The Fallow Read online

  The Fallow

  Book 1

  ALICIA J. BRITTON

  STABLEGATE PUBLISHERS

  Copyright © 2018 Alicia J. Britton

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 9781728724768

  CONTENTS

  Brief History of Portsmith: 9

  Chapter 1: Herald, 12

  Chapter 2: Law, 15

  Chapter 3: Blasphemy, 23

  Chapter 4: Virtue, 27

  Chapter 5: Captain, 36

  Chapter 6: Herald, 47

  Chapter 7: Law, 57

  Chapter 8: Blasphemy, 66

  Chapter 9: Virtue, 76

  Chapter 10: Herald, 83

  Chapter 11: Captain, 89

  Chapter 12: Blasphemy, 99

  Chapter 13: Herald, 108

  Chapter 14: Law, 111

  Chapter 15: Virtue, 121

  Chapter 16: Blasphemy, 130

  Chapter 17: Herald, 137

  Chapter 18: Law, 150

  Chapter 19: Virtue, 170

  Chapter 20: Blasphemy, 181

  Chapter 21: Law, 196

  Chapter 22: Herald, 208

  Chapter 23: Blasphemy, 224

  Chapter 24: Virtue, 231

  Chapter 25: Law, 238

  Chapter 26: Herald, 257

  Chapter 27: Captain, 279

  Two Months Later: 299

  Fallow

  adjective: not in use; inactive

  noun: land that has undergone plowing and harrowing and has been left unseeded for one or more growing seasons

  ~

  Fields can lie Fallow, but we can’t; we have less time.

  ~Mignon McLaughlin

  A fallow mind is a field of discontent.

  ~John H. Cunningham

  A Brief History of Portsmith

  In the year 2018, Reverend Joshua Braintree heard the voice of God. He warned his congregation and anyone who would listen that Armageddon was near . . . and he was right.

  He led his devout believers to an underground sanctuary, built deep within the Northern Appalachian Forest. Just as they were settling in, the first atomic bomb struck the Eastern U.S. seaboard, launching a global-scale nuclear war.

  The congregation called Joshua the Redeemer. God gave him a purpose—to save humanity—and he would not fail Him. Within days, Joshua granted his Brothers of God permission to “spread the light,” allowing men in his good graces to marry as many women as he could potentially feed, protect, and use to serve God’s Will.

  Over time, Marriage Bonds became sacred and irrevocable. Adultery was considered High Sin. And when young Carly Mathers was caught in the act, she was banished from the underground colony, a fate they assumed would be worse than death.

  She returned weeks later, begging for forgiveness. They only provided shelter from the cruel winter storm because of the goods and supplies she offered.

  As part of her punishment, Carly was “cleansed” of what they considered the source of Sin—her beauty—and was kept isolated from the others. For Penance, the Brothers of God sent her into the uninhabitable world to perform the tasks that were deemed too Ungodly for anyone else.

  Every time Carly returned from these missions, she was sicker, weaker, and what the congregation began calling Fallow. When she died, she was only eighteen years old.

  Upon her death, Joshua’s people were torn. Some believed Carly had gotten what she deserved. But there were others who argued that when she had committed High Sin, she was too young—fifteen years old—to understand the Marriage Doctrine, Chapter 1, Verse 1-40 in the Au Courant Word of God.

  In the Devine Compromise of 2036, a Bearing Age of twenty-one was established. No young woman could enter a Marriage Bond until that time. But an addendum was required: Brothers of God and any wives they had that were younger than Bearing Age had to uphold God’s Will. Marriage Bonds were still considered sacred and final.

  Once the Devine Compromise was enacted, High Sin was rarely committed. If it happened at all, it was in utmost secrecy. Soon, though, a new problem arose at about the time that resources began dwindling again. There were a few women who refused to marry, claiming there were already too many young mouths to feed.

