At the edge of the forest, where the march of pines halted suddenly at the gentle slope of Brokeneck Beach, Ever Oaks stopped to remove the light coat she had put on to fight the morning's chill. The sun had grown hot, and the woolen bodice of her dress was already damp with sweat. The Northeast Kingdom was beautiful in the Month of Gold and Ever loved the crisp weather that usually accompanied it, but this year the summer heat of Bounty Month and Harvest Month lingered. The weather could not seem to decide what it wanted to do, which was a problem when the majority of your clothing was made of wool.
Ever stuffed the coat into her already heavy satchel and slung it back over her shoulder. Brushing a stray pine needle off of her apron, she stepped down onto the rocky scree at the top of the beach and carefully began making her way down. It was low tide and several minutes' walk to the water line, where green waves lapped gently at Brokeneck's dark gravel surface.
The rocks at the head of the beach, a tumble of small granite boulders whose configuration changed with the tides, were not easy to navigate in a skirt, but Ever made a fine job of it until the screaming started. Her breath catching, she teetered precariously between two rocks, one foot in mid-step, and just managed to drop down onto a flat stone a few feet away without falling over. Ever froze, crouching behind the larger of the two rocks, and listened until the sound came again. When it did it was louder, a screeching noise halfway between a yelp and a gobble.
The sharp tension that had formed in her shoulders and her chest relaxed when she realized it wasn't a person but an animal, and not far off from where she stood. Silently rebuking herself for being so girlish, she traversed the remaining rocks and hopped down onto the rough sand a few minutes later.
Why was she so jumpy? The fact that she had left the village without an escort was hardly a big enough infraction that she should startle like a toddling child at every noise. A healer had to have a strong constitution, Sister Hales had once told her, and Ever agreed. She had sown arrow wounds and helped bring babies into the world through cuts in their mother's bellies. It wouldn't do to let loud noises faze her, or worry so much about a walk in the woods.
The screech-gobbling continued, and Ever turned left, looking North up the beach. She had come out of the woods on the south side of a small point, where the beach stuck out slightly into the sparkling green chop of Marvel Sound.
She paused for a moment to catch her breath and enjoy the cool air blowing in off the ocean water. Nerves or no nerves, she was glad to be away from Bountiful this morning. The entire community was buzzing like honey bees in a hive over the upcoming return of the Haglund Mission, and every pair of idle hands was being put to work doing whatever was necessary. Ever was hardly a stranger to hard work, but the Women's Society would expect her to spend every moment she had free from the infirmary baking cakes, decorating halls, and sewing party clothes for the welcome feast.
It wasn't that she resented having to do women's work, or so she told herself, but she did try to give her primary duties priority, and it had been over a month since she had last visited Elder Barrus.
She looked to the right, where the old wooden dock was just visible down the beach near the remains of the ancient causeway, then to the left, where the sound seemed to be coming from. It was only a few minutes out of her way to round the point and find whatever creature was making the awful noise. Whatever it was, it was obviously in pain. She hesitated only a moment before walking left, up the beach, around the rocky point of land.
The view northward was excellent: the broad water of Marvel Sound stretched between the peninsula where Bountiful sat and the long island known as Golden Neck. It was mid-autumn, and the old trees on the Neck were at their most beautiful: the island was a riot of crimson and orange and gold. An old memory suddenly came to her, and Ever found herself recalling a trip to that very beach with her father many years before. She couldn't have been more than—what, eight years old? It must have been around this time of year. They were searching for smooth rocks of similar size and loading them into a wheelbarrow; her father was going to use them to rebuild their cabin's crumbling chimney.
Is it called Golden Neck because of the leaves, Papa? That sounds like a good reason to me, dearest, her father said. But is that why the Old People called it that, Papa? she asked. Her father bent over to heave a rock into the wheelbarrow, then stood, massaging his lower back with his thumbs, and looked at the island. I don't rightly know what the Old People called it, dearest. But I remember my greatfather telling me that in his greatfather's time, before the Fall, lords and ladies of the Old People lived there. You can still find some of the foundations of their palaces out there in the woods.
And were the palaces made of gold, Papa? Her father had smiled. Maybe so, dearest. But they certainly had a lot they didn't rightly need, and when the first Blessed arrived here after the Fall they named the place Golden, after the god those people worshipped. And so we see what happens to those who disobey the First Commandment.
What, Papa? Ever had asked. Her father narrowed his eyes and drew close to her ear. The trees devour them! he whispered, and tickled her belly suddenly. Ever had rolled in the sand and laughed until she could hardly breathe.
Ever stopped, her sturdy shoes sinking into the wet sand. She had wandered toward the water line in her reverie. Her father had never finished the chimney, she remembered now. Less than two weeks later he and her mother were both dead, murdered in their cabin by Marmacks. Ever licked her lips and started walking again. With an effort, she put aside the memory and returned to the task at hand. It had taken her years to learn to control the images, the sudden, vivid recollections that were all but waking dreams. She would not let them take back control now.
