Sheep and Wolves (14 page)

It doesn’t really matter.

Here, amidst his warmth, I feel different. I cry.

Not for Fireball or Grandma Thundershine or Antash. I cry for myself.

My mother doesn’t need to say it. I know I’m going to fail.

Antash clutches my arms and looks me in the eyes. “You must feel very alone, Gourd. I haven’t lived your life, but I understand that kind of pain.” He takes my hands. “I’m a demon.”

That can’t be true.

My tears stop.

“Do you know the story of Sin Earth?” Antash says.

“Bits and pieces,” I say.

“Well. A long time ago, a demon clan lived on this land. My ancestors. They were very skilled in the demonic arts, but during the Cleansing, most were slaughtered by the Crusaders of Light.” He pauses, maybe waiting for me to respond.

I don’t.

“The villagers who eventually settled here believed, and still believe, that the blood of my ancestors spilt on this land blessed it with demonic power. A power, they say, that allows them to live the way they want to live. Therefore, the villagers won’t stop honoring my kin, no matter what the Enforcers do to them.”

The villagers and their resolve make me sick, but I don’t say so.

Instead I say, “If your people were slaughtered, how are you here?”

“A few survived,” Antash says. “They traveled to a place we call the Hidden Valley and flourished for a while. Then, years ago, we were discovered by the State, and imprisoned for worshipping demons.”

“But you are demons.”

“According to the Heavenly Texts, demons don’t exist. Not anymore. Me and my sister escaped, and she died before the Thundershines found me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” He hugs me again. “You may not feel ready for tonight, but you are. Trust me.”

Part of me almost does trust him, but most of me doesn’t.

Most of me feels uncomfortable that Antash is a demon. My mother told me the only good that came from demons is the power they discovered. She said they were simple primitives, like the villagers of Sin Earth, no better than animals. She said they were better off dead.

Most of me leaves the hollow and heads back to my hut. And part of me stays behind, in Antash’s arms, amidst his warmth. Feeling different.

*

Fireball’s tears gush forth as she says, “I don’t want to do this. I hate this. I hate this!” She throws her wooden sword across the room and knocks over one of my mother’s books:
Dancing Etiquette for Wedding Ceremonies.

I walk over to replace the book, but decide to leave it in the dirt instead.

Fireball curls up on her bed. She sobs even louder.

I walk over to kneel by her, to place a hand on her shoulder. But I cross my arms and stand there instead. I’m not Antash.

Avalanche steps off my mother’s chair and soars down beside Fireball. He pecks at her arm.

“Stop that, Avalanche,” she says.

He doesn’t.

“Stop it!” She stands and straightens her tunic. “You know, for a god, you’re really annoying.”

Avalanche squawks.

“What do you mean god?” I say.

“He’s a god,” she says. “He’s Miravel’s children. Miravel had four children, but they all sort of joined together into one being. It’s complicated.”

“Why are they stuck in that body?”

“They’re not.” She picks up her sword. “I’m ready to go now.” She ties her hair back with a string, then steps outside.

I follow.

The villagers dance around two bonfires tonight, and somehow I know they’re honoring trees. Fireball walks out into the clearing between the two fires and waits.

The singing stops. The dancing stops. All eyes focus on Fireball.

I remain at the outside of the clearing, with Avalanche on a nearby blueburst branch.

Fireball points her sword at a couple of Enforcers standing outside the barracks. “Tell your commander I’m here,” she says.

They look at each other and go inside.

Fireball’s nothing like the bawling mess I witnessed only moments ago. She’s like a statue now. Solid, stable.

Still my mother says, “They’re going to destroy her.”

Enforcer Yor, and every other Enforcer in the village, exit the barracks and form a line between Fireball and the building.

“Welcome to our little village, stranger,” Enforcer Yor says, and approaches Fireball. “If there’s anything the State can do to make your stay more comfortable, please let us know.”

“Leave here and never return,” Fireball says. In the light of these bonfires, her hair is more than striking.

Enforcer Yor grins. “How could we rid the world of demonic remnants if we left, my dear?”

