Close to Faenella, Eganene

“Charlie!” Melody screamed, running from the door of their house. It was barely morning and she was still in her nightdress, the woolen material tugging tightly against her legs. Sunlight caught the tops of the pine trees, leaving the house in a pool of shadow. When she was closer and saw her husband’s face, her voice broke, the words an almost meaningless wail, “Charlie! Oh, gods! Charlie!”

Carl wanted to say something, but couldn’t because Melody was throwing herself onto her husband, pulling Charlie from his arms. Unbalanced, he stumbled, falling to his knees. Melody fell with him into the snow, Charlie sliding from his grasp to land upon their legs.

She screamed again, hugging her husband’s unconscious body. The sound echoed through the forest and the morning was silenced by her pain. Nothing moved except for them. She turned her tear-streaked face towards him, her eyes flashing from grief to anger. “By the gods, Carl! What happened?”

He ignored her, struggling to his feet. “Inside. We need to get him inside.” He couldn’t look at her. He was tired, exhausted beyond anything he had ever experienced. How many days? He’s lost count, each one bleeding into the next as if the rising sun and falling moon were sweeping past his vision like a child’s toy.

It’s so hard to stand, he thought. His mind fled to times long past.

He was a child, the flickering lights, the moon and stars whirling across the bedroom wall. His parents had bought him the toy and lit the candle, thinking the spinning toy would soothe him sleep, that he would watch the little sheep leaping over the moon. But Carl had stayed awake, the covers pulled up to his chin, watching until finally the flame died and the wind from the burning candle ceased to blow. Then he crept over and put his fingers through the sheepskin, checking the shapes to make sure no little sheep resided in the skin.

Melody called his name again and he flinched. Sure as sunset, he needed a bed. Now. He caught himself from falling and tried to rise again. Weariness coursed through his veins, the muscles of his shoulders and arms burning. He could feel it. He was spent, moving only out of a stubborn sense of pride. Sweat dripped down his back, soaking his shirt and pooling about his waist to make the fabric rub against his skin. Even the air around him could sense his distress, the waves of heat streaming from his body like some otherworldly fog.

It hurt, but he looked up, feeling his neck strain with the effort. It was involuntary, as though he had heard her call. Not Melody, no. It didn’t take but a moment for his eyes to find her.

She was smaller than he remembered, spindly arms flapping at her sides while her knobby knees poked this way and that. Even her new cloths looked strange, the cloth hanging from her shoulders, a size too large. She was running towards him, her bare feet churning the fresh snow into a cloud.

Carl sighed and pulled his friend up off the ground one last time, shouldering most of the weight as Melody rushed to help. For a moment he worried that his arms would simply give out, that he would drop his dear friend into the snow at his wife’s feet, but he didn’t. His muscles trembled, but held.

“Get the door,” Melody called. Veri spun, a dancer pirouetting, to go back the way she had come.

Carl took a step, putting his weight on a single leg. Charlie’s unconscious bulk pressed down upon him. His own arms were dead weight, the muscles barely responsive. Another step. He had come this far, he couldn’t stop now. Step. Mouth open, panting, he pulled his friend towards the open door. Three more. His thighs burned, the muscles twitching. He held his breath the last few lurching steps. Melody was doing the best she could, but she was already faltering. She was sobbing, the sound was raw and unchecked.

Carl didn’t blame her. Her husband’s face was almost unrecognizable. Burns covered him from scalp to neck, the angry splotches surrounded by dead, white skin. Mucus and pus glued shut his eyes, the flesh around them swollen and red.

And another step. Breathe. He counted each one, but then all of a sudden his hand was on the doorframe and they were pushing the big man through. Cinnamon and sage spiced the air, the smoky house so different from the woods.

It was wonderful. Like the first breath he took after climbing from the tunnel. Heat enveloped him and he staggered. He caught himself against the doorframe and somehow made it to the other room, pulling Charlie onto the bed. He didn’t see the supplies stacked in the kitchen or his wet, muddy footprints on the clean floor. His eyes were riveted to his friend’s chest, desperate to see the soft rise and fall of breath.

