The Last Escape Read online

  "William! Where are you going?" Ella hissed.

  "I see something," he said, pointing through the thick foliage.

  Ella didn't see anything, but she followed after him. Branches snagged on her clothing and face. Bray followed. William was little more than a blur of movement, and she struggled to join him. Up ahead, past a swath of forest, several trees had uprooted and fallen between two large hills. Something jutted out from underneath them. She stared at the rusted, disintegrating object. It resembled a large box, but with rounded edges. The longer ends were as wide as several merchant stands; the shorter sides were the width of a few pushcarts. Whatever it was, it was large enough to fit several people inside.

  It wasn't a building, but it didn't seem to be a part of nature, either. The object was lined with green moss and weeds, as if the Earth had wrapped it in a blanket; at the same time, she could tell it was man-made. It was too curved and precise to be born from the soil. William traced his hands over the rusted edges, momentarily forgetting his quest. He raced from one end to the other, his eyes round and amazed.

  "Is it from the Ancients?" he asked Bray.

  The Warden jabbed his sword in the dirt. He scraped at the moss and weeds that covered the object's surface. His mouth fell open. It was the first time Ella had seen him speechless in the days they'd traveled together.

  "Yes, it's from the Ancients," he said finally.

  "What is it?" William asked.

  Bray paused, and they waited patiently for him to answer.

  "I can't say for sure, but I can guess," the Warden told Ella and William. "Many believe there used to be objects that carried men from one place to another over the land, faster than any human could ever walk. These objects once covered the earth, but most have disintegrated back into the soil. I've only seen one other like this, but it was in worse shape. It looks like this one survived the wear of the weather. Probably because of the natural barriers."

  He pointed to the fallen trees and the hills on either side, which created a canopy overhead. Ella noticed the snow was barely getting through. Bray scratched his chin. They studied the object for several moments, as if it would somehow come alive, carrying messages from its creators. It remained motionless and decrepit. After a minute, Bray walked and retrieved his sword from the dirt. William joined him.

  They were about to leave when branches rustled and brush crackled in the forest nearby. Ella stared down the broken path they'd walked, seeing motion through the foliage. Hands parted branches. Twigs snapped. She saw hints of blue fabric, flashes of swords and skin. Her heart plummeted.

  "Dammit!" Bray hissed. "Blue shirts!"

  Ella leapt for her son, her only concern to protect him from the bloodied blades of Blackthorn's soldiers. But the men hadn't spotted them yet. She heard the murmur of calm, conversational voices, as if the soldiers were on a stroll, rather than carrying out a murderous mission.

  Ella, Bray, and William skirted around the object they'd been observing. They ducked behind it, underneath the cover of the fallen trees, and sank to the ground on hands and knees. They spun so they could peer through the two-foot-wide holes on the side of the object of the Ancients.

  The men hacked at the underbrush, their attention divided between the forest and their conversation. One was older and bearded, the other younger and falling behind. Both of their outfits were stained with blood. At the moment, they were a few hundred feet away. Ella stared inside the crumpled interior of the Ancient's machine, wishing it could do its Tech Magic, that it would whisk her and her son away. If she were one of the Ancients, she wouldn't have to worry about these men and their cruel orders.

  The soldiers approached within a hundred feet. Ella crouched lower. She scanned over her shoulder, noting the thick tangles of underbrush. The men were too close to attempt an escape. If Ella, William and Bray fled, they'd be heard.

  Ella held her breath and waited.

  The men's conversation filled the air. The bearded man dragged his sword next to him, kicking up leaves as he walked.

  "They won't get far," he told his comrade.

  "How do you know?"

  "Villagers don't survive in the wild. If they don't die at the hands of the demons, they die of starvation."

  The younger soldier scratched his neck. "How many hunts have you been on?"

  "Enough to know the outcome."

  "I've heard there are people who live outside the towns and villages. Is that true?"

  The bearded man laughed. "Traitors. If we find them, we have orders to kill them on sight. Most end up turning into demons, anyway."