She found the bird lying in the shade of one of the huge immobile boulders that dotted the middle of Brokeneck Beach, flapping its glossy wings in a futile attempt to take off. It screeched again as she approached it, one glassy eye focused on her, thick, scaly legs clawing desperately at the sand.
Ever cooed quietly at it, met its eye, and slowly folded her apron under her knees to kneel down as close as it would allow. She hummed a little and brushed the nearest, long primary feather with her fingers, gently. The bird tensed, fluttered nervously for a moment, and then seemed to relax, folding its wings onto its body and waiting.
She thought it was a young male from the color of its feathers, but it was hard to tell. It looked injured and generally unhealthy, and as she stroked it the bird rolled slightly to reveal a dark stain on its breast. As it lifted the wound off the sand Ever wrinkled her nose at the unmistakable smell of rot.
She rolled the animal over gently and saw that its other leg ended in an awkward club. It had two eyes on one side of its head, both milky white and useless. Only the eye pointed at Ever looked functional. Its beak was strangely twisted. One of the Damned, then—a poor, twisted victim of the Fall.
Many in Bountiful thought all of the Damned were inherently evil, but Ever couldn't help but pity them. There were even human Damned—crazed, rotting creatures that subsisted on whatever raw flesh they could find, truly dangerous only to those stupid enough to be caught alone and unarmed in a group of them. For every one that was fast and strong there were three who were stunted, slow, or crippled. But even they had some scrap of awareness buried in their twisted minds. Even they deserved pity.
And animals that suffered from it? Even more so, in Ever's mind; the Adversary had infected them almost as an afterthought, it seemed to her, innocent creatures with no knowledge of right and wrong.
As she thought this she continued to stroke the poult's rippling feathers, easing its wings against its body when it startled and making soft shushing noises to comfort it. She thought of how much the creature had suffered, how long it must have lain on this beach in pain. She saw the ragged edges of the wound and knew it had been attacked by something small and vicious, some cowardly scavenger only brave enough to attack it because it was lame.
Ever felt her palms grow warm, the soft-edged, comforting heat that soothed; she felt the crackling sensation grow, the same pent-up energy that children goosed each other with after rubbing their woolen socks on woolen blankets, the popping, cracking power....
The turkey was entranced, now, lulled by Ever's hands, and as she pressed her palms onto its breast she heard a hurried shout from behind her. She straightened up, as startled as the bird, and got to her feet awkwardly, nearly tripping on her apron as she twisted to look behind her. Even as she moved she heard a sharp whistling followed by a soft thud and the poult's frightened squawking cut off abruptly.
She had felt the wind of the arrow; it had missed her by less than two feet. It was lodged now firmly in the turkey's breast. The long, wrinkled neck was slumped on the ground, and the young tom's milky, mutated eyes stared up at her, dead.
She turned at the scrape of a boot heel on stone, where the archer was making his way down to her from the woods.
Jared Meacham was seventeen, one year her junior, and a close friend of Erlan Ballard. He treated her respectfully but there was something about him that made Ever want to avoid him. Which was difficult, since Erlan and his father kept sending Jared after her when she went outside the walls.
"Sister Oaks," said Jared, stepping down onto the sand and gravel and slinging his bow over his shoulder. The bow was one of Elder Blackham's new recurves, a single, sinuous piece of polished maple that shone beautifully in the midday sun. Next they'll be giving him a rifle, Ever thought. There was something about the way he held himself—the cant of his neck, the look in his eyes—that made her dislike him. "You left the community without an escort again. Erlan asked me to look after you."
"I'll thank you to not shoot arrows in my direction, Brother Meacham. I doubt very much that Erlan would like you endangering the life of his betrothed." Now that Ever had had a few moments to think about it, the near miss with the arrow had scared her. Jared's sudden presence there scared her.
"You were never in any danger," Jared said flatly. "I've taken the winner's garland in Archery in the Harvest games two years running."
Imperious, Ever thought. That's why I don't like him. He's imperious. He acts like everyone should naturally want to obey him.
As if in direct contradiction to her thoughts, Jared grinned.
"It was a good shot, you have to admit," he said. He looked like a little boy who'd caught his first fish. Ever felt herself frowning.
The meaning of something he said suddenly occurred to her.
"Have you been following me, Jared?" Ever asked.
"I caught up with you shortly after you left Bountiful," Jared replied, as if this should have been obvious.
"You stalked me through the woods?" Ever was more than a little shocked, both at Erlan's presumption and her own failure to detect him. She was considered to have good woodcraft, for a woman.
"Calm yourself, Sister Oaks," said Jared. "I was only following Erlan's instructions. Erlan knows you don't like being escorted, but the Council has declared that all unmarried females now require an escort to travel outside the walls. He only wanted to"—here Jared seemed to search for the right words—"preserve your illusion of privacy."