“Boiling water,” Melody instructed the girl.

Carl inhaled, his motion mimicking that of his friend. In and Out. It was a better rhythm then he followed to get here. The song in the woods had been a funeral march. This might be something else.

Veri rushed from the room, her face still and calm. He was aware she had not spoken a word, but that wasn’t unusual. Still, he could see the fear in her wide and haunted eyes. She looked like a fawn that had lost its mother.

His next breath caught in his throat and Carl’s fingers twitched involuntarily. It was a nightmare. He hadn’t meant to hurt the child, or Melody, or dear gods, Charlie, but somehow the little girl was the worst. She was just started her life again, just beginning to imagine things could be right. And he would brought Charlie home like this.

Melody cut the clothes from her husband’s body. Silver glinted in the firelight and Carl remembered. It had been almost seven years. The scissors had been a present from Smitty, a gift given to the newlywed couple.

Carl remembered the day, the flowers and the sun, the willful ignorance that everything was going to be fine, that they had their whole lives ahead of them. His friends had drunk sweet wine and pretended the Family didn’t exist, that it had nothing to do with them. Their every dance had been a denial. Their every smile a silent prayer.

Veri brought water. Melody poured it in a bowl, adding spices that she sent the girl to fetch. Charlie was bare-chested, the thick, reddish-brown hair that curled up from his navel and down from his neck covering him like fur. The carpet was interrupted only at his shoulder.

The wound he’d taken was severe. Carl had used tourniquet, but he or Malachi had bumped it out of place. At some point, the rush of blood had abated. It bled lightly now, slowly filling the hole in his friend’s shoulder. Carl watched it drip down his arm to stain the sheets of the bed. He thought to say something and then shut his mouth.

“Get the box from the corner table, Veri. The small one with the flower carved on its top,” Melody directed.

Carl realized that she had stopped crying. White tracks marked her face and her eyes were feverish, a brighter green than he had ever seen before. They looked like moss after a fresh rain. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

She looked at him then, rage emanating from every part of her body, from the tilt of her head to the set of her shoulders. “I’m going to sew him up. By the gods, Carl! How could you have let this happen?”

He didn’t have an answer to her question, no words to make her feel better, nothing to heal her husband. She was staring at him now, expecting him to respond. Her eyes tracked his face while her hands clutched her husband’s calloused fingers.

He looked at his friend’s wounds. “I didn’t know you were a healer.”

She took the box from Veri, who had returned with it. The girl went to the opposite side of the bed and sat down, using a soft, woolen sponge to clean Charlie’s body. Melody was focused on her task. The needle in her hand was cream-colored bone, the long, thin instrument having been lovingly carved and smoothed over the years.

“Where did you get that?”

“Pull off his boots and cut away his pants.”

While Carl worked on his friend’s laces, Melody answered. “It was my grandmother’s. She left it for me when she died. She didn’t have majic, but her mother’s mother was skilled as a healer and she taught me a little. Enough to help the animals when they were injured. I never thought I would need it for something more.”

“You can heal him?” he felt the hope in his voice and was ashamed. He hadn’t believed Charlie would survive the trip back, that they would reach Faenella with his friend bleeding the entire way.

Shame flared in his gut. He didn’t want to think about it, but the thought came anyway. Would he have been relieved if his friend had stopped breathing, if they had been forced to leave him behind as another casualty on the trail home? It had been a close thing. Charlie was a huge man and it had taken every ounce of strength he and Malachi possessed to keep moving.

“It missed the major artery in his arm. I can sew the hole closed, but there’s no telling what’ll happen once I have done that.”

Carl understood. Even if she was able to get him stabilized, his friend might still die. Festering wounds were common enough. Sometimes the only thing left to try was removing the limb. But that wasn’t Charlie’s only wound. He had a bullet in his leg and he had already lost too much blood.

“You know how to amputate?”

She shook her head. “It won’t come to that. Gods, Carl. It can’t come to that!”

