The Child Thief (43 page)

“
YOU LITTLE FUCK!
” screamed the boy with the red bone in his hair.

The Captain nodded and one of the guards took a quick step over and kicked the wild-haired boy hard in the stomach. The boy doubled over, groaning, but still managed to glower at Danny.

The other two boys looked on with a mixture of confusion and despair.

It’s done
, the Captain thought, and sighed. “I have my soldier.” He bowed to the Reverend Senior. “I thank you, your Grace. I leave the rest of them in your fair and compassionate hands.” As the two Reverends led the other three boys from the room, the Captain thought,
And may God be merciful, because these twisted men will not.

M
ove along,” the Reverend Senior spoke in his cold, detached tone as the guards herded the boys back toward the town square. The second Reverend, a short man with a pinched nose and a protrusive overbite of jagged teeth—which made him look like a mole to Nick—trailed along beside them, his hands clasped together as though in prayer, staring at them with wide, pitying eyes.

Nick heard the commotion of the crowd. He tried to swallow and winced from the sharp pain in his parched throat. He found himself wishing he’d taken the water. All this talk of torture, it was a bluff, surely? A ploy? Then why was he so scared? Was it too late to change his mind? To fall to his knees and beg a cup of water? He wanted to hate Danny, but he’d almost given in himself. Would have, if he’d thought for a minute he could actually trust the Captain or any of these men. Because this whole situation was beyond hopeless, it was
ridiculous.
If not so tragic, it would be laughable. Both sides so blinded by their fear and hate of each other that they couldn’t see they were all fighting for the
same thing
—for the men to leave this island.
Insanity!

Nick couldn’t fathom how many had died on both sides because they couldn’t do as simple a thing as talk to each other.
And if they had, would it have helped?
Nick didn’t believe so. The Lady would never have lifted the Mist, because she would’ve never trusted the men to leave, would only have feared the coming of more men. Both sides had been doomed the moment the men had set foot on Avalon, and
that
was the simple, tragic truth of this whole nightmare.

Nick heard a cry ahead, followed by a cheer.
Oh, no. What now?

The guards pushed them into the square. Nick was confronted by sullen-faced men and women gathered in front of the church, but none of them paid him any heed, all their attention fixed on the large cross set atop a platform. “Oh, God,” Nick gasped. Strapped to the cross was Peter.

They’d crucified him, binding his hands, feet, and neck tightly to the post with rope. They’d stripped him down to his waist, and Nick saw several angry welts across Peter’s arms and chest and a fresh gash across his brow. Blood ran down Peter’s cheek and dripped onto his chest. The giant bald man stood beside him, a short lash in his hand. Peter’s eyes were closed, his face tight, lips pursed.

Nick, Leroy, and Redbone were left with the guards as the Reverend Senior went forward and gained the stage. Low murmurs ran through the crowd. The Reverend Senior stepped up and raised his staff. The crowd quieted. There was an atmosphere of excitement in the air like before the main event at a carnival.

“We’ve been plagued for far longer than an age by this child of Lucifer.” The Reverend swept a hand toward Peter. “But now we have him. Proof that God has not abandoned us. Proof that our sacrifices are not in vain. Proof that we are God’s chosen warriors. Lucifer has sent his own son to harry us, to test our faith. Today we send his son back. Back into the fetid pits of Hell from whence he came!” The Reverend smacked his staff on the platform and the crowd erupted in a jovial cheer, with several shouts of “Praise God” and “Amen.”

The Reverend looked over to the giant bald man. “Ox, we are ready?”

The giant man pulled on a thick leather glove, stepped over to a black pot, and plucked an iron brand from a bed of red coals. He held the end up, for the crowd to admire a glowing cross. The crowd murmured its approval. The Reverend Senior nodded, then left the platform. Ox moved toward Peter.

The mole-faced Reverend leaned over. “Pay close attention, children. Let the demons amongst you see this very well. Let them see what awaits and maybe they will run off and your souls will be saved.”

The painful knot in Nick’s stomach told him what was going to happen and begged him to turn away. But Nick couldn’t, and when the giant pushed the brand into Peter’s chest, Nick saw Peter’s eyes flash open, saw him clench his teeth and struggle not to scream as his flesh sizzled beneath the brand.

