Broken Angel (14 page)

TWENTY-NINE

C
aitlyn watched through the branches from fifty yards away as townspeople followed a drummer and the local Elders across the bridge. The Elders wore silent grimness like cloaks, their bearded faces straining with the seriousness of their task, but their bold vestments gleamed in the sun. A young woman, not yet thirty, walked in front of the Elders on the far side of the drummer, and it took several minutes for Caitlyn to see her without obstruction. The woman was draped in a brown girdled blanket, her hands bound and hanging in front, and her recently shaven head bowed. The church herald, sweating heavily in a tasseled cassock often worn for these ceremonies, stepped in front of the men and children in the crowd. Caitlyn knew they were all headed for the pile of fist-sized jagged rocks piled like a cairn.

Above the beat of the drum, the herald called out a singsong proclamation of ritual, as if he served an audience of hundreds instead of only the population of a tiny town. Caitlyn strained to hear him, but after he repeated the proclamation, she picked out his words.

“Jaala Branigan, daughter of Michael Branigan, is going to be stoned because she has dishonored him and Bar Elohim through the act of rebellion. If anyone knows anything in favor of her acquittal, let him come and plead it.”

The herald stopped and the entire procession followed, with the children straining to peer around the larger bodies of the adults. The herald turned to face the woman with the shaved head.

“Make your confession,” he commanded her. Caitlyn knew a formal confession was required by Appalachian law, a practice the preachers said was based on Old Testament law.

She could see that the woman raised her head and looked at the herald. She had folded her bound hands together. From what Caitlyn could tell, she had the build of a laborer. Caitlyn imagined that any beauty Jaala had was in her eyes and wondered what lights glowed there now in the face of such terror.

“Make your confession,” the herald demanded again. While Caitlyn had never witnessed this type of execution, her father had taught her all about Bar Elohim’s rules and punishment. The woman was supposed to say, “May my death be an atonement for all my sins.”

Caitlyn watched as Jaala silently shook her shaved head.

Wanting guidance, the herald looked to the town Elders, who stood away from the crowd to his left.

“Let her die without peace then!” An Elder declared this to the crowd. He was the largest of the trio, with the face above his untrimmed beard flushed red.

He waved the townsmen to move forward and push the woman toward the pile of stones. They grabbed the woman’s arms and forced her forward. She shook them off and walked alone to her place of execution.

Caitlyn silently moved a branch to see Jaala. Now that the woman was close enough, she saw the tears trail from her eyes and her large hands clench and strain at the bounds of rope.

The Elders still had not taken any rocks from the nearby pile. Instead, two of them marched toward the woman. Wordlessly, they stripped the brown tunic from her body and left it at her feet. Because of the watching children, they allowed her undergarments to remain in place. The renewed humiliation appeared to lower her head once more.

The two Elders returned to the group. The first spoke loudly, facing another man in the crowd. “This is your daughter, Michael. You are bound to throw the first stone.”

This man, same square face as the woman, stood as if paralyzed.

The large spokesman Elder began reciting. “If a man have a stubborn and rebellious son, which will not obey the voice of his father or the voice of his mother…then shall his father and his mother lay hold on him, and bring him out unto the elders of his city…and all the men of his city shall stone him with stones, that he die.”

“She will obey!” the anguished father said. “I promise! Give her another chance.”

Caitlyn thought she saw the Elder smile, as if waiting for this response from Michael. He turned to the young woman. “Jaala Branigan, will you give up your defiance? Will you stop serving the evil of the Clan?”

“Don’t call the Clan evil.”

“So you admit again that you are part of the Clan?”

“I have never denied it.” The unexpected sound of joy replaced the remnants of fear in her voice.

“Will you tell the authorities who led you to the Clan?”

She didn’t answer.

“Please, Jaala. Save your life.” The woman’s father sobbed now.

“And lose my soul?”

The large Elder was the first man to step to the pile of rocks. The other men followed and armed themselves.

At that moment, wind came up from the valley and kicked a cloud of dust over the bridge. Caitlyn thought she heard a branch crack and thought Billy might be shifting in his tree. Somewhere in the crowd, a voice wailed.

The group waited for Michael Branigan, her father. Caitlyn knew the stoning could not begin until he threw first, but he remained stone-still in place. Men returned to drag him forward. The spokesman Elder forced a rock into Branigan’s hand.

He dropped it at his feet, weeping.

“As required by law, the first stone has been cast.” The Elder hefted his own rock, only a few paces away from the young woman.

