Beautiful, don't you think."

"Yes," Beck agreed as he crossed the roof to sit beside Jingo.

"Can't sleep?"

"No. Too many thoughts in my head. My imagination is running wild trying to picture how the world used to be, how it might be again."

Jingo laughed, but it was an empty sound.

"You don't think it can be?" asked Beck.

"I don't know," said Jingo. "I often wonder if we reached such heights of technological achievement before we were ready, or by accident. We got lucky once and followed the technological and cultural path from simple hunters and gatherers to the complex global civilization that we had. I wonder if that path is scattered with so many pitfalls, that an attempt to follow it a second time would inevitably fail."

"Surely that can't be true," said Beck.

"I don't know," said Jingo, "I truly don't. As advanced as we were, as much as we'd learned, the world still held many secrets. We had no idea if we were the first people to know what we knew."

Beck turned away from the silver moon and looked at Jingo. "What do you mean?"

"Time slowly erodes the evidence of our existence."

Nodding, Beck said, "I understand rot and I understand rust. I see how the ancient stone buildings slowly crumble. Are you suggesting that one day, they'll disappear altogether?"

"Exactly," said Jingo. "You don't believe that's completely true. I can see it in your face. But I assure you it is. There is so much in science you simply don't understand. I have lived over three hundred years." Jingo stood up and waved a hand down the coast. "I was here when humanity numbered in the billions." He looked at Beck. "The billions. Can you even comprehend that number?"

Beck looked at his hands. "Theoretically."

Jingo laughed, "I supposed we all comprehend it that way. It's a number so far beyond a man's intuitive sense that we can only understand it as a concept."

Beck nodded because he didn't know what else to do. Jingo's words were loaded with so much meaning that Beck often felt lost when listening.

"All up and down this coast, little towns thrived," said Jingo. "Where we are now, five or six thousand people lived in wooden houses on the hills with views of the ocean. Outside of town, within ten miles, lived another five or six thousand. My wife and I used to come here before our daughter was born. We'd stay for the weekend and walk by the ocean and eat at the restaurants and dance in the bars."

"It's hard to imagine," said Beck.

"Of course it is." Jingo sat back down. "So much of our life would be alien to you today. Now, I can't even show you the places I used to take my wife because most of them have rotted away. The concrete sidewalks are still there, but they're overgrown by plants, and the roads are replaced by game trails. The point I was making, Beck, is that there is little evidence that this town was ever here, and I knew it was here. I used to come here. What will a person think when he comes here in a hundred years time, a thousand?" Jingo stomped his foot on the concrete roof. "This place won't even be here. It's only been three hundred years, and you can see the cracks in the concrete walls. The steps are falling apart. In three or four thousand years, one would have to dig deep and look very carefully to find any evidence that people ever lived here."

Beck shook his head, "It's difficult to accept, but it is also sad."

"It's sad but it is life. People come into this world from their mother's womb, they live and they smile. Hopefully, they love. And then one day they die. Their bodies are buried or burned and nothing is left but dust. Even the people who knew them pass away and no records exist that they ever lived. That is the story of humanity."

"Jingo, I came up here hoping for a better view of the sky and feeling content. Are you trying to make me sad?" Beck frowned at Jingo in the darkness.

Jingo shrugged. "No, I'm just trying to answer your question."

Chapter 77:  Franklin

The Temple sanctuary became Franklin's new home. He could have taken any of the dorm rooms in the back of the Temple. He could have taken Winthrop's reeking, windowless room. He could have moved into the one he'd shared with Oliver. None of those rooms provided anything he needed.

The only thing he needed was Fitz's forgiveness, and the only thing he yearned for was to hold her in his arms again and know that she loved him.

The first few times Franklin knocked, Fitz told him to go away. After that, she ignored him. She wouldn't speak to him when she walked past the pews on her way coming and going, which she did at all hours of the day and into the evening. She always had places to go. And visitors, women, came to see her in her room, sometimes one or two, sometimes a half dozen or more. They flowed in and out whenever she was there. When she wasn't, they marched through the Temple, ignoring Franklin and the fasting clergy, and then marched back out again, no interest in anything at all but Fitz.

As Franklin sat on his pew, staring and ruminating, he couldn't stop wondering what Fitz was doing. At first, he thought Fitz's friends were coming to comfort her over her broken heart. That was just the sort of thing women did, right? He imagined them in there talking about what an unsupportive, self-centered ass he'd been. He wanted to hate those women, because the more he imagined them in that room talking to Fitz, reinforcing her anger, the harder it would be for Fitz to forgive him.

But then Franklin cursed himself silently, because he was doing exactly what had gotten him into trouble with Fitz in the first place. He was letting his jealously and insecurity convince him of a whole litany of fictions that put both Fitz and the other women in Brighton in a bad light. And then Franklin spent an hour or so telling himself what a worthless, unclean man he was. No wonder he'd ruined his relationship with Fitz. He didn't deserve to have such a beautiful woman in his life.

And so it went.

Periodically, Novice Joseph would come in and take a place beside Franklin on the pew and beg him to eat. Franklin didn't. He saw no point in eating. In fact, he'd lost all desire to eat ever again. The idea of food never crossed his mind except when Novice Joseph came to speak of it. Even the smells from the kitchen were no longer tempting. In fact, they ran counter to Franklin's goal. He was thinking that maybe if he sat in the pew long enough, and refused food long enough, he might shrivel up and turn to dust. Then he'd no longer have to suffer through the memories of his long list of mistakes.

That's what Franklin wanted, for his suffering to end.

Chapter 78:  Franklin

Franklin listened to the sound of rain pounding on the Temple roof. The rain was coming down in torrents, probably flooding the streets and turning the fields into swamps, surely pouring into people's houses. If it got bad enough, the river might come out of its banks and wash away sections of the circle wall. Stories told of it happening long ago.

Franklin tried to recall the last time it had rained so frequently. He couldn't. This had to be the dreariest weather of his life. And it was fitting. The thunderous clouds smashed each other in the sky and blazed lightning down on everything below, drowning the whole flat earth with their tears and matching Franklin's mood exactly.

It was as if the world felt his pain and were crying with him.

Franklin liked that idea.

No man, no matter how alone he tried to make himself, wanted his misery to be a personal thing. As much as Franklin pretended he didn't like the clergy spread among the pews and fasting along with him, he preferred it. And now the heavens were joining them.

Franklin leaned back on his bench and stared up at the Temple roof, lost in the blackness of the night shadows far above him. He felt the rumble of the thunder and the pounding of the rain. He felt the saturating humidity in his clothes, and he smelled the rain in the air.

As he took in the sensations of the storm, allowing himself a respite from his wallowing self-pity, he sparked a sliver of a thought, a thought so different, so out of place, shining so brightly distinct, that it felt like a renewing ray of sunshine.

No.

He didn't want renewal and sunshine.

He wanted black storms until his bones were dust and his name was forgotten.

But even as he pegged his identity to the idea of roiling clouds and the violent thunder, he couldn't help but think of the natural course of things, the morning after. Storms always passed. They washed the world clean, and the sun always returned.

What if sulking wasn't the only path? What if there was a way to win Fitz back?

Maybe there was.

Fitz wanted to change Brighton. She had big ideas, and she saw the roads to her goals. She'd pushed Franklin along one of those roads. It also happened to be the road Franklin wanted to travel—to Winthrop's seat on the Council. But where both Franklin and Fitz wanted a less brutal Brighton, Tenbrook had a different goal. He wanted all the power in his hands to do what he wished. And he was winning.

Franklin had spent days feeling, among other things, that Tenbrook had already won.

But Tenbrook was nothing more than a cavalry officer who only knew how to bully his men, whip his horses, and kill stupid beasts. He was no mental match for Franklin, especially with Fitz at his side.

As brilliant as the lightning in the sky, Franklin had an idea to put all the pieces of the mess back together again.

Chapter 79:  Franklin

Franklin hurried down the hall, knowing that he had the answer to everything. He stopped at the room he'd shared with Fitz, put a hand on the knob, and paused. Inside, he heard the voices of a dozen women talking all at once. It was late for Fitz to have so many guests. Still, Franklin would not be put off. He knocked.

Immediately, the sound inside the room stopped.

No one invited him in.

Franklin knocked again.

"I won't need you until the morning," Fitz called, as if talking to Novice Joseph, or one of the serving girls.

"It's me," Franklin said.

A long pause.

An older woman's voice said, "Go away. Come back another time."

That made Franklin angry. He thought of flinging the door open and throwing the bunch of hens out of his Temple. How dare they tell him to go away?

Franklin grasped the doorknob as he weighed what to do, and it occurred to him that throwing these women out would win him no favor with Fitz.

Patience.

"Please talk to me, Fitz." He wanted to pound his skull on the thick wood over his choice of words and tone. He didn't want his request to sound like begging.

Indecipherable whispers passed back and forth inside for long moments until they suddenly ceased.

Footsteps sounded, coming toward the door. Fitz said sternly, "I'm busy. Return in the morning if there's something you wish to say."

Beaten already. Franklin's brilliant idea suddenly seemed terrible, every single bit of it. And of course it was terrible—he'd been thwarted by the first pitfall. He hadn't guessed that Fitz might refuse to open the door to hear what he had to say.

Of course, she hadn't.

Franklin turned away from the door and took a step up the hall, stopping himself midstride.

Wait.

Why give up?

Franklin wanted Fitz back more than anything. Why let one rebuff be the obstacle between him and happiness? Franklin turned and put his hand back on the doorknob. "No," he called through the door, firmly but not angrily. "We need to talk now."

