CRYERS (21 page)

Chapter
35

“Don’t even
think
it.” Lode rumbled.

Willem
crawled slowly back under the small shelter and settled between the sleeping
form of Lawson and the whimpering Trot. The boy’s face was a conflicted mask of
emotions; fear, hatred, desperation, and a few others Cobe couldn’t name but
felt just the same as his brother.

Lode spoke
again. “We’re not going anywhere until I’m sure the rain’s stopped for good.”

“It’s been
hours,” Willem complained.”

“You’re in a
hurry to get to Rudd, boy?”

“No. Just
sick of sittin’ under this shitty piece of wood.”

The shitty
piece of wood was actually ten or eleven pieces nailed together into a larger
unit—a section of old, thin barn wall that had collapsed in ruin, or perhaps a
piece of someone’s house that had blown away from Rudd during an even more
violent storm than the one that had passed over them.

“If we hadn’t
taken cover beneath it, the rain would’ve burned the skin clean off your
bones.” Lode studied the back of one of his immense hands. The faded tattoo of
a screaming howler was stippled over in blisters. “Haven’t been caught in one
that bad since I was about your age.”

“Maybe you
should wear more clothes,” Trot offered.

Cobe looked
at the tiny blisters on his arms. They were like freckles, but instead of being
dull brown, they were raised and angry pink. The lower part of his back still
burned where he’d exposed the skin to cover his head and neck with his shirt. Willem
and Trot had done the same, and both looked to be in about the same amount of
discomfort. They were three miles from Rudd when the first drops fell, and had
to run only three hundred feet to the old piece of wall resting up against a
boulder at an angle. That frantic race had been enough; if it had been three
hundred feet more—Cobe imagined a grisly scene of five rotted skeletons lying
out in the mud.

“He’s right,”
Cobe said before Lode could respond to Trot. “We should wait here a little
longer.”

“Finally,”
the giant said. “At least
one
of you
has some brains and sense.”

They had been
trapped there for three hours. Four more passed as Lode sat near the highest
part of the opening, scanning the clouds that continued to roll by with the
threat of more burning rain. The rain never came, and as evening set in, Cobe
saw Rudd for the first time. Light flickered in the distance—fires being lit,
candles and lanterns burning in windows.

That’s where we’re likely going to die.
Lawson started to snore back in the shadows.
Some worse than others.

Trot poked
his head out from the shelter and looked up. “I can see stars!”

Cobe groaned.
Sometimes the man could only think in the past and present. He rarely saw the
bigger picture of things.

Lode rose up
into the night. “Let’s go.”

There was no
wall surrounding the town when they arrived. A massive trench had been dug out
centuries before, spanning forty feet across and almost as deep. It encompassed
the entire village in a misshapen ring, separating its residents from the rest
of the world. Lode pushed the lawman out onto a narrow bridge made of rock.
Lawson’s boot caught on stone and he staggered to his hands and knees. Lode
kicked at him until he was standing again. The giant stood at the edge, giving
Cobe, Willem, and Trot room to follow in a single line. Cobe considered driving
his shoulder into Lode’s stomach—to send him down into the blackness. Surely
the trench was riddled with more sharp rocks on the bottom for the freak to
split his skull open on. Or maybe enough acidic rain and sludge had accumulated
in the depths for him to drown in. Lode saw the murderous intent in his eyes
and shook his head.

Two men with
big clubs called out from the other side, asking who they were, and what
business they had in Rudd. They backed away a few steps when Lode came into
view, searching for bigger weapons in the mess that acted as a guard station.

“We’re the
representatives from Burn,” Lode yelled back, “here for the Rites.”

The guards
looked terrified and dismayed. One of them tossed his club to the ground and
shrugged dejectedly. “May as well call ‘em off right now if
you’re
going into the ring.”

“I’m not
Burn’s champion.” Lode pushed the lawman in front of them. “He is.”

 
Rudd was bigger than Burn, or at least it had
that appearance with the squat houses and shacks spaced out over a larger area.
The wide streets were just as dirty, Cobe noticed as they struggled through mud
that gripped their feet up to the ankles. He wondered if the rainwater absorbed
in the dirt would leave their feet burnt and blistering. His wet toes weren’t
stinging yet, and he supposed there might not be enough time left for any of
them to be overly concerned.

“Like home,”
Trot commented.

“Smells like
piss and shit,” Willem said.

“That’s what
I mean… just like home.”

Faces stared
out suspiciously from windows and through cracks in walls. They ducked out of
the light when Lode made eye contact. Cobe didn’t blame them. He wondered if
this town had its own version of a homicidal giant, and shuddered at the thought.
From the guards’ reactions, he didn’t think it was so. He thanked the gods he’d
never believed in for that small miracle.

Time was
running out for Cobe and his brother. He’d given up on the idea of saving all
four of them. The lawman was too broken to make it anywhere—with or without
help—and Trot was too stupid and slow. He should’ve taken his chance back on
the bridge—he should’ve pushed the big fucker down, or at least died trying.

Lawson
stopped walking when they reached the town’s center. He staggered around in a
slow circle, taking it all in.

Lode didn’t
hit or kick him back into movement. Their journey had come to an end. “When’s
the last time you visited Rudd, Lawman?” They all knew the answer to that. Lode
just wanted to hear him say it.

“About a
million years ago.” The old man chuckled grimly. “Or so it feels… I fought in
the Rites once before when I was a hell of a lot younger than I am now.”

Lode rested a
hand on his shoulder. It was the first non-violent contact he’d shared with the
lawman since Big Hole. “This will be like old times for you, then.”

A pack of
howlers began to wail beyond the trench surrounding Rudd.