“You couldn’t. You have no right to be here.”

“We have every right that matters.”

“I won’t let you have Sin Earth.”

“There’s nothing you can do, sweetheart. It will be ours.”

Heavenly Law states that land isn’t hereditary. Not anymore.

Property reverts to the State when the owner dies.

When Grandma Thundershine dies.

Fireball points her sword at Enforcer Yor’s face. The Enforcers immediately drop their clubs and draw their sacred blades.

“If you touch us in violence we have the right to use lethal force,” Enforcer Yor says.

“It won’t matter what you do to me,” she says. “I’m Fireball the Immortal.”

“No you’re not.” Enforcer Yor keeps his smile on, but his eyes look frightened.

According to the Heavenly Texts, there’s no such person as Fireball the Immortal. She’s a myth created by simple-minded villagers.

Fireball lifts her necklace from under her shirt and reveals a whistle. She blows.

A flurry of white fur rushes from the forest. I stand, shaking, as the enormous monkeys race past me to the middle of the clearing.

“The demon gods have come to fight for their people,” Fireball says.

“There are no demons,” Enforcer Yor says. “The Heavens cleansed them from the earth long ago.”

“Will you leave this place?”

Enforcer Yor’s smile fades. “No.”

There’s a short pause, and then the battle begins.

The Enforcers use their metal. Fireball and the monkeys use their wood.

The villagers watch because to fight would change them from the People of Sin Earth into something else.

And me, I close my eyes.

I hear screams and shouts and thuds and groans. I hear Avalanche’s squawking. I hear crying. I hear my mother’s bitter silence.

“Gourd!” Fireball says. “Help her! Hurry!”

I open my eyes and scream as a giant monkey charges right at me. He hurries past me, dragging a monkey behind him. He leaves the body behind a tree.

“Help her!” Fireball says.

I walk behind the tree and stare at the monkey. She’s bleeding from the neck.

I kneel. I place my hand on her bloodied fur.

I wait.

After a while, it’s too late. I step out from behind the tree.

“Where is she?” Fireball says.

I stare at her. Her worst cut is on her nose. What’s left of her nose anyway.

“Gourd!” Fireball says.

“I couldn’t do it,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

Fireball growls and rejoins the battle.

I watch as Enforcer Yor runs up behind Fireball. I could shout out for her to look out, but I don’t. This is the way it has to be.

After Fireball falls, a monkey carries her into my hut, and I follow. I’m afraid one of those things would smash my head in if I didn’t.

The monkey grunts at me, then leaves.

I kneel beside Fireball.

I place my hand on her.

I wait.

I can’t do this.

“Gourd,” a voice says behind me.

I turn around and smile.

He’s here.

He’s here to save me.

He smiles at me and drinks from a tiny cup. Then he falls to the ground.

“Antash!” I say.

I check his body. He’s dead.

I place my hands on his chest. His warmth is disappearing.

I’m a bawling mess. Shaky, broken.

Still my mother says, “You make me sick.”

I stand and face my mother’s chair, though I can’t see her there. “You make me sick, Mother,” I say, breaking through my sobs.

“How dare you—”

“You could have left this village to start a new life. We could have been happy, but you stayed here to take your anger out on these people.” I reach under the table and retrieve the sacred club. “You spied on them. You lied about them. You got them beaten and imprisoned. You separated parents from their children. You make me sick!” I smash her chair, over and over. Then I throw the sacred club out the door.

“If you don’t apologize, I’m going to disown—”

“Shut up, mother!”

And finally, she’s gone.

I place my hands on Antash’s chest again and remember the first time my mother forced me to sit on her chair, and watch through the doorway as a villager was attacked. The villager’s name was Kyar.

Back then, I didn’t hold back my tears.

Back then, I wasn’t afraid to care.

My mother slapped me. “Don’t you dare cry for them, Gourd,” she said. “They’re the reason we’re stuck out here.”

But I didn’t feel stuck.

I liked when Kyar taught me how to dance, and Vyen taught me how to sing. I liked playing with Bayarg and Chirwa. I was only a little boy, but I liked my home. I liked my people.