  The soldiers halted next to a cluster of trees, staring at the ground. They were far enough away from the moss-covered object that they hadn't noticed it yet.

  "What else have you heard from the other soldiers in town?" the bearded man asked, clearly amused.

  "I've heard…things," the younger soldier said, inspecting a broken branch.

  "Like what?"

  "I've heard there are men in the wild—men who feast on the flesh of demons. They say that men who eat demon flesh can live forever."

  The bearded man laughed. "Where'd you hear that?"

  "It was rumored by the younger soldiers in town."

  "Nonsense." The bearded man shook his head, still smirking. "Those are tales told by naïve boys. Anything out here can be killed."

  The soldiers grew closer—close enough that Ella could make out their dirt-stained faces and the whites of their eyes. The younger soldier speared the ground.

  "Go that way," the bearded soldier said. "I'll head this way. I thought I saw a few broken branches off the main path. If we don't find anything, we'll circle back." The bearded man waved the younger one toward Ella's hiding place, then traipsed off in the other direction.

  The younger soldier proceeded onward, casting nervous glances around him. Without his comrade, his little confidence seemed to have disappeared. He approached the gulley where they were hiding. Ella ducked lower, pressing her arms against the ground. The side of the ancient object was riddled with holes. She peered through a crack, positioning herself so she could see through one side and out the other.

  Although she was terrified of being spotted, she was even more afraid to lose sight of what was coming.

  The soldier advanced. After several feet, he stopped and stared at the ancient object. His mouth hung open. No. Keep going. But it was too late. The soldier's curiosity had been piqued by the spectacle, much as theirs had been some moments before.

  Beside her, Bray tensed.

  The soldier's sword hung at his side as he surveyed the wreckage. His brow furrowed. In the distance, Ella heard the crackle of foliage—the bearded man and others who were further away. She silently repositioned, readying her sword, waiting for the shout that would signal the others.

  A realization hit her.

  She recognized this young man. Although his face was stained with grime, although he looked older than she remembered, she knew him. The soldier was Theodore Marks, a son of one of the farmer's in town. She'd sold him roots at the market. She'd watched him join Blackthorn's ranks last spring. He'd grown up a lot since then. He'd been spending time with a girl in Coventry, and he hadn't been back to Brighton in a while. It'd been months since she'd seen him.

  She recalled Theodore running through town as a child, wreaking harmless havoc in the back alleys of New Town. He'd been a precocious child, much like William, but he'd always been kind.

  He looked much different now.

  His face was specked with blood, his eyes reflective of the things he'd seen. His hands were stained with the blood of Davenport's residents. He'd killed them.

  Maybe he even killed Aunt Jean and Uncle Frederick.

  Ella's breath caught in her throat. Theodore moved closer to the ancient object, sticking one arm in front of him. It looked as though he was walking toward a ledge, trying to maintain balance. When he got a few feet closer, he stopped and peered through one of the large open
ings in the object.

  His eyes met Ella's.

  Ella's heart rammed so loudly she was convinced the world could hear it. She prepared for Theodore's shout. The soldiers would come running. He'd give them up, kill them, or do worse. Past ties meant nothing when one was guided by Blackthorn's hand.

  Theodore remained frozen, as if the sight of her was as surprising to him as it was to her.

  Before she could speak, Bray leapt to his feet and raised his sword.

  Theodore backed up. "Wait," he whispered. He looked confused.

  "Bray, stop!" Ella said.

  Theodore's face was twisted with emotion, his sword raised. He glanced from Ella and Bray to the woods behind him. Somewhere in the distance, a soldier hollered his name.

  "Marks? Where are you?"

  The forest crackled with the weight of someone approaching. Theodore looked back, beads of sweat dotting his brow. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't formulate any words.

  Ella saw he was shaking. She felt a tinge of sympathy, but then she saw the blood on his shirt and got angry once again. She took a threatening step toward him.

  "Don't you dare say a word!" she hissed. "Don't you dare turn us in!"

  "Marks?" the voice called again. "Where are you?"

  Theodore glanced from Ella to Bray, his eyes wide and fearful. After a second, he answered.

