“Is it moving often?”
She only nodded, and I frowned, watching her. Normally, Mellie was a chatterbox, eager to tell us what she’d learned from her most recent book or to run baby names by us for opinions, but now…
The boy’s death had hit her especially hard. Or maybe Aldric’s infiltration had scared her in a way the endless dangers of the badlands hadn’t been able to. It saddened me to see her spirit dampened, but maybe that was for the best. A mother can’t protect her child from threats she doesn’t see.
“That’s good.” Eli gave her a pleasant nod, then turned to Maddock. “How—”
“Why is that good?” Melanie demanded.
The nomad turned back to her in surprise. “Because healthy babies move a lot, and the healthier the infant, the longer it can survive outside the womb while it waits for a soul.” He shrugged again. “I’ve seen a couple of them last nearly an hour.”
Melanie rubbed her stomach in a slow circular motion that was surely more comfort to her than to the baby. “That’s nothing, compared to the average human life span.”
The average human life span? Was she quoting one of her childbirth books?
“Every second counts.” Eli sank onto the floor next to his box, and Grayson watched him solemnly. “Who will be delivering the baby?” His gaze fell to me, but I shook my head. We’d already decided that when the time came, all of the exorcists should be ready to stand guard and fight in case Melanie’s screaming attracted trouble.
The best way I could help my sister was to protect her. That had been true her entire life.
“Grayson and I will give it our best shot,” Anabelle said. “We’ve read every book we could find on the subject.”
Eli looked puzzled. “Have you never delivered a child before?”
They both shook their heads. “Have you?” Grayson asked, her brown eyes wide.
“Of course,” he said, and suddenly the nomad had our full attention. Even Maddock looked away from the window in surprise. “I’ve delivered two on my own, and I’ve assisted with three more. We all learn to deliver babies and care for children, just like we learn to hunt, scavenge, gather, and fight.”
We could only stare. In the cities everyone had a specific job, and most people had been trained to do little outside of duties within the home.
“Wait, everyone in your group fights?” Grayson’s brown eyes brightened, and she turned to Reese to make sure he’d heard.
Eli shrugged. “Everyone old enough and healthy enough to hold a weapon.”
“As it should be,” Devi said, with a nod of approval. “If people in the cities weren’t dependent upon the Church for protection, this would be a different world.”
Grayson frowned. “I never get to fight.”
“Why not?”
“She’s still transitioning,” Reese said. “She won’t have any enhanced abilities until she becomes a full-fledged exorcist, and I can’t let her get hurt.”
Eli watched Grayson, who stared at him, fascinated. “She may get hurt, but then her scars will be a badge of honor. Or she will succumb to her injuries and we’ll remember her as a noble warrior. None of us could ask for anything more.”
“Um, yeah, we could,” Reese said through clenched teeth, but Eli didn’t seem to notice his anger. “I don’t want to remember her, I want to be with her.” He wrapped one arm around Grayson’s waist, and she snuggled against him like always, but Eli held her gaze.
“This life comes with no guarantees,” the nomad said. “We fight, we believe, and we hope for an honorable death. I would hate to see you deprived of any of that.”
Though I wasn’t sure he understood what he was doing, my stomach pitched as I watched Eli drive a wedge between two of my friends by offering Grayson exactly what Reese kept trying to protect her from. And I couldn’t blame her for wanting it. I never felt more alive than when I was burning demons from their human hosts.
She turned to Reese. “I want to fight.”
“And I’m sure Reese would love to teach you,” Devi said. She and Maddock had been watching the oddly intense exchange with as much unease as I felt, and when she gave Reese a pointed look, he nodded reluctantly.
Grayson’s eyes lit up, and she threw her arms around him.
“There’s no time like the present!” Eli declared, clearly caught up in her excitement. “I’d be happy to—”
Reese growled from deep in his throat.
Before he could say something we’d all regret, I stepped in with a change of subject. “So, back to the delivering of babies. What’s your infant mortality rate?”