"Franklin, I can't. I won't."

"You must."

"Why does it have to be now?"

"I thought about what you said."

"I said a lot of things," Fitz told him through the door. "You've been sitting in the Temple for days. What could be so important just this minute?"

"Maybe I've treated you unfairly. Maybe we all have." It was the first time the words had come out of Franklin's mouth. They felt awkward, considering that they'd been swimming through his thoughts for so long. He leaned his head on the wood as he waited for Fitz to respond. She didn't, so he pressed on. "I listened to you in the Temple when you shamed all of us. You opened my eyes. I'd never thought of things the way you said them. You were right." Franklin rushed to add, "You are right."

"I know," Fitz told him through the door, the level of her voice rising with each word. "It took you all this time to realize what every girl knows from the moment she's old enough to wash a man's clothes or to slap his hands away when he grabs her butt?"

"I can tell it makes you angry to talk about it." Franklin took a moment to select his words carefully. "Maybe I can't know. I'm not a woman. I know women have their tribulations, but I never really thought about it the way you described it. I knew it in my head, I think. But now that I've seen your passion and I've felt your pain, I know it in my heart."

"You'll never know it in your heart," Fitz snapped back.

"Maybe not the way you do," said Franklin. "But you have to understand, that though women may be treated badly, men are treated unfairly as well. Everyone lives under the foot of the one above. Even me, and I am the Bishop of Brighton. When I was a novice on the dais looking on as General Blackthorn, Minister Beck, and Father Winthrop presided over the burnings, I believed with all my heart that they were the three most powerful men in Brighton, and I dreamed of one day being one of them so that I'd no longer be subject to the whims of other men. I didn't fully understand at the time that everyone in Brighton, even the women, must feel the same way. We all suffer at the hands of the powerful."

"That's true," Fitz agreed in a softer voice.

"I never would've guessed that when I took Father Winthrop's seat, I'd still be under the boot of a powerful man."

"So this is about you now?" Fitz snapped, her anger returning.

"No, no," Franklin disagreed. "Please listen. I'm only saying that Tenbrook's lust for power makes me see that all of us men, women, and children in Brighton are tyrannized by the powerful, no matter who we are or what role we fill, from the dirty, hungry waifs in the orphanage all the way up to the Bishop of Brighton. I don't know how to fix that, not for certain, but I do know that it's wrong."

"Wrong for everyone?" Fitz asked. "Even for Barren Women? Even for whores?"

"I'm sorry. I was wrong to say anything like that," said Franklin. "If you hate me for the rest of my life for what I said, I'll understand. Right now, I'm asking for your forgiveness. You don't have to grant it to me, but please think about it. More important than what I want is what we need to do for Brighton."

"What's that?" Fitz asked.

"We need to stop Tenbrook. We need to stand up to him."

"We can't, Franklin. He'll put us on a pyre."

"I have a plan. We can build on what we started, and we can bring it to fruition."

"Don't be a fool, Franklin. Get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

"No," Franklin told her with much more force than he intended. "It must be done tonight. We must start now. I'm going back to the Temple sanctuary. I'm going to wake all the fathers and the novices, and I'm going to send them out into the rain to wake all of Brighton. I want everyone here before sunrise. I don't know what I'll tell them, but we'll figure something out that will touch their hearts and make them follow us to march on Tenbrook's stronghold. His soldiers can't stand before the might of the whole town."

"We'll go to war with them?" Fitz asked.

"It must be done," said Franklin. "We'll put him and the captains on the pyre. It's the only way to change Brighton."

Chapter 80:  Fitzgerald

The Strong Women, that's how Fitz thought of them. Eighteen girls and women, some widows of men burned on the pyre by Tenbrook, the rest probably widows after their men had been taken on Blackthorn's folly into the Ancient City. They were the ones who'd been in her room late at night, bickering mostly over trivial things and avoiding the biggest problem of all, how to unseat Tenbrook. They discussed at length where the power in Brighton would rest if Tenbrook magically disappeared from the picture. With Evan dead and Tenbrook gone, that would leave Franklin, a weak-willed man to rule. Not one woman believed that would lead anywhere good.

After these discussions, Fitz was frustrated, as she often was.

They all seemed to have the same general goals, but they couldn't come to any agreement on the actions they might take to achieve those goals. The point they couldn't seem to grasp was that cooperation and compromise was the only road forward.

Nevertheless, after Franklin had spoken through the door for all the women in the room to hear, the meeting broke up and the women left one by one, going to pitch their lot in with the clergy on Franklin's errands, to muster as many old men and women to the Temple as could be convinced to come.

And as Fitz sat on the edge of her bed, watching them through the windows as the night sky lost its blackness, she heard the sound of thousands of hushed, anxious voices echoing from the Temple down the hall. It seemed that Franklin had done what he'd set out to do, fill the Temple in the dark of night, in a howling thunderstorm, defiantly facing down Tenbrook's threats and executions.

Maybe Franklin was finally growing into the man that she'd always believed he was.

Those thoughts made Fitz's heart ache, because Franklin, despite what the two of them shared, had accepted the vile words of another man at face value, despite the blatant lies. Franklin was a man in a man's kingdom. And Fitz would always be a woman, and in the back of Franklin's mind, a whore.

As badly as Fitz wanted to go into the Temple with everyone else to see if Franklin could take the last victorious step in the plans that she'd laid, she couldn't make her feet move.

Chapter 81:  Tenbrook

The woman stirred, jostling the mattress. Tenbrook grew angry, thinking it was her squirming and whining again.

Why'd I let her lay with me through the night?

It always made him feel dirty when he woke up smelling a woman, hearing one snore, or worst of all, feeling her clinging to him in that parasitic embrace they all seemed to have bred into their weak, needy souls.

They were so necessary, but he hated them.

And when he saw this one, sitting up on the edge of the bed, her hair matted into scabs that were just starting to crust on her back as she curled up with her knees under her chin and her shins wrapped tightly in her arms, he thought about punching her in the mouth so hard she'd learn once and for all not to whimper and wake a man trying to get his rest.

She remained quiet. Watching him.

Not making a sound.

In fact, barely moving, not even shivering, though her skin was covered in goose bumps from the cold air in the room.

Thunder rumbled through the night sky, loud and close.

That must have been what had done the waking. It wasn't the girl's fault.

With that thought dispensed, Tenbrook gave a thought to rolling the girl on her belly and taking her for another go. Why not? Morning couldn't be far away. It would make for a good beginning.

The thunder again.

Only it was different.

The girl was looking toward the door.

It was both the thunder and the door. Someone was beating on it, seemingly intent on breaking it down with a single fist.

Tenbrook's temper erupted. He swung a foot up and brutally shoved the girl off the edge of the bed. "Go see who's at the door. Are you a fool?"

She scrambled up from the floor, fresh blood on her knees from new scrapes, and stumbled across the room, looking from side to side for something to wear, moving more slowly with each step.

"Hurry, girl. Do you think you're the only naked bitch anyone's ever seen? The door!"

The girl reached the door, grasped the handle, and looked back at Tenbrook.

Tenbrook reached for a dagger he kept on a nightstand beside the bed. "Open it, stupid girl!"

She pulled the door open, swinging it into the room while trying to hide her nudity.

Tenbrook sat up and leaned against the headboard, not making any effort to temper the scowl on his face.

Captain Sinko strode through the door in his uniform, sword hanging menacingly in its scabbard. He gave the naked, bruised girl a glance as he passed by before turning his attention to Tenbrook. "General."

"What is it, Captain?"

"The Bishop. He's assembling the townsfolk in the Temple."

"Is he?" Tenbrook grinned. He turned his attention to the girl. "Get out of here."

The girl stepped away from the door, moving toward a garment laying on the floor across the room.

"Go now!" Tenbrook bellowed.

The girl ran through the open door and down the hall.

Captain Sinko turned to watch her run. "A pretty one."

"They're all pretty," said Tenbrook as he got out of bed, anxious now to start his day with some bloodshed. That was better than toying with a skittish, used-up blonde. "How many has Franklin mustered?"

"I had a man check," said Sinko. "The guess is a thousand, but he said all the pews in the Temple were filled and more people were standing where they could find a space."

"A thousand was the guess?" Tenbrook started to dress. "The Temple holds nearly three thousand. So there must be more than that." Tenbrook knew few of his men had their numbers. To them, a thousand was the largest quantity imaginable. "With the rain coming down as it is. That is impressive. Perhaps I've underestimated our Bishop friend."

Sinko neither agreed nor disagreed. "More are in the street. All going to the Temple."

"Many more?"

"By my guess, they'll double inside the hour."

"They'll be standing on top of one another," Tenbrook laughed. He reached for his sword and slid it out of the scabbard, taking a moment to admire the blade. "Muster the men."

"I anticipated your wishes," said Captain Sinko.

Tenbrook froze, thought about rebuking Sinko, and then chose not to. He didn't want any of his officers acting on their own without his authority. He made a mental note to punish Sinko later. "Assemble the men in the street beside the house. Have both squadrons of cavalry mount their horses. Bring my horse, as well. Send word up to me as soon as they're ready."

"Yes, sir."

"Keep an eye out for spies. If any woman or man sees the soldiers in the street, have that man or woman killed. I'd like our visit to Franklin's gathering to be a surprise."

Chapter 82:  Fitzgerald

The door flew open. Fitz's friend Ginger, one of the few girls she'd liked from The House of Barren Women, stood there, urgency on her face. "Do you hear it?"

Fitz nodded.

"People are standing outside in the storm. Thousands of them."