The mole-faced Reverend grinned, and what Nick saw was not the face of the devout, but the simple lewdness of a sadist.

Peter writhed against his bounds, his breath racing in and out of his chest as fast as a bird beats its wings. And somehow, through it all, Peter didn’t scream. When Ox finally pulled the brand away, Peter’s eyes rolled up into his head.

It was then, as the smell of burned flesh took Nick back to Marko, to the kitchen, that Nick knew it was all real. Knew that before this day was over, he’d wish he was with Marko, wish he was anywhere but in this nightmare.

“No,” Nick moaned and began to tremble all over. “No.” His small voice was lost among the cheers and taunts of the crowd.

THE CAPTAIN WATCHED
but didn’t watch. He’d come to the branding only because it was expected. But he was sick of this charade. Sick of watching people lose a little more of their humanity each day, and sick to death of seeing people tortured in the name of God. What had happened to these people? The Reverend Senior had once been an inspiring leader, a moral compass for his flock. Rarely had the Captain ever met such a fair-minded man.
This island has taken so much
, he thought.
Has stolen our very souls
.

Another cheer, and the Captain could stand it no longer. Demon or not, it didn’t matter, suffering was everywhere he looked. He didn’t care to witness more. He’d made his appearance, surely that was enough. The Captain turned and began to walk away.

“Captain,” a thin, strained voice called. The Captain knew even before he turned who it was. The Reverend Senior stood with his arms crossed, scrutinizing him.

The three boys, held under guard, were just behind the Reverend. Witnessing the branding of the child demon had stripped them of any savageness; all that was left were the wide-eyed faces of terrified, confused children. Against his best efforts, the Captain still couldn’t help but think of his own boys in such a situation, and the thought all but brought tears to his eyes.
Given time
, he thought,
I could bring a few of them around. There’s no need to torture them.

“You find this act distasteful?” asked the Reverend.

The Captain didn’t miss the underlining tone of the question.
Always watching
, the Captain thought,
always vigilant for the stray sheep
. The Captain’s keen survival instinct had been sharpened not only in the forest but, even more important, here, in the village, where these men of God had become more obsessed with finding demons than with getting off the island.
Men who fear demons see demons everywhere
, the Captain thought. “No, Your Grace,” the Captain said, and forced his eyes back upon Peter. “If you’re referring to branding that demon up upon the cross, then no, it matters not.”

The Reverend’s good eye bored into the Captain’s own until the Captain feared he might be reading his thoughts. “But, Your Grace…” the Captain said and hesitated—one misstep and he could find himself branded a heretic. “I do wonder if there might not be a better way for the children?”

The Reverend’s eye narrowed and he cocked his head. “Better way?”

The Captain realized he’d made a poor choice of words.

The Reverend took a step toward the Captain. “You believe you know a
better way
than the Council?”

Better than a group of men that flogged themselves, a group of men who raced to denounce their own neighbors, brothers, sisters, wives? Yes, I most certainly do
. But the Captain also wished to stay alive, so on this, like so many matters, he kept his true thoughts to himself. “Your Grace. None know better than the Council on these matters. My concern is only about how these boys might best serve the Council. If I could but have some time with them?”

The Reverend eyed him contemptuously. The Captain worked to keep his true emotions veiled, well aware that one word from this man and he would be on the cross next to Peter.

“Captain, God has been most gracious to provide you with fruit for your labors. Do not ask for more than you need.”

The Captain bowed slightly. “Of course, Your Grace. The Lord has been more than generous today,” he said, knowing he’d already gone too far.

The Reverend addressed the guards, “Take them to the pond and prepare them.”

The Captain saw the terror on the boys’ faces. Knew he’d be seeing those faces again, at night, when the mist came to haunt him.

THE CAPTAIN PUSHED
into his hut, pulling the heavy tapestry across the door behind him, hoping to block out as much of the sounds from the square as possible. He leaned against the door post and let out a long breath trying to clear his mind and heart.