Eli sat straighter, puffed up with pride. “We’re down to sixty-six percent!”
“Wait, you lose two-thirds of your entire population as infants?” I glanced at my sister, and the terror squeezing my chest like a giant fist was reflected in her wide, stunned eyes. I’d known Mellie’s baby’s chances were slim in the badlands, but I’d assumed that a community with elders would have much better luck.
“Only because they lack souls. Most of them are born physically healthy.” Eli took in our matching horrified expressions and frowned. “Do more survive in the cities?”
“Nearly one hundred percent,” I said. “But that’s because the Church limits the number of pregnancies and requires that senior citizens become soul donors.” Which was considered both a privilege and a duty of the elderly in Church-run society.
“Soul donors.” Eli’s words echoed with horror. “You kill adults so infants can live?”
“We don’t kill them!” Reese insisted, and though I’d heard him openly criticize the system several times, he seemed determined to disagree with Eli on everything. “They’re volunteers.”
“That’s a total crock of shit,” Devi snapped. “They don’t have any more choice about dying than Nina had about having her tubes snipped. It’s part of the price you pay for the Church’s ‘protection.’ ”
And as painful as her casual mention of my most traumatic memory was, she was right. I hadn’t chosen sterilization. But I would damn well decide what happened to my soul after I was done with it, and if giving it to Mellie’s baby meant I had to die before I reached “elderly,” then so be it.
I had nothing more valuable to give the child, and no one could take that choice from me.
“You let infants die so the elderly can live?” Anabelle’s horrified question pulled me from my unspoken determination. “But they’ve already lived their lives.”
“It’s not…It doesn’t work like that out here.” Eli frowned. “The elderly—even those with arthritis and cataracts—are better able to fend for themselves and to contribute to society than an infant. If we killed an adult every time a baby was born, the average age of our members would never rise above ten. We wouldn’t stand a chance in the badlands.”
I stared at Eli as his point sank in. He was right—survival in the badlands would require not just different skills, but different sacrifices than the Church had taught us. I understood that.
But my unborn niece or nephew would not be one of those sacrifices.
I tried to catch my sister’s attention, to give her a reassuring smile, but her unfocused gaze was aimed at the candle flicking in the center of our circle. Worried, I took her hand and squeezed it. When she looked up, her smile seemed forced, but all I could do was return it.
Melanie could not find out what I was planning until looking into the face of her child made her more willing to accept my decision.
Grayson let go of Reese’s hand and scooted across the floor toward Eli, studying him the way she studied Finn every time he took on a different body. As if he were suddenly a whole new person to get to know. “Tell us about your army. How many soldiers do you have?” She peeked into his box like a curious kitten.
“Well, we’re not that kind of army. We don’t have guns or anything. We fight with what we have. There are almost sixty in our division, with a new one due any day.”
“How do you feed that many peo
ple?” Anabelle asked.
“We travel south in the winter because plants bloom longer, but food is always sparse in the cold months, and we’re all a little thin right now. But things will get easier soon, when more vegetation is ready to harvest.”
“You do look thin.” Grayson frowned, evidently unaware of the irony. We were thin too. “We have food, and we’d be happy to share!”
Devi scowled, but before she could object, Eli’s face erupted into a broad smile. “That would be much appreciated!”
“Grayson is obviously misinformed about the concept of ‘finders, keepers,’ so let me explain,” Devi said to Eli. “In this scenario we’re the ‘finders,’ so we will ‘keep.’ Try to carry out your weeping at a reasonable volume.”
“You’ll have to excuse Devi. She’s just…horrible,” I finished, when no more accurate description came to mind. “Of course we’ll share our food.” I glared at Devi. “If not for Eli and his army, we’d be headed toward Pandemonia in the company of a bite-sized demon right now.”
Devi tried to incinerate me with her gaze. “And who will we be sharing with, exactly? What’s the deal with you and this ‘army’?”
