Winterkill (28 page)

She shakes her shoulders, like she's remembering herself. “Enough lollygagging. I need help taking candles to the hall.”

The book is branding my skin through my tunic, under my
ceinture
. I can't keep carrying it about—suppose someone expects me to use my
ceinture
for something and I have to take it off? It isn't likely, but it would fit my luck.

“Where's Tom?” I ask.

“Barns.” She gestures for me to follow her. “I've got two crates in our kitchen.” I stay in the doorway, throwing a frantic look around for a hiding place for the book. I spy Pa's trapping satchel by the outside door. With the settlement closing up for
La Prise,
he's not using it these days. Won't for months.

“Just going to grab my scarf,” I say.

“Hurry it along,” she says.

I limp across our kitchen quick, out of her sight, and dig into my belt to pull out the book. As I drop it into Pa's satchel, she calls again. “They're waiting on these!”

I catch up to her in her kitchen, where she points to a crate on the floor.

Outside, the air is cold and the sun is low in the sky. I need to find Tom before we're all locked away for the night. Sister Ann pushes into the hall ahead of me and makes her way to a table. There are all kinds of women milling about, fixing the cloth on the head table and so on. The Councilmen have disappeared.

As I walk across the threshold, Kane steps into my path, arms crossed over his chest. My pulse jumps into my throat at the sight of him. A part of me wants to grab him aside, tell him what I've found. But Matisa's words come back.

You will know who to trust
.

“Sister Emmeline,” he says, loud enough for Sister Ann to hear. “Sister Lucy needs a runner.” Sister Ann looks back over her shoulder and nods, continuing on to the far side of the hall. Kane takes the opposite end of the crate and leans close. “Meet me at my quarters,” he says real low. His cheeks have two bright spots in them. His eyes flash with something. Fear? Is he afraid for me or for himself?

“Obliged,” I say, and hand him the crate. Then I duck out of the hall.

I push all thoughts of him from my head, focus on the task I need to do—quick, and secret. I need to find Tom.

I limp fast for the barns, watching for Councilmen. But even Brother Jameson has disappeared from the north gates;
just the Watchers on the tops of the walls remain. The sun is just atop the hills—it'll be dusk real soon. Inside the barns the earthy warmth of the sheep tickles my nose. It takes a moment for my eyes to fix themselves so they can see. I move in, listening for voices.

I find Tom. He's alone, thanks be, cleaning out the feeding troughs. When he sees me, relief crosses his face. “Em, I was worried. Ma said you weren't at Soeur Manon's—”

“Can we talk?”

He puts down his shovel and wades out of the mass of dingy sheep.

I take his arm and draw him toward the far side of the stable. The words want to burst in a rush.

“Tom.” I take a deep breath. “I found them.”

“Found who?”

“The Lost People.”

His eyes are wide and white in the dark.

“I went back to that trail, back to where I said I needed to go, and I found them. They aren't ghosts, Tom—they're real people. First Peoples who used to live on this land.”

Tom grabs my arm and draws me close. “Em, that's addled.”

“I know it is. But I'm telling you the truth. The Lost People weren't Taken—they fled. And they're back to help us.”

Tom just stares at me.

“Tom? We're not alone out here.”

He blinks. “How did they survive the
malmaci?
”

“Don't know yet, mayhap they can teach us how.” I touch his arm. “Tom, they're real.”

He responds slow. “They're real people.”

“Yes.”

“Here, in these woods.”

I nod and hold my breath.

The sky in his eyes changes from clouded to bright blue. “What are they like?”

I grab his hands. “Incredible. They know lots of things—they
have
lots of things we don't. A torch that lights up just—just like that”—I snap my fingers in front of his eyes, making them go wider—“with no flint at all. And these—these masks and all kinds of—of things . . . ” I'm tripping on my words. “And they're here to help us, Tom. Finally.”

He smiles wide, squeezing my hands back. “Can't believe it.”

“I know.”

“You've been wondering so long about those bones and left-behinds. And now . . . Almighty, Em! You found them!”

A little laugh bursts from my mouth.

Tom's eyes shine and his breath comes fast. “What did Council say?”

I pause. The sheep rustle soft beside us.

“Em? When you told them, what did they say?”

I swallow. “I can't tell them. The Lost People—the girl—told me I can't trust them.”

The smile leaves Tom's face. He stares at me hard a long while. Then he looks at the dirt floor, scuffs his feet in it.

“Tom, I'm telling the truth. The Lost People are out there.”

“I believe you,” he says real soft. But when he glances back, he's looking at me like the day I told him about finding something to clear my Stain. He looks plain fearful. “But how do you know it isn't a trick?”

“It isn't.”

“They told you not to tell
Council
about them. Mayhap they want to get into the settlement because they're planning something awful against us.”

“There's three of them. They aren't planning something awful.”

“You sure there's just three?”

That stalls my thoughts. I don't actually know that for certain. But if they wanted to harm us, why lurk around, waiting for me to find them? A little voice in my head wonders if they need me to get past Watch. No. I might not know much right now, but I do know what I feel deep down.

“They're here to help us.”

“But how do you know?”

“Because I've been dreaming on this girl, on these people. My dreams have been telling me to find them.”

The fear in Tom's eyes shifts to doubt. “Your dreams.”

“That's right.”

Tom frowns.

“Tom. Please. They can help us.”

He stares at me. Then he runs his hands through his blond hair, impatient-like. “Help us do what?”

“L-l-live. Get out of this wasteland, find a better life. Do something more than just survive.”

