E Stricker - The Almanac

Sometimes, love counted for more than fear.

Conna’s face went pale. His mouth opened, and closed, and opened again.

“How can you…” he said.

“You can’t keep Pa in there,” Aaro said.

“After everything, you stand for him?” Conna spat back.

Aaro shrugged, “Maybe I just don’t want to be like him. No one else is going to get hurt,” Aaro said.

Conna turned to the left then to the right, looking at the other Enforcers.

“Well, he might have gone crazy, but the rest of you haven’t,” he said. None of them answered. Instead, they looked away or at Illya speculatively.

“He could be right,” Julian said.

“There never was a plan for the people in there come winter, not that I heard of,” Nico said.

“Julian? Nico? No, come on. Martin?” Conna said, his voice reaching greater levels of desperation as each name was met with silence.

“We have been divided long enough. It’s time to get those people out of the cellar,” Illya said, raising his voice. “It’s time to reconcile, to work together. It’s our last chance.”

He beckoned to Aaro and the other Enforcers to follow him, hoping that they would. He ascended the stairs, pushing past Conna. Conna’s face was flaming red. His mouth gaped open, but a look at the Enforcers behind Illya stopped him from doing anything. Illya went down the stairs to the cellar. Mark, the Enforcer guard, stopped him but soon let them past when faced with Aaro and all the rest of them.

Illya emerged from the front door of the house surrounded by his family, blinking in the sunshine; his heart swelled until it felt like it could burst. Elias came out next, and Sabelle sprinted up the stairs to take her father’s arm. He was pale and shaking. Impiri hung back, looking awkward. Elias had been in the cellar for three months.

Next came Jimmer with Aaro, they stopped briefly at the top of the stairs, and Jimmer turned to face Conna.

Before he could say anything, there was a wild yelling from the direction of the gates.

“What? Terrors? It’s still early for…” Julian said. Illya’s heart froze, and a chill shot up his spine.

“No,” Illya said. “Rovers. It’s a Rover attack!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. The people shuffled around, obviously confused. He had been hoping he could warn them, that they would have time to fortify the walls, maybe even to train a bit, but it was not to be.

Men with wild hair and markings painted all over their bodies streamed through the gates, whooping and yelling. They raised their bows and started firing. A rain of arrows fell on the crowd. Some of them had guns strapped across their backs.

“Take cover!” Illya yelled.

The stunned people surged into action. A few had been hit and were clutching legs and arms. One man lay on the ground, unmoving, an arrow sticking though his chest.

Charlie.

A wave of dizziness washed over Illya.

“Charlie,” he whispered, his voice catching in his throat. But there was no time for sorrow. He pushed his mother and Molly back through the doors of the house then turned back to the fight. The Enforcers had been taken off guard without their bows to hand. While they scrambled for their weapons, dodging arrows, Conna stood on the porch staring at the chaos, not reacting. His bow lay at his feet, unused.

“Conna.” Illya shook his shoulders. Conna blinked and looked at him mutely.

“Shoot, Piri, shoot!” Ada screamed at her sister who was still clutching the ancient gun. Her knuckles were white, and her eyes were wide.

“There’s… there’s only one bullet,” she whispered. “It’s the last one left.”

Ada’s shoulder’s fell slightly. She nodded. “The one Pa saved,” she said.

Impiri nodded. “For just in case,” she said.

“Make it count,” Ada said. The Enforcers had gathered into a little cluster and were returning fire, but many of them were wounded, and they struggled to hold back against the onslaught.

“We should surrender,” Conna muttered. Illya remembered his own pa then and the crossbow that was still in the magpie nest. He bolted for his mother’s hut. Would he even be able to hold it steady without the memories swooping in to steal his mind? Would he be able to face them?

There was no choice. He had to do something. Try or die. He retrieved the bow and a handful of bolts and sprinted back to the fighting. Near the fires, racks of meat were drying, and piles of foraged plants lay, waiting to be stored for winter: everything the villagers had been able to gather since he had left. The food was the thinnest of hope, but it was all they had. Even with the red-stemmed creeper, they would not survive if all they had managed to save was stolen.

Illya nocked a bolt into the center of the crossbow and sighted down his arm, his belly clenching and arms shaking. He breathed, trying to still them. It had been ten years since he had even picked up this weapon, but he knew that his slingshot would not be enough. His target shook in front of him as he took too long to aim. Try as he might, he could not keep the end of the bolt still.

Suddenly, from behind him came a loud bang, followed by another to his right, just after it. Something whistled past his ear, and there was a crack and splintering sound from the oak tree. He turned and saw a Rover drop his gun and clutch his shoulder. There was a trickle of red, and behind him a branch fell from the oak tree to the ground. Illya turned around to see where the other sound had come from and saw Impiri lowering the muzzle of her father’s gun, her face white. She met Illya’s eyes and pressed her lips together.

Her aim had not been perfect, but she had used the last bullet to save Illya’s life. He bit his lip, turned around again. He sighted and pulled the trigger, adding the power of his crossbow to the rain of arrows the Enforcers were sending at the Rovers at the gate. His bolt drove into the leg of their leader—a man with a strip of hair down the center of his shaved head.

The man bellowed, stumbling as he tried to run forward. The Enforcers loaded more arrows in their bows and let them loose. Illya shot as fast as he could. His years of practice aiming the slingshot seemed to cross over to the less-familiar weapon so that he hit a mark with almost every shot. Soon the Rovers were retreating, most nursing wounds to their shooting arms or legs.

They retreated to the gates, and the Enforcers ran forward, chasing them with arrows nocked. Illya slid a fresh bolt into the crossbow and joined them. Just before the Rovers went through the gates, their leader turned and sent an arrow flying back in a high arc over their heads.

“Impiri, look out!” came a yell. Ada raced towards her sister. She shoved Impiri to the ground, and the arrow found its mark in her chest.

AUNT ADA LAY on the ground, a red stain spreading out under her. There was a clatter as the gun fell from Impiri’s fingers. Her hands flew to her face; she dropped to her knees and began to keen, rocking back and forth.

Aunt Ada was lying on her side. The arrow had hit her in the right side of her chest. Not the side with the heart, Illya thought frantically, thankful for it, though it was a small thing. She was still breathing but shallowly. Gently, he removed the arrow, hoping it hadn’t pierced anything vital. He held pressure on the wound.

The injured side was not rising and falling with her breaths in the same way as the undamaged side. It felt sunken, as if it had deflated and could not hold the air. Then it started growing bigger, seeming to suck in air between his fingers and through the hole as she took breaths. Illya took his hand from the hole, watching the trickle of blood. If the air getting sucked in was coming out, the blood in the wound would be bubbling, and it was not. He listened, pressing his ear to her ribcage. He wasn’t sure what he was listening for, but it sounded different than any lung he had ever listened to before. She struggled to breathe more with each breath.