  The Brothers of God realized how dire their situation had become. But they saw this refusal to marry as a violation of God’s Will. In order for them to “spread the light” in the New Age, their underground colony required the completion of Ungodly Tasks. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Therefore, one member of the congregation—or a few, depending on the circumstances—had to be appointed Fallow.

  Since men were outnumbered three-to-one in the year 2051, it was assumed and became engrained in their culture that a Fallow had to be a woman. And to make the selection process easier, the Bearing Age was more clearly defined. If a woman refused to marry or was proven unfit to bear children, then she would have to serve her people in an Ungodly way.

  At the time of Joshua’s death, Barnabas, his charismatic fourth-born son—the first of his family born and raised entirely in the New Age—was selected to be the new Redeemer. He upheld God’s Will with unprecedented fervor. Any opponents were silenced, banished, or killed, and the Fallow endured Penance well beyond what was necessary for the community’s survival. Plus, the selection process was more arbitrary than ever. Sisters, daughters, mothers, wives . . . no one was safe.

  And yet the community continued to flourish. What began as a few rooms and tunnels had expanded into a vast underground network. Years went by and hundreds grew to thousands. Despite the harsh treatment, the lifespan of the Fallow gradually broadened as well.

  By the turn of the century, Joshua Braintree’s people, still led by his bloodline, were ready to recolonize the outside world. They salvaged what they could from the Dark Times and established the town of Portsmith and the New Age Church of the Redeemer.

  Before long, other towns and New Age churches were commissioned by the Brothers of God along the coast of what was once the state of Maine. Fort Braintree was later set as the capital. And to protect the people from any outside hazards and from themselves—the danger of “free will”—an impenetrable wall was built along the Lifeline with Fallow labor. It quartered off a habitable zone along the coast of the Maineland.

  A society, steeped in tradition, took root and God’s Will continued to be The Law of the Land. Anyone who disagreed with the Au Courant Word of God and its Marriage Doctrine and Code of Conduct would have the Authorities to answer to.

  But not everyone could remain silent forever. . . .

  Chapter 1

  Herald

  The hint of color rising above the ocean marked the start of day nine.

  Herald surveyed the horizon. The seagulls and waves ebbed through his consciousness, pacifying at least some of his unease.

  He stole another breath on borrowed time. Then shivered the chilly mist out of his sweater as he climbed the spiral staircase to the lighthouse watch room. “Circle round, everyone. Captain wants to meet you . . . officially.”

  “What’s the occasion?” Law closed his copy of Jurisprudence for the Modern Man. “We’ve been hiding here for how long? Suddenly he cares a Fallow about more than his collection of wives?”

  Law shouldn’t have said that for more than one reason. Captain was their patron and was invested in the success of The Verity Chronicles more than just financially. And he wasn’t able to hear what Law had said—he was likely just leaving his island fortress—and neither could any of his wives—twelve to be precise—but two of Herald’s writers were Fallow.

  “Captain’s generosity is the reason we’re safe. Let’s not forget that.”

  Herald glanced at Parody, his political cartoonist, and Doxy, a Fallow who tended to overshare her life story. They exch
anged their cheeky assessment without words, but they didn’t seem any more put off by Law than usual.

  Even with their heads shaved—more than a few weeks grown in at this point—and metal studs inserted into their lips—both mandatory—Herald had to admire society’s shunned women. But he was among the few.

  “Oh, Herald. . .” Hearsay began, her tone deliberately condescending. “You should know by now . . . you can never trust a man who has more than ten wives.”

  As much as Herald hoped for the best, he knew she had a point.

  Hearsay loved and was really quite good at spilling the aristocracy’s secrets. Married to a man who took on sixteen more wives and counting, Hearsay had no qualms about sharing every intimate—and embarrassing—detail.

  Plural marriage or Fallowhood? Herald didn’t envy a woman’s options. But was he any better off?

