Unbound (10 page)

A black metal gate, twenty-feet high and forged into the city’s wall, led into the square. In all his life River could not recall a time when the gate was closed, but it was now—closed and locked and wrapped with chains. The gate had been shut the same day the king ordered the flags hung upside down.

Like wild fire
, they all said. That’s how quickly the plague had spread. River had never seen wild fire, but he supposed it was pretty damn fast.

“Wild fire,” he said between sips of ale. “Damn fast.”

He was cursing a lot. His parents wouldn’t have liked that. He felt bad for a moment then said it again.

“Damn fast.”

Echo didn’t answer. His blue eyes stared at the distant hills where the enemy waited. They were too far away to see in the daylight, but they weren’t hiding. Every night, more and more of their campfires came, glowing around the city like a necklace.

“We should get to work,” grunted River. He stuffed a biscuit into his mouth, saying as he chewed, “Just let me finish up.”

Echo nodded only a little. His silence flustered River.

“Are you afraid?”

“No, I’m not afraid,” replied Echo. “I was made out of you. If you’re not afraid then I’m not afraid.”

River chewed, swallowed, and took another big bite. Humatons could lie just as easily as people.

“You know,” said River after a moment, “If we were going to die, we’d be dead already. Don’t you think that’s true?”

“Yes,” agreed Echo.

“But we’re not dead. I check my nose every night. You don’t see me but I do. I look up there and I don’t see any blood. Nothing. And I never sneeze. Never.”

“That’s very good.”

“What I’m saying is that we’re here for a reason. Whatever the plague is, it can’t touch us. That’s got to be the way God wants it, right?”

“God?”

“Yeah. God. Or whatever. He wants us here to take care of things, to make sure the enemy doesn’t get through. That’s why we didn’t die.”

“I like that story,” said Echo. “But what about everybody else? Why are they dead?”

River shrugged. “God don’t need them, I guess.”

“But he needs us—a nine-year-old boy and a machine? Why not a hummingbird and a pencil?”

“You’re not a machine.”

“The story has to make sense,” said Echo. “Explain it to me. Why did God choose us?”

River shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s God.”

Echo approximated a sigh. “This conversation is a circle. It has no end. Therefore, no purpose.” He slipped down from his barrel. “Keep eating if you want. I’m going to work.”

* * * * *

Dressing the dead humatons was harder than River expected. They had already stripped the coats and hats from the fallen soldiers they’d found throughout the city, piling them in a stable at the far side of the square to keep them safe from the weather, but the trek between the stable and their undressed army tired River quickly. There were weapons to haul as well, mostly long-guns and swords, and these River carried two at a time, balancing them in his armpits while he carried the clothes.

Most of the humatons, like Echo, wore trousers and shirts and vests—the usual stuff for an upper-class citizen. The few females in their lot wore skirts, and River undressed them with a powerful curiosity, wondering if they—like the males—had been created sexless. To his disappointment they were, just as Echo had told him. Still, it felt odd to River to be taking their clothes off. It almost felt like he was hurting them, so he told each one that they were being dressed to defend the city, like heroes, and that he was sorry they were dead and couldn’t dress themselves anymore.

One by one, River and Echo hoisted the humatons onto the battlements and watchtowers, sometimes using ropes to lift their heavy bodies and then positioning them to look fierce. The big clock in the square chimed as the hours past. The sun slipped away. Finally, they lifted the humaton with the beautiful hair up onto a catwalk near the gate. She looked very much like a soldier in her gray coat and trousers, but the sweeping blond hair remained a problem. River watched as Echo placed the silver helmet on her head.

“That’s peculiar looking,” said River. “She looks like a girl.”

“I told you we need to cut it. It’s too much to stuff under her helmet.”

River took a step back. “From far away will they even see it?”

“Maybe they come closer at night when we’re sleeping. If the wind blows her hair they’ll see it.”

“Yeah. They have eyes like eagles.” River remembered that from the book. Eyes like eagles and scales like snakes—those were what he remembered most. “Does it matter? Who says a girl can’t be a soldier?”

Echo’s blue eyes flashed with frustration. “This was your idea. We should cut it.”

