JULIE
Malcolm is pale as a ghost as he slinks into the market, his head ducked low and his arms crossed. My heart picks up its pace. He’s home. He’s alive.
How?
I shake my head. The cave must not have been what we thought. Even so, if Andrew sees him now… I purse my lips and scan the crowd, looking for a sign of the other demon in town.
Children play marbles on one end of the alley, laughing and cheering. Two guards stand watch near the steps of the capitol building, holding long guns tightly—as if those could do anything to guard against the real enemy. We all know if a sorcerer comes to claim this city, it will fall in an instant.
I’m fairly certain the men in charge would bow to those evil bastards in a matter of seconds. They’re as power-hungry as the rest of them.
Malcolm’s dark hair falls into his eyes, and he pushes it back absently and finds a place in the shadows by the bakery where he can see but won’t be seen. Well, mostly.
“Any treats for you today, Julie girl?” a wobbly voice calls to me, shaking me from my reverie. I turn to find Mrs. Nelson smiling from the stand across the walkway and holding out a box of chocolates. Her hair is long but grey and frail, her skin sagging, but otherwise, she looks good for her ninety years.
“Not today, thank you,” I tell her as I begin my trek across the market. My feet skid on the uneven pavement. Just a few years ago, we were part of a strong nation with infrastructure to keep up with the roads and buildings and industry. Now, we live more like mankind did several hundred years earlier. There are no imports or exports. Even communication is cut off from anywhere outside the city.
Occasionally, we’ll get a worn traveler or two to tell us tales of what’s happening in the nearby cities but it’s hard to tell what’s fact and what’s fiction.
We hear of the army of animated dead bodies crossing the continent and destroying every city they pass. Of the forests burning with an eternal black flame. Of the sickness that spreads like the plague, over plants, animals, and humans, but leaves the ill living a cursed life. Plants turn black and slimy; humans and animals go mindless with black eyes and skin grey as ash.
It all seems so ludicrous that I sometimes question my sanity for believing it. But then, the ash falls, drifting softly like dark snow flurries, reminding us that the world is not what it once was. What is burning today? I wonder.
I remember the fully black eyes of the near-dead man that found his way to our little valley town, begging for help nearly five years ago. There were many others like him, but none that I personally spoke to. His skin was naturally dark, but his eyes were entirely black like someone had sucked out his soul. He spoke incoherently about the “necromancer.” He told us all to run. Some of the town did.
The Potters gave him a bed in the hospital, though no one could tell what was wrong with him and he died before the morning. He’s buried with the rest of our dead in the cemetery on the south end of town.
I also remember the zombie-like wolves that attacked the Carters’ farm last winter. They acted as a pack of rabid wolves, except their eyes were entirely white and their flesh hung off their exposed bones in a way no creature should be able to survive.
And I remember the magic rippling from the abyss. That cave has been in these lands for hundreds of years, but until recently it was buried so deep underground there was no chance someone could stumble upon it. Over the last few years, more and more of the stones have crumbled around it, leaving it entirely exposed.
That cave holds something evil. Something powerful.
My breath becomes shallow as I examine Malcolm again. His hair is disheveled, his eyes cast low. But that’s not all that out of the ordinary for him. He seems surprisingly… normal.
Part of me is dying to run over and ask him about what happened. The other part is petrified.
I know Malcolm. I like Malcolm. He’s not the most charming or chatty, but he’s smart, and he’s maybe the only person in town that doesn’t judge me for my mother’s recent profession.
I suck in a deep breath and gather the bravery to approach him.
“Everything okay?” I ask sweetly, and Malcolm jerks towards me, eyes full of clear panic.
“Oh, Julie.” He winces. “I… yeah, everything’s great.” He clears his throat and lifts his head higher. “How about you?”
“Just fine. Just… wondering if you were all right after….”
Malcolm shivers, and I frown.
“How are Andrew and his lackeys?” he spits. “Did they treat you well after they tried to kill me?”
I flinch and look down at the ground. “I ran after.” I pause, the knot in my stomach growing. “Does that make me a coward?” I whisper. I suppose it does.
Malcolm takes in a long breath, and his shoulders relax, his anger dissipating. I don’t blame him for being angry.
“No,” he says like he just decided. “What else were you going to do? Run in after me?”
I shrug. “I told my mom what happened. She told Andrew’s father, but I didn’t get the impression he cared enough to do anything.”
“Of course not. Why would he? They’d all be glad to be rid of me.”
I bite my lip. Malcolm isn’t the most well-liked citizen in town. Some argue that he doesn’t add anything to society, which is unfair because his father is dead, his uncle is a drunk and he’s too young to have a profession. But the real reason the council hates him is that he’s not afraid to bring up his father’s unjust death at any given opportunity. So, maybe he’s right. Maybe the mayor would want him gone.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “They should care. They’re idiots but… I guess we already knew that.”
Malcolm cracks a smile, and my heart lifts. If he’s capable of that, maybe he’ll be okay after all.
“Do you have any bandages?” he whispers suddenly.
“Oh,” I say, noticing the blood dripping to the sandy ground. His arm is bleeding.
