Out of Exodia (14 page)

Clean clothes and a dry
bed
. My tongue lies swollen in my mouth,
puffed and dry. I can hardly swallow the last bit of bread. When I
finally do I speak more to myself than to Malcolm or Eugene,
“
Detached banner lays
cold
.” It means nothing, just a
coincidence. I’ve had no special revelations since the wedding
feast that should have been mine and Lydia’s.

My silly gift revises the
letters again and I softly mumble, “
Cadence and death rolls by
.” I
imagine Truslow’s army finding us out in the open, exposed. I see
them marching around us to the steady rhythm of beating sticks, a
length of armored vehicles circling, soldiers taking aim. A flutter
of flags falling. The vision vanishes, but my eyes are drawn to the
banner on the ground. A startling gust of air agitates the
edges.

* * *

Eugene followed Bram back down the
steps. He’d had a different year than the other judges since he
ignored ruling on most of the complaints that came to him. Instead
he had arranged a system of “paying favors” for allowing women to
resolve their own issues. For men payment was more material. There
were over fifty men and nearly that many women under his rule. He
didn’t remember how many children that included, but he wasn’t
concerned with those under thirteen anyway. His scheme permitted
men to secretly fight topside at night and pay him accordingly.
He’d amassed a substantial number of items from the losers – things
that would have to be left behind to follow the cloud
again.

“
Hey, O’Shea.”

Bram looked over his shoulder and
acknowledged Eugene.

“
Look,” Eugene said, “we
don’t have to follow that cloud. We’re comfortable here. If the
food stops coming we can do what the people who lived here before
did. We won’t starve.”

“
And just what was it they
did?” Bram stopped at the bottom step and faced Eugene.

“
I know you’ve seen the
weapons room. There’s plenty in there. We can raid the other
cities. Don’t think we don’t know that you send Blake and Josh out
on little forays. I’ve heard the reports. They’ve found farms and
towns in every direction.” His hands went to his hips. His chin
jutted out, daring Bram to deny the truth.

“
That was for our safety.
For our knowledge. We’re not going to steal from others.” Bram
turned to walk down the first hallway, the one that led to the open
concourse where most of the Reds gathered after breakfast. “And
we’re not going to do battle, if we can help it,” he called over
his shoulder.

Eugene stayed put and yelled at Bram’s
back, “Well, maybe we won’t all follow you and that stupid thing.
There are plenty of us who plan to stay. Got it good
here.”

* * *

I let my breath out slowly
as I walk away from Eugene. He yells after me. I’m not surprised by
his threat. He’s been aching for a revolt this whole journey. Got
it good here. He’s somehow managed to accumulate little treasures.
He’s the one who encourages everyone to wear the orange and black
clothing of the earlier inhabitants of Proserpina. Harmon thinks he
abuses those under him. Got it good here. He certainly does.
Greed got to Hoi
.

I’d grown quite used to not seeing
messages in strange phrases this past year. I shake this one out of
my head and enter the concourse. Enough light funnels through the
random skylights so that most of the ceiling and wall sconces are
superfluous. They fluoresce continually though, something we
haven’t figured out, but they’re quite necessary here and in the
halls and tunnels. Hundreds of Reds lounge on the couches or sit at
round tables where mothers teach their kids while they mend old
clothes or tailor orange vests or black pants to fit. The space is
vast and though the whispered secrets come to my ears as clearly as
the happy shouts, the noise in the room is tempered by carpeted
boxes spaced unevenly throughout. Poles protrude from the boxes,
reach to the ceiling, their use a mystery.

I go to Harmon first and tell him that
the cloud is moving north. He walks calmly over to Teague while I
approach Josh. We pass on the same message: the cloud is moving,
pack up, we’re journeying on today. The command fans out. There are
flustered movements and mixed words of dread and apprehension, but
also relief. Eugene struts about signaling with eye and hand, but
those he expects to move toward him slip away to their rooms. Only
a handful of the original Mourners seem to huddle at his heels, but
as Blake and Hamlin and the rest of my “tent healers” make their
way around the concourse the mood turns to happy excitement and
even those old Mourners trade their dour faces for eager
ones.

* * *

Lydia noticed the cloud’s movement when
the horses she was tending began to whinny. There was plenty of
open sky above that hadn’t been hidden by the special cloud these
last fourteen months, but now she detected a bluer, wider expanse
of heaven. She threw her arms around the neck of a bay mare, her
favorite, and gave a squeeze. She took a moment to acknowledge her
feelings. She’d complained to her mother just last night how she
felt sorry for herself, wallowing in the disappointment of another
barren month, another day stuck here. She’d gone back to her room
and wept. Though she and Bram spent a lot of time together
something—or someone—had come between them. She patted the horse
and stepped back. It wasn’t a convenient time for her to travel,
but she’d be glad to leave this dungeon of a city. There’d be a lot
to do in the next couple of hours and saddling and packing hundreds
of horses was not going to be easy. She heaved a yielding
sigh.

* * *

Six hours passed before the cloud moved
again. This time it hovered at the northern edge just beyond the
last hidden skylight that looked down into a sealed tunnel, one
that none of the Reds had entered. Then the cloud began its own
march north at a steady two miles per hour, an easy pace to get the
whole town started on its long-delayed excursion.

Because he’d seen the tears in Lydia’s
eyes that morning, Bram insisted that she ride the bay mare. He
walked beside them, leading another horse laden with their few
things, and using the rod as a walking stick.

Almost every family had a horse to lead
or ride. The number of horses in the stable had grown the first few
weeks when dozens of horses wandered back to the hidden corral and
allowed themselves to be recaptured. Most had crude saddles that
matched the workmanship of the cave-dwellers so they assumed that
these were the mounts of the men who were slain in the first
battle. The Reds were happy to have the extra horses since no one
wanted to walk all the way to Ronel’s camp or the mysterious
“prepared” land.

