False Dawn (20 page)

“But there’s lots of deformed kids,” Thea said reasonably, not quite understanding. She had never seen families who, if they had children at all, did not have at least one child who had not turned out right. Even in her controlled environment where each of the pregnancies had been tended with precision and care, her brother Davey had not been normal. For a moment she could see him again as she had last seen him, nine years old, lying in his bed and crying as he flailed his spidery arms about, futilely trying to grasp something, anything, with his limp bony hands.

Evan drew an uneven breath. “Do you remember what happened in Baltimore? Those canisters of poison gas that ruptured offshore? The ones that killed the coastal cities from New York to Georgia?

The land won’t recover from the contamination in the water for more than three hundred years, according to the old National Environmental Institute. “

“Jack Thompson said something about it, I think. Twenty years ago, or less. No, more like fifteen.” She studied Evan’s face and saw a confirmation in his misery-filled eyes.

He tried to control himself once more. “Fourteen years, Thea. Jennifer had taken Eric with her to Raoul’s national center in Maryland. He was holding a conference there. Everyone come and confess. When that first canister broke, Maryland got the full force of the gas. That was at the time of the conference.” He threw his head back, eyes closed. “I was in Phoenix when it happened, making some arrangements for passage to New Zealand for a world-wide tour. There was nothing I could do. I couldn’t even look for them to see that they were decently buried. If they died. I don’t know for sure—no one does, but there were so few survivors.”

“Evan,” she said, wanting for the first time to comfort him, to hold him gently until he had rid himself of his hurt.

“I don’t know even that. Raoul’s last broadcast said that some of his followers had lost faith and fled. He didn’t say who they were, only that they were cursed.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t find out…” His voice trailed off and he raised his hand, motioning her to silence.

Beyond the door the sound of chanting rose and the slow cadence of footsteps drew nearer.

As the bolt was pulled back, Thea moved closer to Evan. He took her hand firmly in his as the door swung open, and together they faced the monks.

“Have you meditated on your errors and transgressions? Have you prepared yourselves to answer God?” Father Leonidas intoned, reciting his questions with ritualized perfection.

“Do we have a choice?” Thea asked as anger waked in her; she paid no attention to Evan’s admonishing whisper as she met the monks’ stares. “You have already decided that we are in error and sin: you want proof so that you can decide on a punishment. Any proof will do, and it will confirm what you’ve made up your mind to do.”

“Blasphemy!” announced Brother Roccus with ill-concealed satisfaction. Turning to Father Leonidas, he said, “The woman betrays herself as the seat of evil.”

Father Leonidas gave a signal. Four of the strongest monks came forward, holding their staves across their chests. In a moment they had pulled Thea and Evan apart.

“It is well,” declared Father Leonidas. “Take them to the barn and chain them. Make sure they are unable to touch each other. Choose the heaviest chains. Secure them on opposite walls, not together.”

The barn was small, and for that reason alone it held a miniscule trace of warmth. It smelled of sheep and two pathetic old cows as well as rotting hay, which littered the earthen floor. An icy wind raced through the cracks in the building, shrieking its infernal joy.

They were manacled to opposite walls and both quickly discovered that their bonds gave them very little room for movement, and certainly not enough to touch, just as Father Leonidas had ordered. They had been allowed to put on their boots, trousers, and woollen shirts, but not their hoods or coats

“What do we do now?” Thea asked when the monks had left them alone. She had wanted it to sound like a joke, but she did not succeed.

“We wait.”

“We’d better pull down some straw from the loft, or we could freeze to death tonight. There’s not enough hay here.” She scuffed at the damp wisps at her feet. “We can’t keep the cold out. We aren’t close enough for the cows or the sheep to be much use.”

“You’re right,” he said, looking up to judge the distance to the hayloft above them. “It’s hay or nothing.”

“Can you reach up?”

“Not that high.” He looked at the barn walls, searching for a place that might give him access to the hay. There was nothing near.

“I wish we still had that rope,” Thea said slowly as she pulled, testing her fetters to their limits. She felt the cold bite of metal on her wrists and ankles, uncompromising, cruel. She moved experimentally and found that she could reach farther up to the left than the right, and she concentrated her search that way.

