His stomach tightened as the pain of never seeing Miranda again struck him. In its wake came the cold realization that his wife would not miss him. And when he visualized his daughter crying, the woman he saw comforting her was Bethany Frost.
He wished for one moment-one selfish moment-that she had come along with them. He told himself it was because he wanted her insight on what he was seeing. He was missing something and he knew it. She would have seen it. She will pick it easily from my journal notes. She would have made short work of the mystery of Piety.
But he also knew he wanted her there for more. Piety, empty and silent, made him feel terribly alone. He harkened back to when du Malphias had kept him captive and how it had been Bethany who nursed him back to health after his escape. And even limiting his recollection to that point in his life, he was cheating, and knew it. He’d resented those men who had paid Bethany court, and secretly delighted when their suits failed-even though he could have no claim on her.
The fact was that he’d felt alone for far longer than he’d been in Mystria. While he had no desire to be alone, he realized there was no escaping that fate. His wife might loathe him, but she would never grant him a divorce. To do so would be to admit, somehow, that she had lost something. He was a possession that she would never let slip from her grasp. More importantly, however, he would never ask for a divorce. He had been solemn and sincere when he made his marriage vows to her. It did not matter that she had abandoned her obligations to him; as an honorable man, he could not abandon his to her.
Owen shook himself and they continued exploring homes, working their way toward the block house. Each home matched what they’d seen in the Mason home. Families at supper had stepped out of their houses and had simply evaporated. No signs where they had gone, and no signs of the horror Becca Green had related.
Then they reached the block house. Rathfield entered first, then turned back and vomited. Hunched over, he still held a hand out, warning the others off. As he went to his knees, Fire comforted him.
The officer wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Don’t go in there. It’s…”
Owen swallowed hard and moved upwind of the man’s vomit. He glanced at Nathaniel. The scout nodded, Makepeace crossed himself, and the three of them cautiously passed over meeting house threshold.
The single room had been arranged as it must have been for services. A lectern stood at the front, next to a table, facing the door through which they entered. Row upon row of sturdy wooden chairs, each handcrafted, with the family name carved uppermost on the back, faced the lectern. A few chairs without names formed the last row, as if waiting to welcome visitors. The most ornate chairs, being just bit larger than the others, had been reserved for family patriarchs.
The people of Piety had never left. Virtually every chair had been filled, with bodies sitting upright and attentive, hands clasped in their laps. The villagers heads had been cleanly removed, and sat on top of those hands. Time and warmth had begun to desiccate the flesh, but otherwise Owen saw no signs of putrefaction. No bodily fluids had dripped, and all he could smell was dust, no decay. While some of the clothes showed evidence of battle- like sleeves having been slashed during efforts to ward off attacks-the faces had been arranged to look impassive, if not peaceful.
The deacon’s body stood at the lectern. His head rested where the Good Book should have been. He stared toward the door with milky eyes.
Owen didn’t know how long he stood there. He’d seen horrible things in combat-bodies so thoroughly destroyed that all one could do was to pile bits into a basket and hope they all belonged to the same person. This was worse, far worse, because it had been done deliberately and with great precision. Not only had the people been slain, but their killing mocked who they had been. He could only imagine their horror as their fate befell them, and wept for all the fathers who had watched their children die.
He stuck out a hand to bar the Steward from going past the doorway. “You can’t.”
“I must.” Fire pushed past, then slumped back against the wall. “Oh, Heavenly Father…”
Kamiskwa stayed clear, as did Rathfield. Nathaniel and Makepeace got as far as the first row with bodies. They studied the patriarch of that family, then withdrew. Owen followed, guiding the Steward out with him.
“I counted fifty-two bodies. How many people lived in Piety?”
Fire glanced back toward the meeting house. “Seventy, last I knew, which was a month ago.”
“The two who made to Happy Valley brings that total to fifty-four. That’s sixteen unaccounted for.”