But River couldn’t. “Leave it.” He put the long-gun he had chosen for her in her metal hands, closing the fingers around it. “I like her the way she is.”

They stayed on the catwalk for an hour more, watching the hills turn black around them. As always, the campfires of the enemy winked into view, just a few at first, then many, many others. Some were closer now too. By the time the big clock struck eight, the hills were ablaze with them.

“I can smell the smoke,” said River. His breath froze as it hit the air.

“What does it smell like?” asked Echo.

“Like wood. What else?”

“The book says they burn animals.”

River breathed deeply through his nose. “No. Definitely wood.” He put his hand on the shoulder of the blond humaton. “You think they can see us?”

“Yes. They always see us.”

Echo’s confidence made River grin. Every night for weeks they had climbed atop the wall to let the enemy see them. Just so they would know they hadn’t won yet.

“Do you think they’ll attack soon?” asked River.

Echo turned his head left and right, his gesture for no. He said, “I think our army will scare them.”

“Ha!” crowed River. He leaned out over the wall. “You hear that? We have an army!”

The quiet hills gave no reply. A smattering of snowflakes fell from the sky.

“We should go home now,” said Echo. “It’s time for lessons.”

* * * * *

It took nearly an hour for River and Echo to walk back home. The streets were dark and deserted, and despite his dexterity Echo was not at all speedy. River had long ago given up searching for plague survivors. A few times, weeks ago now, he had seen the shambling figures of survivors limping blindly through the streets, but they had all died quickly, and all River and Echo could do was try to answer their questions and comfort them. Now, they saw only dead folks in the streets, those who were too weak or too stubborn to go to the wild camp the way the king had ordered.

The Nous house—River’s house—was in a good, green part of the city, with lots of trees to climb. River’s parents had been given the house as part of his father’s salary. It was near the royal university where his father taught and in close view of Castle Hill, though River had never once visited the castle despite his many pleas to do so. The castle sat dark and deserted now, its upside-down flag still flapping in the wind. River looked longingly at Castle Hill while Echo opened the door to their house. The king and all his family had gone to the wild camp, just like River’s parents. They had tried to stop the plague from spreading, but that seemed like a dumb idea now.

Like wild fire
, thought River.

He helped Echo make a fire in the hearth, then sat down in his father’s big, comfortable chair. The wooden shelves sagged with books, and a smiling portrait of River’s mother hung over the mantel. Her name was Ellin but his father called her “honey,” just like the color of her hair. On the table next to the big chair sat the pipe his father smoked every night after coming home from the college. The room stank of sweet tobacco. River picked up the pipe and stuck it between his teeth, watching as Echo looked over the many books.

“I don’t know which to choose,” said Echo finally. “I’m done with all these.”

“Good,” replied River. “Let’s go to sleep.”

“No.” Echo ran his metal fingertips over the spines of the books. “Your lessons have to continue.”

“So? Teach me something else.”

“I’ve taught you everything here already.” Echo’s blue eyes dimmed. “Professor Nous always brought me new books.”

The human side of Echo’s face drooped in a way River had never seen before. The metal side of his face whirred and clicked.

“Your lessons,” said Echo blankly.

River tossed the pipe onto the table and sat up. “Hey, you can just start from the beginning again. I never remember anything you teach me anyway.”

But Echo’s face didn’t change. “We are the people now, River. We are all that’s left.”

“See, that’s not right,” said River. “We’re not all that’s left. There’s all these books.”

“We have to live for the people.”

“Nope. We have to live for
us
, Echo. All the stuff the people did—that’s all in the books.”

“So we have to protect the books.”

River saw his argument being lost. He took up the pipe again and put it defiantly in his mouth. “I need a match,” he said, just the way his father used to say it.

Without a question, Echo took one of the long matches used to light kindling out of a brass container. He stuck it in the hearth, lit it, then handed it to River. River did as he’d seen his father do a thousand times—holding the flame to the remnants of the old tobacco until it smoldered and sucking in little puffs of air. Instantly his lungs burned.