Fitz had no concrete idea of how many "thousands" were, except that they were a lot, a whole lot. In fact, she knew that Ginger didn't know what "thousands" were, either.

"You can hear them." Ginger pointed into the hall. "I've never seen the Temple so full. Women and their children. Even the old men came."

Fitz knew. She'd heard the sound of the growing crowd. People started coming in not long after Franklin had left, and they'd kept coming all through the night. There was an excitement in the muffled sounds of their voices. It was that intangible spirit that Franklin had tapped into the first time he'd spoken in the Temple. And each time he spoke, each time people heard him, they seemed more energized and anxious.

They loved Franklin.

He was special enough to draw thousands of them out of their beds in the middle of the night to walk the cold streets through a driving rain, rattled by thunder and startled by lightning. Franklin had tapped into a revulsion for Brighton's bureaucracy that grew a little in each person every time they'd watched one of their own burn on the pyre, each time Blackthorn's hawk eyes spied them from up on the dais, or as Winthrop's gelatinous girth flowed under his robes while their kids went without their meals. And now, to have a new generation of tyrant in Tenbrook…

A lot of hate lay repressed in the souls of the people of Brighton.

"You should come out," said Ginger. "It's still dark, but the sun is just coming up behind the clouds. The storm is breaking. He's going to speak soon."

Fitz looked at one of the windows. In the dull gray, the heavy rain was turning to a sprinkle. She looked at the fire in the hearth, then looked at the floor.

"Come out," said Ginger. "I know you're…" She couldn't find the next word.

"Ashamed?" said Fitz.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of."

Fitz nodded, but she truly felt it. Ever since Franklin had come begging at her door and she'd forced him to stay out in the hall as she ground his humiliation into the wounds both their hard words had left, she'd felt a growing shame. She'd been mean. She'd been petty. She'd been showing off in front of the Strong Women.

But he deserved it. That and so much more.

"I'm afraid for Franklin," said Fitz.

"No." Ginger smiled with pleading eyes. "You have to come out and see. Franklin knows what he's doing. You have to see the people. There are so many of them. Tenbrook can't do anything to Franklin now. Not to any of us, anymore."

"Do you believe that?" Fitz asked. "Truly?"

"I do."

"Why?" Fitz asked.

Ginger seemed hurt by the question, but she said, "Because I've heard him. All of us have. He hasn't come right out and said it, but he tells us in words we all understand, what The Word truly says about how we should live. Everybody knows that Father Winthrop was a liar. Everybody knows General Blackthorn's tyranny wasn't blessed by The Word. Few of us can read or write, but we aren't stupid people. You've said that to us yourself, right here in this room. You've told us what Franklin's words mean. Now, he's going to tell us himself. The rumor from the novices is that he's going to call for a change. When the sun breaks through the clouds this morning, Brighton will be a new city."

It was exactly what Fitz wanted, exactly what she hoped Franklin would one day say to The People.

Ginger crossed the room and took Fitz's hands in hers, pulling her up to stand. "Come. You'll hate yourself if you don't come out to listen."

Ginger led Fitz to the door and together they walked down the corridor.

Chapter 83:  Franklin

"It's almost dawn," said Novice Joseph.

Franklin looked up from where he sat on his old bed, staring across the room at Oliver's bed, not giving a thought about what he was going to say—he knew that. It was a speech that needed no preparation. It was an epiphany that needed to be voiced. He only needed to follow his heart, and through his words, show his path to The People. It was time for Brighton to become a better place.

If only I knew where Oliver was.

Franklin feared that Oliver had died. They'd heard nothing from Blackthorn's expedition in days and days. The last word said they'd made it through the pass and had found a safe place on a hill to camp in view of the Ancient City. But every night the demons came in greater numbers to kill them. Everyone in town feared that the demons had done just that, and a despicable rumor was quickly becoming an unassailable truth: the council had betrayed the militia and sent them to their deaths.

Friends. Neighbors. Husbands. All dead.

"Father Franklin," Novice Joseph persisted, "the dawn. It's here. The People await."

Franklin stood up. It was time. If only Fitz had come to kiss him and wish him luck. It would have been nice, but it wasn't necessary. The hour had come for Franklin to stand as a man on his own two feet. He would not spend the rest of his life being tyrannized by the Tenbrooks of the world. He'd show Fitz that he was a man that she could love.

Franklin looked at Novice Joseph and smiled placidly. "Let's go."

Novice Joseph rushed a smile in return and hurried over to open the door.

As Franklin walked into the long hall, he saw all of the clergymen and all of the novices lined up from his door all the way down, all soaked from running through the streets in the pouring rain, carrying Franklin's message.

They looked on proudly as he passed.

He'd talked with them earlier in the night when he'd told them what to do, and he'd told them why. It was time that The Word ruled the townships—not Father Winthrop's venal version of it, but the true Word, that made all men brothers and all women sisters, The Word that didn't burn children, that didn't starve the orphans, and didn't force women to be the slaves of men, The Word that didn't make one man the servant of another, or make all men the servants of a vicious few.

This was the morning.

This was the day.

Franklin reached the end of the hall and the Sanctuary erupted in a cheer louder than the thunder of the night before. He turned and took the stairs up to the stage, empty except a simple lectern in the middle. The fathers and novices filed past to take up the empty seats on the first row of pews that had been held for them.

Franklin crossed the stage in long, confident strides, seeing on the far side, just by the door to the hall that led down to his old quarters, that Fitz was standing beside her friend Ginger, packed tightly among many other onlookers. All throughout the Sanctuary, Franklin saw the faces, hands, and shoulders of people, packed in as tightly as people could be packed. Save the clergy, no one sat.

Still, they cheered.

Through the open doors into the square, Franklin saw in the growing light a seemingly endless ocean of people, all wishing they were inside. He laid his hands on the lectern. He was ready. He opened his mouth to speak, and he paused to allow a long, last rumble of thunder to pass before he started.

Chapter 84:  Tenbrook

Tenbrook ordered Sinko to march the foot soldiers across the square, directly toward the Temple's open doors.

"The crowd," Captain Sinko asked him. "Shall we disburse them or march through them?"

Tenbrook looked at the mass of pig chaser's wives, spinsters, and widows mobbed in front of the Temple and relished the thought of what was to come. "They won't be there when you arrive." He stood in his saddle, drew his sword, and stabbed it at the clouds as he called his orders.

Behind Tenbrook, the cavalry trotted up the side of the square, two by two, past the pyres and along the walls. Two hundred sets of hooves pounded the stones and shook the ground. The rumble echoed off the buildings and shook every door.

Tenbrook watched the mob as they felt and heard the hooves and one by one, each of them turned away from the Temple doors to see the cavalry they were feeling through their feet and hearing over the shrill joy that surrounded them.

The sight of so many wide-eyed wenches and pissing whelps aroused Tenbrook in a way he hadn't experienced before. He hadn't guessed that so much fear from so many, so impersonal, and yet so tangible, would be such a rush.

With the whole of the cavalry following his line and every horse, every cavalryman, every raised sword, visible in all of those staring eyes, Tenbrook ordered his cavalry to follow and he kicked his mount into a gallop.

The thunder of the hooves, powerful and satisfying when the horses were trotting, turned into a deafening roar, drowning out the screams that Tenbrook knew had to be pouring from the mouths of all those women who were now running left and right, panicked, dragging each other, holding the hands of their children, thousands of them, fleeing like stupid demons from the death that was barreling down on them from atop war beasts trained to stomp flesh and break bones with their hooves.

Tenbrook suffered a moment of dissatisfaction when he reached the Temple steps. He'd not trampled a single wench.

He wheeled his horse around and passed the order to send one squadron through the streets to chase the fleeing women and old men until they were locked in their hovels with enough fright stomped into their souls to keep them there until they felt they needed personal permission from Tenbrook himself to come out and tend to their chores. He ordered seventy of his squadron to dismount.

He looked up to see that his foot soldiers had covered half the span of the square. They'd arrived soon enough. Tenbrook turned in his saddle and looked into the Temple's open doors, more than tall enough to accommodate men on horseback, and his eye followed the line of the Temple's central aisle, packed with treasonous women all the way from the door to the foot of the stage.

Tenbrook charged through the door and into the aisle.

Chapter 85:  Fitzgerald

Already packed in tight, the people in the aisle tried to avoid the massive horses trampling their way through them. They climbed, clawed, and screamed. Those in the pews along the aisle tried to dodge the steel blades, raised in the air and glinting in the candlelight. Fitz and Ginger were pushed against the wall as people poured into the hall to their left.

Franklin stood at the lectern, watching, frozen, horrified.

"Franklin!" Fitz screamed, trying to get his attention, not knowing what to say, just wanting to reach out to him. Her voice was lost in the pandemonium.

"We have to run!" Ginger shouted into Fitz's ear.

"No!" Fitz shouted back. "We have to stay."

Tenbrook's horse, blood dripping from its legs, hooves soaked in red from having just trampled people who couldn't get out of the aisle fast enough, pushed through the last of the women in the way. The aisle cleared in front of it as it broke into a gallop and leapt onto the stage.

Franklin jumped out of the way as the horse knocked over the lectern at which he'd been standing.

Horse after horse followed Tenbrook's, jumping onto the stage until seven or eight crowded the platform, each turning to face the congregation, snorting and stomping, their blood running hot to do what they'd been trained for.

Franklin stood, silent and strong, facing the riders and their horses.

Up and down the body-strewn aisle, a line of horses came to a stop as soldiers ran in between the horses and the pews.

The Temple echoed with the screams of the injured and the dying, and of those panicked and trying to get away. Many crowded into the hall past Fitz.