“I didn’t even realize I was cut,” he says, looking at the scrapes down his arm. One is deep enough to drip crimson blood down to his fingers.
Bandages, right. “Yeah, at the studio. Follow me.”
“Your mom’s studio?” he asks.
I nod. My mother is a musician, and she still spends a lot of time in her old recording studio—even though she can’t record anything anymore. Now, she spends the weekends playing for the mayor and the council. Or at least that’s what she tells me she does.
“Okay,” Malcolm mutters and shuffles after me. We walk two blocks east and one north until we reach my mother’s little studio. It’s nothing special. Just one section of what was once a shopping mall. She’s the only one who even uses the place anymore. When the war started, at least a quarter fled the town. Another quarter left once communication was shut off from the rest of the country. Every year, we lose a few more. Some choose to look for greener pastures farther away from the controlled cities—others flee from the authoritarian council that took root in town over the last few years.
Other than our questionable leadership, our town has been rather lucky to remain as unscathed as we have. We aren’t far from other controlled cities.
I push open the boarded-up door and into the dusty shadows of my mother’s studio. “Mom?” I call out. No answer. “She must not be in. There’s a first aid kit over here.”
“You don’t have one at home?”
At first, I think he’s being critical, but his voice is soft, and I consider he’s really just curious.
“Home is more than twice the distance.” I shrug. “Besides, I like it here.”
“Right,” he says skeptically, eyeing the dark room filled with scattered boxes and cords, a few pieces of what was once a drum set.
“I’ll show you.” I walk into the backroom, open the bottom cabinet beneath a computer that hasn’t worked in years, and pull out a cardboard box filled with medical supplies. Our family decided to stay in town during the war, but my mother gathered as many necessary supplies as possible before the council took control of everything in order to ration.
I nod for Malcolm to follow me into another room. I plop the cardboard box on the chair.
“What is this place?” he asks quietly, his arms crossed but his eyes show curiosity. I nod to the microphone hanging from the ceiling in the corner.
“Where she used to record.” She used to rent out the space to several businesses. One had a podcast, another made radio commercials here, and some local musicians made albums that would inevitably fall into obscurity. I always knew she was barely hanging on to the business, as it never made enough money, but she loved it.
Now, money doesn’t even matter. What you add to society matters. Influence matters.
To most, my mother doesn’t add anything. But the mayor likes her well enough, and that’s what keeps us safe and allows us a few extra luxuries.
“Sit,” I tell Malcolm.
He sits in the leather chair next to the box of medical supplies. I kneel between the two chairs and choose a few items.
“What happened?” I ask as I pull out a bottle of peroxide, a cloth, and a roll of bandages.
He opens his mouth to respond but grunts like he’s annoyed.
I roll my eyes. “Right, nothing. The terror in your eyes is just how you are all the time.”
“I don’t really know.” His voice is hoarse and quiet. There is a touch of fear but a lot of confusion. Maybe he does mean it.
His soft brown eyes meet mine, and I pause, examining him.
“You remember nothing?” I whisper a gentler prod this time.
“I don’t know how to describe it. I fell in, but it was just a cave. Too dark to see anything. There was… magic, for sure, but it didn’t want to kill me.”
“What did it want?”
“I’m not sure,” he says, but I get the feeling he does. He just doesn’t want to say.
My stomach squirms uncomfortably. I don’t know a whole lot about Malcolm except that he’s had a hard life. But then again, we all have.
“I have one more question, then I’ll stop. I promise.”
“Okay.”
“Are we in danger? The town.” I bite my lip, concentrating on his scrapes much more intently than necessary. I’m tense, waiting for his answer. No one knows what would happen if someone touched that magic. There’s no doubt it’s evil. Just one look and we feel an overwhelming revulsion.
Malcolm’s mouth drops open for a moment then plops back up. “I don’t know. Not… not any more than before, I don’t think.”
“Okay,” I whisper. I soak the cloth with peroxide. “This is going to sting a bit.” I press the cloth onto his scrape. He winces as I dab his wound. I don’t know that I’m very good at this, or even doing it right. But I pretend I know what I’m doing.
I wrap the bandage around the wound tightly with gentle fingers and not another word.
Malcolm examines his newly bandaged arm. He mumbles thanks and stands to leave.
I move the box back to the ground and sit in the leather swivel chair. “Are you hungry?” I ask, realizing he probably never picked up his rations before he saw me, and he won’t be eager to chance seeing Andrew by going back.
His eyes light up, and he nods.
I rush to the other room and rummage through the cabinets. I grab a sleeve of crackers and a can of tuna. “We don’t have much,” I tell him. But then again, he wouldn’t get much more from the council. They keep the best for themselves.
“Anything would be great,” he mutters behind me.
I smile and hand him what I’ve gathered along with a key. “If you ever need somewhere to go…” I mention. “You can come here. My mom won’t mind.”
My stomach twists as he gives me a soft smile, sad and tired but kind.
“Thanks.” He pauses, and I get the feeling he wants to say something else, but then he turns and walks out the door.