The Wasteland Soldier, Book 3, Drums Of War (TWS) (7 page)

“Why is he in pain?”

“He suffers for the sins of Man. Because Man’s greed plunged the world into darkness. One day He will return …”

“… and where there is darkness,” continued the Map Maker, “He will bring Light.”

“You are a man of faith?” said Rush. “Captain Duggan assumed you were faithless Kiven.”

“One day He will return,” whispered the Map Maker. “One day you will return. I don’t hear it anymore.”

Rush frowned.

“I’m sorry?”

“I don’t hear it. Do you understand? The noise has gone. It’s gone. There is something about this building. It’s blocking the noise.”

He stopped.

“Clarity,” he said. “This building isn’t blocking the noise. The noise has been unscrambled.”

Deeply puzzled, slightly concerned, Rush said, “Would you care to sit down?”

“It’s words. All this time. Words.”

“Please, have a seat.”

The Map Maker eased gingerly onto a pew. Rush sat on the one in front of him.

“Mr Boyd claimed knowledge of you three strangers but I am beginning to wonder if I have been tricked.”

“You have,” said the Map Maker, flatly, making no eye contact. “I don’t know the man. Nor does Stone or Nuria.”

“Stone and Nuria are your companions?”

The Map Maker shook his head.

“My followers.”

“You have followers? A man of faith with followers. That’s quite interesting. Do you have a name, sir?”

“No.”

“You have no name?”

“No.”

Rush swept a hand over his cropped hair.

“Where are you from?”

“Gallen.”

“Then you’re not Kiven.”

“What’s Kiven?”

“Well, Kiven are us, I suppose. Ennpithians and Kiven are the same but the Place of Bridges is what divides us and has done for centuries.”

“They are nothing like us,” boomed a voice. “This is why our Lord created the Place of Bridges.”

Both men turned to see Father Devon coming through a side door, his lined face reddened with anger. He strode swiftly toward the two men. The Map Maker guessed he was possibly in his fifties or sixties or even older. In his lifetime he had seen few men of such age.

“Do not compare us to the Kiven,” he said. “What an outrageous claim to make, Deacon Rush.”

“I am truly sorry, Father Devon.” Rush lowered his head as the older man glared at him.

“The Kiven do not embrace the Holy House.” He was scowling as he spoke. “They shun the Light of the future and live in the darkness of the Before. It is a sin to speak or think otherwise.”

“I meant no sin, Father. But it is said that not all Kiven are non-believers and that Holy Houses are appearing within their city.”

“Not this rhetoric again. I will not suffer it. The Kiven are nothing like us. The Lord brought His light to Ennpithia and our soil was reborn and He brought forth the animals and we worked the land but … but across the Place of Bridges the …” His flow stuttered and faltered as his attention focused on the Map Maker. “The hate of man incinerated … the hate of man burned the cities and …” He paused. “We are nothing like the Kiven. Whilst they crawl back into a history of sin we strive to take steps forward into a future of ordered society.”

The Map Maker rose from the pew, ignoring the tall and bony man. He had clarity. For the very first time.

You will walk amongst them, my son. You will give them the answers, my son.

His head was spinning. Sweat burst across his face.

Your time will come. They will rise up and follow you. We will banish the dark and bring our freedom.

Slowly, he eased his arms from beneath his tunic and mopped his brow with his sleeve.

The men of the Holy House stared at his missing hands.

“Who are you?” gasped Father Devon.

SIX

“Lever action,” explained Quinn, picking up one of three customised crossbows lying on a cluttered workbench. “Rapid fire. Twenty bolts in the magazine. Let me show you how it works.”

She swiftly demonstrated firing and reloading, indicating the lever that required cocking before every shot.

“You’ll have to crank the lever every time you fire. Otherwise there’s no tension. Keep it clean or it’ll jam.”

She showed them how to remove and refill the wooden magazine box that slotted onto the shaft. Then she dragged out a box of bolts and lifted it onto the workbench with a grunt.

“That should last you a full trip. There are spare magazines boxes in there as well. Have them loaded before you leave.”

“What kind of trouble will we get?” asked Nuria.

Stone stood at the doorway and glanced around the cramped workshop; tools, weapons, strips of leather, pieces of metal and timber, stacked boxes. He could imagine being quite at home in here.

“In the villages you might encounter a few light fingered thieves whilst Benny is selling, maybe a couple of drunks as the day wears on, but nothing you shouldn’t be able to handle. I managed by myself. You two will be fine.” She paused. “The ones who’ll give you the real trouble will be the Shaylighters. Their tribes are scattered through the hills. For years the Churchmen have hunted them down, trying to eliminate them, but the Shaylighters are few in number so tracking them is difficult. Now the Churchmen leave tackling them to hired mercenaries.”

She gave a short laugh.

“You can’t miss the bastards. The Holy House calls them Devil Men or Devil Soldiers or something. They wear their hair long and paint themselves with the inverted cross. I don’t really care. It’s all shit to me.”