Soldiers filed into a line in front of the rows of pews, turning their backs to the stage and raising their swords, facing the congregation. All the soldiers in the central aisle brandished their weapons and stared down the crowded women in the pews.

"Franklin!" Fitz hollered. "Tell The People to fight!"

Franklin did nothing.

Tenbrook sheathed his sword, dismounted, and stepped toward Franklin.

Franklin didn't move; he didn't flinch. He glared.

Fitz was proud of him.

Many stopped screaming, stopped running, stopped climbing over one another in their rush to flee, and stopped to look at the stage.

"Franklin!" Fitz called again. "Turn around! Talk to The People!" Even with the noise starting to settle, Fitz's voice was lost. She begged, "Please!"

Ginger repeated Fitz's shouts with no more success.

Tenbrook was in Franklin's face, towering over him, grinning like a psychopath, shouting orders. Fitz heard Tenbrook's voice, but in the noise, she couldn't make out what was being said.

Still, Franklin said nothing. Still, he stood his ground, looking up with fire in his eyes to match the fire Fitz knew was in his heart, knew had been there all along.

Tenbrook said something emphatic with a finger thrust in Franklin's face. He pressed it against Franklin's cheek, using his strength to shove Franklin's face to the side. Franklin turned and let the imposing finger slip away and thrust his defiant glare back at Tenbrook.

For a moment, both seemed to have become statues, measuring each other, choosing what to do next.

Tenbrook moved first. He spun and took a step away from Franklin.

Fitz threw her hands over her mouth. Was it that easy? Had Franklin won by standing up to the bully, taking all he had to give, just bellicose words and little-man threats?

"What happened?" Ginger asked.

Fitz started to answer, and then the world froze into tiny droplets of time, each terrible, each more horrifying than the last, each leading to a certain, unavoidable tragedy.

Tenbrook's right arm reached across his body, and his gloved hand grasped the hilt of his sword.

A scream peeled out of Fitz's throat.

Tenbrook's face turned from that of a grinning madman to a twisted devil.

Ginger shrieked.

Tenbrook pulled a shimmering, silvery blade out of his scabbard, long and lethal.

A thousand women gasped.

All the air in the room stopped flowing.

The blade cut through the air as Tenbrook spun.

And as Fitz's scream reached its peak, as terror sheared her heart in two, the blade found Franklin's defiant throat and cut as though slicing through nothing at all, not slowing, not stopping. Blood spewed out in an arc along the path of the blade, hitting horsemen, soldiers, clergy, and women in the crowd.

The expression in Franklin's eyes changed from defiance to surprise as his head separated from his neck and spun into the air, coming over upside down and falling out of Fitz's sight. And for that moment, the world was silent, except for the thunk of Franklin's head on the wooden stage.

And still, the blade cut through the air, swinging all the way around, spraying even more of Franklin's blood on the people in front of and around Fitz, across her face.

Then Tenbrook's arm stopped. Tenbrook stood in a striking pose in front of Franklin's standing body.

Gasps turned to screams.

Fitz felt part of herself die.

Franklin's body folded on its joints and fell out of sight.

Chapter 86:  Beck

"I was thinking about what you said the other day. I'm getting overwhelmed by your melancholy," said Beck as he looked along the beach from out the window of the ancient house where they'd spent the night. He'd been hoping to see the sun rise over the water. For yet another morning, all he saw were clouds and rain.

"I'm sorry," said Jingo, turning away from the window and looking over at him.

Oliver leaned through a door from another room. "Melora and Ivory are almost done cooking breakfast."

"Thank you," said Beck to Oliver as Oliver disappeared into the other room.

"I saw my family die," Jingo continued. "The sadness, even after three hundred years, still hurts. I saw a whole world die, right before my eyes. Since then, in the ashes of the apocalypse we brought upon ourselves, I've seen man do nothing but make the same mistakes over and over again and slowly slide toward ruin."

"But we're thriving in Brighton," argued Beck.

"Is that why you burn your children and women? Is that why you sent nineteen thousand to the Ancient City to be murdered by spore-infected men?"

Beck looked down again, unwilling to meet Jingo's eye. The argument he'd used to sway Jingo to come back to Brighton was now being used against him.

"I'm sorry." Jingo patted Beck on the shoulder. "I don't mean to offend you. I simply mean to say that yes, Brighton has grown from the original fifty-seven founders, but over time, you have not progressed. You are a superstitious people. Few of you cherish knowledge or education. Ignorance will deepen with each passing generation until one crisis too many falls upon your doorstep. Then it will not be nearly half the population that you send into the Ancient City to die for your mistakes, but everyone."

"I don't know what to say." Beck stared at the others and bit his lip. "What can I say?"

Jingo sighed. "I had great hope for Brighton."

"You don't anymore?"

"I still do, in a way. Even after what you've told me about the army." Jingo took a break to collect his thoughts before he spoke again. "It will be thousands of years before humans learn to write again, to understand mathematics, agriculture, and engineering, medicine, if this group fails. I hope you won't."

"What does that mean?" asked Beck.

"In the distant past, so long ago that even the Ancients couldn't be certain, there was evidence that man rose to dizzying heights of civilization. You see, our archeologists found things—very, very old things that we couldn't explain. It was assumed that men from all those thousands of years ago were ignorant hunters and farmers. But the evidence changed our thinking. It seems to me and to many others that human civilization had risen and fallen before, perhaps many times."

"If that is true, why do you think that is the case?" Beck asked.

"Perhaps that's what happens when humans get together. They share a fire, hunt, band together and form villages, towns, cities, and countries. And then they find a way to destroy those things."

"I don't want that to happen," Beck said with certainty. "Not to Brighton."

"Neither do I," said Jingo.

Chapter 87:  Fitzgerald

Tenbrook stood tall in the center of the stage, a frightening nightmare monster out of the darkest sleep, come to the Temple to petrify the sheepish bed-wetters.

He shouted orders at his men, the only people in the room not in shock.

Soldiers moved to block all the exits.

Fitz was shoved out of the way, and all she could do was flow with those around her as she wailed her pain, wide-eyed, unable to turn away from the beast who'd just taken Franklin's life.

"Do you see this?" Tenbrook shouted in an ogre's scream over the chaos.

He strode across the stage, raised his knee, and stomped, only it wasn't the sound of the wooden stage that caught his foot, it was the dull crunch of bone and soft meat. Blood squirted high over the heads of the men in front of the stage. Tenbrook stomped again, and again, until the crack of bone sounded like the grinding of rocks in mud.

He leaned over as every eye in the Temple watched, many silent, many crying, some screaming as though demons were tearing at their flesh.

Tenbrook worked his arm at something out of sight down on the stage by his hand. Everybody knew it was Franklin's head, but nobody wanted to believe what they were seeing.

Suddenly Tenbrook thrust his hand high in the air above him and stood straight up. His fist was pushed through Franklin's mouth, grasping the lower jaw like the handle of a terribly misshapen basket, spilling gore and blood down his arm.

"This is your silver-tongued savior!" Tenbrook shouted at them, daring anyone in the Temple to do anything but sob. "Not a one of you is worthy of him." Tenbrook reared back his arm with Franklin's head and threw it into the pews halfway back in the Temple.

Women parted like the ripple of a splash in a pond, shrieking as the head came down with the sound of a wet dress on a rock being washed at the river.

Tenbrook pointed a bloody finger across the Temple. "Every one of you will watch. You'll remember. You'll tell your neighbors and you'll tell your children, the whelps you have and those not yet born. I am the supreme lord of Brighton and the three townships and every soul in between. No man, no woman, no child will defy me without suffering the full might of my wrath."

Tenbrook spun and hacked at Franklin's body. He hacked twice more and leaned down to get something off the floor. He showed a severed hand to the stunned crowd, letting them all see it before flinging it at them. He next took a foot and threw it the stunned women, old men, and children.

Fitz was paralyzed, overwhelmed with horror as piece after piece of Franklin flew at the congregation, all in a shower of Tenbrook's taunts, until at last, the organs came, and the intestines, which Tenbrook made a point of flinging at the clergy, sitting frozen along the front row.

Finally, with no more Franklin left, Tenbrook pointed his sword across the clergymen and said, "Put these clergymen on the pyre. All of them."

Nobody moved.

"The pyre!" Tenbrook shouted.

"Sir," a man answered, shrinking away as he spoke, "The wood is soaked from the storm. It won't burn."

Tenbrook looked at the captain for a moment and didn't seem bothered. He glared down at the clergy. "Take their heads, then. Do it now."

The soldiers instantly attacked the clergy, hacking at the begging and screaming men.

It was over faster than Fitz's incapacitated eyes could turn away.

"And the novices?" the captain asked.

Tenbrook frowned and said, "What of them? They're nothing. Take their robes and leave them naked." He stepped up to the edge of the stage. "The Word is false. It was always a lie. This Temple shall be forever closed. No man will speak of The Word. No man will wear the robe of a priest or a novice. I am the only law. I am the only truth."

Chapter 88:  Fitzgerald

Fitz stayed in the crowd as Tenbrook's soldiers herded everyone through the Temple doors and out into the square. Women walked over the flat stones in all directions, too stunned to hurry. Some fell to their knees and wept. Some of the injured collapsed. Nobody ran. The soldiers and the horsemen, seemingly satisfied with their victory, no longer coerced anyone except to tell them to go to their homes.

Home?

When Fitz had walked halfway across the square, too dazed to think about where she was going, she heard men chanting behind her.

"BURN IT! BURN IT! BURN IT!"