It wasn’t long before the children, who
had all begun the journey by skipping circles around the adults,
began to whine, complain of sore feet, and beg to return to their
underground rooms. It was hard to ignore them until, just before
dusk, the cloud evaporated before their eyes. Most of the Reds had
finished weaving their way through an abandoned trailer park and
come to the edge of a river. The cloud reappeared behind them as if
barring their retreat. The last of the Reds emerged from the white
fog and found themselves being led by the horses instead of the
reverse, as the animals made straight for the river’s
edge.

Malcolm set his box down on a smooth
rock and looked around for Bram. The hum from the machine had
changed pitch. If anyone could interpret the meaning of that it
would be Bram. Malcolm’s stomach was growling and he wondered if
there would be packages dropped from heaven tonight, before it got
too dark. People were trying to erect shelters and tents, but he
planned on sleeping outside. It was a clear evening, quite warm,
and he’d been too long imprisoned in the tunnels.

He spotted Bram working his way along
the shore, helping the single women with their tents and offering
encouragement and kind words to the weary.

“
Bram. Over here. Give a
listen, would ya?” Malcolm patted the box. The hum had changed its
tone again.

* * *

Just as I finish helping a
widow with her shelter,
Jenny
waves me over. I hate to put her off, but
Malcolm’s voice is insistent and the buzz from his
cloud-controlling box is burning my eardrums. I signal to
Jenny
to give me a
minute; she scowls and I wince, as much from her disfavor as from
the buzzing sound.

“
What’s the matter,
Malcolm?”

“
Don’t know. The plane
hasn’t come with supper.” He pats his belly. “Thinkin’ maybe it
can’t find us on account of this machine is sendin’ out the wrong
sounds.”

I place both my hands on the warm
surface of the box’s top and close my eyes. I see something. Like
the river. The black edges of this vision brighten. I see a field.
Several fields. Corn and wheat and beans. Then a burst of fire.
Burnt fields. Desert. Bare strips of land. Hills beyond. Like a
mountain. I see myself on that mountain.

Then the box cools beneath my touch,
the hum changes chord, and I open my eyes.

“
What’d ya do?” Malcolm’s
eyes rest on mine.

I shake my head. “I didn’t do
anything.”

“
Well, I think ya did
somethin’.” He points up the river, west.

I turn and look. Up. There’s a plane,
backlit by the sunset. Packages fall in two rows, some bouncing off
tent roofs. Malcolm holds his hands up as if to God. His dinner and
mine drop neatly into his palms.

* * *

Teague brings me two men with a dispute
he can’t settle. I’m distracted by the smaller man, whose gangly
arms are so long they should be on a taller man’s body. Before I
hear the whole complaint, Blake, Asher and Cleavon are lined up
with others who need my ruling on their quarrels. It seems that the
darker it gets the louder their voices become until the noise is
ridiculous and crying babies make it worse.

“
All of you, to the river’s
edge.” I doubt they can see my scowl, but they’d be fools to doubt
the impatience of my command. Before we move Lydia hands me an oil
lamp. I’d forgotten how we’d relied on these simple lights when we
first left Exodia. I lead the angry petitioners to the water, where
my light from my lamp ripples on the water, multiplies, and will
perhaps lend authority to my judgment.

I listen carefully to the first story.
A man named Martin claims that his neighbor shot a hole in his tent
with an arrow. He lifts the offending shaft and pokes it toward the
oil lamp. The others crowd around and three more arrows are
produced. It seems that several arrows have narrowly missed horses,
tents, or children.

“
When did this happen?
Exactly when?”

Cleavon has to hold his arms against
the chests of accuser and accused. The same for Asher. Blake’s and
Teague’s parties have calmed a bit, but angry words still spill
forth. Despite the confusion I learn that all the arrows were shot
after the meat packages landed and just moments before darkness
fell.

“
Innocent. Your neighbors
didn’t shoot at you.” I want to call them fools, but hold my
tongue. I look across the river and wave my arm in that direction.
“It’s a warning. We can’t cross here.”

“
But if the cloud leads us
that way?” Blake clutches an arrow, ready to fight in the dark if
he has to.

I nod my head. “You men stand guard
along the river tonight. If the cloud moves I’ll cross alone. I’ll
find who’s shooting arrows at us.”

There’s a rumble in the
distance that only I can hear at first. No one else reacts until
the sound grows loud enough. Car engines! The purr of solar cars
and hybrids sends something worse than shivers up my spine. I hear
the vehicles bumping across the fields and up to the waterline. I
should blow out my lamp, but we stand frozen, straining to see.
Suddenly one horn honks then they all do, headlights pierce the
night, and we instinctively duck for cover. There’s no expected
gunshot, only the whoosh of a night arrow that lands at my feet, a
note attached, unevenly written on a piece of thin birch
bark.
Go back to your hole in the ground.
Or die!

I stare at the handwritten
words. They think we’re the cave-dwellers. They’re afraid, but
ready to fight. The letters do not reform into any divine message
though I start to see individual words. Good
words
. Ledger. Truth. Honor. Holy. Light.
And bad words. Greed. Death
. And one word
that could be a message:
Outrun
.

I crumple the note, whisper its message
to the men, and give them a mission. When dawn comes and we all
emerge from our tents, no one can be wearing the orange and black
of the vanquished cave-dwellers. No one. The lights across the
river blink out, the engines stop purring, but the threat
remains.

* * *

The four judges and Bram, along with
the eight men who’d come for resolution, separated and sneaked from
tent to tent, whispering the morning’s plan. Most of the Reds
passed their orange garments to the messengers, who threw them in
piles along the shore.