Eli squared his shoulders. “I am a sentinel. It’s a position of great honor and responsibility. And we’re—”
“They’re nomadic religious relics who believe that when a human host is killed, its soul returns to the well.” Reese glanced at each of the rest of us, and I recognized the soapbox he was about to step up onto, though usually his hot button was Church conspiracy theories. “During the war, when the Church offered us protection in exchange for walls, rules, and service, Eli’s people struck out on their own, believing that obedience to their holy imperative would save them.”
“Holy imperative?” Anabelle turned to Eli for an explanation.
“We believe it’s our duty to return as many souls to the well as possible by slaying every demon we meet.”
Reese huffed. “The Church says it put you guys out of business fifty years ago.”
Actually, the Church said it had hunted the nomads into extinction to rid the world of a false faith almost as threatening to the human spiritual condition as were demons themselves.
“The Church lies,” Eli said through clenched teeth. No one argued. “Our numbers have dwindled along with the rest of humanity. But our mission is clear, and those who commit to it will find peace in the next life.”
“Well, in this life, you’ve lived in the badlands a lot longer than we have, so if we’re going to share our food”—Devi aimed a pointed glance at Grayson—“why don’t you share the details about how you’ve survived out here on your own for a century.”
“They haven’t,” I said softly, and everyone turned to look at me as the vague mental connection I’d made came into sharper focus in my head. “You’re not surviving out here, are you? Your way of life is dying, and that’s why the Church doesn’t kill you anymore. They know the badlands will do that for them. But the problem isn’t the degenerates, is it?”
Eli shook his head slowly, and I knew I’d guessed right. “We can handle the monsters, even a dozen at a time,” he said. “Watching for degenerates has become second nature. Killing them is routine.” He waved one hand at the floor, indicating the corpse still lying two stories below. “They are the problem.”
Grayson frowned. “Kastor and his people?”
Eli nodded, and Maddock watched him closely. “They’re pillagers. Raiders. Savages. They’re smarter and quieter than degenerates, but less predictable than the Church. They stalk us. They strike when food is scarce and we’re weak. They take those in their prime. Older bodies don’t last as long, and kids are too much work—the pillagers would rather let us raise them.”
“They steal your people?” Grayson’s voice trembled, and Reese put one arm around her.
“We fight, and we usually kill a couple of them, but we lose a few of our strongest young people in every raid,” Eli said. “Our division can’t survive any more loss.”
“Where do they take them?” Annabelle asked.
Melanie watched the entire exchange wide-eyed.
“To the Lion’s Den. We followed them once, but the city is too big. Too…dangerous.”
“It can’t be breached?” Reese sounded doubtful, and both Maddock and Finn were noticeably quiet.
“They would probably throw the gates open for us if we actually knocked. It’s getting back out that would be the problem. No one leaves the Lion’s Den alive.” Eli shrugged. “After every raid we pack up and move on, hoping they won’t find us again for a while. But they always do eventually. We don’t really have anywhere to go.”
“You stay in the south and the east to avoid most of the Church cities,” I guessed, and Eli nodded. “But it’s too cold in the north for most of the year, and if you go west…”
“The lion pounces,” he finished.
“So let us travel with you,” I said as soon as the idea hit me, and Finn turned to me in surprise. “Just until the baby is born. We can protect you from Kastor’s people. You can teach us. None of us has ever delivered an infant, and we’ve only survived in the badlands by robbing Church supply shipments. We can’t do that forever.”
“Nina…,” Maddock began.
“We need them,” I insisted. “We need to know what they can teach us.” I turned to Eli. “And you need us. We don’t just release demons back into the world, we vanquish them, which denies them the opportunity to possess any more of your people. And any one exorcist”—I gestured to Reese, Devi, and Maddock in turn—“is faster and stronger than your best five soldiers combined. If you don’t believe me, give us a test.”