“Oh!” he coughed. Water streamed from his reddening eyes. He kept the pipe in his teeth anyway. “All this stuff you’re teaching me, Echo? That’s all memories. I got memories.” He choked a little. “Lots of them. So you gotta let me live. Okay?”

He kept the pipe in his mouth until he couldn’t stand it anymore, then put it back on the table and caught his breath. He felt nauseous suddenly and collapsed backward into the chair. Echo had turned away and was looking through the endless books.

“What are you doing?” River asked him.

Echo held up a metal finger to quiet him, continuing to search, then hitting on the book he wanted. “This one.” He flushed to show a smile. “Remember?”

The book made River sit up in the chair; he’d looked at it many times since the plague hit. Echo sat down on the arm of the chair. His fingers had been specifically built for turning pages and he leafed through them easily, his face lighting up when he came to their favorite illustration.

The thing was vaguely manlike, ten feet tall on two tree-trunk legs. Its arms were scaly, its body armored in brassy metal, and a pig-faced helmet capped the invisible head. In one hand it held a club, in the other a thick, straight sword. River stared at the picture. He still couldn’t understand how a race that appeared so slow-witted had made something as deadly as the plague. Or why, with all their brutish size, they still hadn’t attacked.

River sat back and thought a while. When Echo started reading one of the book’s stories, River stopped him.

“No, don’t read it,” he said softly. He knew the stories all by heart. He looked at Echo, who seemed perplexed, and said, “You think they’re scared of us, maybe? Because we’re still alive, I mean? Because they don’t want to get catch the plague they made?”

“I think that makes good sense,” agreed Echo. “I think so, yes.”

“That’s got to be it. They’re so big—they could attack us if they wanted. They’re waiting for us to die.” The thought made River laugh. “But we’re
not
gonna die! I’m just a kid. I’m not gonna die.”

“Your grandfather died when he was sixty-seven years old,” Echo pointed out. “The Professor would have lived that long at least. So, you will too. Probably.”

“Sixty-seven! That’s forever.” River leaned back comfortably in his father’s chair. “We don’t need an army. The enemy in the hills—they just got to see that we’re still alive. That’s all we got to do every day—make sure they see us.”

“Very good!” said Echo. “Nothing else?”

“Well, no. There’s lots of stuff. Like tomorrow? We’re going to the castle.”

* * * * *

The snow had fallen through the night, turning the city a pure, clean white. By the time River dressed himself and stepped outside with Echo, only flurries strayed from the sky. River looked at Castle Hill, half a mile away—no problem in his coat and heavy boots. Echo had dressed himself too, wearing a pair of leather shoes that ran up his metal calves, protecting his feet yet allowing him to balance. He wore a cape as well, a ruby-red garment of velvet he had found in a tailor shop after the plague. He had described the cape as irresistible and was excited at the chance to wear it. As they trudged through the newly fallen snow, Echo looked up at the sky. He put out his hand to catch a snowflake, then brought it up against his mouth slit.

“What are you doing?” River asked.

“I’ve seen people catch snowflakes on their tongue. I don’t have a tongue.” Echo turned to look at River. “What do they taste like?”

“I don’t know. Like water I guess.”

“You should have done this by now,” said Echo. “Do it and tell me.”

Echo rarely gave orders. River stuck out his tongue and waited for a snowflake to find it. When one did not, Echo goaded, “Go after them.”

So River did, laughing and not caring how stupid he looked as he dashed about with his tongue outstretched, first catching one stray flake, then another. “They taste like nothing!” he shouted. “Just cold. But kind of good . . .”

All the way to Castle Hill, River chased the snowflakes. And when they finally reached the hill and found the ornate gates of the castle open and buried in snow, he pulled in his tongue and closed his mouth at the majesty of the place. His father had been lucky. The king had called upon the professor many times, and River wondered what the castle was
really
like, before it was so quiet. The castle grounds were completely barren, with carts and tools left behind, and a few human-sized lumps in the snow. River and Echo walked through the unguarded gates and shuffled toward the looming entrance, a black mouth of a thing that should have been grand but now felt haunted.

“I have a toy guardsman at home,” said River as he walked through the archway. His voice echoed beneath the stone. “Remember?”