“You're telling me Council wouldn't let us do that?”

“I don't know! But I know something strange happened that Brother Stockham is keeping secret. And it's something my grandma'am found out. And they killed her for it.”

“How do you know all this? The Lost People tell you?”

“I found a journal that says as much.”

Tom's frown deepens. “A journal.”

“A confession. From H. J. Stockham to his son.”

“And where is this journal?”

“I left it in Pa's trapping satchel.”

Tom's eyes grow wide. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I didn't want anyone else to get hold of it!” My voice has got a desperate edge to it. Didn't expect Tom to kick up this much of a fuss. “We need to go find out what it says.”

“We?”

“Course! Tom, I'm telling you all this because I need your help.” I grab his arm. “I'm going to bring the Lost People so everyone can see for themselves. You need to talk to people you can trust—let them know what I've found. There's a Watcher who'll help me. Tomorrow, before the ceremony starts, I'll get him to let me out of the fortification. You unbolt the wastewater-ditch gate. The Watcher will leave the ditch unguarded. We'll come round the riverbank way. Once we're inside, people can see the truth for themselves. They can see they're here to help us, not harm us.” It comes out of my mouth in a rush: my foolproof plan. My great idea.

Tom just stares at me.

“Tom?” I squeeze his arm. “I need your help. Please. You need to unbolt the gate.”

Silence. There's nothing but the rustling of the sheep in the dark corners. I take a deep breath and try again. “You're the only one I can trust with this.”

But his eyes are glassy and when he speaks, his voice is strange. “I said you should stop, Em. I told you that.”

“Stop?”

“All of this.”

I frown. “I found the
Lost People
—”

“You don't know anything about them! You have no idea the danger you might be putting us all in!” He pulls his arm from my grasp. “I can't help you.”

The words strike a blow to me so strong I near lose my breath. I stare at him, at his mess of blond hair and prairie-sky eyes—so dark now it's like the sun has never shone in them once. His jaw is set and his hands shake at his sides. I can see now he's afraid—he's so afraid he's barely Tom anymore.

“Can't or won't?”

“Won't. And if your pa doesn't turn that book over to Council, I'll . . .”

My voice is just a whisper. “You'll what?”

He doesn't answer. Just stares at me, his lower lip trembling, eyes red-rimmed.

You will know who to trust
. The dirt floor of the barn surges up at me. I throw a hand out to the wall to steady myself.

And then rage washes me. I'm going to lash out at him, shake him, shout. I'm going to scream that he's sentencing us to another
La Prise
. He's sentencing me to a binding I can't endure. All because he's scared.

A gust of wind hits my back as the barn door swings open behind me. I don't turn—I'm too rapt, staring at Tom's face. It's pale. Terrified.

And then a hand clamps down on my shoulder.

THE HAND SPINS ME ABOUT, DIGGING INTO MY
skin. Brother Jameson looms over me, flanked by another Councilman. Behind him, Brother Stockham stands in his cloak, arms crossed, one thumb grazing his bottom lip.

“Sister Emmeline, we have some things to speak on,” Brother Jameson says. His face is smug, satisfied. And full of hate.

Brother Stockham makes an inviting sweep of his arm toward the door. He doesn't look angry, but he's watching me close.

I swallow hard and move forward into the men. When I cast a quick glance behind, Tom is standing in the dim light, arms at his sides, eyes wide with fear. And anguish.

Brother Jameson forces me outside the barns and into the glare of the setting sun. I'm blind a moment and miss the step, turning my ankle on the earth. I bite back a cry.

There's a woman spreading seed for chickens outside the coops. She looks up curious-like, then back at her work
just as quick. A man hauling skins passes by, his eyes low. Brother Jameson keeps his large hand on my shoulder as we walk, and Brother Stockham falls into step beside me.

He glances at my hand. “That is an unusual ring, Emmeline. Where did you get it?”

Bleed it! I'd forgotten to hide it when I left the shack. I was so concerned with getting back to the fort with the journal . . .

I swallow hard and force myself to meet his eyes. “It . . . was my grandma'am's.”

Brother Stockham raises his eyebrows.

I look between the men, my chest tight, my thoughts skittering every which way. As we're heading through the courtyard, something flashes in the corner of my eye. I glance to the side. Shaved head, arms crossed, watching from a corner of the weapons shack: Kane. A wave of dizziness washes me and I have to grab at Brother Stockham's arm so I don't stumble. I hide my face in my hood, my eyes blurring with tears.

We climb the stairs to the Council building, Brother Jameson leading the way, Brother Stockham and the other Councilman at my back. Inside the doors, Brother Stockham turns to face me.

“Emmeline, Council has learned you left the riverbank today. Both a Watcher and a gatherer saw you return from the woods.”

I can't speak, can't move. His quarters are still. No sound. No life.

“You betrayed my trust,” Brother Stockham says. “And
you have committed a serious offense. It pains me greatly, but justice must be done, for the continued safety of the settlement.”

My stomach drops through the floor. Jacob Brigston swims into my mind—tied up, thrashing in Council's grip.

My voice comes out a rasp. “What kind of justice?”

“Council has advised the most severe of punishments.” He presses his lips together and the weight of his words sinks in. He means the Crossroads.

Panic shoots through me. “But surely heading out to the woods isn't an offense that warrants—”

“If it were just the once, no.” Brother Jameson cuts me off. “But we know about your wanderings. You are dangerous, Emmeline. You don't believe your Wayward actions risk the settlement.” He looks to Brother Stockham. “That Cariou boy did well.”

My blood turns to ice.