A Latent Dark (30 page)

He shook his head, and then scooted the juice over to young Charlie who gripped it in a black-plated hand. He nodded at The Reverend Lyle Summers with gratitude.

“Let me make you your own,” Marley said reaching under the counter.

“I thought you were out,” Lyle said with a sneer. “And besides, I owe Charlie here after abusing him so much over the last few weeks. I think a cool drink is the least I can do. You just keep your distance, barkeep. I might be old, but I’m quicker than you.”

He smiled at the bartender as the young man brought the drink to his mouth and emptied it in four lusty gulps. He slammed the glass down onto the counter with a hearty sigh.

“
There
we go, Charlie,” Lyle said, patting the boy on the back. “All is forgiven. Even your cousin knew that a whore like Mary could find salvation in the eyes of the Lord. Sarah will be remembered as the Mary Magdalene of your generation for years to come. You can tell her yourself.”

Charlie’s eyes became wide as he looked at the Reverend. A drop of red juice appeared at the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away without looking.

“She’s here?” he said.

More red liquid appeared at the corner of his mouth and he tried to wipe it away, but his hand was trembling this time. He only smeared it on his chin.

“Oh, I never said that, but I’ll do my best to put in a good word in my prayers,” Lyle said.

Charlie stared in confusion as the color drained from his face.

“You see, Charlie,” the Reverend said, leaning toward the soldier. He grabbed Charlie just underneath his chin by the neckline of his cuirass. “I don’t forgive mediocrity. And you son, are a mediocre servant of the Lord. Letting a girl—a
girl
—get away from you like that. Why, if I didn’t know any better I would have thought you let her go on purpose.”

He turned on Marley, mock disappointment on his face. “And you, Marley, a warrior, using poison. Really? You fought your whole life and now you try to poison an old man. That’s just unsportsmanlike.”

The tremor in Charlie’s hand spread to the rest of his body as he slipped from the stool with a loud crash. The front door flew open, spilling sunlight into the room. Two guards rushed in at the noise only to freeze, staring at the twitching boy on the floor.

“The bartender has poisoned one of our own,” Lyle said.

The two guards looked from the floor to him and then Marley. Their shock was vivid even with their faces hidden behind black plates.

Lyle gave Marley a cold look. “I believe that constitutes an arrest.”

Marley lunged across the bar, but the Reverend had slipped back over his stool and took several paces just out of reach. The two soldiers moved in and placed the ends of their bayonets inches from Marley’s face. They trembled like two hunters who accidentally found themselves cornering a polar bear in close quarters.

“I believe you are a bit rusty from your fighting days, Mr. Marley. That is, assuming you won all your fights fairly to begin with.” He grinned and tipped his hat. “Which I am beginning to doubt.”

Charlie came to rest on the wooden floor, motionless. A stream of red froth continued to ooze from his mouth forming a puddle under his head. It stuck to his hair and spread around him in a crimson halo. Neither soldier saw the Reverend kick the boy’s head as he left the pub.

The front door opened and The Reverend Lyle Summers stepped with a skip down the front steps of The Hungry Skunk, looking at the last fading plumes of smoke from Lassimir. Another six soldiers rushed past him as sounds of gunshots rang from the tavern.

Sodom and Gomorrah,
he thought. Those Catholic priests could continue fighting sin on a parish-by-parish basis. He would do them one better. He would rip the sinners from the world in chunks like the right hand of God. And not that weak, feel-good New Testament God, but the angry God of Lot and Nahum, a God of vengeance and hellfire. Passion burned in Lyle’s chest.

The aerolore emerged like a black moon over the trees. Its shadow engulfed the waiting man and the building behind him. It extended a ladder which the Reverend climbed up in quick, energetic bursts. As its propellers—recharged with fresh chemical cells—turned the ship toward the coast, a plume of smoke leaked from one corner of The Hungry Skunk.

Far in the distance, the two travelers noticed that the woods had caught fire again. They noted the direction of the airship and nodded to one another. The smoke from The Hungry Skunk drifted across the trees and mingled with the dying embers of Lassimir.

Chapter 21

Skyla knew she was being followed. A distant crunch echoed her last footstep. She thought at first that it was an animal or even just her imagination. Not much later a small rockslide cascaded down a nearby slope. She heard a crash and swearing. Whoever was following her, they sure were bad at it.

“I know you’re there,” she said to the brush and trees. “You aren’t fooling anyone.”

The forest did not so much end as simply fizzle out into scattered copses of eucalyptus and pine trees that dotted an otherwise grassy, shrub-dominated hillside. The mountains had been filed down to hills with every slope and riverbed funneling her toward the sea. Eventually, she gave up and just let the landscape guide her. The air smelled different as she approached the ocean. Rhinewall was not far.

And then what
? she wondered.
Ask around?
What was her aunt even doing in Rhinewall, and why didn’t she just come to Bollingbrook to rescue Skyla and her mother in the first place?

She thought back to the times she had asked about her aunt, the way her mother had changed the subject or simply left the room. Was it really something so bad that Rhia couldn’t come to them instead? Even with their lives in danger?