The various ways Ever would have liked to respond to this statement roiled in her brain like the sea in storm. Preserve my illusion of privacy? Who do they think they are? And why only "unmarried females"? Do they think I'm out here having some apostate tryst? With an effort that was almost certainly visible to Jared, Ever took control of her emotions and responded with as much decorum as she could muster.
"My person and my...virtue...are quite safe less than a mile from home, Elder Meacham," said Ever. Jared tried to interrupt, but she spoke right over him. "However, if the Elders require it, then I will obey." Obedience was a virtue among the Blessed; sometimes Ever thought that the Elders thought obedience was the only virtue that really mattered for women.
"That still doesn't excuse you nearly skewering me," Ever finished.
"Impetuousness doesn't become you, Sister," said Jared, squatting down to look at the dead turkey. Ever resisted the temptation to push his face into the rough, wet sand. She did not sound impetuous.
"What were you doing with this animal?" he asked.
"I was about to try to heal it," she said, "until your arrow made that impossible."
Jared looked up at her from his crouch, and for the first time since his face expressed something other than arrogance. He looked confused.
"But it's Damned," said Jared, gesturing at the bird's twisted beak. The poult's milky mutant eyes stared up at them. Ever shivered.
"So?" she said. "I might have been able to—"
"To what?" Jared interrupted. His imperious expression was back. "Heal it? Fix it?" He stood up abruptly, brushing sand and gravel off of the padded knees of his hunting breeches. "Even Saints can't heal the Damned, Sister Oaks. If it was God's will that this animal not be Damned, it wouldn't be Damned. But as we can clearly see, it is."
He folded his arms across his chest and looked at her, his dark eyes serious.
"You should be more careful," Jared said. "This thing could have attacked you. And you were touching it. I got here just in time."
"It's a turkey, Jared," Ever said. "And it was in pain. It wasn't going to hurt anyone."
"Then I spared it suffering," he said. "But it doesn't matter what looks like. It's a creature of the Devil." Jared squinted for a moment as if he were in pain, then looked at her again, pleadingly this time.
"I'm a hunter, Ever," Jared said. "Even the meekest Damned can be vicious. Even dead they can be dangerous. This arrow's useless." He made no move to retrieve it. Ever waited until he looked away and rolled her eyes.
"What are you doing out here, anyway?" he asked. Ever collected her satchel, which had tumbled to the ground when Jared surprised her, said a silent prayer for the dead bird, and started walking back the way she had come.
"I was on my way to see Elder Barrus," she said. "The Society sent me to check in on him. His heart gets weaker every year." Elder Barrus was a surly old loner who refused the safety of Bountiful's walls, preferring instead to live by himself in the thick woods of Golden Neck. He turned out for church meetings and the occasional funeral, but otherwise they rarely saw him. He subsisted on what fish and fowl he could catch on the Neck. He had already been very old when Ever was a girl; now he was downright ancient. He never asked for anything, but the women of the Society cared for the well-being of all the Blessed of Bountiful, even the ones who made it difficult.
"Something tells me they didn't intend for you to go all by yourself," Jared said, jogging a little to keep up with Ever. She realized she was walking very fast and made an effort to slow down. It wasn't Jared's fault that her overzealous husband-to-be had dispatched him to follow her. There was no reason to punish him for it. No good reason, anyway.
"They trust me to know my own business," Ever said. If she was short, well, she was still getting over the fright Jared had given her, wasn't she?
"I'm sure they do," Jared said. Ever cut her eyes at him sharply, searching for signs that he was mocking her, but Jared kept his eyes straight ahead.
They reached the old jetty a few minutes later. It was early enough in the season that the small rowboat was still tied to the dock. It bobbed at the end of it, wood clunking hollowly against wood. Ever found the sound comforting. She tossed her satchel into the bow and hopped gamely in after it. She bent over to untie the aft lashing and stopped. Jared was still standing on the dock.
"Are you coming?" she asked him. He looked down at her uncertainly.
"We should go back," he said. "It's getting late."
Ever looked at him incredulously.
"It's barely past noon," she said.
"There's a storm coming," Jared said.
Ever made an exasperated noise. "So?"
"Look there," he said, pointing south. Past the ruins of the causeway, where Marvel Sound met the ocean, she could see a dark smudge of storm clouds near the horizon. They hung like a bruise in the distance. "It's moving this way. We don't want to get caught out in it."
"A little rain never hurt anyone," Ever said. Given the sweat-sodden state of her clothing, a little rain would not go amiss. "Look, you can wait for me here if you want. I'll be fine. It's an island, after all. And Elder Barrus isn't that unpleasant." She continued working at the knot, got it loose, and then moved to the forward lashing. Jared jumped in just as the little boat's stern began swinging out into the water. Ever gripped the gunwales to keep herself upright and glared at him.
"If you're coming," she said,adjusting her apron as she sat on the forward bench, "then you can row."
Thanks for reading! Look for Chapter 2 tomorrow!
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