She stopped and turned. Soldiers in the Temple were piling the pews in the center of the Sanctuary, leaning them on a fire that was already burning. Smoke flowed out of the Temple doors, and Fitz watched, as did hundreds of others in the square.

Most of the soldiers and cavalrymen stopped to watch, as well. Many of them whooped and cheered as the flames grew, and the men inside who'd been stoking the fire ran out.

Fitz looked for Tenbrook among the soldiers but didn't see him. She hoped that he didn't see her, either. He knew her face, her hair, her dress. If his appetite for mayhem had not yet been sated, she'd be on his mind.

But, no soldiers were searching the common folk. None were asking questions. They were fixated on the flames that burned tall inside the Temple.

The smell of ash floated in the wet wind. The rain started to fall hard again. Nobody in the square paid it any mind.

Fitz couldn't stand to watch anymore. She turned away from the burning Temple and walked, unable to get the horrific picture of Franklin's mangled, ruined body from her mind.

Chapter 89:  Fitzgerald

Fitz walked through the streets in a daze, directionless, her only thought to get away from the Temple. She followed a crowd of hundreds, each wandering with pale, frightened expressions, as if they'd forgotten how to get back to their homes.

Fitz had no home left. Her home was the Temple, and now the Temple was gone.

And so was Franklin.

She swallowed the sick feeling in her stomach. Her body moved by itself. She barely noticed her surroundings, and she barely understood the whispers of the shocked people around her. It wasn't until someone tugged on her arm that she snapped to attention. "Fitz."

Fitz turned to see Ginger with tear-streaked dirt on her face. Her eyes were dry and cold.

"We need to find you a place to go," she said.

Fitz nodded absently.

Ginger took Fitz's hand and led her down a side street, whispering as they walked, "There's an empty house just down this road."

Fitz shook her head and pulled her hand away. "The people from the other towns. They've taken every empty space."

"I know of one place that is empty."

"How do you know it's empty?" Fitz asked, looking down the dark street, suspicious.

Ginger shook her head slowly, started to say something, and then stopped.

"What?" Fitz asked, as though she'd discovered a hidden truth.

"You should be afraid. You should be careful whom you trust now. All those market women and merchant's wives who you thought were your friends, who you thought were with you…" Ginger's voice trailed off.

"What are you saying?" asked Fitz.

"What did they do in the Temple? What did they do when it was time to stand up for what they wanted? They did nothing."

Tears escaped Fitz's eyes. "Neither did we."

"We were pushed against the wall," said Ginger as they continued walking. "We had no weapons. What could we do?"

"Perhaps it was the same with them," Fitz argued. "Perhaps they had no weapons, either. I know you don't like them, but they're loyal. They suffer. All women in Brighton suffer."

"Perhaps," groused Ginger. "Please listen to me. You're distraught. Don't let your emotions make your choices. Use your head. It will be hard, but trust me. I know how you feel."

"How could you know?" Fitz asked. Ginger had been in The House of Barren Women for a handful of years. She no longer had a man who loved her. She had no children, and her family hated her. That was the case with a lot of the Barren Women.

"Do you think you're the only one who has lost someone tonight?"

"I…"

"I lost my sister," said Ginger before turning away. "When it started, I saw her in the aisle. She was with us."

"I've never heard you talk of a sister before," said Fitz.

"Who does in The House?" said Ginger. "None of us have families that accept us anymore."

Fitz didn't disagree.

"When my husband sent me to The House, my sister behaved as if I'd died. When I saw her on the street, she pretended not to see me. Her feelings towards me changed, even though mine never did."

"Did she get away?" Fitz asked.

Ginger shook her head. "I saw her go under one of the horses."

"I'm sorry," said Fitz.

Ginger pointed down the road. "Her house is down there. Her daughter was taken in the last Cleansing. Her husband marched out with the Militia. The house is empty. You can stay there." Ginger tugged at Fitz's arm and urged her to get moving.

Fitz walked alongside her friend past identical houses, watching people slip inside as if afraid they might be seen. From other houses, other women peeked out, women who hadn't been at the Temple. The looks on their faces made it clear that they'd already heard the news of what Tenbrook and his men had done.

Fitz lowered her head, trying to keep from being recognized. She knew that not all the people who lived on the dirty, narrow street were sympathetic to Franklin's revolt. Ginger was right. It didn't take much of an imagination to guess that some people would already be looking for ways to curry favor now that the power structure in Brighton had altered. Bringing Fitz to Tenbrook might earn that favor.

Fitz didn't know if Tenbrook was interested in putting her on a pyre, or if he'd like to take his sword to her throat. She didn't know how much of his brutality in the Temple was perverse bravado, and how much was driven by fear of the residents of Brighton. If it was fear, then Fitz had cause to worry, because that fear might turn to paranoia, and paranoia would bring much more death to Brighton. When that death came, she'd be at the top of Tenbrook's list of people to kill.

They finally stopped at a ramshackle home. Ginger tried the door, found it open, and led Fitz inside.

"This will do for now." Ginger crossed the dark room and found a candle, taking it to a small fireplace and lighting it with the embers still smoldering there. "No one should come here tonight."

Fitz nodded.

Ginger came over to Fitz and wrapped her in a hug. "This is hard on you, I know, honey. But you're strong, stronger than any of us. It'll hurt, but you'll get through."

Fitz nodded again and hugged Ginger tight.

After a moment, Ginger pulled away. "I don't know what tomorrow will bring. You won't be able to stay here long. One of the neighbors will come by in the morning to gossip I imagine. I don't know what will happen then. It's better not to take the risk. You shouldn't stay. I think The House is the best place for you."

"The House of Barren Women?" Fitz asked, stepping back. "Nobody likes me there. Housemother Mary hates me."

"If you look only for hate, you'll see only hate." Ginger put a comforting hand against Fitz's cheek. "You need to see past it."

Fitz shook her head and laughed harshly. "Mary hates me, and it's not because of the way I see her. And I'm sure the other girls feel even worse about me now that I've left."

"It's hard staying human in that house," said Ginger. "It changes you and makes into something stone-hearted and cruel."

"A Housemother," argued Fitz.

"Perhaps," agreed Ginger, "but she isn't all foul inside. She's a mean, sharp-tongued monster, but she was once a girl on her back just as the rest of us were. She has to be hard. I'll talk with her in the morning. I'll make it alright."

"I don't know about this," said Fitz.

"Don't worry about the other girls," said Ginger, "as I said, they don't make friends easily, but believe me, they liked you as much as they liked anyone else. None of them showed it when you were there. That's what The House of Barren women does to a girl. But after you left, things changed. You'd have to listen to them yourself to know how much they all admire you now."

"Envy is probably a better word."

"Both are true," said Ginger. "But believe me when I tell you they are ready to stand behind you. You and Franklin were all we ever talked about when the men and Housemother Mary weren't after us to do our chores."

Fitz looked around the one-room dwelling, taking measure of the place where she'd sleep. "You should go, before the streets get too empty."

"You're right," said Ginger. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay."

Ginger slipped out the door, closing it behind her. Fitz listened as the door scraped the jamb.

And then she was alone.

Chapter 90:  Fitzgerald

After a long night of little sleep, Fitz sat on a few layers of blankets that Ginger's sister's family had once called a bed, in which they'd held each other at night and shared their dreams. And now they were all as dead as Fitz's dreams.

As dead as Franklin.

She knew she couldn't stay. Ginger was right about that. It wouldn't be safe, with people around that might give her up. The house was a temporary fix for a problem she couldn't figure out how to resolve.

Tears came as Fitz thought about Franklin—sad, aching, tiny tears that did little to soothe the hurt.

As she sat there, crying for most of the night, her grief-stricken tears turned into an anger that hungered for revenge.

Tenbrook needed to die.

But what could she do? Tenbrook seemed invincible. She turned those thoughts over several times in her mind, twisting them in new ways, but coming no closer to a conclusion as morning light grew brighter through the gaps in the door's boards.

Fitz listened to the sounds from the street, whispers that grew louder now that the events of the night had passed. She needed to leave the house, but she knew she couldn't be the first woman outside. She'd wait until others found the courage to go about their chores. Then she'd leave and try to blend in.

Ginger had told her to go to The House of Barren Women, but Fitz didn't know if she should. But where else could she go?

She'd thought about it through the night, over and over and over. Mostly, she believed she should try to gather up what provisions she could, find some clothing suitable for the wild, and wait again for dark and a chance to climb the circle wall and put Brighton forever behind her.

Could she be killed by a demon in the forest? Yes, of course. But in her mind, the more she thought about her future in Brighton, the more certain she grew that her early death wouldn't be a matter of chance, but a matter of certainty.

Once over the wall, she didn't know where she'd go. Most of the people from the three townships were still in Brighton. Some had returned to the other towns or villages. She could try to start a life in another town, but a returning villager might think she was a thief coming to steal their things while they were away. Even if she could make it work, the looming image of Tenbrook would live in her mind forever.

How long would it be before her life in Brighton reached out to find her?

Chapter 91:  Fitzgerald

Having come through the familiar door and into the front room of The House of Barren Women, Fitz stopped. Everything about the room, the dim light, the feel of the floor under her feet, the bench along the wall on which she'd sat with the other girls, the other merchandise, waiting to be selected and put to use, and the smell of too many bodies doing too many things in too small a space, burrowed tentacles through her mind connecting all of her memories—a few sweet, but most she'd prefer to forget.

"And the high harlot queen of the ashen Temple has fallen," taunted Housemother Mary, coming into the parlor through a side door.

Fitz eyed Ginger, one of the three girls on the bench, those awake early enough to serve a man in need of some morning attention. Ginger said, "Be kind, Mary."