He nodded, worry turning his stomach to acid. He needed a drink.

Now there was a thought, “Melody? Do you have any liquor?”

Her green eyes pierced him and he flinched, “I meant...well...I won’t lie. I want it, too. But more importantly, it’s for Charlie. For his wound.”

“I don’t...”

“Kassam told me about it. His people use spirits to cleanse open wounds. He said the liquor invites the gods in, encourages them to help and heal.”

“Kassam is your friend from the west?”

“Yes. They have different practices that we do, but I think we should try it. I trust him.”

“As I trusted you, Carl?”

He flinched again, “I...”

She cut him off, “Veri, bring both clear bottles from the basement.”

Then she turned to him, “Clean his legs. I’ll need to see to the wound there when I’m done.” It took her a few tries to thread the needle, but she did it. When the girl returned, Melody sent her for clean towels. Carl folded them carefully and put them beneath his friend’s injured limbs.

With a small dagger, Melody cut away her husband’s ruined flesh. Carl watched her work, refusing to look at her face, afraid of what he would see.

Blood poured into the sheets. He grabbed one of the bottles of liquor. Uncorking it, he took a quick taste. It was potato vodka, strong and pure. He poured half the bottle onto Charlie’s arm.

With only the smallest tremor, Melody used her fingers to squeeze the skin closed, creating a thin pucker. Using her good hand she started sewing. Each of the stitches left another small hole in her husband’s skin, but slowly the wound closed, leaving only tiny, red dots that continued to bleed. Carl took a fresh towel and handed it to Veri, “Use your weight to lean on this. Don’t move until I tell you.”

She did as he asked, putting pressure on Charlie’s arm. Her little face was scrunched up in concentration, her eyes wide with concern. While Melody restrung the needle, Carl washed the blood from his friend’s leg. The bullet had grazed him, blasting away an inch deep chunk of flesh along his thigh. Thankfully, it hadn’t penetrated deep enough to catch a major vein.

Still, the opening was about three inches long. He worked carefully, removing the bits of cloth and grime that had worked their way deep inside his friend’s flesh. He was glad Charlie was unconscious. The pain would have been tremendous.

Melody was sobbing softly. Her hands were shaking, her trembling fingers making it impossible to rethread the needle. Carl handed her the second bottle, uncorking it with his teeth before he passed it over, “Drink. Go on.”

She tipped it back and took two long swallows. Carl looked to Veri, but the child’s eyes were closed and she was humming, the sound was low and almost soundless. Perhaps she was helping Charlie, like she had helped him with his headaches. He wondered if he should say anything to Melody about it.

No, there was no point in raising her hopes now. Maybe tomorrow. If his friend seemed any better.

Melody was still crying, but the tears slipped down her cheeks silently and her hand was steady. Carl helped her cut away the dead skin once again, using the flat of his hands to push the sides of the wound together. The muscles in his forearms shuddered from the effort, but he did his best.

“Veri, get Carl some blankets,” Melody directed. The girl looked to him and he nodded. The wound on Charlie’s arm had stopped bleeding. They had done the best they could. “Put them there, by the side of the bed.”

Carl lay down gratefully and before his next breath was deep asleep.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Two days,” Melody told him when he woke.

Carl sat up, realizing that someone had stripped him of his outer layers. He was bare chested and his long-johns creaked when he moved, the sweat having set and hardened. “You fixed my arm,” he observed, rotating his shoulder this way and that. The cut he had taken was shallow, his heavy, leather jerkin having stopped some of the damage. Melody hadn’t bothered to sew it, but had cleaned and dressed the wound.

“You feel better?

Carl nodded, “Some. I can’t believe I slept that long. And Charlie?”

“No change.”

Carl looked at his sleeping friend. From where he sat on the floor, he could only see his friend’s face. Melody or Veri had washed and combed his hair. It was slicked back against his head, exposing the red and white burns on his face.

“But no change is good,” she continued, handing him a cup of tea. “Veri seems to think he will recover. She’s been by his side the entire time, poor thing. I’m not sure she’s even slept.”