“Look,” Evan said as he watched her progress. “There. Near the byre. It’s a rake. If we can reach it…”

For a moment Thea stared, then she saw the tines poking up through the straw bedding. “It’s too far away for you. But I don’t know if I can reach that far.”

“Try. Try.”

She pulled against her chains, hearing them chink as they reached tautness. “No…I can’t…It’s too…”

Grabbing up a short board that lay at his feet, Evan threw it into the loft, cursing as it missed the hay and thudded back to the barn floor.

“Evan! Kick that over here.”

“What?” He was aware of an ache in his feet; the cold had bitten through his boots and was gnawing at his flesh like a ravenous animal. “Why?” He reached out and found that the hoard was now out of reach.

“Kick it, then.”

“What for?”

“So I can get the rake. If you can swing it around…”

Evan looked at her. “I’m a fool. You’re right.” Carefully he pulled himself to the length of his chains, then touched the board tentatively with one foot. “I don’t know if I can manage it.”

“You’ve got to.” She pulled at her bonds in sympathy.

He moved his head uncertainly, judging the angle of the board. “Here goes,” he whispered, and slapped his foot down.

The board slid, turning, sliding over the straw, then caught.

“I can’t reach it,” Thea wailed softly as she strained toward it. “It’s too far away.”

Evan saw that one of her legs was starting to bleed, chafed raw where the ankle restraint had rubbed the skin above her boot; blood stained her trouser-leg. “Thea, don’t.”

“I can’t. I can’t—”

“Neither can I,” he said bluntly, sinking back against the wall, letting the hurting cold seep into his legs and back. He had heard that freezing to death was not too bad, that in the end you felt warm again. He hoped it was so.

“No, Evan.”

“Thea, shut up,” he said, and turned away into his own self-loathing.

She stared at his distress, strangely frightened. She started to say “You mustn’t do this , Evan…” but the droop of his head and shoulders and the deeply scored lines by his mouth showed her that he would not listen. She waited, thinking, then decided to take a chance. Slowly she flattened herself onto the stinking earth floor of the barn, edging her arm and leg out as far as she could, letting the merciless iron score her flesh and tear her trousers. This was little enough to pay for the straw that would keep them from freezing. When she had reached as far as she could, she began to pull bits of the straw toward her, tiny handful after tiny handful. Her hand and foot were soon caked with mud, which made the penetrating cold hard to bear. But she would not give up. Pressing herself more tightly against the matted straw, she snatched at the wisps more desperately.

At last the board began to move, inching its way toward her, pressed closer to her hand by the gentle nudgings of her foot. Occasionally the board would be hung up on an uneven part of the floor. She knew despair then and wanted to scream her vexation. She kept her silence and continued her dogged work. She felt she had been after that board her whole life, that eighteen inches of board was more precious to her than clean water. She ground her teeth with the effort and felt grit in her mouth.

Then she could touch it with one finger. She restrained an impulse to grab at the board, fearing that her touch would move it further away, not nearer. Three more handfuls of straw brought it close to her hand, and a shove with her knee sent more straw up behind the hoard, so that it rolled forward into her open hand.

She lay there panting, almost sobbing with relief. Even the muddy wetness soaking the front of her robe could not bother her. Stiffly she got to her feet, hanging stubbornly onto the board, unwilling to let it go.

Once on her feet, she took it firmly, going once more to the length of her chains and stretching out. She reached with the board, hoping it was indeed long enough to reach the rake, not willing to fail.

With a crash that startled the cows into lowing nervously and brought Evan out of his melancholy withdrawal, she fell heavily, over- balanced by the chains. And the rake fell across her.

“What in the name of …” Evan began petulantly. Then he saw the rake. The death that had been so close to him retreated, leaving light-headed relief, “Thea.” His life was in her name.

Muddy, shivering, straw clinging to her, her face and hands scraped raw and her manacles stained with her blood, she sat up, triumph in her face. Carefully she got to her feet, and carefully she reached up with the rake, pulling down the musty hay from the loft, scattering it like confetti, or shredded cabbage, over them both.

