Unwilling (Book One of the Compelled Trilogy 1) (20 page)

They had traveled nearly a day, when the smell of smoke began to prick at their eyes. They changed course slightly, traveling parallel to Elshery instead of directly toward it. The smell of things burnt grew stronger and Rowan had a hard time breathing. She dragged the dense air in and out of her lungs, each breath stinging her throat.

When they finally found the village Rowans eyes were watering and she had to hold her sleeve over her nose and mouth to try to filter the smoky air. Houses all around her were charred, nothing but black lumps crumbling on the ground. The ground around her was scorched and Rowan could not see a single soul amongst all the destruction.

The air was thick as she picked her way around her charred surroundings. Rowan could see a few buildings still standing in the distance ahead of her and delicately made her way toward them. Rowan studied the ground as she walked. All around her was glass, crunching under her feet as she walked, probably from someone’s home, bubbled out from extreme heat. She stepped over what appeared to be the head of a child’s play doll and she hoped that whoever the toy had belonged to, was not anywhere near the area when the fires raged.

Everywhere Rowan looked were the singed lumps of bodies, an acidic smell rising off them causing Rowan to gag and stumble faster away from the burnt area. When at last the ground turned from black to the deep rich colors of dirt Rowan was gasping, her heart raging for the injustice that had been shown these people. She had counted 16 charred stumps that had once been living, breathing people.

“Who’s there?”  A voice shouted, stepping from the first unscathed building outside the destruction.

“We mean you no harm?” Jace said thickly, his voice hoarse.

“The last person said that to, and you’ve seen how well they meant it.” A figure descended on them and as they got closer Rowan could see they had a bow pointed at them, an arrow knocked.

“Were in search of that person. I mean to stop him, if I can.” Rowan said, swallowing rapidly, trying to clear what felt like tiny daggers shooting in her throat.

“What’s he to you?” The man asked gruffly, stopping several feet away from them. The bow still up by his head, aiming.

“He’s the last family I have left.” Rowan told him, not noticing the look she received from Jace who frowned but said nothing. Rowan could see the inner struggle in the man, but at last, he lowered his bow, his eyes widening when he was able to take a good look at them.

“You look just like him. Like the Devil, except he had that gray in his hair.” He stated, calling Elias what everyone seemed to call him these days. The Devil.
The gray in his hair is new.
Rowan thought.
Killing must be stressful.

“I haven’t seen him for many months, please, could you tell us what happened here?” Rowan gestured behind her, though she knew she didn’t need to. The man hesitated again, then made a motion for them to follow him. He turned his back and headed back into the house he had emerged from just a few moments before.

The house was quiet large and well kept. The air was easier to breath inside it and despite its large size; Rowan found that the nine of them, the eight from her party, and their host, had trouble fitting into the living area. Pickard and several others excused themselves and headed back outside, willing to brave the smoky air then be smashed together with barely any room to lift a finger much less anything else. Or perhaps they just did not want to hear the tale this man had to tell. Rowan knew she didn’t.

Five of them were left in the house when everyone had taken their leave. Jace and Rowan, and the man of course. Jonquil and Chev had stayed also, both silent, wearing gruesome expressions.

“Dada?” A little boy ran up from behind the man, clinging to his leg as he eyed the newcomers. He had dark hair like his father and looked about four or five, but Rowan had not been around many children in her life and wasn’t sure how accurate she was at guessing ages. She felt a pang of homesickness, and wondered how Madison and her mother were faring. The man placed his arm on the boys shoulder protectively.

“So he was here, then, Elias?” Rowan asked the man. Rowan knew it was a foolish question, this destruction had Elias etched into it. Though she was loathe to admit it, even to herself.

“I don’t know if that’s his name, but the devil was here.” The man answered and Rowan noticed that his eyes had thick red rings around them, as if he had been crying excessively. He also had large black bags under his eyes
. The kind one gets from not sleeping,
Rowan thought to herself
, he must have been through a great deal at the hands of my brother,
Rowan thought sadly, her heart aching for the many families that had been destroyed by her brother.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.” Rowan told him gently, her eyes kind as she looked at the grieving man.