My mother thought the Thundershines were wasting their powers on these simple primitives, no better than animals.

I don’t.

Thundershines, demons, spirits, villagers, animals. I’ll fight for the good of them all.

Anytime someone uses Miravel’s power, there’s a chance the spirit god will take the life of the caster.

Still, I take the chance.

Miravel’s power rushes through the ground into my feet, through my body, out my fingertips.

Antash opens his eyes.

I spin around and place my hands on Fireball.

I’m afraid it’s too late, but I allow Miravel’s power to flow through me anyway.

I wait for death.

It doesn’t come, however, and Fireball opens her eyes and breathes.

“I hate dying,” she says. Then she hugs me. “Let’s finish this”

Me and Antash follow her outside.

She blows her whistle, and the gigantic monkeys retreat to the forest.

The still conscious Enforcers stare at Fireball the Immortal. She’s alive and unwounded.

She points her sword. “Leave here and never return.”

“I think we’ve done all we can here,” Enforcer Yor says. “We should return to the Capital.”

“Release your captives, then go.”

The Enforcers walk and limp into the barracks.

After a short time, dirty and emaciated villagers leave the building. Even in their weak state, they hurry toward the others.

Family’s reunite.

Enforcers retreat.

Avalanche lands nearby, dotted with blood, and I feed him some spicenuts I kept in my pocket.

As I smile, a memory bursts in my mind. I remember a spirit I played with as a young child. My mother told me he was imaginary. She told me to forget about him, and eventually I did. He was a crow.

I look around for Fireball, but don’t see her. I have a feeling she’s behind a tree, crying over the body of an old friend.

“We should say goodbye to Grandma Thundershine before I release her,” Antash says.

“Release her?” I say.

“Her time to enter the spirit world was a long time ago, but she asked me to keep her alive. Her life was the only thing keeping the State from devastating this land. The villagers would have been driven out. The forest would have been annihilated. The earth itself would have died. But now we’re safe again.”

I’m afraid that the Enforcers will return, but I know Antash is right.

The Heavenly Texts state that there’s no such person as Fireball the Immortal. There are no demons anymore. No demonic powers. There are only simple worshippers with primitive minds, who need to be converted and civilized.

And so, when something contradicts the Heavenly Texts, the State destroys it. And when it can’t be destroyed, the State does its best to ignore it.

The Enforcers won’t come back.

“Antash,” I say.

My mother says nothing.

I’m not afraid to care anymore.

I take a deep breath, and do what I need to do.

Antash smiles.

The Rules

First, test the accused with a kitten or a bunny—preferably one that you’ve taken care of for a few days. Don’t hesitate to name it after one of your own children, if you have any.

“We’re not them,” the man says, again.

Although at this point, of course, you’re convinced he isn’t a man. He’s sweating and trembling, the way all demons do.

Still, part of you hopes your instincts are wrong. Sara’s an innocent in all this, and you like how she purrs in your arms, trusting you the way you’d never trust anyone.

Nevertheless, Sara is a lesser being. Her purpose on this planet to is to be used, and nothing more.

So you continue to wait, knowing that demons can’t control their most basic impulses.

Like a stab in the gut, you feel the foreign presence penetrate your body. You feel the dark essence worm its way up your chest, into your arms, your hands, and then it happens.

You grit your teeth, twisting Sara’s head until it snaps. Hot urine sprays on your tunic.

You toss Sara aside.

Before the demons can make another move, you put on your amulet and say, “Try that again.”

“I didn’t do it,” the demon says.

You spit out a laugh.

“Please,” he says. “Let my children go.”

You glance at the spawn in the corner, and you seem to have tied one of them too tight, because she’s purple and writhing on the floor.

As soon as the father notices this, he screams. He howls with tears.

Now’s the time to remember the most important rules, because these demons will hit you with spells that fill you with guilt and shame and disgust. They’ll make you feel like the vermin they are. They might even convince you that you killed Sara yourself.

Ignore any tears, even your own.

When you’re carving them with the sacred blades, they’ll beg for mercy, the way all demons do.