The Fallow Read online

  There were rumors floating around Portsmith that The Verity Chronicles writers and their suspected haunts would be under the intense scrutiny of Maineland’s Central Authorities. These agents were the ears, eyes, and the brutal hands of the capital and the Redeemer.

  Herald decided not to take any chances. He urged them to leave Portsmith for the ten-day Delinquency Purge and together, go somewhere they’d—allegedly—never be found.

  That was then. Captain casually threw a mooring line over a buoy and said, “Welcome.”

  And this was now. The freezing rain and pitch darkness had made passage over the grounds treacherous. By the time they reached the boathouse, their warmest outer layer of clothing was doing little to ward off the cold or moisture. It was still so windy, even beneath shelter, that they could barely get a match to light. The water was also unbearably choppy. They were in constant danger of falling or getting bucked from the dock.

  And no one knew how to sail a vessel the size they arrived in. Any of the smaller boats wouldn’t suffice in the storm they were enduring. They had a formidable distance to conquer as well, even if they aimed for the next closest island.

  But that was beside the point. Every single boat in the boathouse—and Captain had quite the collection—was chained and locked in place.

  Corollary was right. The Captain had had a busy evening.

  Herald, perhaps refusing to accept how dead of an end they had reached, went over to the sailboat he was familiar with and began fiddling with the lock. The Fallow and Hearsay split up to look for a key or something that could be used as one. Blasphemy didn’t waste much time, either. She began hauling their cargo onto the sailboat with Virtue’s assistance. Meanwhile, Corollary joined Herald with a crowbar he acquired and a lantern in hand.

  Law squatted down to light the lantern and help them identify a rusty edge or a vulnerable link. Corollary was a genius in his field of expertise—analytical chemistry—and his practical skills were far above average, but they weren’t making much progress with the lock or chain. The metal was too slippery, their hands were too stiff and cold, and the light just wasn’t adequate.

  Law stood up with a sigh, the hopelessness creeping in. And that was when Gospel appeared. “It’s about time! Your services are required.”

  Law swept a hand toward Herald and Corollary. Gospel gave him an unappreciative glance but was quick to locate his tool of trade—a black gadget full of sharp, pointed, bent and twisted objects—and he dropped to his knees beside Herald.

  He barely had time, though, to locate the precise instrument he would need to pick the lock. Because a blinding light appeared at the opening of the boathouse.

  It wasn’t just a boat. It was an ocean schooner.

  The Authorities began disembarking without delay. The black double cross on their white sashes signified their allegiance to Fort Braintree and the Redeemer.

  Their instinct was to retreat in the opposite direction, but they were also being approached from behind. The Authorities closing in on them were brandishing black batons. Those positioned by the egresses, even the windows, were pointing rifles at them—nine unarmed writers trapped by the water and two converging forces.

  Virtue was at the far end of the line they had formed. She would have been the first to clash with the opposition had Herald not intervened.

  “Please!” There was barely room to walk with people in his way, but he charged over to her, regardless. He guided Virtue behind his back and put his hands up to curb their rampage. “I’m the one you want. You can leave the rest—”

  The Authority Figure at the front of the line took a fast swing at Herald’s head. The baton made contact.

  Law cringed.

  It was a direct hit to Herald’s temple.

  Herald collapsed, joint by joint, muscle by muscle. He lost immediate control of all faculties and would have keeled into the water if Virtue hadn’t sprung to retrieve his body.

  “You are evil through and through!” she spat, glaring at the droves of them coming in.

  Gospel backed away from the group. But the Authorities were crowding the ocean-side of the boathouse as well. He had nowhere to go.

  Corollary was standing next to Law with the crowbar, not sure what to do. It was shaking in his hands. And when he was told to drop it, he caved to the demand.

  “Take it easy!” Law pleaded as he and Corollary were wrangled into handcuffs, their arms contorted in painful directions behind them.