“Good,” he managed. His mouth was dry and painful. It was difficult to speak. His tongue was thick. The tea was too hot and he swallowed with difficulty, “Water?”

Melody handed him the glass from beside Charlie’s bed, “Here. Take it. We’ve been dribbling a bit down his throat every few hours, but I’m afraid to do more. I don’t want him to choke.” She looked at him critically, the corners of her mouth turned down in a frown, “You know you have blood in your ears.”

“I’ll be fine. My hearing is damaged, but I’ll be all right.”

“Seems like it dried up.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, really. Has anyone else been by?”

Melody shook her head, “No, not to the house. It’s been quiet since you returned. But, Carl, there was someone about while the two of you were gone. I haven’t seen any new tracks in a few days.”

“How many sets?”

“Just the one.”

Carl didn’t like the sound of that, “Can you think of anyone who might have reason to watch your house?”

“No,” she replied, reaching under the bed. She pulled out the gun Carl had left her, “I’ve been careful, though, and I haven’t let the girl outside. I’m not sure if they are interested in what you’re about or if it has something to do with the girl.”

“Either way. I’ll go take a look in a bit.”

Melody made him some pancakes and an enormous helping of bacon. Carl was sure Charlie would wake-up for that, but his friend slept on. Carl ate everything in front of him and left the table unsatisfied. It was no wonder. He couldn’t remember his last meal.

The girl had cleaned his leathers and left them beside the hearth to dry. Despite her efforts, he would have to get new ones soon. The hide was bleached down the legs, the material beneath his knee thin and useless. He put them on anyway, glad for warmth and protection.

His boots were by the door and someone had cleaned the mud and snow they had tracked in. Leaving Melody with the gun, he went into the woods, his hand wrapped around the pommel of his sword. The leather was new and the weapon felt strange in his hand.

The prints Melody described were still there. Carl took his time tracking, feeling the muscles in his body stretch and pull. He was sore, but the movement felt good. Even the chill in the air was welcome. His friend’s house now stank of blood and heat.

He followed the tracks as they swung back and forth about the house. Someone had definitely been watching the home, but today the forest was alive with sound and motion, the woodland creatures moving about, their chitters and calls proclaiming the area safe.

“One man,” he told Melody when he returned. “He was here for a while, though. I think he’ll be back.”

“What does he want?”

“No way to know. I’ll deal with him when he gets here. And Malachi should be coming around in the next few days.”

“You haven’t told me what happened.”

“I’ll let Charlie explain most of it when he wakes up. We got separated, so I don’t know his part of the story.”

“You’ll tell me what you know,” she replied. It wasn’t a request.

She made him more food while he spoke. Veri remained in the bedroom, tending Charlie. He could hear the girl humming, her little voice filling the room with hope. He knew Melody felt it too, but didn’t say anything. It was as though they were holding their collective breath and any interruption might break the spell.

It was late at night when the child finally emerged. She looked drained, her shoulders slumped forward. She looked thinner, too, the little nightdress sliding off her shoulder. But, she was smiling and Carl felt his heartbeat race.

“Is he awake?” Melody asked, her voice cracking.

Veri’s grin widened, her white teeth visible. “And sitting up.”

“Thank the gods,” Melody prayed, running for the bedroom.

When Carl entered, she was sitting on the bed, her arms around her husband. Charlie’s face was as white as the sheets he lay on, but he was indeed sitting up. Carl sat on the other side of the bed and checked his friend’s wounds. Both looked good. There was no telltale discoloration or smell.

“Carl?” Charlie croaked, grabbing his hand, his palm was dry and cool. “We’re back!”

“Yes, my friend.”

“I don’t remember.”

Melody kissed her husband’s cheek, “They carried you, darling.”

Charlie’s eyebrows bunched together, “I don’t…but…you made it back?”

The angry splotches on his friend’s face had dulled a bit, but the burns were still visible. Carl wondered if they would ever heal completely. “We made it, Lie. A close thing, but we made it. Malachi and I may have carried you home, but we didn’t do all of it. Your wife sure is handy with that needle.”