“It’s not me you’d have to convince,” Eli said. “I’ve seen you in action. Let me return Tobias and Micah to my family, and then I’ll present your offer to Brother Isaiah. If he says yes, you’ve got a deal.”
I smiled at Melanie, truly hopeful on her baby’s behalf for the first time in weeks.
As soon as Eli left, Maddock tried to undermine my plan. He wanted to put distance between us and Pandemonia as soon as possible, and he knew we could move faster on our own.
I understood his fear, but nothing was more important to me than Mellie and the baby. Fortunately, everyone but Reese agreed with me that we stood to gain as much from the Lord’s Army as they stood to gain from us.
After he was outvoted, Maddock stared out the window, watching both the nomads’ temporary camp and the western horizon closely until Devi shoved an open can of white-meat chicken into his hand. “Hey,” she said. “Remember me?”
When Maddock blinked and struggled to bring her into focus, I realized he was fried. “Why don’t you two go take a nap, or…something,” I said. “I’ll take watch for a while.”
“I’m fine,” Maddy insisted.
Devi rolled her eyes and took the rifle from him. “You’re not fine.” She handed me the gun, then pulled him up by one arm. “You’re gonna rest, and I’m gonna help.”
I didn’t want to know how she planned to help, and for once I didn’t care that she hadn’t thanked me for my offer. My motive wasn’t entirely altruistic.
I took the rifle and Maddock’s metal folding chair—we’d been carrying two of them because so many of the buildings were empty—out onto the courthouse balcony, then went back in for a can of soup and some reading material. Between bites of my cold lunch, I checked to make sure there was no round in the chamber, then propped the rifle up on the balcony railing and stared through the sight at Eli’s camp.
The rifle didn’t have a scope, but the sight was magnified enough to give me a much better look at the Lord’s Army. I couldn’t bring individual faces into focus, but in a span of ten minutes, I counted twelve white-haired individuals, about half of whom walked either hunched over or with a walking stick.
Eli’s group had at least a dozen senior citizens, and each one of them represented a potential lifeline for Melanie’s baby. I’d meant what I’d said about
what our two groups could offer each other, but those twelve gray-haired souls were the real reason I’d insisted we stay with the Lord’s Army.
Since I knew how Eli—and presumably his entire society—felt about the concept of donating souls, I had no intention of asking anyone else to make such a huge sacrifice, and though I was still more than willing to do what had to be done myself, if my new plan panned out I wouldn’t have to.
Ironically, I’d gotten the idea from the Unified Church.
For decades, the Church had been peacefully, painlessly inducing death in elderly volunteers, timed to coincide with the birth of each baby because when a child is born the nearest unclaimed soul will be drawn to it. If there is no soul nearby, one will be drawn from the well instead.
But except for the occasional drop or two, the well of souls ran dry long ago.
I wouldn’t schedule someone else’s demise even if I could get away with it, but maybe I could schedule Melanie’s labor to coincide with the imminent natural death of one of the Lord’s Army’s elderly members. The baby wasn’t due for more than a month. In that time, surely someone would succumb to old age and the physical demands of such a rough, migratory lifestyle.
What exactly was the average human life span without Church intervention, anyway? Melanie would know, but if I asked, she’d figure out what I was up to. So instead, I added that question to two others rolling around in my mind as I set the rifle down and picked up the pregnancy book.
To my relief, according to the book, Mellie’s baby had already passed the most critical milestone—namely, lung development—and with each week spent in utero, the infant’s chances of survival increased dramatically. So in another couple of weeks I could cross premature birth off my list of concerns, barring unforeseen disaster.
Unfortunately, the book didn’t list any surefire way to induce labor without a hospital, a doctor, and an intravenous oxytocin drip—an IV full of hormones. The authors did suggest several “home remedies” for an overdue birth, including walking, variations of an herbal tea, and intercourse, of all things, but none of that sounded very reliable to me. Maybe the experienced midwives in the Army knew of some herb or plant that could—