Nathaniel nodded. “Like as not, tain’t more than another two or three escaped the slaughter. Scout about; we could find some bodies.”
“So, that’s a dozen that vanished. The Mason family was two shy of full. A son and daughter.” Owen got out a journal and made a note. “I want to check something at the Mason home.”
He ran back, took a quick inventory, made more notes, then returned. His heart ached and he wanted nothing more than to lay down get drunk “It’s worse than we imagined.”
Rathfield, who still looked grey, sat in the shadow of a house. “How is that possible? Out with it, man.”
“We have a dozen people unaccounted for. The Masons were a family of six, but only four places were set at the table. One child was an infant, so it wouldn’t have had a plate. But that fifth setting is gone, plate, food, utensils, cup, napkin. And a doll is missing from one of the beds. I imagine, if we go through every home here, we’ll find other things missing. These people didn’t have much, so we might not notice what had been taken, but I’d imagine there will be empty spaces on shelves, or that things you might expect to find will be gone.”
Nathaniel nodded. “I reckon we can confirm that idea for you.”
“We could, Woods, but what would it prove?”
Owen closed his journal. “It would prove, Colonel, that we have a big problem.”
Rathfield laughed. “The congregation proves that.”
“We know it does, but no one in Norisle will see it that way. They’ll come and say that the people of Piety went insane. Outbreak of St. Vitus’ dance or, given the fact that they followed the Steward here, they’ll say he preached a wrong message. They’ll say parents slaughtered children, then husbands killed wives. They’ll say the deacon then killed the husbands and that the Steward here killed the deacon. They’ll make it into a problem that doesn’t require a solution because they won’t have a solution.
“In pointing out that things are missing, I’m pointing out that someone went through here and collected things, samples-same as those Prince Vlad asks Nathaniel, Kamiskwa, and me to collect. Whoever did this took things not as plunder, but to study.” Owen thrust a finger at the meeting house. “And given their willingness to kill so easily, does having them study a settlement make you uneasy? It does me, because I can see my wife and daughter headless in some of those empty chairs.”
Rathfield struggled to his feet. “What are you saying, Strake? That there is a madman out here who styles himself a naturalist like Prince Vlad? If you are, you’re mad. There’s only Tharyngians out here, and they hardly need to study Norillians.”
Nathaniel spat into the dust. “And you’re gonna be telling me that Ryngians done raised that ruin we done explored?”
The Norillian hesitated. “I don’t know if…”
“Colonel, someone from Auropa wouldn’t have no need to study us. But whoever did create that ruin, whoever did inscribe those tablets, ain’t from around these parts.” Nathaniel shook his head. “They may have run into the Shedashee before, so when they found Piety, it was something new, something worthy of study. And given how powerful they appear to be in terms of magick, I’d prefer them knowing less about us than more.”
Nathaniel slapped Owen on the shoulder. “I don’t reckon I’m much suited to thinking the way Prince Vlad thinks, but I am considerable good at collecting them things he likes to think about. I reckon we need to go over this here settlement and look for the things ain’t right. Since it seems magick was used to erase tracks, but didn’t blow so hard as to make too much of a mess, we might just find us some things could be useful. Let’s take it house by house and see what we can find.”
What they found didn’t amount to much. As expected, a variety of things had been taken from the homes, including candle molds, a fiddle, the Weaver family’s copy of the Good Book, and a few other odds and ends. Nothing made of iron or steel had been taken, as nearly as could be discerned, since every home had an ax, cast iron pots and pans, and not a single musket or pistol was missing to the best of the Steward’s knowledge. Owen assumed that the Prince would conclude that the creatures who had taken things were highly involved in magick, so iron and steel would be almost poisonous to them.
Kamiskwa, Nathaniel, and Makepeace found the most interesting artifacts out to the southwest. A bent barn nail had trapped a few long hairs, which, as nearly as any of them could discern, belonged to a wooly rhinoceros.
