Juddken strode through the high-arched halls of the Manor, eager to work with his father. Boah had held meetings every few nights, and although Juddken was rarely out of the loop, he had yet to sit in on any. Boah’s trust in others diminished since the riot, however. He had already banned those he perceived to not be devout enough, which unfortunately culled what little competency he had left. Even if summoned to fill a role, Juddken would be happy to fulfill it.

The more Juddken thought about it, the more ecstatic he became. The voices had dimmed since he sacrificed that useless guard the night before, and he had access to the three others trapped underground. It was the most lucid he had felt since the plague began. Today, he would be a worthwhile contributor to his father’s demands, even if he could only listen.

Juddken pushed through the thick double doors of the meeting hall. The room was a complete mess, its long table covered in a multitude of religious and economic scrolls. Piles of coin and grain and blankets and water and whatever else deemed necessary for survival littered around in various piles. It was a strange room to see his father inhabit, considering how prudish he had always been about organization.

Boah sat at the end of the table, his hands clasped around his head. He quickly readjusted himself as Juddken entered the room. It was for only a fleeting moment, but Boah seemed troubled. Juddken noticed a pained expression that he had never seen on his father’s face.

“Ah,” Boah stuttered. “You’re early.”

“Guh,” Juddken spat.

“Take a seat. The others will be here soon.” Juddken obeyed. He watched his father pore over the scrolls as if analyzing some secret code, but he could not hide the anguish he had just displayed.

“He could be hearing Okkan too,” Juddken thought. His voices had died to a dull whisper now, but he knew how overwhelming they could be at their worst. It was very possible that Okkan’s love was too much for Boah. Even the strongest had their breaking points.

The arrival of the others interrupted the stilted silence. Harran and Thed led the congregation, followed by Eanna and another guard.

“Greetings, Juddken,” announced Harran. “It’s good to see you at the table. Your father and I wanted you here, but your expeditions outside always took precedence. Again, we thank you for all that you have done to assist us thus far.”

Juddken nodded. Harran was a bootlicker, but hearing praise never hurt.

“Out of formality, let me introduce everyone,” Harran gestured to the side. “I believe you’re well acquainted with Thed Damu. He distinguished himself during the purging of the Ati followers, if you were not aware of it yet.” Thed’s earsplitting grin stretched, repressing his usual giggle. “You also know Eanna Korskif, our invaluable caregiver during these harsh times.” Juddken had always known of her but became more familiar with her indirectly, as many of his sacrifices had come to her over the last few weeks. She rarely looked him in the eyes now.

Harran continued his introductions. “You may not have had the chance to meet the current head of the Corps, Miss Kivi Vilken. She helped with much of our logistics in the last week, besides her usual duties.” As Juddken looked over Vilken, he found himself unimpressed. A thin brown-haired woman in her thirties who seemed to wear a permanent frown, Vilken reminded Juddken of Mendalla. She gave a brief salutation.

“Thank you,” said Boah in a tired voice. “Let’s not waste time. Vilken, last time we spoke, you were to give us an update on the grain.”

Vilken sighed. “We have three and a half sacs remaining. At our last meeting, I estimated they would last us through the week if we diminish rations. However, that was before yesterday’s incident; the headcount I conducted yesterday showed that there are seventy-two of us left. If we move to one meal a day like I suggested, we could extend that to ten.”

“Only ten?” asked Boah.

“That’s including the prisoners, Urash, and his mercenaries. If we don’t feed them… could stretch us to two weeks.”

“I don’t understand,” asked Harran. “The grain was supposed to last six months. Can we not just go back to the walls and get more?”

“I observed the walls yesterday after the Ati followers fled,” answered Vilken. “Completely infested with screamers now.”

“But that doesn’t mean we don’t have the grain,” countered Harran. “Can’t we just send a scouting party and clear it out?”

Vilken shook her head. “The screamers get us any time we send one of ours into an infested building. We lose all advantage in close quarters. Since there are barely twenty-five of us left, we can’t risk losing anymore.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Vilken is right,” said Boah. “Any more unnecessary deaths and we risk allowing Zaman to make a move. We know the screamers disperse with time. Maybe we can monitor them and see if they clear out? We can work with rations until then.”

“I, um…” Vilken pondered over her words before sighing again. “We can do that, sure.”

“Your number is inaccurate,” interrupted Eanna. “It should be sixty-eight. There was an old trader who died in his sleep last night, besides the insubordinate gatekeeper that was flayed last night. Not to mention the mercenary and the missing guard.” Eanna looked gently over at Juddken as she finished. He had forgotten that he killed the mercenary, but how would she have known that he had killed the guard?

“As far as we know, Musub hasn’t left the Manor, but there was no one manning it last night,” admitted Vilken. “I suppose he could have gone over the side, but… we’re still looking for him.”