He touched the stitches on Charlie’s arm gently, “No rot. No fever.”

Veri stood at the end of the bed, the curls about her head sticking up in every direction. Charlie’s eyes found her, “Girl?”

Carl answered him. “She hasn’t left your bed since I brought you home. She’s been praying hard for you.”

Charlie winced as he brought his right arm up. He did it anyway, holding his arms open for the child. She rushed to him, her tiny body eclipsed by the big man’s arms. Carl watched him close his eyes and felt another stab of pain. He should not have involved this family. Everyone had something to lose, but they had more than most.

Carl took a breath and said. “Charlie, I’m glad you are awake. I have to go.”

The big man’s eyes tried to focus, “Go?”

“Malachi and I were separated from the others when we fled. We managed to get you back. He left for Faenella to see if anyone else survived.”

“Go,” Charlie managed. Melody handed him a glass of water and he used his good arm to take it. He finished the whole glass and she took it from him.

Carl shook his head. “That’s not all. Melody saw footprints in the woods while we were gone. I went to check them out. It’s one man, but he was out there for a while, Lie. Maybe even for days.”

“Doing what?”

“Watching the house.”

“Take Malachi and Smitty,” Charlie advised. “Jamison should stay here.”

His words didn’t make any sense. Carl put a hand on his friend’s shoulders. The man might have fever or maybe he was just exhausted. “Charlie, Malachi’s in town and I’m not sure where Jamison is.”

Melody took her husband’s hand again and Veri put her hand on his head. “You remember, darling, don’t you? Smitty’s family is gone.”

Charlie exhaled. “Gone? Oh, I…”

His mouth turned down. “Gods, I…yes. I remember. They’re dead. The kids, too.”

“Charlie,” Carl tried again. “I need to look for the others. I need to go to Faenella, but I’m worried about the man in the woods. The one who’s watching your house.”

“What?”

There was color in Charlie’s face closest to where Veri had her hand. The rest of him look wan and far too pale.

“He didn’t do anything,” Carl said. “We think he just watched. And there was no sign of him this afternoon. I think he took off when we arrived.”

“Melody?” Charlie said, concern wrinkling the corners of his eyes as he focused on her.

She shook her head. “I’m fine, darling. When I saw the tracks, I kept the girl inside with me.”

“Good,” he said turning his heavy head to Carl. It was taking all his effort to speak, even with whatever Veri was doing to support him. “Who?” his friend managed.

“I don’t know. Can you think of anyone who knows you were gone?”

Charlie frowned, “No.”

“Unless your lot told someone,” Melody added, turning to Carl. “But if they knew I was here alone, why didn’t he try and get in the house?”

Carl shook his head.

“Maybe because I have a gun?”

“I don’t think so, Melody. Were you carrying the piece on you when you went outside?”

“No.”

“Then they didn’t know.”

Veri got up to get Charlie a glass of water. Carl watched her sit back down carefully, her little fingers arranging the comforter on the bed.

Charlie drank the entire glass and his stomach rumbled loudly.

“Hungry?” Melody asked. Her eyes hadn’t left his face.

Charlie nodded carefully.

Melody and the girl both stood up in tandem. His wife put a hand on her husband’s forehead, “We’ll make you something good. I’ll send the girl with some bread and cheese while you wait.”

When they were gone, Charlie said, “I didn’t remember Smitty. My damn head is swimming.”

“Blood loss,” Carl replied. “It was a near thing, you know. You almost bled out on me.”

Charlie grabbed his hand, “You brought me home.” The big man glanced towards the kitchen, “Nothing else matters.”

Carl looked away, unable to meet his friend’s eyes. The days had been torture. He had thought about dropping him every step of the way.

Charlie seemed to sense his mood and let go of his hand. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m home.”

Carl left his friend and went to help Melody in the kitchen. She was handing Veri a small plate. When she had gone, Carl said, “I need to leave.”