  "I'm coming!" Theodore shouted. "There's nothing here!"

  Theodore gave Ella one last glance, then skirted off into the forest.

  Chapter 18: Blackthorn

  Blackthorn watched Father Winthrop, Minister Beck, and Tenbrook approach the dais. Winthrop and Beck traded barbs out of earshot. While they were distracted, Tenbrook came forward.

  "Do you have the number?" Blackthorn asked, keeping his voice low enough that the other minister's couldn't hear.

  Tenbrook looked back and forth, then nodded. "Nineteen thousand."

  Blackthorn stiffened. "A third of our population."

  "Yes. Every adult male and more."

  "I had hoped for a smaller number."

  "I spent hours this morning reviewing the counts with Scholar Evan," said Tenbrook. "I don't doubt their accuracy."

  Blackthorn nodded. "That is the assurance I need to hear." Blackthorn looked away from the militia and sized Tenbrook up. "With luck, the lesson you learn today will be harsher than any you'll need after you take my seat at the head of the council." Blackthorn slowly shook his head. "To condemn nineteen thousand to die is a difficult decision." He looked Tenbrook in the eye. "See that history does not remember me as a monster."

  "Our history will remember you as the greatest of our heroes."

  Blackthorn looked back across the square. The snow was coming down hard, enough that it was difficult to see the ranks of men at the rear. He motioned to the other ministers.

  Minister Beck walked across the dais with Scholar Evan at his heels. Winthrop waddled pompously with Franklin in tow.

  "Good morning, General Blackthorn," said Beck.

  Blackthorn nodded.

  "We are blessed to have beautiful snow cover our lands." Winthrop waved his hands at the white powder covering the square. "I do love the winters."

  Beck glared at Winthrop. "Most of our crops are still in the field."

  Winthrop puffed himself up and looked down his nose at Beck. "The Word provides us a path to all the blessings we require regardless of the weather."

  Blackthorn cut a quick glance at the two ministers, silencing them both. Then he spoke to Franklin and Scholar Evan. "This shall be a brief meeting with just the ministers."

  Scholar Evan immediately turned and headed for the far side of the dais. Franklin followed.

  Winthrop made a show of staring at Tenbrook as if to ask why he was staying. Tenbrook made no effort to move away. Instead, Blackthorn drilled Winthrop with a harsh look and Winthrop turned his head away, choosing instead to watch the snow fall on the heads of the militiamen.

  Beck simply accepted Tenbrook's presence.

  "Before I tell you the important news of the morning, you need to be aware that I have received word from Davenport."

  "Please," Winthrop said eagerly, "tell us the worthless whore Ella Barrow has been apprehended."

  Ignoring Winthrop, Blackthorn said, "The people of Davenport demonstrated a belligerence to Captain Swan's squadron."

  "Oh dear," said Winthrop. "Did they turn violent protecting the heretic?"

  Blackthorn nodded his answer to Winthrop.

  "And the townsfolk?" Beck asked. "What of them?"

  "Davenport was a den of sedition," said Blackthorn. "They were put to the sword as an example."

  Winthrop gasped.

  "How many of them?" Beck asked.

  Blackthorn answered with a stony silence, making it clear to both ministers that all Davenport residents were dead.

  "And the whore?" Winthrop asked, his eyes twitching as his thoughts seemed to wander to other things.

  "We do not yet have her in our custody," answered Blackthorn.

  "What of the town's stores?" Beck asked. "That village produces a decent volume of crops."

  "Oh dear," Winthrop scoffed. "Not this famine talk again. Blasphemous numerals and shuddering fear. You allow your scholars to feed you too many of their nightmares, Beck."

  Blackthorn said, "The stores will be confiscated to feed the army."

  "The army?" Winthrop asked, turning toward the militia drilling behind him. "We are calling up the militia to deal with one worthless whore?"

  "No," Blackthorn told Winthrop in a tone that put enough fright into Winthrop to keep him silent for a moment. "A horde is massing near the Ancient City." Blackthorn looked at both ministers for a moment. "The largest horde counted by the eyes of men in three centuries, larger than any seen since the ancient times when Lady and Bruce founded Brighton."