  Gospel was now lying on his back, offering up his wrists. The Authorities snapped on the cuffs by his chest and carried him off without strain.

  Law expected a better show of contempt from him.

  As Law was roughly handled, he found himself facing the other direction again.

  Parody managed to complete a sweeping kick to an Authority Figure’s head. The monstrosity toppled into the water, opening up for him a momentary view of Virtue.

  She was cradling Herald’s bloody head in her lap. “You may have killed him! An honest man. A good man. But why waste my breath? It’s not as if you would ever understand!”

  “Insult us again, pretty little lady. . .” An Authority Figure came up behind her and delicately swept her braid out of his way with his baton. He placed the long rod on Virtue’s shoulder. “And we’ll make sure you feel it too.”

  Virtue stiffened in submission. Her uncharacteristically sharp tongue didn’t lash out again.

  “Must we be so crude?” Law tossed over his shoulder as he was marched toward the schooner.

  For that outburst, he received a baton strike to the thigh. He groaned in his throat and teetered for balance, but he forced himself to keep walking. They could overpower his body, but he wouldn’t let them conquer his mind so easily. It would take more than pain to do that.

  One by one, they were dragged, pushed, or carried in Herald’s case, up a ladder and onto the ship.

  Law tumbled onto the wet deck. The rain was coming down in icy sheets. It stung and nearly blinded him. But he still took note of those around him. All nine writers were accounted for. No one managed to get away. Not even Gospel. He was the first one on board!

  The ship was soon in motion. And there was nothing they could say to each other to make this hurt any less. There wasn’t much they’d be able to hear. The engine was deafeningly loud. The waves and rain drowned out everything else. He could barely hear his own thoughts.

  He had the urge to close his eyes and resign, at least for the time being. But the sad sight of Virtue softened his heart and strengthened his resolve. She was struggling to take care of Herald with her delicate wrists bound in front of her.

  With his hands bound tightly at his back—apparently he was considered more of a threat—Law couldn’t do much to help. But he squirmed across the deck to be beside her anyway.

  “Is he all right?” he shouted in his attempt to be heard above the commotion.

  Herald’s head was resting in her lap. He was in rough shape and showing no sign of life.

  “His heart is still beating,” she informed him, or that’s what Law assumed she had said. Her voice didn’t carry well.

  “For you, I would imagine.”

  With her sleeve, Virtue wiped from her eyes the water, Herald’s blood, and probably the tears she allowed herself to cry.

  “This is all my fault,” she lamented, burying her face in her hands.

  “No, it’s not,” Law assured her, and her head lifted. “If this is happening to us because you said no. Because you were brave enough to follow your heart. Then I’m proud of you. I will stand by you. And against them. As long as I can still stand upright. And Herald would do the same. Any of us would.”

  She gave Law a weak smile.

  And after that, she went to work. She tugged for a while and eventually dislodged a piece of skirt from her hem. She placed it over Herald’s swollen eye and secured it there with the red scarf she usually kept at the end of her braid.

  Meanwhile, an Authority F
igure carrying a rifle strutted over. “Who’s in charge here?” His voice pierced through the dense noise and stormy night air with jarring clarity.

  Law could feel a few glances land on him. Herald was practically dead to the world, so he couldn’t exactly fess up. And condemning him would be convenient and technically true but cowardly nonetheless. Gospel looked so young and disorderly, and he wasn’t likely to volunteer. And they would never believe it if a woman or Fallow spoke up.

  For a second, Law’s gaze met Corollary’s. He was older than Law was, but he had a wife and children back at home.

  The only decent answer was obvious. “I am.”

  The beast of a man aimed the rifle at Law’s head. “On your knees.”

  “No!” Virtue cried out, grabbing Law’s arm right as he was about to shift in compliance.

  “Honestly,” Law said, easing himself away from Virtue’s grip, maneuvering his legs to be beneath him. “There are ladies present!”