With the sun came the chanting monks as they began their devotional day, singing the praises of their Savior, who had set them apart from the rest of corrupt humanity, inspiring them to take up their simple lives in this remote place in order to seek redemption.

From their straw cocoons Thea and Evan listened, afraid to think what the day might become for them when the monks discovered they had not died.

“We’re alive,” Evan said when the monks had gone into the chapel. “That’s something.”

“Maybe,” Thea allowed, her temper now as ragged as the skin of her wrists and the ruined state of her trousers above the restraints. “I wish I knew more about them. Some people believe pretty strange things, these days.”

“Father Lundsford tried to teach me about monasticism.” Evan shook his head. “I wish I’d paid more attention.”

Brother Demetrios appeared later that morning with two bowls filled with a pale yellow, gelatinous cereal mush. These he placed near the prisoners without a word, and then left hastily, as if afraid of contagion. He pulled the barn door shut behind him, crossing himself as he went and muttering a prayer.

Evan stuck two fingers into the mush and gave the stuff an experimental taste. “Millet,” he announced, pleasantly surprised. “It’s pretty good nourishment, considering. Not very tasty, though.”

Wordlessly Thea took her howl and began to eat. She thought the mush tasted like paper, but did not mention it. Food was too scarce and she was too hungry to think about taste.

“There,” said Brother Demetrios as he pulled the barn door open once again. “As you see, their cunning has saved them.” He was speaking to another monk, a small, pinched man with a narrow, pointed face. “You must question them, Brother Philian. It is not possible for them to have gotten the straw by themselves. They must have been aided.”

“Aided?” Brother Philian asked in a voice that was full of dust. “By whom? Who among us would do this?”

“None of us,” Brother Demetrios objected, horrified. “But Father Leonidas is forever warning us of the wiles and tricks of the devil…”

Brother Philian laughed, and it made the others squirm. “First we must eliminate all the possibilities. Human agencies first, Brother Demetrios. After that, we will investigate the others.” He moved into the barn; from his crablike walk Evan gathered that Brother Philian was clubfooted. “God be with you this morning, blasphemers, and lead you into His Light.”

“Good morning to you, too,” Evan said dryly.

“We come to you seeking truth, and to determine the nature of your sins.” He paused. “Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me how you got the straw you lie in?” Although the words were polite and mildly spoken, there was a serious threat behind them.

Evan decided that evasion was useless and unwise. “Thea pulled it down with that rake.” He pointed to where the rake lay between them. “She cut up her legs with your shackles.” Brother Demetrios’ eyes widened and he hurriedly grabbed it.

From her nest in the hay Thea snorted derisively.

“Have more respect before the Officers of God,” Brother Philian snapped. “You say,” he went on smoothly, turning back to Evan, “that you used the rake?”

“I said Thea used the rake. I couldn’t reach it.”

“How did you get it? It was in the hyre.”

“Ask Thea,” Evan recommended.

“I am asking you. She is of no importance—chattel only.”

“I disagree.” Evan pulled his fingers around his food bowl, sucking the last bit of mush from them.

Brother Demetrios sighed. “How did she get the rake?”

Thea spoke then. “There was a hoard on the floor. I used it to knock the rake over. Then I pulled down the straw.” She got to her feet, facing Brother Philian defiantly. “Were you disappointed that we lived? Is that it?”

“Be silent, woman. It is not your place to speak.”

“You wanted to know how we got the straw: I told you.”

Brother Philian controlled himself with a visible effort. “You will not speak. It is not appropriate for a woman to speak in the House of God.”

Thea glanced significantly around the barn. “Your God certainly has strange taste in houses. But the worshipers are about right,” she added as she looked at the two cows and the sheep.

“Thea,” Evan said, warning her before addressing the monks again. “What else do you want to know, Brothers?”

Brother Demetrios answered for them both. “Many things, my son. All in good time.” He licked his lips furtively. “You have been away from the Church for a long time, my son?”

Evan thought of the cathedrals he had seen in Milan and Paris and London and Moscow, and remembered the music he had heard there. “You might say so.”