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“A person’s only worth as much as his promise,” I recited Pa’s words like the prayer they’d been all my childhood. “I disappointed John in life, but I won’t fail him in death.”
Five winters ago, I’d sworn an oath inside the Tarwood Chapel, promising John the obedience of a woman, the fruitfulness of a mother, and the dutifulness of a wife.
Three promises given.
Two promises broken.
The third, I’d keep.
Pa tilted his head and frowned at me before he let his steps splish-splash over the flooding ground. “As stubborn as your mother.”
We rounded the western corner where the bathhouse stood whitewashed and proud. Beside the building, two of the Fletcher boys squatted at the edge of the groanpit—nothing but a deep hole in the ground, reinforced by palisades lining the dirt edges.
Boar spear in hand, Gregory, the oldest, reached out and poked a corpse’s head.
The dead man groaned.
The deep vibration, the desperation, the agony in its undertone—like a whooping cough rattling through a throat lined with weeping pox—put a sour tang in my gums. The corpse dragged fingers worn down to the knuckles over the sleek wood, which kept him from climbing.
Gregory thrust the spear into the man’s belly. The wings carved a large enough hole that purple guts poured out, ripping a violent hiss from the dead man. Corpses usually didn’t bother us unless provoked… but then they might maul you to pieces.
A nearby priest cut the boy a glare. “Do not disturb the dead.”
“Nothing but a stranger,” Gregory said with a shrug. “Never seen the man’s face around here. I’m not poking anything that keeps him from wandering once you open the pit. If anything, the dead disturb us.”
“And they will until we destroy this devil.” The priest turned toward the village square, the hem of his black robes swaying about his naked feet as he let his voice shatter through the busy night. “Hear me! Your loved ones shall find no rest until the good people of this realm have helped us capture the King of Flesh and Bone!”
“Grandma said nobody can enter his kingdom, so it’s not like we can drag him out,” Gregory said, which earned him a few nods from idle bystanders and those preparing to open the pit’s gate. “Met a trapper once who works around the Blighted Fields. Said he saw dead beasts go through the Æfen Gate, but never a man, dead or not.”
“Pray to Helfa,” the priest said, stretching his arms to the sky. “Pray that we will capture him soon.”
I scoffed, hooked my arm into Pa’s, and led him up the path toward the house. “As if the priests and temples haven’t tried for… for what? The last hundred years?”
“Longer.” Pa shuffled up the hill, the daub on the walls of our home weatherworn. “The question is, what do you do with a creature of such power?”
I crossed the garden in the direction of the stable beside the house. “Someone once told me he’s been captured before and contained with fire. Said there was a book—”
“Shh…” Pa glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t speak of books this close to the priests. You know how they get with ungodly writings about this devil—”
Bang.
The entire stable shook at the violent kick of iron against wooden boards. Panicked snorts followed, letting my heart match each beat as it all repeated with aggressive fervor.
Bang. Snort. Bang-bang. Snort.
Another kick.
Wood splintered.
My heart clanked against my throat as a hoof shot through a wooden board. Was there no end to this miserable day? I ran toward the stable, cursing the damn mule—that animal couldn’t have chosen a worse day to die.
Pa hurried up behind me. “That damned animal. You should’ve sold him to the butcher, like I said, when the beast refused to get up last week. He’ll tear the entire stable down.”
Should have, could have, would have…
None of it kept John in the ground.
I turned toward the cart. “I’ll get ropes so we can hobble him.”
“The beast will head toward the Blighted Fields the moment you open the stall.”
“Serves me fine since the cemetery lies that way,” I said and grabbed a set of ropes. “At least the stubborn thing will go in the direction I want him to for once. He can rest his bones with the King all he wants, but not before the cart stands on the grave.”
I returned to the stable, stealing nervous glances through the gaps in the wood. “Stand aside.”
The latch quivered in my clasp with each kick and trembled with each whi
“Easy now.” Slow steps carried me to his stall, hands working one end of the rough rope into a catch noose. “You pull that cart for me one more time, and then when they release the corpses, I’ll lead you to the village gate myself.”
He flared his nostrils and pawed at the ground, eyes wide with panic, pupils staring at the open stable door with purpose. His leather harness hung crooked. A strap dangled loose where it must have caught on something before it had ripped.
I swung the rope over the beast’s neck and lowered the noose to the ground where hooves trampled. “It’s too dark, Pa. Open the door wider.”
More moonlight filtered in.
Augustine’s deafening squeal ran gooseflesh across my skin. When the damn thing finally stepped into the noose, I pulled hard and fast, tightening the rope around its pastern. I swung the rope to the other side and prepared a second noose. The mule stepped into that one fairly quickly. Hobbled like this, Augustine kicked with more fervor, and the stable moaned its age beneath the force.
“I’ll bring him out now.” I tied the rest of the rope around the mule’s neck before I climbed the wooden partition and tied the end to the harness.
Pa’s voice filtered in. “You’ll get yourself killed.”
Reins in hand, I led a hobbled Augustine out of the stable, the beast hopping beside me toward the cart. “I won’t let John escape just so some Fletcher brat in another village can carve him to pieces.”
Pa hurried away, tugging on the shafts a moment later. “I’ll turn the cart.”
Augustine reared, the breath coming from his nostrils already so cold it no longer billowed. The reins burned inside the tight grip of my fist. I wouldn’t let go.
“Hardheaded bastard.” I righted the harness before I led the mule to the cart. “Come on now!”
Augustine’s demeanor grew frenzied, whi
He reared once more.
A hind leg slipped.
Augustine staggered.
Leather ripped with a crrk-shk, slapping my cheek like a whiplash. I stumbled back, my shoulder crashing against the mule’s unforgiving rump. Heels sunk into the mud before I slipped.
The ground pulled out from underneath.
Thud!
Pain spread through my skull.
Darkness crept into my vision
Something tugged on my ankle.
“Help! Catch the mule before the beast drags her to death!” Pa’s voice hollered around me, but it soon faded into the clip-clop of shod hooves.
That, and the incessant cries of a babe.