“No. No it’s alright, if you’re looking for him you should know what kind of monster he is.” The man said. Rowan stood awkwardly, waiting for him to continue. “He rode in here, followed by his soldiers. They all had chainmail on, about ten of them there were. They asked for a place to stay and I showed them our inn, which would house them and feed them. He seemed kind at first. I did not yet know who he was, though I had heard tales of the blue-eyed devil. If I hadn’t been so foolish, if only-“ he broke off, looking down at his son. “Johnathan, why don’t you go play in your room?”

The boy looked up at his father with large eyes. The older man placed a palm gently on his son’s back, urging the child back down the hall he first bounded out of. The man watched him go, making sure he was out of earshot before turning back to them and continuing. “He still asks for her, sometimes, his mother. I’m not ever sure what to tell him.” The man sounded incredibly sad and Rowan wanted to go to him and comfort him, though she knew that probably would not be appreciated.

“My wife worked over in Jameson’s inn. She was the best server he had, but she had been feeling ill and wasn’t executing her tasks quiet her best. From what I understand she spilt some hot soup on, Elias, you said his name was? Not a lot, mind you, but it didn’t take a lot. I had heard some shouting and was drawn from my home here, toward the spectacle.” The man shuddered in on himself, he breathed heavily and when he spoke next, his voice was thick with the sound of unshed tears. “I saw him dragging her by the hair out of the inn, she was writhing on the ground, struggling to get away from him. Everyone was just standing around watching, I remember yelling at them as I hurried toward my wife. I tried to shove that Devil off her, but he just looked at me and I could not move. My body just froze up, but I tried so hard. I never stopped trying to go after her, I swear, if I could have-“ He broke off in a sob, turning away from them.

Rowan rushed forward and enfolded the man in a hug even though he was easily twice her size.

“I tried so hard.” He sobbed, his shoulders heaving.

“I know. Shh. It’s ok. I know you did.” Rowan said soothingly, rubbing his back. Rowan felt so sad for this man she didn’t even know, but knew had suffered greatly by Elias’s doing. Rowan felt partially responsible for the grief this man was showing. She knew it wasn’t her fault, but her heart broke as she held the widowed man none-the-less.

When he finally composed himself, he looked at them sheepishly, embarrassed over his behavior. Rowan retreated to stand beside Jace again who grabbed her hand, their fingers interlocking, and he rubbed her thumb with his.  Rowan’s heart raced rapidly at just the small contact. Rowan eyed Jace out of her peripheral, but he stood completely still, his face turned to their host expectantly. 

“I’m sorry for my behavior,” the man said, looking mostly at Rowan, who smiled acceptingly at him. “It’s just so new.”

“You don’t have to continue, if you don’t want.” Rowan offered again, but he shook his head, sniffling.

The man drew a deep breath, squeezing his eyes closed, then opening them again. They looked haunted, and far away. “Your brother looked down on her, as if she was nothin more than a bug that he could crush under his feet. They were right there in the street, so he could make an example of her, he said. He had no remorse, but I suppose the devil wouldn’t.” He spit the word devil from his mouth as though it were a vile poison. “Johnathan was there, he had come with her to work that day. He saw everything and I was helpless to even cover his eyes. He’s too young to be witness to that.” The man looked behind his shoulder, as if to be sure his son wasn’t listening in.

When he continued it was in a hushed tone. “He strung her up, tied her to a large post that sat outside the inn, meant for tying horses and such,” he said, his voice growing thick with anger. “After that he disappeared inside the inn and when he came back out he was carrying a lantern. He took off the covering and made one of his soldiers hold the candle. I’ll remember his black eyes until I go to my grave. He had another one of those soldiers of his bring him a bunch of sticks. Big thick ones.” The man’s face contorted, his nose scrunched up, his eyebrows slammed down over his eyes. “He started taking those sticks and sticking them in the flame. He said he would teach her to spill hot liquids on Gods. He would show her what hot meant and maybe she would learn her lesson.” His voice cracked again, his reserve fleeing him as quickly as it had come. “Jonathan kept shouting for her, for mamma, and at first she would tell him that she was alright, he needn’t be afraid. But after a while, well, after a while all she did was scream. The smell of it, of her, skin, it was-“ he broke off, turning from them, “I’m sorry, I can’t, I just, cant.” He said, his shoulders once again heaving.