“What’s an inverted cross?” said Nuria.

Quinn scanned her workbench and picked up two chisels. She formed a cross with them. “This is the symbol of the Holy House. You’ll see the bloody thing everywhere.” She flipped the tools upside down. “This is the sign of the Shaylighters.”

“What kind of numbers and weapons can we expect?” said Stone, speaking for the first time.

Quinn said, “Wait a minute I saw that look. You’ve already come across them, haven’t you?”

“Boyd said we couldn’t go around killing anyone,” said Stone. “He said you have laws here.”

She snorted. “He’s right, you can’t. But there’s no law for killing Shaylighters. No one gives a shit about them.”

“We killed some in a canyon near here,” said Nuria. “They were chasing a man. He got away from them.”

“The most that attacked us once was about ten on horseback. That’s a large number for Shaylighters. They were armed with spears and axes. It was pretty scary for a short time.” She patted one of the crossbows. “These will keep you alive on the road.”

“You killed them all?” said Stone.

“I know what I’m doing. So does Benny. He’s a good man. He’s clever, too. And he’s a friend. Don’t be fooled by how he looks. Just do as he says. Don’t get smart thinking you know better. He knows what he’s doing. We both do.”

“One of the Shaylighters we encountered carried a box of light.” Stone fingered his burnt tunic. “It did this.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Trust me, it is.”

Quinn narrowed her eyes.

“Did he wear a hat of feathers?”

Stone nodded

“His name is Essamon. He’s their spiritual leader, a crazy man.” She peeled off her cap, scratched her head. “It’s strange to find him this close to Brix. He usually stays deep in the western hills.”

“What was the box?” asked Nuria.

She told them she didn’t know exactly what it was but that it had to be a piece of Ancient tech which was forbidden and carried a penalty of death.

“The Shaylighters don’t believe in the Lord and the Holy House. They have nothing but hatred for the cross. I’m surprised Essamon has Ancient tech. But you’re lucky to be here. He can’t be killed.”

“Nuria stuck an axe in his shoulder. He bled like any man.”

“Essamon is not like any man. There are stories he has powers.”

Stone nodded with disinterest. He then asked, “Why are you quitting?”

“That’s none of your business.”

He said nothing, picked up the crossbows and slung them over his shoulder. He lugged the box of ammunition into the tangled garden. It bright outside, hot and windy. He allowed his eyes to roam the village and for a fleeting moment he thought of Emil, back in Dessan, one of the Eastern Villages in North Gallen. Her life was there now. She had chosen a man and chosen a place. He wondered what she would have made of Brix and the Holy House. He wondered what she would have made of Quinn. He smiled wryly. He knew
exactly
how she would have reacted to Quinn’s spiky personality.

Was he a man who could choose a place like she had?

Stubbornly, he accepted how much he missed her. She was his last connection to Tomas, once his closest friend, almost a son, stabbed to death in the wastelands last year by a tribal leader known as the Cleric.

But it was a far deeper emotion than simply that. He saw Nuria and Emil as a small family.

He glanced down at the box in his grasp and stepped back inside the workshop.

“We don’t need these.”

“What?” said Nuria.

“Since when do we suddenly care about coins and merchants? If Boyd needs mercenaries he can hire those idiots from the inn.”

“Dobbs and Farrell are wankers,” said Quinn, echoing Duggan’s opinion. “I had to suggest them because there’s no one else. Brix is a working town. Benny would have to ride to Touron to enlist fighting men and it would take days. He’d be behind on his schedule for the festivals and fairs. Look, you made a deal with him. Honour it. He needs protecting.”

“Then you protect him.”

“I can’t. I …”

“Why? Where are you going?”

“I told you that’s none of your business.”

“You suddenly decide to walk away at the beginning of Boyd’s busy schedule. That makes me suspicious.”

Nuria looked between them. He had a point.

“Take the work,” said Quinn. “Be glad of it.”

“I’m glad of the sun on my face. What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are we being watched?”

Both women spoke at once. “What?”

“A fair haired boy loitering at the well on the hill. He’s been following us since we arrived. Who is he?”

Quinn knew who it was but she pushed past him anyway. She cupped a hand over her eyes to block out the bright rays of afternoon sunlight.

“That’s Jeremy. He’s a friend.” She walked back into the workshop. “He can get a bit protective. He’s just looking out for me. He was a friend of my niece.”

“Was?” said Nuria.

Quinn chewed her lip. “Take the crossbows and work for Benny. At least this once. I can pay you extra if that’s what you want.”

“Do you think we’re stupid?” said Stone. His voice was a deep growl. “We’re not taking on the work unless you tell us why you’re quitting. We’re not going to walk into any mess you’ve left behind.”

He glanced at Nuria.

“No more Tamnica.”

It was the same words he’d said at the riverbank, the moment they’d arrived in Ennpithia, but it was much more than simply words; it was a promise.