Part Four:

Rites

Chapter 36

The
procession of workers trudged by Sara’s home in the pre-morning gloom carrying
shovels and picks still encrusted with dirt from yesterday’s digging. It would
be easier going for them today, she thought. The rain had softened the ground,
and the rusty tools would cut into the earth with less back-breaking
difficulty. They would return filthier—filthier than they appeared now—long
after the sun had set, and the pit was finished.

Sara leaned
against the frame of the only window in her two-room house and watched them
walk by. Today was day four. It normally took three days to prepare the pit,
but the previous day’s downpour had left the men hunkered underneath
hastily-erected tents and hole-ridden blankets for the better part of it. Sara
had treated six of them where the cover had been inadequate and the rain had
gotten through. She had applied healing oils, and wrapped burnt, blistering
sections
of skin and scalp in
bandages. One poor soul never made it back from the pit at all. There hadn’t
been room for him to take shelter. Sara had heard all about it from the men
she’d tended to; how he had screamed in agony, and ran from tent to tent,
blanket to blanket, begging for cover. The rain fell harder, and the man took
to running in frenzied circles, steam rising from his body, the skin bubbling
off from his bones.

Sara shook
her head and tried to block the images of their stories from her mind. She
continued to watch the workers march by, and prayed the rain would stay away
until the Rites were finished and everyone had gone back home.

“No clouds
today,” her daughter said from behind her. “I hear some of the chosen are going
to practice. Can I go watch?”

“Same answer
as yesterday and the day before, Kay. No.”

“But it ain’t
going to rain today, I’ll be safe.”

Sara looked
away from the men and turned to her. Kay’s light blue eyes and big-toothed
smile pleaded with her. She was taller than most fourteen-year-old girls in
Rudd, but not yet filled out in those areas enough to be considered a young
woman. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a bun—a style she’d copied after
her mother—accentuating the fine spatter of freckles on her forehead and
cheeks. Those cheeks glowed pink this morning—a sure sign her only child had
fretted over asking her mother to do something again when in all likelihood she
already knew the answer. Sara could feel for the girl. Life in Rudd was dismal
at the best of times, and when the opportunity arose to leave its dirty,
violent streets—even for a few short hours—most folks jumped at the chance.

“I need you
here. If anyone severs a toe with their shovel while digging, or if one of them
practicing champions breaks a limb, they’ll be coming here to get fixed.”

Kay seemed
more prepared this day to counter her mother’s arguments than previous
mornings. “I washed all the dirty towels you told me to, and prepared more than
enough creams for cuts and rainburns. I even split up enough splinters to brace
the broken bones for half the folks living in Rudd. Please, Ma…I don’t ever ask
for much.”

Sara shook
her head. “You’re all I have left. I won’t have you wandering out into the
plains with a bunch of drunken men bent on seeing other men hurt themselves.
It’s barbaric.”

“I can take
care of myself. Been helping you look after the same kind of men right here
when they come to get fixed.”

“You can look
after yourself because
I
look after
you, and those men come to my house needing aid. World’s a whole lot different
once you step outside…especially for a pretty girl. You’re staying here, and
that’s final.” The girl made a pouty face and started to walk away. “Don’t you
go walking out on me like that—if you need to feel sorry for yourself, do it in
the backroom. Bring them towels out, and when you’re done there, go fetch some
fresh water from the well.”

Sara turned
her attention back outside. The stream of workers had thinned out. A few,
slow-moving stragglers trailed behind the others, dragging their spades and
picks through the mud to slow them down even more. Sara was about to turn
away—to begin preparing the materials her daughter was gathering for another
busy night—when a giant gray form appeared around the corner of her neighbor’s
house at the end of the street. At first she thought a roller had somehow
crossed the stone bridge at the northwest end of town without being spotted. It
had only happened once before in her lifetime; the passed out guards had been
trampled and half-consumed as a result. She leaned out through the opening for
a better look.

That ain’t no roller.

A smaller
figure was walking beside the monstrous form.
Two men.
The smaller one wasn’t all that tiny, she realized. Her
eyes were drawn back to the mountain on two legs. Sara had never seen a man so
big, a man so packed with muscle and presence. They came closer and Sara slowly
backed in from the window. The mass of tattooed flesh had seen her. He leered
and showed her his maw of grey gums. This was one of Burn’s champions, she
realized. Whoever was thrown into the pit to challenge him wouldn’t stand a
chance. There wouldn’t be much left to patch up. The thought sickened her.

The man next
to him lifted his gaze from the track-laden ground and looked out to the
horizon past town. His hands were tied behind his back, and he staggered as the
giant pulled him along. Sara gasped and covered her mouth before she could cry
out. The men passed without saying a word, following the workers east. A final
group trailed after them—two boys, a portly man with an awkward walk, and two
guards Sara knew but had little to do with. She craned her head back out and
watched the other two move off into the morning light of day.

“Kay!” She
called over her shoulder. “Pack up what’ve you got ready and meet me outside.”

Her daughter
raced back into the room. “You’re gonna let me go?”

Sara didn’t
answer right away. She was already starting to fill a worn leather sack with
the instruments she’d finished using less than twelve hours earlier.

“Ma? You
letting me go to the pit?”

Small knives
with bone handles bloodstained a dull brown were secured in twine and shoved
inside the bag. Sara wrapped a bottle half-filled with clear alcohol into the
cleanest sheet left on the crude operating table. It was the same table where
Sara and her daughter sat down to eat meals during those times when men weren’t
hurting or killing themselves. There had been no meals served there in the last
few days, and there would be no breakfast or supper at that table this day
either, Sara supposed.

“We’re
both
going to the pit today. I have a
feeling our services might be needed on site.”