As she followed the dry, rocky riverbed at the base of the valley, Skyla came upon a farmhouse, surrounded by a scattering of walnut trees. It was a small wooden structure covered in chipped yellow paint, reminding her of that boy Mackerel’s teeth. Its windows were shattered spiderwebs of glass, every visible shard dirty and gray. Something had fallen through a section of the roof at one point, leaving a gaping hole in one corner. Houses outside the domain city-states were rare and this one had been punished by life outside city walls.

A barn stood next to the house, its weather-worn frame tilted at an uncomfortable angle, teetering on collapse. She peered inside the wide doorway. Dust motes danced in the yellow light that crept through decaying boards. On the far side of the barn was a ladder.

Whoever was following her would have to come in this door first. Skyla climbed up the gray wood ladder, testing each rung with her weight before hoisting herself onto the loft. She crouched directly above the entrance, behind a pile of rusted, unidentifiable equipment along the edge.

After what felt like an hour, there was a rustling from outside and a crunch of footsteps on dry gravel. She held her breath as a shadow stretched across the floor, slow and cautious. A man entered the threshold and stopped. As he turned away from Skyla she recognized the twisting arm as it jutted out from his body.

“Why are you following me, Dale?” she said in the biggest voice any eleven-year-old could muster.

Dale jumped as if hearing the voice of God. He looked around, then up at Skyla where she proceeded to burst with laughter. He made a dramatic grip on his chest.

“You scared the crap out of me,” he said.

“Oh, and you don’t think I was scared? You were following me like a stalker. What was that all about?”

Dale took a moment to regain his composure, glancing nervously over one shoulder. “I wasn’t sure if you’d run if I yelled and you didn’t recognize my voice,” he said. “A couple of those boys from the docks disappeared in the same direction as you. I wanted to make sure they weren’t following you.” It was almost a plausible excuse.

“You couldn’t have just yelled ‘Hey Skyla, it’s Dale. Keep an eye out for hooligans.’”

“Well, when you put it like that…” He paused. “Sorry I scared you. Just… after that whole thing with Lassimir…”

She climbed down from the loft and stood in front of him. The barn protested loudly, dust drifting from the rafters. A small flock of pigeons flew from the darkness above their heads and out into the open sky.

“We should probably talk outside,” she said. “I’m not sure I trust this building.”

“You’ve never seen a barn?” he asked as they walked across the grounds.

She shook her head. “Is this what they look like? The only ones I’ve seen were in books and in the Ag Wedge. Those didn’t look anything like this.” She looked up and around before deciding it best to leave.

“Well, they used to look a lot sturdier,” he said as they crossed the ragged lawn.

“
Wanna
see the rest of
Rancho de Skyla?
” she asked. Dale did.

They talked and joked as they made one last perimeter check of the grounds while it was still light out. The yard behind the house was overgrown with dry weeds, attempting to reclaim a bent swing set, a child’s tricycle, and what remained of a short picket fence. A large rusted tractor, home to a family of sparrows, rested at the foot of a dirt driveway, which stretched from behind the house and disappeared over a hill. There was much debate over whether the road was a good idea to use or if it even went to Rhinewall at all. Roads this far outside city walls were sketchy at best.

“It probably just goes to another abandoned house,” said Dale. “They probably have a little network of abandoned houses out here, each with its own tricycle and rusted swing.”

“Unless it goes to a farm,” she said. Her stomach gurgled.

“Unless it doesn’t. For all we know it could lead to a place filled with people we don’t want to meet. Maybe even bandits… Does your stomach always make your decisions for you?”

She stuck her tongue out at him. The sun was beginning to set. Soon the fog made it impossible to see anymore and they decided to head in for the night.

The floors of the house, collecting dust for ages, had built up drifts in the corners where rat droppings and dead leaves decorated the floorboards. The single bedroom had a stack of mattresses and a musty smell. A broken doll with dead eyes lay in one corner. The living room would do just fine, they agreed.

“Do you think anyone still lives here?” she asked.

Dale shrugged. “Someone was definitely here at one point.”

“Do you think they’ll come back?” she asked. “I’m just not sure I want to sleep here and have someone walk in on me.”

“We could sleep in shifts if you want,” Dale said, kicking away a crumpled chair and using his boot to clear away some broken glass, making room to sit.

“We could,” she said, testing a faucet. It was dry and made a deep clanking sound. She turned it off before whatever was deep inside could come out.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Dale said.

“Or we could flip a coin,” she said.

“I don’t mind, really.”

“You’re old,” she teased. “And besides, we’re both tired. Here.”

Skyla unlatched the pocket on the thigh of her pants where she kept the coin. She pulled it out and turned it in her hand considering how much trouble it had caused her, how much trouble it might cause her still.

“There’s no heads,” she said, showing it to him.

Dale took the coin and examined it, then handed it back to her. “How about Snakes, I take first watch. Words-we-can’t-read, you take first watch.”

She put the coin on her fist and flicked it into the air. It spun in the setting sunlight, end over end. They both watched it hit the floor and land text side up. Skyla groaned and they both laughed.