“You won’t find him,” continued Eanna, keeping her gaze trained on Juddken. Suddenly the whispering voices became audible once again. He imagined her head without a scalp.

“ bitch b i t c h BITCHbitch b i t c h ”

“We’ll keep those names in mind,” interrupted Boah. “As it stands, fewer mouths means more food for the rest. We should focus our efforts on the faithful and the loyal.”

“Agreed,” said Harran. “I believe this veers well into our next topic. Vilken, what of the faithful?”

“Morale remains spirited, considering everything,” Vilken admitted. “They understand they have to endure hardship… But with further prayer and further guidance, they will continue to follow.”

Boah listened attentively and nodded. “Thank you. Everyone here should keep this in mind. Any further updates of vital importance?” There was no response. “Very well. You are all dismissed. I will need time to prepare my morning prayer.”

As the others stood, Harran remained in his seat. “If it’s okay with you, I request to speak with you alone, provided the others don’t mind.”

Boah waved his hand, dismissing the table. As they funneled out, Boah put his hand on Juddken, halting his rise from the table.

As the doors shut, Harran sighed. “It’s disappointing seeing this room so empty.”

“What do you wish to discuss?” Boah commanded, determined to move on.

“I have known you for many decades, ever since you were a boy. I hope you don’t mind me speaking frankly with you.”

“Depends on what you wish to be frank about.”

“The food shortage is real. You and I know this. We know the two weeks is a kind estimate. The people are loyal, yes. But once the grain is gone, how long will their loyalty last? Where will they direct their anger once their bellies ache?”

“You speak as if we don’t have a plan. We've had a setback. In time, we will send others out to the wall to resupply grain. Besides, where else will they go? As long as there is running water and we hold our promises from here on out, they'll fall in line.”

Harran listened but smiled uncomfortably. “A rational thought. But it won’t be long before they lose what little they have. Even if we do what you say, what then? We’re waiting for a patrol, but reports suggest that the horde outside the walls has only grown in size. What if it never comes?”

Boah flexed his neck but quickly recomposed himself. “Your point being?”

“It’s time we discuss alternatives… like the tunnel.”

“The tunnel? What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb. You’re not the only one with spies. You don’t think I don’t notice where you’ve all disappeared to, or where we’ve kept all those prisoners? It doesn’t take a scholar to see that you’ve been keeping Urash alive for a reason.”

Boah remained silent, giving Harran space to continue speaking.

“I don’t blame you. I would have done the same. But I also have to think about myself. I only suggest that whatever you’re doing down there… You should hasten it. It won’t be long before things get worse. If there is a tunnel, I intend on joining.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Boah replied. “And if I did, you would be the first I’d tell of it.”

“I wish you’d be smarter than that.” Harran rose from his seat, turning to leave before being dismissed. “I hope you reconsider what you know, otherwise the others may ask questions as well. Food for thought…”

As Harran exited the room, Juddken watched his father. His eyes quivered in anger, pushing his lips together. Juddken couldn't believe it. Harran was Boah’s most loyal follower, his closest friend. Yet here he was, undermining Boah’s authority.

“With but a word, father, I would show him the tunnel,” Juddken thought. “Let me take him to the Temple. Let Okkan decide whether he is worthy of escape.”

Juddken waited patiently, but no order came. Instead, Boah’s face drooped, as if he had been holding it together by a thread. He brought his hands to the side of his face, obscuring his eyes. It seemed as if Boah was wiping away tears.

It was an unnatural sight. Juddken had never seen his father cry.

“I don’t… know what to do,” Boah mumbled, cradling his head in his hands. “When will it all end?”

Juddken sat still, watching his father’s composure gradually dissipate into nothing.

“I’m utterly lost. I keep waiting for a sign, a way out of all this. But everything keeps getting worse. In an hour, I must give a speech, knowing for a fact that every word that comes out of my mouth will be a lie. They’re starting to sense it. They’re learning what I tell myself every night.”

Boah, firmly in the middle of his ranting, stared at his son. His eyes were red, welling with tears. “You… You’re the only one I trust… You’re different from me, and I struggled to make sense of that for years. But now I can see… you have your merit.”

Juddken slowly rose from his seat, walked over to his father, and put his arm around his shoulder. Boah, still seated, grabbed his son’s waist and sobbed into his side.

At another time, Juddken would have perhaps reveled in the moment. But now? Of all times? This was an empty gesture. No conduit would be so weak or so vulnerable. He now understood why his father could repress the voices so well: he had never heard them.

In the silent room, the whispering voices gradually returned to full prominence. Through the sobbing of Boah, Juddken’s thoughts instead turned to Eanna. The miserable caregiver who did little except undermine others and threaten everyone’s position. People believed she was a witch, after all. No one would miss her.

Someone would have to do Okkan’s bidding.