“I know. I’ll be fine. Whoever was in the woods didn’t bother me while Charlie was gone. I don’t see why they’d bother us now.”

Carl grunted, taking the bread Melody was holding and sitting at the table, “You’re probably right. I just wish I knew what they wanted.”

“Me, too.”

“I want you to keep the gun on you at all times,” Carl instructed, finishing the last the bread. He took the leather thong out of his hair and set about rebraiding the length.

“Even when I’m sleeping?”

“Especially then. And it needs to be loaded.”

“I…” she started. Carl watched her expression set, “No, you’re right. I’ll do as you say.”

He didn’t want to worry her, but there was no one else to tell. Charlie might be out of immediate danger as far as his wounds were concerned, but he was far from lucid. And he sure wasn’t about to get up and start patrolling the place.

“Thing is,” he began, “I can’t think of any reason someone would be watching your house. I think they were here waiting for us. For me and Charlie.”

“But…”

“I know it doesn’t make any sense. But if it was just some thieving xia, they would have been in the house and long ago. This man was waiting.”

Melody’s nostrils flared and she took a deep breath, “Someone from town? A Family informant? They were here days before you returned. They didn’t follow you back.”

Carl shrugged, “Possibly. There’s no way to know from the prints. Tomorrow I’ll go into town and ask around about who made it back. I don’t want to leave you, but I need to know.”

She nodded, her face set. “You’ll hurry back?”

“I will. A day or two, no more. And I’ll come back with company.”

At first light, he left the cottage. Melody and Veri were snuggled next to Charlie, their smaller shapes clinging to the large man as though afraid to let him out of their reach. Carl was still tired, but he was feeling better. Rest and good food had done wonders for him, as had Lie’s recovery. He breathed in deeply, feeling the frigid, clean air in his lungs. If the rest of the party had made it back to Faenella, he would sleep easy tonight.

He brought only his sword, the weight strapped to his back. It was a comforting presence. He didn’t plan to be gone long. Once he confirmed that his friends were safe and well, he could get back to Charlie’s.

The town hadn’t changed since he had been gone and that felt wrong. Shops were open and people walked the streets, headed about their lives as though Smitty’s family hadn’t been murdered a week ago. Some of that disgust must have registered on his face, because people he had known for years stepped from his path, unwilling to look him in the eye. Not a single soul greeted him.

He checked Jamison’s building first, but it was closed tight. At Tobius’ barn, a lone stablehand informed him that neither the old man or the son were home and then refused to speak more, leaving Carl to stand on the street as the door was shut in his face. Concern filled him. Had the men not made it back? Were they hiding? Had they been followed from the Facility?

His fingers tingled and he fought the urge to pull his sword. Something was very wrong, but pulling steel in middle of town wasn’t going to lessen the danger. He needed information and he didn’t want to get it at sword point.

The Inn was almost empty when he entered. Two men he didn’t know sat at the bar, the set of their shoulders indicating they had been there some time. Nadine watched him enter, her face expressionless, She disappeared into the kitchen. The Innkeep emerged moments later. He locked eyes with Carl and tilted his head upstairs.

Carl said nothing and mounted the steps. He could hear Nadine’s husband behind him and waited at the top of the stairs.

“Not here,” Willum whispered. “Into the room.”

He did as the man asked, relieved despite himself that it was empty when he entered it. “What’s going on?”

“Where the hell have you been?” his friend asked, rubbing his chin. “There have been Family everywhere since you left.”

“About Smitty?”

“Gods, I don’t know. It isn’t like they talk a lot, the xia. They come in and everyone leaves. It’s bad for business.”

“They ask you anything?”

The Innkeep shook his head. “Not much. General questions mostly. About the town. The area. About the people in the room.”

“They’re looking for someone?”

“Possibly. Although I don’t think they're the same men that did Smitty’s family. I don’t recognize them.”

“How many?”

“Three. A scrawny fellow and two bigger ones.”

“And they’ve been here since we left?”

Willum nodded, “Yeah. They arrived two days later. Everyone thinks they’re here because of the murders, although your name has come up a few times.”