Quinn blinked. “What did you say? You know of Tamnica? Benny once told me about that place. He said it was a death camp. They torture people and make black energy for the metal machines. Were you prisoners there?”

Nuria folded her arms.

“Look, I’m not trying to trap you. You can trust me. There’s no mess and I can give you with something better than crossbows. Maybe then you’ll realise you can trust me.” She took a deep breath. “I have outlawed weapons. You have to keep them hidden in the villages. All it takes is for one loose tongue and you’ll be marched off to Touron for a hanging.”

“Why do they fear guns so much?” asked Nuria.

“It’s not only guns.” She sighed. “To be Ennpithian is to worship at the Holy House and build for the future. One way of building for the future is to damn the weapons and tech of the past.”

The words were flat. Nuria guessed it was a rehearsed speech, a mantra that had been passed down through generations.

“It’s how we differ from the Kiven. That’s why Duggan thought you might be them. He hates them. The Holy House teaches forgiveness; not Duggan. I mean, he
really
hates them. They live in an old city, trying to kick start it back into life; metal machines, lights in the sky, that kind of thing.”

She picked up a canteen of water, drank. “They live in the past. We live in the future. The words of the Holy House. Sometimes I think it’s the other way round.”

“We don’t give a fuck about the laws of the Holy House,” said Stone. “What do you have?”

For the first time, a smile broke across Quinn’s stocky face. She eased shut the workshop doors. In the near gloom, she shifted barrels and rolled back a frayed rug revealing a square of metal embedded in the dirt. She lifted it and Stone widened his eyes at a metal crate brimming with pistols and revolvers. He crouched and picked out a few handguns, feeling grips, peering along barrels, testing firing mechanisms.

“Some of them are pieces of shit and I can only spare you a few bullets. I need some for myself.”

She was right. Some of the guns were even constructed from crude plastic or wood and not metal.

“Remember to keep them concealed. And if you get caught with them forget where they came from.”

Stone offered Nuria a pistol. It was a similar model to the one she had trained with in Chett. He picked out a revolver with a good barrel and clean chamber. Quinn fished out a box and tipped out a dozen bullets. Stone studied them. They were not conventional bullets, like ones he had used in the past. They appeared to be no more than melted steel projectiles. He wondered how they would fire and how accurate they would be. Quinn saw his expression as he dropped them into the chamber.

“They pack a punch. I just wouldn’t use them from any great distance.”

Nuria’s pistol magazine would hold more than six but six was all she was given. She tucked the handgun into her pocket.

“Keep the crossbows with you at all times,” said Quinn, pushing open the workshop doors. “Use the firearms only if you’re overwhelmed.”

She studied the two of them.

“Clarissa,” she said. “My niece was called Clarissa. She was only eleven … she was murdered.”

“What happened?” asked Nuria.

She told them, spitting out the words rapid and bitter, choking back the loss, fists clenched with hate. The child had died of a sickness, a terrible sickness that raged within the broken city of Mosscar, a parting gift from the Ancients.

“The Holy House tells us the Lord restored Ennpithia but left the sickness as a reminder that we do not attempt to rebuild the past. Mosscar is the only place like it in Ennpithia.”

One morning Clarissa rode out to the city, a confident and capable rider. She never told anyone she was leaving or why she went there. She took no supplies and no weapons.

“It was more than a day before she returned. She was shivering, vomiting, skin red and blistered.”

“Did she say anything?”

“She was delirious. She … she died in agony.” Quinn stared. There was only the sound of the wind. “My brother, Daniel, blamed the Holy House for not protecting her. He was so angry.” She stepped into the garden, placed her hand against the wall of the cottage. “He had prayed all his life. You see our mother was very …
devoted
. It was the cross before anything. Daniel couldn’t come to terms with losing Clarissa. He tried to burn the Holy House to the ground. In the end, he was so drunk he set fire to himself. Jeremy, up there on the hill, is going to look after him whilst I go into Mosscar to get the truth.”

“There are ruins in the east of Gallen where sickness clings to the buildings,” said Stone, sombrely. “There is no way to survive it. You’ll die like your niece.”

“You sound like Jeremy,” said Quinn. “But I’m not stupid. I will have something that can help me. A piece of Ancient tech. This is why I need you to work for Benny. He’s been good to me and I’ve worked with him for a long time. I should only be gone a week or so. Maybe not even that.”

She looked at them evenly.

“You have forbidden weapons. I will have forbidden tech. We could all hang for it. We are bound to each other by deception.”

“You said Clarissa was murdered,” said Nuria, leaving the words hanging.

“She
was
murdered.”

Quinn’s face grew dark.

“Ask yourself why a sensible eleven year old girl rides into a deserted city knowing it will kill her?”

Stone nodded. “She doesn’t.”

“Someone manipulated her or took her there against her will. Someone who knows how to survive the sickness.”