Fitz said nothing. She'd expected Housemother Mary to say something callous, but she was hoping that Mary would see past petty cruelty after what had happened at the Temple. Fitz hoped for a favor.

Mary stepped to the center of the room. "You want to bring General Tenbrook's wrath down on us? Is that why you're here? You don't want to stand on the pyre alone?"

"No," Fitz said. She turned and reached for the door behind her, realizing she'd made a mistake.

"No!" Ginger stood up from her place on the bench.

"Sit back down," Mary spat. "Or you'll be washing sheets and scrubbing floors until your hands are too calloused to please a man."

Hearing the commotion, more girls came into the parlor from a door that led to the dining room and kitchen.

"I'll wash my own sheets," said a tall, dark haired girl named Ashley who'd just come into the room.

Other girls sheepishly offered to do their own housework.

With a face that was reddening with fury, Mary spun on them, baring her teeth. "You barren sluts best get back in the kitchen." She turned away from them, expecting them to comply without resistance. She refocused on Fitz. "Go! We don't want you here. Go sleep in a pigsty. Go climb the wall and feed the demons. Or save everyone the trouble and go stand on a pyre in the square until the wood dries out." She finished with a wave of her fingers as if she was brushing a bug off a loaf of bread.

"Don't go," Ginger told Fitz, crossing the room to take hold of Fitz's arm. Ginger turned on Housemother Mary and looked defiantly at the shorter woman. "Fitz will stay in my room. And you'll not say another word about it." Ginger's words took a menacing edge, and she added, "And you'll not tell Tenbrook's men, either."

Housemother Mary stabbed a bony finger toward Fitz and shouted, "She's a thief. Did you know that? I caught her with Father Winthrop's stolen baubles myself. And when I took her to him, she escaped a burning by bewitching the Bishop and twisting him to her will." Mary scanned the room, looking at each of the other women. "She's doing the same to each of you now. Don't trust her."

Ginger gripped Fitz's arm tighter.

"I should go," said Fitz, worried that no matter what was said here in the parlor, at the first chance, Housemother Mary was not only going to betray Fitz, but every girl in the house. That was clear enough already, and Fitz didn't want to see anymore of her friends killed.

"No," said Ginger.

"You'll stay, Fitz," said Ashley, who turned and whispered something in the ear of the girl just behind her. That girl, a new girl Fitz didn't know, looked back at Ashley, wide-eyed, reluctant. Ashley told her, "Go."

Focusing on Ginger, the source of the defiance, Mary said, "Go up to your room and stay there until you're needed."

Ginger stared at Mary, but didn't answer.

Mary crossed the parlor in a flash, slapping Ginger across the face. "You'll do as your told! Upstairs with you!"

With her cheek stinging and tears in her eyes, Ginger said, "No. Fitz is one of us. You won't turn her out."

"I'll do what I've been charged to do, which is to keep you whores in line," Mary shouted, slapping Ginger again, before turning and pushing Fitz. "Get out of here. I'm not going to the pyre for the likes of you. You're a vile, self-serving witch. You got Franklin killed. You got all the fathers killed. You got the Temple burned for the sake of your heretic ideas and your scheming. I'll see you burn before this day's end. Mark my words. And any of the rest of you whores who want to join her? You go right ahead." Mary turned to look at the others and unexpectedly gasped.

Fitz saw Ashley standing, now facing Mary close, too close.

Ashley's face was expressionless, hard. She stepped back as Mary grasped at her stomach and stumbled forward a few steps. Ashley stepped out of her way, and Fitz saw a dripping red kitchen knife in Ashley's hand.

Everyone in the room stared, shocked. Fitz's eyes widened.

"All of you," Mary gasped, between labored breaths, a red stain spreading down her dress, "all of you will pay." She pointed to a girl on the bench. "Kayla, come help me."

Kayla looked at her feet, frightened. She started to get up.

Ginger said, "Don't."

Kayla froze.

Mary's hateful eyes fell on Ginger, and she turned and raised her hand to slap her again. "You pig bitch."

Ginger grabbed Mary's wrist and stepped over beside Ashley, spinning Mary around to face her. Ginger reached out to take the bloody knife from Ashley and slashed it across Mary's throat.

Blood poured out and Housemother Mary collapsed on the floor, gurgling and struggling for another moment before going still.

They all stared as Mary's blood spread in a puddle on the floor.

Chapter 92:  Tenbrook

Tenbrook sat alone on the dais, watching the square, the center of his domain. The Cleansing platform stood empty in the middle, abandoned until the next Cleansing Day when the inspectors would wait as lines and lines of women and children climbed the steps and disrobed, hoping their skin was unblemished by spores and warts.

Well past the Cleansing platform, fifty of the city guard drilled in the falling rain. Around the edges of the square, women, some with children, hurried through, crossing from one side of town to the other, deathly afraid to look in Tenbrook's direction.

On the far side of the square were the remains of the Temple. The stone walls still stood, but the roof had caved in, and its ancient colored glass windows were shattered. Black smoke stains ran up the walls. The smell of burned wood and charred flesh floated in the wet air.

Is this what absolute victory feels like?

Tenbrook hadn't thought winning would be so easy. He didn't think it would happen so quickly. That saddened him. Now, what would he do? No challenge existed.

Sure, Blackthorn might come back with a raggedy army's remnants in tow. But what of it? Blackthorn was a dying man. He'd given up already. He'd present no difficulty.

The clergy was wiped out. Tenbrook smiled as he thought about how brilliantly he'd handled that. He was indeed a master.

What of the Scholars? He'd crushed Evan's insurgency, but the Academy was still intact, probably shivering in their study halls and pissing on their shoes as they thought about what had happened to the clergy. No, the Scholars would present no problems either—not for a long, long time.

That left only demons.

Tenbrook had to wonder, as he looked into his future, how effective Blackthorn's expedition had been at exterminating demons. While he surely had no chance of killing them all, Tenbrook hoped that enough of them were left alive on this part of the great flat earth that they'd mass from time to time to come for the people of Brighton.

Without that one possibility to relieve boredom, the future didn't hold any appeal at all.

Except for one.

Tenbrook's thoughts drifted to women, the only interesting thing of which there seemed to be a ready supply. With most of the men having been dragged on Blackthorn's folly, the women now outnumbered men ten to one. And of that minority of men, most were so old as to be too feeble to march out with the army.

Tenbrook decided to let his imagination run free through his most lurid fantasies. With a practically endless supply of female flesh, the only limit on his pleasure would be the breadth of his imagination. Through the years, he'd imagined so much.

Until he found some other way to alleviate the boredom of the victorious, women would have to suffice.

Chapter 93:  Fitzgerald

Mary's body had drained its blood on the floor and now lay bound with rope and wrapped in several layers of blankets in her room upstairs. The floor in the parlor was clean. The front door was barred and barricaded, as was the back. All of the windows on the first floor were shuttered. For men coming to find some entertainment at The House of Barren Women, there'd be no shooing them away, no explanation. The House would be closed up.

Fitz's bet was that none of the few men left in town would have the nerve to take the matter to Tenbrook, the only authority in Brighton at the moment. After his volatile performance at the Temple, no one, probably not even the city guard or cavalrymen, would want to be at the center of his attention.

Now Fitz was standing in Mary's upstairs room, the largest room in the house after the parlor and the dining hall. All eighteen of Fitz's conspirators who'd been meeting with her in the Temple, the strong women, along with the women in The House, were in Mary's room staring at Fitz. Franklin's death hadn't changed the view of the eighteen women that she was the leader. And the Barren Women had joined them.

The leader of what? Fitz wasn't sure anymore.

She'd hoped that by gathering the townsfolk around Franklin and the ideas he spoke about, they'd be able to cow Tenbrook with the weight of their numbers. In Fitz's vision, it would have happened without the loss of life or shedding of blood. The degree to which she was wrong shook her confidence and made the loyal gazes of all her friends difficult to bear.

What if she made another miscalculation?

They'd all die just as brutally as Franklin had.

How many could she lead to their death to satisfy her ambition?

And that's what it was, wasn't it? Ambition.

Fitz had a difficult time wrestling with the idea. Was it wrong that what she wanted coincided exactly with what was good for Brighton? Did that make her ambition wrong?

Another question that gnawed at her confidence was the temperament of The People. They'd all watched, horrified and paralyzed, as Tenbrook stood on the stage in the Temple and murdered Franklin. They stood back while a few dozen soldiers slaughtered the clergymen. They'd let the war horses trample their friends and neighbors.

So had she.

The criminality of what they'd all witnessed was irrefutable. Though scant few of them could count higher than their fingers, nobody needed mathematics to figure out that the people being killed vastly outnumbered the men doing the butchering, and yet, the murderers did as they pleased. They walked away arrogantly and without the slightest fear of punishment.

That made Fitz fear that her lofty thoughts about right and wrong and her ideas about what could and couldn't change were rare thoughts to have in Brighton. Most people were sheep, and apparently always would be. Some were wolves. Fewer still were shepherds.

Fitz had to ask herself which she was. She was no sheep, though she'd been behaving as one her whole life. She thought she was a shepherd, but she wondered whether all wolves saw themselves as shepherds, as well.

All of those questions needed answers before Fitz could decide what to do next: climb the wall and run, more like a rabbit than a sheep, or stay in Brighton and accept that she'd always be a sheep until the day that Tenbrook slaughtered her. Or maybe she'd put on a wolf's hide to do the things necessary and then, at the end, rise above it all like a shepherd.

The girls continued staring at her, waiting for her to tell them what to do next and how to avoid the pyre now that they were all complicit in murdering Housemother Mary. Fitz needed an answer for them, and she needed a plan.