Rowan moved toward him once more, but he held up his hand and she stopped, desperately wanting to do more.

“I think it’s best if you leave now.” Their host said to them, his voice betraying the grief he felt though he tried to hide it.

Jonquil had escaped the house unnoticed as the man spoke, so only Chev, Rowan, and Jace made their way through the house, back out to the foul, chocking air.

“He killed 57 people that day, and through the ones that followed. We tried our best to get the fires out, but, we weren’t prepared for that kind of disaster.” The man stood at the door, resting his body against the frame as though he would fall over and that was the only thing holding him up. “There wasn’t even enough of her left to bury.” He said so softly Rowan wasn’t even sure he had spoken. She moved to say something but he quickly shut the door, leaving Rowan to swallow her words.

Jace and Chev rounded up the remainder of their group and they fled in silence. Rowan could not help but picture Elias, as he was when they were children. She thought of all the times she had begged him to play Tea with her. He was always reluctant at first, saying that game was for babes but would always give in eventually.

He would take sips of whatever ‘tea’ Rowan had concocted for her tea parties. “This is marvelous, dear sister!” He would exclaim. Rowan knew better, she knew the tea was disgusting, but she would laugh and say “why thank you kind sir” and offer him more, which he would accept and somehow manage to gulp that down too.

After that Rowan listened to the stories with a detached manner, even as they grew worse and worse. Jace thought Rowan would abandon her search for her brother, but she always pushed forward, seeming more feverish to locate him than ever before. 

One young lady, couldn’t have been more than 15, told Rowan she saw Elias drag a young lady, “Who looked right about your age  miss,” The lady told them in a wobbly voice, “He took her into the street, and stabbed her in front of everyone, including her husband and two small babes.” The girl leaned closer to Rowan and Jace, as though the walls were listening in, “the husband took his own life afterwards, the babes bawling the whole time. There in an orphanage now.” The young girl supposed, her eyes unfocused as if she were picturing the small children, sitting lonely together in a rundown orphanage.

Somewhere else a huge, burly man selling cured meats weakly told Rowan and Jace of the time that Elias had taken a man and chocked the life from him for refusing to bow down to him. He made him ask to die, to tell him that he wanted to die.

“A big vein in his neck was bulging and just as he died, Larkin’s head lolled back. A sick smile forever frozen to his face, though tears streamed from his eyes.” The burly man had told them, wielding a large butcher’s knife as though to ward off the bad memory. “The devil forbade anyone from touching Larkin and the smell as he decade, maggots and crows coming to pick over his body, had kept anyone from the Market for weeks, not good for business.” The butcher told them, his eyebrows creeping up his forehead, making his large brown eyes look even larger.

After that, Rowan could hear no more.
These stories have to be over dramatized. They couldn’t all be true. Not Elias.  Not my brother who played swords with me in the summer and built igloos with me in the winter.
Not her brother that would hold her hand at night and have tea with her dolls even though he thought it was childish. Jace held her every night as she cried, telling him it could not all be true, could not possibly be true.

Rowan thought this thought,
not my brother…
over and over again as she helped the towns, the ones that would welcome them, anyway, to rebuild. Each
town they passed, each village, each tiny community that had been torn apart by Elias, Rowan would stay in. Sometimes only a few days, or a couple weeks, helping them to rebuild their homes from the ground up when they were to broken to shattered to decimated to simply repair
, her hands had grown rough, calloused, the skin breaking from the hard work, constant reminders that Elias had
managed
to damage e
ven her
. She would clean their sick, feed their wounded, and bury their dead, the body count piling up in the back of her mind until Rowan stopped counting them, digging their graves in silence, each shovel full making her think of Tomman, of her father, her mother. Of her brother…