Domitila, one of the few people he could trust—thankfully, not everyone had lost their minds—was combing the tangles out of the boy’s hair. The Captain was surprised at what a difference simply washing the boy’s face and combing his hair made. It was obvious from Domitila’s eyes that she was deeply moved by the presence of this child, and he found himself moved as well. When was the last time any of them had a child near, or any person, for that matter, whose flesh was not twisted and blackened?

Danny had finished the last bit of potato and gravy. He drank the cup dry and set it down. A muffled cry of pain came through the curtain. Danny stopped eating and pushed the plate away as though he didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to be reminded of what he’d done. He put his face in his hands and began to weep again.

The Captain signaled Domitila to take the plate away and moved over next to the boy. He laid a hand on his shoulder. “I understand your name to be Daniel,” the Captain said. “A good Christian name.”

Danny didn’t look up.

The Captain pulled up a chair next to the boy. “Daniel, you must not torture yourself over this. You need to understand right now…you had
no
choice. No one understands this better than me. We’re very similar, you and I. We’re both trapped by circumstance and we’ve both been forced to do things that we don’t want to do. Things we’d never have done otherwise.”

The Captain lowered his voice. “Daniel, we need each other to get out of here. I need to be able to confide in you, to be able to trust you.”

Danny raised his head and looked at the Captain, confused but curious.

“There’s information I’d like to share with you. Information I couldn’t mention in front of the Reverend. Can I trust you, Daniel?”

A trace of hope crossed Danny’s face; he nodded cautiously.

“There’s insanity all around us. It’s like this place breeds it, both with the Reverend and with the Lady. You’re a smart boy, I know you see it. You hear what’s going on out there. It’s madness, but it’s out of
your
control—out of
my
control. Nothing either of us can do to change it. All we can do at this point is try to
survive
it.”

The Captain sighed. “The others are in the hands of the Reverends now, in the hands of fanatics. There’s no hope for them. I wish it were otherwise, but you were there. I gave them their chance and they made their choice. You cannot blame yourself for that.

“All I want is to get off this island. We both know that this Lady holds the key. If we can put a stop to her sorcery, the mist will go away and we can finally escape this hell.

“I spoke earlier of my sons; the oldest, he was around your age when I left. I cannot help but think of him when I look upon you. It’s beyond me to do anything but try and help you. Daniel, if you can help me, I promise that together we will get off this island.” The Captain laid a hand on the boy’s arm. “Will you help me find the Lady?”

Danny nodded his agreement, then thrust himself against the Captain, wrapped his arms tightly about his waist, pressed his face against his chest, and began to sob.

It had been decades since the Captain had been embraced by anyone; to now have this young boy cling to him exactly as his own sons had once done overwhelmed him with heartsickness.
The Reverend will not have this child
, he thought.
No, I’ll kill every one of them first.

NICK SAT IN
the cage with Leroy and Redbone, next to a small, dark pond. The cage was more of a basket, woven together from large strips of bark, bamboo, and twine. The basket was suspended a few feet off the ground from a long pole with a ballast attached to the far end. The villagers still had not bothered to give them water, but they had unbound the boys’ hands. Nick rubbed his raw wrist and pressed his face against the weave. He could see past the crowd into the square where Peter hung listlessly from the cross. They’d branded him until he’d stopped moving, which meant he was either unconscious or dead. Nick was unsure which to hope for.

The crowd had migrated over to the pond, their faces tight, tense, many looked hungry for more suffering, but others seemed troubled. Nick took in a deep, quivery breath, well aware that
he
was the show now. He realized his whole body was shivering, but not from any chill.

A weak moan escaped Redbone. Nick leaned over to him and said, “Hang in there, man.”

One of Redbone’s eyes flitted open. He managed a weak smile, a shadow of his former ferocious grin. Then his eyes fell shut. Nick would’ve thought him dead except for the faint rise and fall of his chest.

“What’re they gonna do?” Leroy asked, his voice high and strained. It seemed less a question and more just words coming from a scared boy. Nick wanted to pretend he didn’t know, but he did. The Reverend had said they would drown them. From there, it wasn’t too hard to figure out. He tried not to think what it would be like to be trapped in this basket beneath the dark water of that scummy pond. Did it hurt to drown?