  “Ladies?” the man scoffed, lowering the gun from his eye, though just slightly. “Fallow, I would say, if not by now then certainly by morning.”

  “Portsmith’s High Court will sort this all out,” Law insisted calmly as he rose to his knees. “That’s what they’re there for. Is it really necessary to be so uncivilized, right here and now?”

  His plea would not likely save his life. It would only buy him time.

  The man placed the barrel to Law’s forehead.

  And he didn’t want this man’s abhorrent face to be the last thing he saw. After a pointed look at his enemy, Law spit on his shoe and was about to close his eyes. He would seek a word or two of peace and comfort.

  But something else caught his attention . . . a flash of movement.

  The gun went off and splintered the wood of the deck an arm’s length to Law’s right. His ears were ringing, but above that and everything else, he could also make out a choking sound.

  He sought answers and in a blink of time, he found them. The handy tool Gospel had been using to pick the boathouse lock was now clutched in his tethered hands. But the other end of it was embedded in the Authority Figure’s neck.

  Blood was gushing and squirting out of the site of entry. Law even caught a drop of it in the eye.

  But still, he witnessed the impossible. As quickly as the object went in, Gospel ripped it out, and the man collapsed in a pool of his own blood.

  By then, the rest of the Authorities were rushing over.

  Gospel hunched over and struggled desperately with the tool jimmied inside of his handcuffs.

  Smart kid. That’s why he chose to go down with his hands in front of him.

  But it didn’t look like Gospel was going to be able to free his wrist in time. The Authorities were practically on top of them now.

  Parody was the first to throw a leg out to slow them down. Law did the same. They all chipped in. And they didn’t hear Gospel’s handcuffs click open, but it was as if they could feel it. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch Gospel run and launch himself overboard.

  The Authorities lined up along the ledge and held up their lanterns and flashlights.

  “He’s as good as dead,” one of them said to another.

  Law stifled a chuckle as they began walking away.

  They clearly didn’t know Gospel.

  Chapter 8

  Blasphemy

  “Next.”

  The gavel went down and pounded against the sound block. It didn’t quite silence the High Courtroom, but it struck a nerve, again, the same way it had all morning. It sent Blasphemy’s tense body into another twitch.

  She could be what was “next.”

  And she knew what she had coming to her.

  “The Town of Portsmith, the capital, and the Redeemer versus The Verity Chronicles,” the Holy Authority called out from behind the bench. “Are the accused men and lawfully effeminate accounted for?”

  His focus landed on the court’s Moral Advocate. “All except for the perpetrator they call Gospel,” he replied.

  The Moral Advocate turned to face the Verdict Panel. The three entities had been responsible for raising charges against and the sentencing of the accused, those who had allegedly committed High Sin. The Penance they received ranged from fines to Fallowhood for the women and death by hanging for the men. The executions were slated for sunset on the eleventh day, marking the end of The Purge.

  “And the reason for his defection? He has committed more Sin than any of the other writers combined, including murder.”

  The Holy Authority lowered his bifocals and swept his rigid gaze over the courtroom. There were three clusters of benches separated by aisles. On the Holy Authority’s right were the accused men, handcuffed and practically wrestling for shoulder and elbow room. Blasphemy was on the left side of the room with the accused women, mostly handcuffed as well. The Brothers of God wore their black robes, front and center. They made up the Verdict Panel. A perpetually fluctuating audience sat in the gallery behind the Panel. Whether they were for the accused or against, emotions were high regardless.

  “Suicide,” the Moral Advocate replied. “Death by drowning or hypothermia.”

  “Are you absolutely certain?”

  “Yes, Your Holy Authority.”

  Blasphemy didn’t want to believe what they had said about Gospel. But she found some comfort knowing that they believed it without a shred of doubt. He beat them either way. He would live or die on his own terms.