  "Our walls will stand against any horde," Winthrop said with confidence.

  "The army will go to meet this horde in the Ancient City. We will annihilate it and we will enter the city and kill every last one of them. We will end this demon problem once and for all."

  Winthrop looked back at the militia, then at Blackthorn. "With one cohort?"

  "No." Blackthorn pointed at the drilling soldiers. "These are the first. All the cohorts will be called up, as well."

  "All?" Winthrop gasped. "Who will protect the city?"

  "Two squadrons of cavalry will remain. The Brighton city guard will remain. Two cohorts will remain in Brighton. All other squadrons, city guards, and cohorts will go." General Blackthorn looked down his nose at Winthrop and explained in parental tones, "If need be, the other cavalry squadrons can return quickly. The horses are fast."

  Beck said, "The other two towns and the smaller villages will be unprotected."

  "All will be called into Brighton to remain protected behind the circle wall while we are gone."

  "There aren't enough roofs in Brighton to put over so many heads," Winthrop protested. Then he turned rebellious. "I'll not stand by while our temple is turned into a boarding house."

  "You will not have to stand by," Blackthorn told him. "You will be coming on the expedition."

  Winthrop nearly choked. "Outside the walls?"

  "Exactly," Blackthorn leaned forward as though to threaten Winthrop with his fists. Winthrop shrank back. "This will be the largest army ever to go into the field. For that reason, it will not be just soldiers. We ministers must stand together on this. We must take our leadership out beyond the walls. Our brave soldiers and cavalry deserve no less."

  "How many soldiers?" Winthrop mumbled.

  "Fourteen thousand. We'll also bring girls from The House of Barren Women, and women to cook for the men and tend to their gear. Herders must come to handle the livestock. All manner of people in the trades must come to support this army."

  "You're creating a mobile city?" Winthrop said as much to himself as anyone.

  "It must be so when taking so many soldiers
afield. Altogether, some nineteen thousand will come."

  Beck's shoulder's sagged.

  Blackthorn looked at Beck and said, "Tell your Scholar, Evan, to provide a list of counts for the various people we will need to support this army. Have him draw up a list of names. For the cohorts that stay in Brighton, I prefer mostly young, healthy men with a good mix of older, experienced soldiers. For the support personnel, I insist that older women come along. They are more apt to understand the hardships and are less likely to complain."

  Winthrop found his courage and said, "It is not necessary that I go. I shall stay in Brighton."

  Blackthorn's voice turned vitriolic. "You will go or your replacement will."

  "You have no right to—"

  Blackthorn turned his gaze very deliberately toward the row of pyres, now cold ash under a layer of snow.

  Winthrop's face showed stark fear.

  Blackthorn said, "Each of you will designate a deputy to handle your part of council affairs during our absence. The integrity of the government must be maintained. Father Winthrop, bring enough of your clergy that the men and women of our expedition will have the solace of The Word to keep their hearts soothed when the road grows difficult." Blackthorn looked at Tenbrook. "Tenbrook will be deputy in my stead while we are away. Are there any questions?"

  Beck simply said, "Nineteen thousand. That is a curious number."

  Blackthorn aimed his withering gaze at Beck. "It is the number the solution requires."

  Chapter 19: Ella

  "Let's go," Bray whispered, charging through the underbrush and away from the gulley. The soldiers' sounds faded into the distance.

  Ella and William followed him over gnarled, uprooted trees, sidestepping patches of leaves to avoid extra noise. They cleared the ravine and continued deeper into the woods. The snow was falling harder, coating the forest floor with a thin layer of white. Packs of young ferns lined the ground. Clusters of weeds grabbed at Ella's dress, like arms trying to prevent her from passing. But they'd made it safely away.

  Ella's mind flew to the encounter with Theodore Marks. What would he do? Would he alert the others? She pondered the thought nervously as she ran, but decided he wouldn't. For him to say anything now would be an admission of conspiracy. And that crime—much like Ella's—was punishable by death.