  It was a matter of perspective. These forms of abuse and depravation weren’t even an option for a man. And for the crimes Herald had committed—unlawful publication and circulation, libel, treasonous expression, plus tax evasion and debt truancy, just to name a few—there was only one apt punishment.

  Death. By hanging.

  He rubbed the back of his neck while he performed a head count, aware that they were still missing a few. “Where’s Corollary and Blasphemy?”

  “If my sources are correct. . .” And coming from Hearsay’s mouth, Herald had no trouble believing that they were. “Corollary is working on his barnacle study, collecting crabs for supper while he’s at it, and Blasphemy went to fetch a basket of apples from the orchard.”

  “And what about. . . ?”

  Before it came to him, Gospel glided through the door like a whisper or . . . smoke was a better word. He had his Au Courant Word of God in tow. There were many copies floating about, but his seemed near and dear to him. The black-singed edges probably had something to do with it.

  “Good,” he said as the rest of the missing free-thinkers came in as well. “We’re all here.”

  Except for the Captain. . .

  Herald’s gaze then settled on Virtue. The young romance writer took a seat next to Parody and Doxy with an airy grace. Despite their class differences, the three of them had become close during their confinement together. If Virtue’s “scandalous” stories were any indication—steamy affairs across class, marriage, Fallow, and even gender barriers—she didn’t uphold the Maineland’s traditional values. But, even so, he wouldn’t want the unthinkable to ever cross her mind.

  Herald glanced over his shoulder. Captain was known for being punctual to a fault. It was odd that he was already over fifteen minutes late. Did he run into trouble?

  Even he would be among those sought out by the Maineland Authorities during their town’s annual ten-day Delinquency Purge. These elite agents were from Fort Braintree, the capital. Soon, though, they would move on to another coastal town, allowing the people of Portsmith to return to their normal, cautious routines.

  There were two days left. And Herald was beginning to believe they would make it. But, as much as he wanted The Purge to be over with, he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Orchard Island.

  He could never go back to the way things were. . . .

  At long last, a door creaked open and slammed shut down below. Footsteps echoed up the stairwell.

  Herald rose to welcome the Captain to the watch room. He knew how to make an entrance. His confidence silenced all conversation. Herald smiled as best he could in return and invited him to sit wherever he liked.

  And Herald wished he could mince his words.

  “You must be Virtue.” Captain draped an arm over her shoulders and took her hand from her lap. Rather than shake her hand, which was customary for a married man and a young lady, he made a spectacle of placing a kiss upon it. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. I have to admit, I’m your most ardent admirer.”

  It was the most glaring falsehood Herald had ever heard. And Herald had been fed lies his whole life.

  While Virtue blushed, still unaccustomed to the male attention she was getting now that she was of Bearing Age, Captain flaunted his allure.

  Herald prided himself on his ability to find the right word for any situation. Though he tried on for size a number of more interesting ones, he couldn’t come up with anything truer than the first word that came to mind . . . hate.

  Chapter 2

  Law

  Law had warned him.

  “I wasn’t aware you had such a distinguished palate for romance,” Herald articulated after a painfully long pause for deliberation. “And if I remember correctly, Virtue’s addition to the team earned your approval with a ‘By all means! The trite fodder may appeal to our lady demographic, those who hold the banknotes in their wanton fists.’”

  There was no place for love in these troubled times. It could exist, yes. But it never ended well, not where salaciousness and greed were such strong tenets of the theocracy in which they lived.

  The Captain received all eyes. This included Virtue’s wounded gaze and Herald’s hostile one. And yet all forms of attention were welcomed by the Captain with a self-assured smile.

  “Surely, you misheard me or misconstrued my words,” he replied, seamlessly suppressing any lapse of good humor. “Or maybe you’ve mistaken me for the other Captain.” He chuckled at his own joke—there was only one “Captain”—and it was thinly contagious around the room for the sake of easing tension. But not for Law and clearly not for Herald, either. All the while, Captain never even blinked away from Herald’s glower. “As a former professor of Classic Literature and as the current Editor in Chief, I would expect better from you on all counts.”