“No!” she cried. “Allow me to speak.”

The men hesitated.

With both bound hands, she raised her arms above her head. “Since childhood, like you, I was told to serve the church. But I learned that God is different than the church.”

The Elder spoke. “You had your chance. You have no say.”

She ignored him and yelled to the crowd. “The church is a prison!”

“Enough!” The Elder hurled his rock, and it struck her upper arm, gashing a streak of bright red.

Caitlyn saw the woman’s father fall to his knees and bury his head beneath his arms.

“We must be free to believe.” Jaala continued her shouting as the stones were hurled. “God’s love is not a prison.”

“You blaspheme, woman! God has commanded us to purge this evil from the people,” the Elder shouted. He lifted another rock and threw it. The woman chose not to duck; she stood very still, and Caitlyn thought her lips were moving as the stone hit her cheekbone, knocking her to her knees.

As all the other men threw rocks, Caitlyn turned away.

On the road, the body was still beneath a pile of stones.

The crowd was gone, and Caitlyn put an arm around Theo’s narrow shoulders. She felt how he shook with sobs, fighting to keep them silent.

“Don’t…” He could hardly speak.

“What?”

“No…matter…what…”

“What are you trying to say, Theo?”

“Don’t…take…me…to…a…doctor.” His shaking was rapidly becoming more than silent sobs.

“Theo?”

“The stoning. That’s how my parents died. I had to throw the first rock. I’d…rather…be…dead…than…go…back.”

He fell against her shoulder. She saw his eyes roll back into his head.

Caitlyn gently took his chin in her hand. “Theo! Wake up!”

No response.

THIRTY

P
ierce had rolled up an office chair to watch the computer screen in Carney’s office.

The keyboard didn’t have any lettering but icons that matched the icons on the screen. Carney was fast, using the keyboard to open various files by punching the keyboard icons or directing the programs with the computer mouse. Occasionally, the computer requested input, which Carney did orally, speaking in a slow measured voice that the software obviously had been trained to recognize, for there were very few mistakes. Information was delivered in a soothing female voice from the computer speakers. Pierce marveled that all of it could be accomplished without any reading or writing.

“I’ve been in Appalachia for long enough,” Pierce said. “All I see are contradictions. It’s like living in Mayberry.”

Carney’s frown showed he didn’t understand.

“A fictional town, part of a popular television series from the last century,” Pierce corrected himself. “But, Sheriff, Mayberry had cars. You’ve gone even farther back in time, to horses and wagons. Yet you have as much tech as Outside.”

Carney clicked on another icon. Pierce wasn’t familiar with it. He realized that Appalachians did have an alphabet of sorts, like Egyptian hieroglyphics or Chinese characters.

“So why mix horses with high tech? Mayberry meets Star Trek?”

Carney sighed. He pulled out his vidpod. Pierce understood the sheriff was making it obvious again that the conversation was on official record.

“I don’t know what Star Trek is. I do know that Outsiders are slaves to technology, whereas Appalachians pick and choose. We’re a small country; we don’t need highways. And Greenhouse credits from the Outside make up a third of our exports.”

“Along with slave labor churning out computer chips.”

“I’m supposed to comment on that?”

“Probably not.” Pierce glanced at the vidpod. “Fine. I’ll shut up.”

Carney clicked at the keyboard again, then turned suddenly toward Pierce. “That’s why secession has worked. Outside minds its own business. We mind ours. We prefer not to murder unborn children. Or genetically manipulate embryos.”

“I said I’ll shut up already.”

Carney swung back to his computer screen. He clicked another icon on the keyboard. “Got it. The personal identification number on the vidpod that was moving around near the horse's location last night near the stable. Movement matches where we found the abandoned livery horse too.”

The female computer voice gave Carney a name. Paul Gentry.

“It’s one of Mason’s men. They don’t have to answer to local enforcement. Now we know who was out after curfew.”

“Mason helped your girl and the deputy escape?”

“Don’t think so.” Carney pointed at the computer screen. “Mason’s vidpod shows he went to a nearby factory, then to his cabin in the hills. He’s probably up there poaching deer.”

“You’re not curious about the side trip to the factory he took before that?”

“Nope,” Carney said, but Pierce watched him nod while he pointed at his vidpod. Carney was curious. But didn’t want that on record.

“I am,” Pierce said. “So take me there.”

“Well, it’s your call. Let me take care of sending a message.”

