The Stewards of Reed, Volume 1: The Rise of Fallon (22 page)

A Sunner’s Day to sing aloud

A Sunner’s Day to shine

A Sunner’s Day to laugh and love

And drink up all the wine!

The following morning Fallon stood in front of the farmhouse in Littlebrook, saying his good-byes. “Perhaps you might visit me one of these weekends when things are not so busy on the farm,” suggested Fallon. “Steward Isaiah allows me Heptadays off. Aunt Rebecca and Uncle Charles have come a few times, though in truth, I would prefer to spend my time with you instead.”

“Aye, may we, Father?” replied Zeke. He had yet to visit the Village Square in his short life, and was excited at the prospect.

“Well, Junior might be up for the ride soon,” conceded Tobias.

His dear horse Sadie had passed away the previous fall and Junior had been bought to replace her; not that you could ever truly replace something you loved so dearly. They tentatively made plans for a mid-Hexune visit, and Fallon set out on his journey back to the Village Square.

*************

Gentry did not travel to Colton for some time, but when the winter snows began to melt he could not resist returning to Dennison’s world. A vacant lot filled with debris was all that remained of Taylor’s house. Gentry had been relieved to learn that the accepted version of Taylor’s death was that the drunk man had accidentally knocked over his oil lamp, setting himself and the house afire. Dennison did not seem to care about the loss of his man. “Fool,” was the only thing Gentry ever heard Dennison say whenever Taylor’s name was mentioned.

As he hid out in the shadows of the alleyway across from the Settler’s Inn, he watched as two of Dennison’s crew came outside for a smoke. It was Barnaby, an overweight man of average height with small eyes and short blond hair; and Rex, a short man with dark curly hair who seemed to walk with a limp.

“I hear the salmon are literally jumping out of the streams this year,” said Rex. “I cannot wait to catch my share and take leave of this cesspool for a while. Are you still coming?”

“Aye,” replied Barnaby in a tone that made it obvious he did not share Rex’s excitement.

“Very well. I shall meet you here tomorrow before sunrise.”

“I never rise before the sun,” protested Barnaby. “It is one of my rules.”

“Then you shall find your way to the streams above Dawson without me,” replied Rex angrily. “I do not wait for anyone. That is one of
my
rules.”

“Aye, all right. I shall see you here tomorrow morning.” Barnaby was clearly annoyed, but not enough to forgo the trip altogether.

Rex turned and started to head home without saying anything more to his friend. Barnaby continued smoking in silence for a while, but he eventually headed home as well.

Gentry’s heart was pounding with excitement. This could be a chance to settle matters with both Barnaby and Rex. Furthermore, they would be traveling through remote areas far from Colton, so there was much less risk of being found out by Dennison. He just had to follow them somehow, and strike when the opportunity proved right.
But how can I follow them through the mountain pass?
There was no place to hide, no place to take shelter. I would be seen for certain.

Seeing no other option, that night Gentry resigned himself to do something he had been too afraid – and perhaps too wise – to do two years prior, during his journey to Lady Dinah’s castle: he carefully led Casper through the Colton Gap with nothing save the light of the moon to guide them. Although the path was as treacherous as he had remembered, with sudden steep drop-offs on narrow winding trails with loose rocks all around to threaten one’s footing – rocks that could barely be seen in the subtle shades of grey that enveloped the night – the weather was uncharacteristically calm. Everything was still and incredibly quiet. Nevertheless, there were two occasions when Gentry nearly stepped off a cliff to the end of his days: the only thing that saved him was his tight grip on Casper’s reins and the horse’s good sense to stay put. And on more than two occasions Gentry contemplated turning back, but the image of Luca’s beaten body was burned into his brain, and anger propelled him forward against his fear. Eventually Gentry and Casper made their way through the pass, and by mid-morning the following day they reached the other side.

Gentry quickly set up camp in a thicket of trees about a hundred yards away from the trail. From the campsite it was easy to see the trail and anyone approaching. It was not so easy to see the camp, unless you happened to be looking for it. Gentry was exhausted from the journey and decided to take a quick nap, knowing that Barnaby and Rex would be several hours behind. He misjudged how tired he was, and if it had not been for their quarreling ways, Gentry would have slept right through the arrival of Barnaby and Rex.