  Murder of an Authority Figure was inexcusable under any circumstances. Gospel was wise to take his chances in the open ocean. And taking into account the cases Blasphemy had already witnessed, the outlook was also grim anytime they spat out “High Treason” as if it were a taste of dung. It was only a matter of time before The Verity Chronicles writers were accused of it too.

  “And the unconscious one? Pseudonym ‘Herald?’ The leader of this treasonous folly?”

  “Roused and cognizant.”

  Virtue was sitting beside Blasphemy. She lifted slightly from her seat to look again, probably for the fifth or sixth time in the last ten minutes alone. But Herald wasn’t in the room yet. Just the mention of his name, though, inspired Virtue’s hands to tremble.

  Blasphemy couldn’t stand to watch her shake to pieces. She grabbed Virtue’s hand, squeezed it, and pinned it to Virtue’s lap.

  “And the Fallow? Pseudonyms, ‘Parody’ and ‘Doxy’?” the Holy Authority went on. “I assume they’ve been delivered to the Fallow Disciplinary Committee for their Penance?”

  “Yes. At first light.”

  “Good. Then we can begin.” He cracked the gavel. “Bring in the first offender . . . Herald.” The murmurs that had been spreading around the room surged to an uproar. “Order in the courtroom!”

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Two Authority Figures guided Herald through a double set of doors on the opposite side of the courtroom. He was cuffed and staggering. The makeshift bandage covered the worst of his injuries, but he was clearly in pain elsewhere. It must have been radiating from his head downward.

  He received a hit and took a fall the night prior that rattled the dock and all the boats attached to it. And he could have been beaten further, either before or after they decided he was “roused and cognizant” . . . certainly a matter of opinion.

  “Unhand me!” The unmistakable voice of Law pierced through the hassle, the clatter, the confusion. He was handcuffed as well, but he managed to slip through the doors Herald had come through, free of human constraints. Quick and spry, he maneuvered himself around two more Authority Figures and arrived in front of the Holy Authority at the exact moment Herald had. “He has the right to an attorney!”

  “These are closed proceedings. The smooth operation of the Delinquency Purge is our highest priority. The Redeemer’s orders.”

  “There’s no precedent for that!”

  “These are new orders.”

  The Moral Advocate strutted toward Law and puffed out his barrel
-like chest. “Are you questioning Jeremiah Braintree, our one and only Redeemer?”

  “I don’t see how that’s relevant,” Law articulated, completely calm and composed. “But if he’s taking away basic human rights for the sake of expediency, then yes, it is my moral obligation to question that which impinges upon our freedom.”

  The whispers shifted to murmurs. The murmurs were once again on the verge of overwhelming the debate in front of the courtroom.

  “And you’re Law, I’m assuming?”

  His eyes flicked to the judge. “That is correct.”

  “And your real name is? Please provide your surname . . . for the record. Do you have any family to speak of?”

  “My name is Law.”

  “If that is the case,” the Moral Advocate said, taking over the inquiry. “Do you admit that you are The Verity Chronicles leading political commentator?”

  “I do.”

  “That means you are the man who claimed our Redeemer is, and I quote. . .” He positioned his reading glasses on his bulbous nose and read from the transcript he was holding. “‘A lewd, hopelessly inept Fat Poly who uses his masculine paraphernalia to make his policy decisions, therefore certifying to the masses his wide-ranging impotence.’”

  About halfway through the passage, Law was mouthing along to the words with pride. “I will not deny the truth. Any of it.”

  “And you, Herald,” the Moral Advocate went on, “support, participate, edit, and approve for print this and the many other examples of sacrilege?”

  Herald cleared his throat. “That is my role, yes,” he admitted humbly. “Although ‘sacrilege’ is a matter of opinion, is it not?” His voice would never match the sureness of Law’s, but even so, he seemed to be tapping into a pool of strength. “And these are not weapons. They are not even threats. They are merely one man’s assessment of another. If you don’t agree with these words or like what they say, I would suggest you and your Brothers refrain from reading them, aloud or otherwise.”