The sheriff held his vidpod at arm’s length and spoke into it. “Steve, I need some help here. I’ve been tracking the vidpod movements of Paul Gentry, one of Mason Lee’s men. Looks like he’s at home now. But his horse went somewhere without him. Stop by, will you? Get him to tell you what happened last night, then send the interview to my vidpod. Sooner is better than later; you know I’m good for returning the favor.”

Carney stopped speaking. He ran his fingers across the vidpod screen. “Done and sent. I guess we can go.”

Pierce stood and rolled the chair back away from Carney’s desk. “Let’s go by car this time. I didn’t like the horse much.”

In truth, he could take or leave the horse. But he, unlike Carney, knew that Mason Lee wasn’t really poaching in the woods, and having efficient transportation if quick pursuit became necessary wasn’t a choice.

THIRTY-ONE

W
hen Caitlyn limped back to Billy and Theo, she was carrying an armful of long, cone-headed purple flowers. They’d found the canoe, as instructed, waiting under the bridge, then traveled a mile downstream and pulled ashore to hide the canoe.

“I wanted to do this sooner for Theo, but there was never time for me to collect the flowers. I’d hoped things wouldn’t get this bad so quickly.”

Theo lay on the grass unconscious, his head propped by a pillow made from his coat, his face flushed with fever. His arm and shoulder were exposed, and the purple swelling was ominous, with pus oozing from where he’d cut himself open to remove the chip. Caitlyn set the flowers down beside Theo, whose eyes were closed, fluttering behind the eyelids.

Billy sat cross-legged beside the flowers, and with quick, dexterous movements—unnaturally so, considering his massive hands—he began to strip the flowers and stems.

“You’ve done this before.” Caitlyn kept her hands hidden. If he was going to do this, she wouldn’t have to let him see her fingers.

“My grandmother showed me, before she passed on and I was adopted. I didn’t know what you meant when you said needed to find etcha…echo…echy—”

“Echinacea,” she said. Her cloak was hot and she knew it was growing damp with sweat, but she needed to keep it loosely around her to hide her deformed back from Billy.

“Grams called it purple coneflower.” He kept his head down, focused on stripping the flowers.

“I hope it works. He needs a doctor.”

“You don’t need to look farther than his arm to know a doctor’s not an option. He cut the chip out himself—that tells you how bad he hates the factory. He was starving to death in the woods, and yet he still wouldn’t turn back. If you brought him to a doctor, you wouldn’t be saving him at all. I think he would rather be dead.”

“Thanks.” Caitlyn’s voice was hardly a whisper. It surprised her how much she wanted Theo to survive and how much of a comfort the big, quiet man in front of her was turning out to be during each new hour of stress.

Billy focused on the f lowers. “We need to cut farther into Theo’s arm to clean it. I can do that if you don’t want to. I helped the vet with horses. I’ve seen this before. On horses, I mean.”

Again she found comfort in his steadiness. “Do you need me to hold him for you?”

Billy shook his head. “He’s tiny.”

She watched as he gently doctored the wound. Theo turned and groaned but did not come to full consciousness. Billy took the poultice and pressed it against Theo’s arm. Then he removed his outer shirt, cut strips for bandages, and tied the poultice in place.

“We’re ready,” he said. “I’ll lift him back into the canoe.”

His trust at her leadership amazed her. He hadn’t asked what was ahead. Theo would have rattled through a hundred rapid-fire questions already.

They’d known each other only a few hours, but she felt comfortable around him. She had never experienced that comfort with anyone before, except Papa. Yet whenever Billy gave her a shy, sideways glance, something in her heart surged.

“Billy…”

There it was again. The shy look. It eased her loneliness.

“I’m afraid,” she said. “Not too afraid to do what needs to be done, but still afraid. It’s good to have you here.”

“You make me feel strong. I don’t know why they are chasing you, but I don’t care.”

“Do you know that Mason Lee had been hunting me with the hounds?”

He nodded, but as he spoke, he looked at the ground. “You disappeared from a mountaintop, is what I heard.”

“Yes, I scaled down the rock face.” She had escaped the hounds and the hunters, but she knew her father paid the price. The question was, how much of a price? No matter how numb she’d tried to make herself, that question haunted her still.

“I’m afraid for my father too.” She half hoped Billy would put his arms around her and let her lean her head against his chest. Just a couple of moments of comfort.

Billy didn’t look up. Something about his shoulders changed, and it wasn’t shyness that kept him from looking at her. Before he answered, she knew—but his words broke her anyway.

“I’m sorry.” Billy lifted his head and looked at her without flinching. “He’s dead.”