“Damn, Barnaby, you ate most of our food and we are but a day into this journey. Now we must stop in Dawson.”

“But are we not on our way to catch fish? And is fish not food?” retorted Barnaby.

“It takes time to reach the streams, fool. Besides, we may not catch anything straight away, especially with that big hole in your net. One might think you have never been fishing before,” Rex replied.

Gentry heard the bickering and quickly jumped up to see the two men on horseback coming slowly down the trail. He followed them into Dawson where they stayed the night, and the next day he followed them up the trails to the fishing streams north of the village. Gentry was a decent tracker and was able to stay far enough behind to avoid any suspicions of being followed. In truth, Barnaby and Rex were so engrossed in exchanging insults with one another that even if Gentry had been right behind them they probably would not have noticed.

Just as they arrived at the stream that Rex swore was prime fishing territory, the skies opened up and an onslaught of rain and driving wind began. It took them a while to set up their tents, and both men were more surly than ever.

Seeing the approaching clouds long before, Gentry had set up camp further down the trail and then walked through the driving rain to find his prey. He sat down beside a tree and waited. He must have sat for hours in the rain before Barnaby finally emerged from his tent and headed off towards a nearby stream to relieve himself.

Gentry closed his eyes.
This is it. You must do this for Luca. You owe it to the boy
. He opened his eyes and sprang into action.

Barnaby was easy to tackle with his pants down around his knees, but the mud made them slip quite a ways and Gentry almost lost his grip. Fortunately Barnaby was too stunned to realize what was happening and Gentry was able to gain the upper hand rather quickly. He managed to drag the overweight man back to the edge of the stream and force his face into the water.

“Why did you do it?” Gentry asked as he lifted Barnaby’s large head by his hair. “He was just a little boy.” He had to scream to be heard over the pelting rain.

“Who are you?” asked a bewildered Barnaby, gasping for air. “What are you talking about?”

“Luca. How could you do that to him? How could you beat a little boy to death? He never did anything to you.”

There was a change in Barnaby’s expression and it was clear the man knew what Gentry was talking about now.

“I am sorry,” he said, his eyes wide with fear. “I shall not do it again. I promise.” Barnaby started to cry. But if he was hoping for mercy, the crying only made things worse.

There is no remorse in his words or his tears
, Gentry thought angrily.
He is only concerned with saving himself
.

Gentry shoved Barnaby’s face into the water again and this time he kept it there. It was difficult to hold the overweight man down, but eventually Barnaby’s frantic attempts to raise his head above water subsided and his body grew limp. Yet still Gentry held him down, if only to be certain. Several minutes passed before Gentry released his grip and Barnaby’s head slowly returned to the surface. He was dead. Gentry left him there on the banks of the stream. Eventually the body was overtaken by the rapidly moving water. It was swept downstream where it became entangled in a thicket of underwater branches. Barnaby’s body never saw the light of day again.

Two down, three to go.

*************

Full of adrenaline, Gentry made his way back to the campsite to find Rex. He wanted to take the man by surprise so he burst into Rex’s tent ready to fight. Nevertheless, Rex did not notice Gentry; he was passed out cold with an empty whiskey bottle next to him. Angrier than ever, Gentry shook Rex awake. The drunk man barely had time to grasp what was happening before Gentry knocked him unconscious with a hard blow to the head from a river rock.

When Rex finally awoke a few hours later, he found himself naked, shivering, and tied to a tree in the middle of the woods somewhere, his head pounding from the impact of the rock. The rain was still falling down hard, so it took him a while to see the outline of Gentry’s frame against the trees across the way.

“What have you done to me?” asked Rex.

“Nothing compared to what you did to Luca,” replied Gentry, his voice cold and hard.

Gentry walked a few steps closer but Rex still did not recognize the face. “Who is Luca?” Rex demanded.

“The little boy that you and the rest of Dennison’s gang beat to death,” answered Gentry, the anger rising in his voice.