Carl grunted. If the men had been here that long, they weren’t guards from the Facility. “Any new faces since yesterday?”

“No. But Carl, where is everyone else? No one’s been in here.”

“I was hoping you’d tell me. We got split up leaving that place. Malachi and I brought Charlie back to his house. He’s wounded, but he’ll live.”

“Tod.”

“You haven’t seen anyone? Jamison? Tobius?”

Willum shook his head, his hands wringing his dishrag.

That wasn’t good. “What about everyone else? Anyone make any headway on weapons?”

“Not with those xia poking about. I know a few of the younger boys went out to Smitty’s to salvage what they could, but I don’t know that it amounts to much. The men were out there as soon as they arrived, so whatever was left is probably gone by now.”

“No one’s done anything else?”

Willum shook his head and looked at the floor. At least he had the grace to look ashamed. Carl stood up and paced the small room. Four steps in one direction, four steps in the other, again and again and again.

If Willum hadn’t seen anyone, then they’d gone to ground. He already checked their homes, so if they were still alive they were staying with friends. He stopped, considering. “Sally’s still open, isn’t it?”

“Of course, but I don’t think this is…”

Carl shot him a look of disgust. “Gods, man. I’m not a Dog. Her boys were with me. I need to see if Richard’s back.”

“What about Anthony?”

Carl grimaced, shaking his head.

“Who else?” Willum asked, his eyes wide.

“We were split up in the woods. I don’t know what happened after that.”

“But they followed you back?”

The man was scared and Carl hated him for it. The town needed more. They needed men with strength in their souls, men that wouldn’t cower in fear every time the Family came close. How were they supposed to earn their freedom like this?

He met Willum’ eyes. The Innkeep looked away.

Carl sat back on the bed, “No. At least I don’t think so. We had a few on our trail, but Malachi and I were able to pick them off one at a time. Once we got to our woods, it was easier.”

“Wul and Ray save us,” Willum breathed, his voice quavering.

“Look. I have to go. If Malachi or anyone else comes in here, let them know where I am. We need to regroup. Send anyone with a weapon to Sally’s. If we’re going to do anything about Smitty, anything about his dead wife and his dead kids, then we need to do it now.”

Willum nodded. “I will. Come around the back. Nadine and some of the other women were putting something together for you.”

Behind the Inn, Willums’ wife was holding the bridle of a roan mare. The saddle on her back was stacked with several packs, their contents straining the sides.

“What’s this?” Carl asked, putting his hand on the horse’s cheek. The animal’s hot breath puffed into the chill air, fogging the area.

“Supplies and a mount. We thought you’d need both,” she replied. “If you returned.”

“I don’t understand. You think I’m running?”

She took a step closer, her ample chest inches from his own. “You’d better not.” Her eyes were very bright. “It can’t stand, Carl. They killed Smitty’s family and it can’t stand. Not again. We can not do it again.”

“Who?”

“All the women. The whole town. There are new clothes for you. Food. Money. Everything you might need.”

Nadine hesitated. He saw the skin beneath her eye twitch. “Tell me you’re going back,” she said. “That you’re going to finish this. Tell me so that I can tell them.”

Carl didn’t hesitate, “Of course. But I need fresh men, as many as I can find. I can’t do it alone.”

Nadine sighed, her body folding in on itself. “I’ll tell them. Give me three days and they’ll be here.”

“Who’ll be here?”

“The men, our men. Our husbands, brothers and sons.”

Carl couldn’t breath. “How many, Nadine?”

“As many as we can. Maybe fifteen. Maybe twenty-five. We’re trying.”

Carl thought quickly. With twenty-five men they would have a real chance. “All right, but tell them to meet me at Sally’s. I don’t want us grouping in town. Not with those xia hanging about.”

“OK.”

“I’m going to head over her place now to fill her in. Three days at dawn, Nadine. And if anything goes wrong, send word to Charlie’s. I’m going to be there until we leave.”

She kissed his cheek, just a brush of her lips, “Gods be with you.”

“And with you.”