  Captain was good. Too good. He could casually bring insult to any criticism. And like a slug, he lubricated any friction with pure slime. On top of that, he could make it come across as the finest oil.

  Virtue’s confusion flitted between Herald and Captain. It then landed on Law in a plea for his assistance. He replied with a quick, over-the-top grimace and followed it with a wink. Her concern softened. It appeared they were on the same page.

  She was young—and the youngest on staff—but she wasn’t just another half-wit beauty batting her eyelashes at the biggest bank account. Herald—the poor sap—had impeccable taste. It was a fatal error in judgement, however. In effect, Herald would be wise to dig his own grave. It would save his friends and colleagues the grief.

  “What Herald meant to say. . .” Law intervened. The only way to counter slime was with slime in return. “We’re a team . . . our talents and interests are diverse. As a whole, our writing appeals to a vast audience or The Chronicles wouldn’t be as widely read as they are.”

  Amid nods of agreement, and a “Hear, hear” from the Captain, Law rose to his feet.

  “Herald. . .” Law tugged him up by the arm, and Herald reluctantly stumbled to standing. “A word.”

  Law marched him down the spiral staircase that led to the beach. A few steps away from the entrance, Law pinned Herald against the wall. “You’re making a fool out of yourself and putting us in very real danger. Have some faith or do us all a favor and take a long walk. And don’t come back until you’re thoroughly chilled to the bone!”

  Herald squirmed and with one push, he earned back his personal space. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Law watched him spiral back to the watch room, two fast steps at a time. He hated the Captain, that despicable Fat Poly, even more than Herald did . . . until moments ago.

  Now Law would have to bootlick for the day, assuming Herald didn’t ruin the possibility. Following close on Herald’s heel, the entire situation reminded him of when the phrase, Fat Poly, came into existence. Perhaps it was no coincidence that it was also the day Law and Herald first met Virtue.

  ***

  “Are you honestly that daft?” Law pushed back on his wrought-iron café chair, giving himself enough space to cross and stretch out his legs. “You can’t succeed without getting blood
on your hands.”

  He sipped his black coffee and tossed his open copy of The Verity Chronicles on the table. Then he leaned against the brick wall rather than the back of his chair. It gave him a better view of the street. For a cobblestone walkway in a shoddy, working-class neighborhood, there was a fair amount of foot traffic.

  It was one of those nice spring afternoons that had recovered from a cool morning and a full week of rain. At long last, the damp chill had finally left the air.

  Herald then shifted too, but instead of easing up, he leaned forward and clunked his elbows on the table. “Are you saying that our writing accomplishes nothing?”

  Law shook his head and gave him a lazy half-smile. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “And what about your rallies? Do you believe in the word, peace, or do you just spout that off so you don’t scare away your faint-hearted lady friends?”

  “It is my hope for a peaceful transition. But, the ugly truth of it is, if you demand change, you better be prepared to fight for it.”

  “I’m a satirist! Not an executioner!”

  “Sorry, my friend,” Law said, chuckling. “You’ll have to be both.”

  “And if we go around killing people, then how are we any better than Jud ‘The Slaughterhouse’ Barrett and his foul lot of miscreants? They bring shame to the word revolution.”

  “You could learn a thing or two from Barrett.”

  “Learn?” Herald pushed his pile of hand-written documents forward and away and threw his back against the chair. And just in case his irritation wasn’t clear enough, he crossed his arms with a loud sigh and looked off toward the street. “He’s a bull with the conscience of a snake and the brain capacity of a sack of potatoes!”

  Law was now laughing. Herald was all too right about Barrett, but even so. Law was having so much fun getting Herald riled up. Because he took everything so seriously . . . so personally. And playing “devil’s advocate” with him was therefore one of Law’s favorite pastimes. He treated it like a sport . . . his daily exercise for the mind.