Chapter 94:  Fitzgerald

"We need more women," Fitz said, looking around at the others.

The House women and the eighteen watched her, their hope fighting with the fear in their eyes.

"More women?" Ginger asked, clutching the knife. "How are we going to convince them to join us, after what happened here?"

"Or what happened at the Temple?" Ashley added.

Fitz watched them for a moment. "Maybe we can use that tragedy to our advantage."

"What do you mean?" Ginger asked.

"Tenbrook's hope is that by destroying the Temple and The Word, he'll prevent anyone from meeting together. What he doesn't realize is that for every person who died, many more are affected."

"Affected by fear. He wants to frighten everyone into submission," Ginger argued. "How can we get them to listen to us?"

Fitz paced Mary's room. Although it was larger and cleaner than the others, the smell of men's sweat seeped through the doorway, reminding Fitz of the years she'd spent there.

"We need to use the pain of what we went through to bring us together again. Not just the women in this room, but as many women as we can convince to join us from Brighton. We all know women in town, many of whom lost people in what happened at the Temple. We need to find them, and we need to use our experience to fight Tenbrook. We need to recruit and lead them."

"What experience do us Barren Women have?" Ginger asked, throwing her hands in the air. "All we've ever done is lie on our backs, taking whatever coins men throw at us, hoping we can avoid a beating."

"That's exactly right," Fitz said, thinking of Mary's body with a grim smile. "Our bodies have been the only things keeping us alive. We've used our bodies to keep us fed, to keep us clothed, to avoid a beating. Those in The House have done whatever Mary has demanded. The rest of you have done whatever Brighton, the Elders, or your husbands have demanded. Maybe it's time we used our bodies for ourselves for once."

After a pause, Ginger nodded. "I'm sure the others will agree, once you've told it that way."

"Listen," Fitz said. "I have a plan."

Chapter 95:  Tenbrook

Tenbrook laughed out loud at the joke Sinko had just made. As the other captains laughed, Tenbrook said, "You've been hiding this sense of humor all along. I didn't know you were a funny man."

A girl came in and leaned between Captain Sinko and the man next to him, filling his cup with wine. He waved her away. "Enough, girl." He looked at Tenbrook. "I talk too much when I have too much wine in me."

"As do we all," the captain across the table said.

Tenbrook leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach as he looked at a slab of roasted pork on the table. "I can't eat anymore."

The captains all stopped eating and looked at Tenbrook.

"Eat up," Tenbrook told them. "Stuff yourselves. This is a night for us to sit on the laurels of our conquest and partake in the pleasures awarded the victors."

"Pleasures?" Sinko asked. "Is there to be more than food and wine?"

"Here, here!" another captain agreed.

They were talking about women, of course. When men got drunk on victory and wine, every vague phrase alluded to a single thing: women.

"Let us finish our dinner first," said Tenbrook. "For dessert, I have a collection of virgins for you to choose from. Take one if you like, two if you prefer. Three if you're man enough to put them all to good use."

"I speak for us all, General," said Sinko, "when I say I hope you have three each."

"Perhaps," said Tenbrook with a sly smile. The smile was a mask. He did have a dozen virgins in a room in the back of the house—all young, all pretty—but none of them were for him. He'd grown bored with young virgins, their timidity, they're begging, their fear of his manhood. Sure, it was fun at first, but the fun of seeing a woman's fear just by dropping his trousers had grown old. His tastes at the moment were for women who were greedy for a man, tough women who thought they could tame him, women with fire in their eyes, who didn't accept the fear until they earned it.

That's the sort of women Tenbrook wanted.

Perhaps he'd ride to The House of Barren Women later and treat one of those wenches to an unforgettable night.

A guard barged into the room, anxious, out of breath, trailing another guard behind him in a similar state.

Tenbrook, like the other officers at the table, hadn't lived long enough to rise in the ranks because they reacted slowly to danger. Each of them jumped to their feet, hands on the hilts of their swords or daggers.

"What is the danger?" Tenbrook asked calmly, though he was already tense. In the back of his mind, he hoped it was a revolt. He relished the idea of a battle—even a battle against wretched peasants with pitchforks. That would be so much better than eating and drinking himself into a coma.

The first guard pointed through the open doors behind him. "In the square, sir. I think they're worshiping you. You have to see for yourself."

Chapter 96:  Tenbrook

A thousand women danced in the square, lit by rows of fires, not wearing a stitch of clothing, moving in a slow rhythm around the Cleansing platform in the center. They sang a sad, slow song that the worshipers used to drone in the Temple after one of Winthrop's bleak, haranguing sermons. But the women had changed the words. Where the song had contained "THE WORD", the women had changed it to "TENBROOK".

"TENBROOK is life."

"TENBROOK is the answer."

"TENBROOK guide us."

"TENBROOK make us strong."

"TENBROOK give us children so that we may serve even after our death."

All around the square, Tenbrook saw his men on their backs on the ground, in various states of dress, with their manly needs being tended to by more than one girl.

More men ran into the square from their barracks, eager to participate. Women who caressed them like a lover, or grasped them like a whore, quickly engulfed them. Some men pushed their way through the first women that came to meet them, walking instead among the dancing worshipers, looking for particular ones, perhaps the favorites that they'd been eyeing in the market, hoping their husbands would never return from Blackthorn's folly so they could claim them, or perhaps just looking for a girl with the right color of hair or eyes.

As titillating as the debauchery in the square was, Tenbrook's attention was focused on the Cleansing platform. Around it's edge knelt a dozen naked women, all watching the center, where one woman stood with her arms in the air, surrounded by three others. The one at the center screamed each time one of the others swung a short horsewhip across her bare skin. Front, back, it didn't matter, the whipped girl's skin was crisscrossed with red welts and blood.

"Shall I muster the men?" Captain Sinko asked, looking around warily.

"Would they listen?" Tenbrook laughed, knowing they would once he got their attention. But why?

He continued watching the girl on the platform cry out each time the leather found her skin. He saw the glistening of tears down her face, and he saw her pain as she cried for her tormentors to stop. As he watched, another fair skinned girl with red hair was dragged up the steps and shoved to the center of the platform. The whipped one, disappointingly, was led away.

The three with the whips all took a few moments to curse the redhead between them. When they finished that part of their new ritual, or punishment, or whatever it was, the redhead reached her hands to the sky and looked at the stars overhead. One of the whips lashed her across her back, and the redhead screamed. Another lashed across her belly, and the third whipped her legs.

Tenbrook told Sinko, "Let the men have their pleasure. This is the reward of stone-hearted men who do what they must. We earn the adulation of the weak." Tenbrook left his captains and guards and strode toward the center platform.

Chapter 97:  Fitzgerald

Kneeling on the edge of the platform with her head forward, and her black hair hanging around her face to keep it hidden in dark shadow, Fitz watched Tenbrook walk through the slowly undulating women as he came to the steps at the bottom of the platform.

Tenbrook looked on as the three tormentors whipped the redhead, taking slow turns, letting the girl feel the pain of each lash, and forcing her to anticipate the burn of the next one.

Each time the leather cracked across the girl's skin, Tenbrook seemed to inch a step closer to pleasure.

He stepped up and the girls near the stairs reached out to drag their fingertips softly down his legs.

Fitz watched Tenbrook stop at the top of the stairs. Most of his men were in the square, enveloped in women who couldn't seem to get enough of them. More of Tenbrook's men, perhaps the last of them, walked or ran into the square, following their lust.

Coming to an unspoken decision, Tenbrook turned toward the whipped redhead and crossed to the center of the platform.

He reached out and clasped a hand around her throat and squeezed.

The girl's eyes went wide as she choked. Unable to breathe, she grasped Tenbrook's wrist and tried to pull it away. But she was much too weak to resist Tenbrook's strength.

He slapped her across the face. Blood spilled from her split lip. Tenbrook pulled her to him, releasing her throat and grabbing a handful of her hair to guide her face toward his. Nose to nose, he held her there for a moment, staring into her wide, fearful eyes as she cried. Tenbrook pushed closer and licked the blood from her mouth as he engulfed her mouth with his own, grinding his face into to hers, taking pleasure from the pain.

The tormentors had their hands on Tenbrook, moving up and down his back, rubbing his thighs and pushing their hands down the front of his trousers.

Tenbrook responded by touching what he wanted to touch, kissing what he wanted to kiss, and letting the women slowly disrobe him.

All around the platform, the women who were not engaged with a man chanted and danced.

The last of Tenbrook's clothes fell away as the women greedily tried to be the first to please him. They laid him on his back on the platform. Tenbrook, still focused on the redhead with the bloody welts on her skin, pulled her down on top of him. She didn't struggle to get away. She mounted him, sitting straight up.

"Whip her," Tenbrook ordered, "while she pleases her master."

One of the tormentors slapped her horsewhip across the redhead's skin, and Tenbrook seemed immensely pleased.

Fitz got to her feet and walked to a spot at Tenbrook's feet, where he'd not be able to see her with the straddling redhead blocking his view. Fitz got down on her knees as one of the other girls passed her Tenbrook's sword, which the girl had stolen from his scabbard while Tenbrook's attention was focused on the redhead.

Fitz took the cold hilt in her hands and held the blade straight up in front of her as she looked around the square, catching eye after eye of the women out there. They saw the blade. They understood what was to come next.

Fitz lowered the sword and pointed it straight ahead between Tenbrook's legs, the tip not more than a few inches from his crotch. She thought about Franklin's mashed skull in Tenbrook's upraised fist as Tenbrook taunted all the worshippers in the Temple, all the women too weak, too afraid to stand up to him.