Rex now guessed who stood before him – it must be the man that the boy had allowed to escape. He sneered at Gentry and said, “The death of that boy is on you, not me. If you had not angered Dennison, if you had not used that boy to escape, Luca would still be alive today.”

Before he knew what he was doing, Gentry ran at Rex and started beating the defenseless man –punching and kicking him as hard as he could. Blood poured from Rex’s nose and mouth. He leaned over to spit, and a few teeth came out with some blood. Yet still, Rex was defiant.

“You are only angry because you know I speak the truth,” he said. “Tying me up to this tree shall not bring the boy back to life.”

Gentry’s expression was blank. The anger was gone, replaced by a numbness that he was beginning to know all too well.

“Wizards be damned, let me go! Or else my friend shall surely kill you, and I assure you it shall not be pleasant.”

“Your friend cannot help you now. Barnaby is already dead.”

“You lie,” hissed Rex, but for the first time he actually looked scared.

Gentry did not say anything. He just stood in the rain watching the bleeding man.

“What shall you do to me now?”

“Nothing,” replied Gentry and he walked away.

“Wait! You cannot leave me here!” screamed Rex. But that is exactly what Gentry did.

As night fell the temperatures continued to drop, and although it was not as cold as it would have been in the dead of winter, spring had only officially started a few weeks ago and there was still quite a chill to the air, especially with the heavy wind and rain. Gentry knew that Rex would not last long, naked and wet in the cold night air.

Two days would pass before Gentry returned to check on Rex. The rain had finally stopped the night before. Rex was still tied to the tree, but his head was slumped over with his eyes half open. His body was completely stiff. He was dead. Gentry cut him loose from the tree and dragged the body further into the woods where the wild animals would eventually find him and satisfy their hunger pangs.

Gentry had cried himself to sleep that night and for many a night thereafter. By the time he returned to Reed, however, he was numb again. He did not laugh at his father’s jokes; he did not smile at his mother; he did not respond to their endless questions about what was wrong.

Neither Barnaby nor Rex were ever heard from again. Dennison just assumed they were deserters and cursed them whenever someone was foolish enough to mention their names, or for that matter, whenever he was angered.

Three down, two to go.

*************

Not long after he returned to the Village Square, Fallon had another one of his dreams. It was the same unsettling dream that caused him to wake up in a cold sweat every few months or so, the reoccurring dream that he chose to suffer in silence. Every time he had the dream he was in low spirits for a while, yet Fallon said nothing about it to the Steward. “How can I speak of that which I do not understand?” he rationalized to himself.

His father and brother kept their promise and came to visit Fallon towards of the end of Hexune. Zeke’s eyes were wide with excitement and he spoke of everything he saw in the Village Square. “I have never seen so many people in my life!” he exclaimed. “How do you go from place to place without tripping over everyone?”

They enjoyed a pleasant picnic on the hillside by Steward Isaiah’s home and spoke about everything and nothing at all. Mobley, not being one to be left out of the party, soon came running towards them and nearly barreled into Zeke. The not-so-little boy chased the black dog around, and the black dog chased the not-so-little boy around for what seemed like hours. It would be a memory that Fallon and his father would hold on to forever.

That night, Fallon had the dream again. It was coming more often now. And yet he still said nothing to the Steward.

*************

Lady Dinah had spent much of the winter trying in vain to decipher the journal that she had found in Lord Clintock’s library. Frustrated by her lack of progress, that spring she decided to pay a visit to Lord Milton, the last remaining wizard of her mother’s generation. Perhaps his knowledge of her mother (they had been the best of friends) would help unlock the secrets to understanding the journal. Perhaps he would have other materials from her library that might be of interest as well.

Lord Milton lived in Bartow. It was quite unusual for a wizard to live in such a large town – most preferred to live in remote settings far from the prying eyes and meddling ways of the common man – but Lord Milton enjoyed being in the center of all the action. Bartow was one of the largest towns in the Western Territories – only Sandoval and Laredo could boast of larger populations – but Lord Milton would argue that he was in the largest town of importance. Bartow was a center for higher learning, culture and trade, and that is where Lord Milton wanted to be.