With all the anger from that moment blazing in her mind, she pushed the long sword up through Tenbrook's pelvis, into his abdomen, skewering his chest.

Tenbrook's legs locked straight out in a spasm, and his scream was immediately muffled by one of the tormentors pressing a cloth over his mouth.

The redhead hopped off of Tenbrook, giving Fitz a view of Tenbrook still lying on his back, with his shocked face looking up at her. The tip of the blade came out through his shoulder to the right of his head as she drove the sword all the way to the hilt.

Tenbrook gagged, and his eyes went wide and white. He tried to move in jerks. He raised his arms and grasped his chest as blood poured out of his mouth. He kicked weakly as Fitz let go of the hilt, standing up, throwing her hair back to give Tenbrook a good look at her face before he died.

"For Franklin," she said.

Tenbrook's struggles stopped, and he lay lifeless at her feet. She looked around the square to see the glint of silver knives and swords, taken from scabbards and pockets, wherever the men had left them before they succumbed to temptation. All of the blades turned red.

Men yelled and gasped. Some screamed and struggled, but in the space of moments, it was over. The dancing stopped. The singing ceased. All or nearly all of Tenbrook's men were dead.

Ginger stood up, still bloody from being whipped, her mouth still red from Tenbrook's brutality. She put her arm around Fitz. "You've done it."

Fitz put an arm around Ginger and another around Ashley, who'd just come up beside her, and she said, "We've done it."

Ashley asked, "What now?"

Fitz looked at all the new butchers of Brighton, naked and staring back at her, many with bloody hands and others with their victim's blood on their faces and chests. A few chanted, "LADY FITZ. LADY FITZ. LADY FITZ." Others joined in until the voice of every woman in the square had merged into one. Fitz looked across the square at Blackthorn's empty house, now her house.

Fitz said, "We have a new home to sleep in tonight."

Chapter 98:  Oliver

After following the coast for so many days, they'd all gotten used to the rhythm of flat, inlet-broken ground and bays, both of which they had to work their way around. Sometimes the rivers flowed into the ocean and forced them to find a way across. The terrain was generally easy, but the farther they walked, the hillier it grew, with more and more cliffs standing above the surf.

"When was the last time we saw a demon?" Oliver asked.

Melora, who'd taken to walking along with Oliver, said, "Three days ago, right?" She called out to Jingo. "Jingo, when was the last time we saw a demon?"

Jingo stopped and took a deep breath. "Three days, I think." He looked over at Beck. "I haven't done this much walking in a long, long time." He walked over and sat down on the trunk of a tree that had fallen in the shade of another.

Melora and Oliver joined him.

Beck said, "I'll let Ivory know we're going to rest." He jogged along the trail, nearing the crest of a hill upon which they'd been walking while Jingo drank from his canteen.

"Where do you think all the demons have gone?" Oliver asked.

Jingo shook his head and looked around. "I used to journey up and down the coast and into the mountains when I was young."

"In an airplane?" Oliver asked.

"No." Jingo laughed. "I meant after the fall. I stayed in the city for three or four years before I ventured out the first time." Jingo frowned and shook his head. "Things were still bad then. I was nearly killed."

"What happened?" Melora asked.

"I was shot."

"Shot?" Oliver asked. "What does that mean."

"Remember when you asked about guns?" Jingo asked.

Both Melora and Oliver nodded.

"To put it simply, a gun is a metal tube about that size." Jingo held up a finger. "Using Tech Magic, guns took a small piece of metal and expelled it from the end of the barrel going unimaginably fast. That's what made the thunder noise and the fire that you talked about in your legends, Oliver. A tiny piece of metal did the killing." Jingo held up one of his little fingers and pointed at the tip. "The metal was about that big, mostly."

"A tiny piece of metal could kill?" Oliver shook his head.

"Seems hard to believe," said Melora.

"Is it?" Jingo asked. "Melora, you should know. You shoot an arrow at an animal from far away. And with that small arrow, you kill it. A bullet works the same way. It's smaller, but it travels fast enough to poke a hole in human flesh. Getting shot is a lot like getting stabbed with a sword, but the wound is generally smaller."

"And somebody shot you?" asked Oliver.

"Yes," said Jingo. He leaned over and pulled up his pant leg, showing Oliver and Melora a circular scar in his calf. He turned his leg and showed them a similar scar on the other side. "The bullet went right through."

Oliver was fascinated. "What did you do to the man who shot you?"

"I never saw him," said Jingo. "Like I told you about guns, you don't have to be close to use one."

"Is that why you stopped traveling?" Melora asked.

"Yes," said Jingo. "After I was shot, I didn't leave the city again for thirty or forty years. By then, very few people were around. Nobody had guns or bullets to shoot anyone anymore, for the most part. I was pretty safe. After that, I used to travel, like I said. I used to go out and look for men and women like me. I used to try to find out if civilization survived anywhere."

"Did it?" Oliver asked.

"Not that I could find," said Jingo. "Eventually, I stopped going out to look."

Beck came jogging up, out of breath, excited about something. "Come up to the crest of the hill. You have to see this."

Oliver reached the crest and stopped behind a blackened tree trunk lying on it side.

Ivory, hiding behind the same tree trunk, asked, "What do you make of that?"

Oliver looked down at a bowl shaped valley surrounding a bay. Every tree in the valley had been cut down, leaving thousands of stumps, each with a top as flat as a dining room table. Oliver had never seen a tree cut that way before. Trees felled with axes left ragged stumps.

Most of the valley had burned, and among the blackened stumps on the ashen ground lay thousands of skeletons.

At the center of the valley, down by the water, Oliver saw the remnants of a stockade made from logs. They were standing side by side, sharpened at the top end. The logs formed walls thirty feet high, but many of them had fallen, and most were burned to ash.

Inside the boundary of the stockade stood nearly a dozen towering houses, seemingly constructed from the logs cut in the valley. Each of the houses was large enough to fit five or six families. They stood four or five stories tall, narrowed to a roofed observation platform, and were open on all sides, large enough to easily hold a dozen men.

Oliver looked in the water and saw something even more fantastic.

"Ships," Jingo whispered.

"They look like your boat," said Melora, "only much bigger."

"They're probably a hundred feet long. Mine was only twenty-seven feet."

"Did they lose their masts and sails?" Melora asked.

"Those kinds of ships don't have sails," Jingo answered.

"How do they get them out into the water?" Oliver asked.

"They don't," said Jingo. "Those four ships will be on that beach until they rust away."

"Rust away?" Ivory asked. "They're made of metal?"

"Steel, most likely," Jingo answered. "It looks like they're stuck."

Ivory mused, "They must be worth a fortune."

Beck shook his head in disbelief. "That's what ships from your time looked like?"

"No," said Jingo. "We had plenty of ships that size, but we also had ships ten times that big. Those aren't ancient ships. They look like they've been there a long time, maybe ten or twenty years, but those aren't from ancient times. They weren't here the last time I came this way, maybe a hundred years ago."

"Where did they come from?" Oliver asked.

"I don't know," said Jingo.

Ivory tensed and crouched down.

Everyone did the same.

"Look." Ivory pointed down to a spot where the stockade had burned to ash.

Oliver followed Ivory's gaze and saw a person, draped in what looked like a blanket with a hood, colored in shades of green and brown. The hood was down, letting the woman's long hair flow down her back. In one hand was a pair of rabbits she'd killed. In her other was a long, intricately shaped thing. Oliver turned to Jingo and asked, "What's that she's carrying?"

Jingo's voice seemed stuck in his throat, but he managed an answer. "That, Oliver, is a gun."

LOOK OUT FOR THE LAST CONQUEST, THE FINAL BOOK IN THE LAST SURVIVORS SERIES!

COMING SUMMER 2016!

That Review Thing

Since you've gotten this far, you know that at the end of each book I write a little something to thank you for reading and to ask you to leave us a review. It truly is important to us.

The thing is, I know when I come up with something witty that makes you laugh, you're much more likely to leave a review. At least, that's how it appears to work from our perspective. Though I'll admit, we could be dead wrong.

As I'm sitting down to write this, having just completed my final proofread of the entire book yesterday, I have to be honest, I'm having a hard time with the humor. The Last Refuge was a pretty dark book in the series. We lost two of our favorite characters and one of our villains, two of those in a disturbingly brutal fashion. Jingo and Beck talked a lot about the downfall of humanity and the parallels between the old and the new world. It was a discussion that made the tidbit of hope we ended the book on seem pretty tenuous.

I feel like I need a few days to recover. And I think that's the reason I enjoy reading and writing. I want to be immersed in imaginary worlds. I want to see the worlds in my mind, and I want to feel what the characters are experiencing, both good and bad. I'm guessing that's the same reason you read.

So, if you need some recovery time too, I'll understand. That means Piperbrook and I have done our job.

Please do leave a review. We appreciate it.

And The Last Conquest, book 6, the final book in the series will be out this summer. See you then.

-Bobby

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Typos

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Other Things To Read

Since THE LAST CONQUEST (THE FINAL LAST SURVIVORS BOOK) isn't out yet…

If you'd like to read something else by T.W. Piperbrook, the CONTAMINATION series might be your thing. It's a fast-paced, action-oriented zombie series with a twist. Check out the Boxed Set HERE.

If you'd like to read something else by Bobby Adair, Ebola K might be a good choice. It follows the collapse of the society through the story of several people struggling through an ebola epidemic. GET IT HERE.

Text copyright © 2016, Bobby Adair & T.W. Piperbrook

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.